In 1939, Charles B. Towns [near right], owner of Towns Hospital
[far right], where Bill W. [left]
had gotten sober and was now helping other alcoholics without charge, offered Bill a job as a “lay therapist” for $700
a month [~$16,300 in 2025].
Stunned, Bill told Charlie he would have an answer the next morning.
On the subway ride back to Clinton St., he began mentally preparing a speech to deliver the news at that night’s A.A. meeting. What seemed a very appropriate phrase came to him: “Laborers are worthy of their hire.” At the meeting, he presented the facts of Charlie’s offer and then began to outline the implications.
Suddenly, he realized he was speaking to impassive faces that just stared up at him. After a while, his voice trailed off. As he paused, an old-timer raised his hand. He was sure he spoke for the others, he said. He admitted they were worried about Bill’s finances and knew something had to be done. But what Bill was suggesting didn’t seem right; he foresaw complications. Others began to speak, with kindness, with apparent understanding of what this offer meant. They all agreed. They spoke as a body. And they were articulate about the nature of the problems they foresaw.
Finally, a short, stocky man who hadn’t been with them long stood up. He wanted to appeal to Bill, he said, and to something he didn’t have the words to describe. It was the “thing” that bound them together, one to another, and he knew that if groups like theirs were to exist and continue, that thing simply had to prevail. Bill himself had told them that the good is often the enemy of the best. What Bill was proposing just wasn’t good enough. Others spoke up. Their points were clear and well taken, and Bill knew—or sensed before he knew—that they were right. Still, he kept hammering home his position.
And then, abruptly, he stopped. There were to be no bosses in a group. The only authority would be the group conscience, and all decisions would be made by the group. This was something he and Bob had talked about from the beginning. They had exchanged endless letters on the subject. Now he, Bill Wilson, was being asked to put this belief into practice.
In the morning, he called Charlie Towns and told him he couldn’t accept the offer.
On the subway ride back to Clinton St., he began mentally preparing a speech to deliver the news at that night’s A.A. meeting. What seemed a very appropriate phrase came to him: “Laborers are worthy of their hire.” At the meeting, he presented the facts of Charlie’s offer and then began to outline the implications.
Suddenly, he realized he was speaking to impassive faces that just stared up at him. After a while, his voice trailed off. As he paused, an old-timer raised his hand. He was sure he spoke for the others, he said. He admitted they were worried about Bill’s finances and knew something had to be done. But what Bill was suggesting didn’t seem right; he foresaw complications. Others began to speak, with kindness, with apparent understanding of what this offer meant. They all agreed. They spoke as a body. And they were articulate about the nature of the problems they foresaw.
Finally, a short, stocky man who hadn’t been with them long stood up. He wanted to appeal to Bill, he said, and to something he didn’t have the words to describe. It was the “thing” that bound them together, one to another, and he knew that if groups like theirs were to exist and continue, that thing simply had to prevail. Bill himself had told them that the good is often the enemy of the best. What Bill was proposing just wasn’t good enough. Others spoke up. Their points were clear and well taken, and Bill knew—or sensed before he knew—that they were right. Still, he kept hammering home his position.
And then, abruptly, he stopped. There were to be no bosses in a group. The only authority would be the group conscience, and all decisions would be made by the group. This was something he and Bob had talked about from the beginning. They had exchanged endless letters on the subject. Now he, Bill Wilson, was being asked to put this belief into practice.
In the morning, he called Charlie Towns and told him he couldn’t accept the offer.
In 1941
, Clarence “C.C.” A.*
led the first A.A. meeting in Columbus, Ohio. Before that, Rev. Floyd a
non-alcoholic pastor of the Broad Street Church of Christ, had hosted a
daily radio show to “help people find a spiritual way of living… and
surmount problems… in their daily lives…” A parishioner showed him an
article about A.A. in a medical journal that included contact information.
Faust recalled, “I wrote to all ten contacts, praying for an answer from
one. To my surprise, I received a response from all ten!” One of those
responses was from C.C., who traveled all the way from Cleveland, Ohio, to
meet with Faust and “six individuals with alcohol problems” at Ohio’s State
Fair
[near right: entrance; far right: student ticket]
in August. Faust began announcing on his radio program that there was “help
for anyone who had a drinking problem… if they wanted help,” and within
three months, Columbus had its first A.A. meeting.
*There is some evidence that Clarence S., founder of the first group in Cleveland, used the name “C.C. A.” at times.
|
|
|
*There is some evidence that Clarence S., founder of the first group in Cleveland, used the name “C.C. A.” at times.
.png)


.jpg)
%20Bee,%20p%2015.png)
.jpg)
.jpg)
.png)
.jpg)

.png)

.jpg)
.jpg)
).jpg)
.png)

.jpg)

.webp)
.jpg)
.jpg)

.png)
.jpg)

.jpg)

.jpg)

.jpg)

%20(zbg).jpg)
%20Lois%20Wilson.jpg)
.jpg)
.png)
%20Norris.jpeg)
.png)


.jpg)
.jpg)

