Abbot George had wanted to send him away for treatment of alcoholism, but
Father Benjamin pleaded, “No, no! Don’t do that.” To get the abbot off his back,
he said, “I’ll check out Alcoholics Anonymous.”
“Good,” Abbot George sighed, relieved that there hadn’t been more of an
argument. Nor had
Father Benjamin put up a fuss when asked to relinquish the supply of booze that
he kept in his room. “I’ll lock it in the liquor cabinet where it belongs,” the abbot
said.
The abbot and the rest of the monks were convinced that Father Benjamin
had hit bottom after having driven through a closed garage door twice in one
month. The amazing thing was that he had never been arrested for driving under
the influence. He’d always managed to evade the law. Now after having had to
replace the two garage doors within a short time, Brother Cyril, who was in
charge of abbey vehicles, demanded of the abbot, “Get that man some help or
give me a different job.”
For twenty years Father Benjamin had taught English in the high school for
boys run by the monks. The students had liked him and they often agreed that
he made a dull subject enjoyable. Some of their parents banded together,
however, and got Father Benjamin fired for having their sons read The Catcher
in the Rye as a class assignment. “I can’t believe that folks are still getting
worked up over that book,” he told Abbot George.
Father Benjamin, because he had been so popular among the students, was
named alumni director. One of his duties was to attend stand-ups with the old
boys in various places within driving distance from the monastery. All of these
gatherings began with a happy hour. Wine was served at dinner, followed by
more drinking throughout the evening. In the beginning, he had been able to
drive home sober, but for the past couple of years, his drinking had become
increasingly problematic. Abbot George told him several times not to drink too
much at these events. There had been a few occasions when the alumni insisted
that Father Benjamin stay overnight at a motel or go home with one of them.
Abbot George informed Father Benjamin that A.A. meetings were held in town
on Wednesday evenings at the courthouse, and that he could accompany
Brother Stanley to them. “You’ve missed this week’s, but you’ll be prepared to
go next week.”
“I was never anything like Stanley. I was never that bad.”
“You both need A.A. There will be no more discussion.”
Father Benjamin admitted to himself that now and the he’d been tipsy. But he
definitely had not become an old soak like Brother Stanley. Alcohol made Father
Benjamin feel light-hearted, and there was nothing wrong with that. One needed
to be cheerful at alumni gatherings. Alcohol made him more sociable. He couldn’t
think of anything he’d ever done at such events that would have been an
embarrassment for the monastic community.
The abbot had reminded him that operating a vehicle in a state of intoxication
was a criminal act. Father Benjamin replied that he felt badly about wrecking two
garage doors and doing “minimal damage to a car.” He confessed to being “a
little drunk” when this happened. “But I’ve never been arrested because of my
driving.”
“You’ve never been caught,” Abbot George answered.
“I’ve never had an accident.”
“What do you mean by that?” the abbot yelled. “You’ve never had an
accident?”
“I mean out on the highway.”
* * *
“How it works,” the woman said, and proceeded to read from Chapter Five
of a thick book bound with a blue cover. She named twelve steps that lead to
sobriety. The book called this “a simple program.” Father Benjamin thought the
woman looked vaguely familiar. She said her name was Marge. “Now, we have
someone new here tonight. Let’s do our introductions,” Marge suggested.
Twenty people, most of them drinking coffee from large paper cups, were
gathered around two long tables that had been shoved together.
Giving their first names and identifying themselves as alcoholics, they waited
for Father Benjamin to introduce himself. He already knew a couple of the people
in the room. Jerry Thompson was an alumnus of the abbey school. Bob Kruger
was the abbey’s lawyer. He’d called himself “a grateful alcoholic.” The other
familiar looking A.A. members may have likewise been parishioners of St. Brigid’s
here in town. Now and then he was the substitute for their pastor. He did a lot of
parish work throughout the diocese, filling in for priests who were away. This had
conveniently provided him an opportunity to stop at liquor stores on the way
there and back to the monastery. Perhaps Marge appeared to be someone he
should know because he’d met her at one of the parishes.
