November 11 in A.A. History

In 1918, World War I (then known as the Great War) officially ended at the 11th hour of the 11th day of the 11th month (Central European Time). Known as Armistice Day—or Remembrance Day in the British Commonwealth—the U.S. rededicated it in 1954 to honor all veterans and renamed it Veterans Day.

In 1932, Let’s Operate [far left: cover] by Dr. Roy H. McKay [near left] and Norman Beasley was published. A review in the Journal of the American Medical Association read:

    It is simple, indeed, for any medical author to exploit the mistakes of his confrères and to exaggerate the evidence of unnecessary operations, fee splitting and other weaknesses that have on occasion been apparent in medical practice. This volume is apparently a journalistic tour de force. Dr. McKay got important newspaper publicity when he first emphasized these facts and was apparently induced by the publishers to expand his original remarks into a book. This review is written some months after the book was first published, and the indications seem to be that as a sensation the book fell somewhat flat.

    McKay would be one of Bill W. and Dr. Bob S.’s early failures in June 1935, before they met Bill D.; thus McKay missed his chance to become A.A. #3. He would die before the end of 1936.

In 1934, the stock market was closed in observance of Armistice Day, but Lois had to work, so Bill W. decided to play golf on Staten Island, likely at Silver Lake Golf Course [right, 20 Apr 1930]. He took the subway to Lower Manhattan, the ferry to Staten Island, and a bus south to the course. On the bus, Bill struck up a conversation with the man next to him, who was carrying a rifle. The man told Bill he was going target shooting at a range beyond the golf course. While they were talking, another bus collided with theirs; fortunately, no one was hurt, but the passengers had to wait for a replacement bus.
    Bill’s companion suggested they wait at a nearby bar. He ordered scotch, while Bill ordered ginger ale. When asked why he wasn’t drinking, Bill launched into a lengthy account of Silkworth’s theory of alcoholism and his own history with alcohol, declaring that he could never drink another drop again.
    When the replacement bus arrived, they resumed their journey. The bus reached the golf course around noon, and Bill’s friend, who needed to change buses, proposed they stop for lunch at a nearby place. Bill ordered ginger ale with his sandwiches, while his friend again ordered scotch.
    Bill fell into a reverie about his first Armistice Day, celebrated in a small French town. Just then, the bartender offered each of them an Armistice Day Scotch, on the house. Bill immediately took his and downed it. His astonished friend exclaimed, “You must be crazy!” Bill assured him that he was. The friend went on to the shooting range while Bill continued to drink.
    Somehow, Bill found his way to the golf course. However, he kept drinking and played so recklessly that he was kicked out. He came home at 5 a.m., so drunk that he fell into the entryway under the stairs and gashed his head. Lois, who had been up all night worrying, rushed downstairs when she heard the noise. Bill was on the floor, unconscious and bleeding profusely. As a result, Lois began looking for a sanitarium for Bill. This binge would last a month.

In 1939, Bill and Lois W. visited Clarence S. [left] in Cleveland, Ohio. Clarence had started the first A.A. group there in May.

In 1940, A.A. came to Minnesota. In 1996, Alf S. would recall how it had happened:

    Chan F. from Chicago… shared it [the message] with Pat C. [near right] during that horrible Armistice Day blizzard [far right: scene in Minneapolis during this blizzard]. Chan and another A.A. [Bill F.] came to Minneapolis to attend a Minnesota Gopher football game. I was at that same football game, drunk… [M]onths earlier, Chan had received a letter from Bill W—– typed by… Ruth Hock. A month or so earlier, Pat had gone into the Minneapolis library to stay warm, found the book “Alcoholics Anonymous”…; wrote a letter to NY asking for help. The letter Chan received asked him to call on Pat if he ever was in Minneapolis.… I can visualize Pat freezing in that little room on Skid row, shaking while eyeing the last inch of Old Grand Dad whiskey left in his bottle! Only an alcoholic can understand the desperation of that feeling.
    Then the magic happened… Chan talked to Pat, and… Pat stayed sober from that point on.