1926: Bill W. had spent a few days investigating the American Writing Paper Co.
[right: stock certificate; below left:
logo]. Two days later,
his wife, Lois, summarized in her diary of their trip, Diary of Two Motorcycle
Hobos, what Bill had told her:
Paper making had always sounded dull until we came here and learned a little about it. It turns out to be complicated and quite an art. Saturday Bill took me through one of the plants where red photographic paper for Eastman and blue paper for phonograph records are made. The company has the government contract for postcards and envelopes.
Bill raves about the ability and personality of the president, Mr. Willson, and instead of a report about costs and profits, he plans to write about the power of one man to make a success of a company that had failed. All those with whom Bill has talked, whether laborer, superintendent, or official of the company, has been full of enthusiasm and pep, eager to do a good job for Mr. Willson. He has won me over, too, for Saturday afternoon he asked Bill and me to go up Mt. Tom with him.
1964:
Frederick Harold “Hal” M. [right],
a Lieutenant Colonel in the U.S. Air Force, got sober. He later earned the nickname “Dr. Gratitude”
for the “Attitude of Gratitude” lapel pins
[left: possibly one of Hal’s]
he commissioned and gave away by the thousands.
While earning a Master’s in Business Administration and a Doctorate in Education at Columbia University, he played trumpet in a small dance band, which performed once at a society function at the world-renowned Sardi’s restaurant [right, Apr 2026], 234 W. 44th St., in Manhattan’s theater district. This marked the beginning of a lifelong relationship between Dr. Marley and Sardi’s—sixty years later, the maître d’ would still greet him by name whenever he arrived with a guest, which he did on nearly every visit to New York. After Columbia, Dr. Marley continued to play trumpet in a dance band, touring the United States and foreign nations.
After serving in World War II, the Korean so-called “police action” (War), and the Vietnam Conflict (War), Hal retired from the Air Force in 1965. Nevertheless, he often described his departure differently at A.A. meetings, saying, “I was kicked out,” to convey how his alcoholism had left him professionally, spiritually, and emotionally bankrupt. Following his military career, Hal directed educational and vocational training programs in the Job Corps. In the 1970s, he joined the Foreign Service, where he established and led initiatives to support the recovery of alcoholics and drug addicts within the State Department and at U.S. Embassies around the world.
1966: Bill W. [right, 1970] responded to an unknown correspondent who complained that he had been “disturbed to hear some A.A. speakers say, ‘A.A. is a selfish program.’”
I can can see why you are disturbed to hear some A.A. speakers say, “A.A. is a selfish program.” The word “selfish” ordinarily implies that one is acquisitive, demanding, and thoughtless of the welfare of others. Of course, the A.A. way of life does not at all imply such undesirable traits.
What do these speakers mean? Well, any theologian will tell you that the salvation of his own soul is the highest vocation that a man can have. Without salvation—however we may define this—he will have little or nothing. For us if A.A., there is even more urgency.
If we cannot or will not achieve sobriety, then we become truly lost, right in the here and now. We are of no value to anyone, including ourselves, until we find salvation from alcohol. Therefore, our own recovery and spiritual growth have to come first—a right and necessary kind of self-concern.















