Unlike the other people at the meeting, Father Benjamin was reluctant to call
himself an alcoholic, but they were waiting for him to introduce himself. At last he
said, “I’m Father Benjamin, and the abbot thinks I’m an alcoholic.”
Everyone laughed. “Yeah, yeah,” one of the men said, “we’ve all said that sort
of thing about ourselves. It was always someone else who thought we were
alcoholic.”
Brother Stanley brought down the house when he said, “I’m Stanley, and the
abbot has no doubts about my being an alkie.”
Marge informed the group that Step Nine would be discussed this evening.
“For the sake of the new member, I’ll repeat that Step Eight has us make a list of
all the people we’ve harmed by our drinking, and now Step Nine is the actual
making of amends to those people.”
One after another, they took turns telling about having apologized for the
hardship and embarrassment they had caused loved ones, and employers, and
other persons for whom they should have shown more respect.
“I was a real pain in the butt for my community,” Brother Stanley said as he
began talking about himself. Father Benjamin could agree with that statement.
He thought sobriety hasn’t changed Stanley one single iota.
“I pass,” Brother Stanley said when he was finished describing his method of
making amends. Again, the rest of them waited for Father Benjamin to whom the
topic had been passed. Finally, he said, “I’m Father Benjamin…”
Brother Stanley interrupted him, “We don’t go by titles here. You’re simply
Benjamin, a common ordinary drunk like the rest of us.”
Marge told him, “We all realize that you’ve got a ways to go yet before you
take Steps Eight and Nine, but, from what you’ve heard us say, do you wish to
comment on Step Nine?”
“I don’t believe there is anyone to whom I owe an apology,” he answered.
“What the hell!” Brother Stanley shouted. “You practically tore down our
garage. Don’t you think you should apologize for that?”
“You did worse things,” Father Benjamin retorted. “You spat in the abbot’s
face one time when you were drunk”
Jerry Thompson said, “Benjamin, you were the priest at my father’s funeral
last month.”
“Yes, Father Parsons was gone, so the abbey provided a priest.”
next page
Father Benjamin pleaded, “No, no! Don’t do that.” To get the abbot off his back,
he said, “I’ll check out Alcoholics Anonymous.”
“Good,” Abbot George sighed, relieved that there hadn’t been more of an
argument. Nor had
Father Benjamin put up a fuss when asked to relinquish the supply of booze that
he kept in his room. “I’ll lock it in the liquor cabinet where it belongs,” the abbot
said.
The abbot and the rest of the monks were convinced that Father Benjamin
had hit bottom after having driven through a closed garage door twice in one
month. The amazing thing was that he had never been arrested for driving under
the influence. He’d always managed to evade the law. Now after having had to
replace the two garage doors within a short time, Brother Cyril, who was in
charge of abbey vehicles, demanded of the abbot, “Get that man some help or
give me a different job.”
For twenty years Father Benjamin had taught English in the high school for
boys run by the monks. The students had liked him and they often agreed that
he made a dull subject enjoyable. Some of their parents banded together,
however, and got Father Benjamin fired for having their sons read The Catcher
in the Rye as a class assignment. “I can’t believe that folks are still getting
worked up over that book,” he told Abbot George.
Father Benjamin, because he had been so popular among the students, was
named alumni director. One of his duties was to attend stand-ups with the old
boys in various places within driving distance from the monastery. All of these
gatherings began with a happy hour. Wine was served at dinner, followed by
more drinking throughout the evening. In the beginning, he had been able to
drive home sober, but for the past couple of years, his drinking had become
increasingly problematic. Abbot George told him several times not to drink too
much at these events. There had been a few occasions when the alumni insisted
that Father Benjamin stay overnight at a motel or go home with one of them.
Abbot George informed Father Benjamin that A.A. meetings were held in town
on Wednesday evenings at the courthouse, and that he could accompany
Brother Stanley to them. “You’ve missed this week’s, but you’ll be prepared to
go next week.”
“I was never anything like Stanley. I was never that bad.”
“You both need A.A. There will be no more discussion.”
Father Benjamin admitted to himself that now and the he’d been tipsy. But he
definitely had not become an old soak like Brother Stanley. Alcohol made Father
Benjamin feel light-hearted, and there was nothing wrong with that. One needed
to be cheerful at alumni gatherings. Alcohol made him more sociable. He couldn’t
think of anything he’d ever done at such events that would have been an
embarrassment for the monastic community.
The abbot had reminded him that operating a vehicle in a state of intoxication
was a criminal act. Father Benjamin replied that he felt badly about wrecking two
garage doors and doing “minimal damage to a car.” He confessed to being “a
little drunk” when this happened. “But I’ve never been arrested because of my
driving.”
“You’ve never been caught,” Abbot George answered.
“I’ve never had an accident.”
“What do you mean by that?” the abbot yelled. “You’ve never had an
accident?”
“I mean out on the highway.”
* * *
“How it works,” the woman said, and proceeded to read from Chapter Five
of a thick book bound with a blue cover. She named twelve steps that lead to
sobriety. The book called this “a simple program.” Father Benjamin thought the
woman looked vaguely familiar. She said her name was Marge. “Now, we have
someone new here tonight. Let’s do our introductions,” Marge suggested.
Twenty people, most of them drinking coffee from large paper cups, were
gathered around two long tables that had been shoved together.
Giving their first names and identifying themselves as alcoholics, they waited
for Father Benjamin to introduce himself. He already knew a couple of the people
in the room. Jerry Thompson was an alumnus of the abbey school. Bob Kruger
was the abbey’s lawyer. He’d called himself “a grateful alcoholic.” The other
familiar looking A.A. members may have likewise been parishioners of St. Brigid’s
here in town. Now and then he was the substitute for their pastor. He did a lot of
parish work throughout the diocese, filling in for priests who were away. This had
conveniently provided him an opportunity to stop at liquor stores on the way
there and back to the monastery. Perhaps Marge appeared to be someone he
should know because he’d met her at one of the parishes.
Unlike the other people at the meeting, Father Benjamin was reluctant to call
himself an alcoholic, but they were waiting for him to introduce himself. At last he
said, “I’m Father Benjamin, and the abbot thinks I’m an alcoholic.”
Everyone laughed. “Yeah, yeah,” one of the men said, “we’ve all said that sort
of thing about ourselves. It was always someone else who thought we were
alcoholic.”
Brother Stanley brought down the house when he said, “I’m Stanley, and the
abbot has no doubts about my being an alkie.”
Marge informed the group that Step Nine would be discussed this evening.
“For the sake of the new member, I’ll repeat that Step Eight has us make a list of
all the people we’ve harmed by our drinking, and now Step Nine is the actual
making of amends to those people.”
One after another, they took turns telling about having apologized for the
hardship and embarrassment they had caused loved ones, and employers, and
other persons for whom they should have shown more respect.
“I was a real pain in the butt for my community,” Brother Stanley said as he
began talking about himself. Father Benjamin could agree with that statement.
He thought sobriety hasn’t changed Stanley one single iota.
“I pass,” Brother Stanley said when he was finished describing his method of
making amends. Again, the rest of them waited for Father Benjamin to whom the
topic had been passed. Finally, he said, “I’m Father Benjamin…”
Brother Stanley interrupted him, “We don’t go by titles here. You’re simply
Benjamin, a common ordinary drunk like the rest of us.”
Marge told him, “We all realize that you’ve got a ways to go yet before you
take Steps Eight and Nine, but, from what you’ve heard us say, do you wish to
comment on Step Nine?”
“I don’t believe there is anyone to whom I owe an apology,” he answered.
“What the hell!” Brother Stanley shouted. “You practically tore down our
garage. Don’t you think you should apologize for that?”
“You did worse things,” Father Benjamin retorted. “You spat in the abbot’s
face one time when you were drunk”
Jerry Thompson said, “Benjamin, you were the priest at my father’s funeral
last month.”
“Yes, Father Parsons was gone, so the abbey provided a priest.”
next page
