Back in May of 1991, me and a friend, Jim B. decided to launch our own meeting. We settled upon the name, ‘Sobriety First’. It still exists, and meets at Saint Peter’s Episcopal Church, on Wianno Ave. in Osterville, MA. I’ve never written about the experience. That all changed when I received this missive from my old friend, Nancy. A loving and loyal friend, she was one of Sobriety First’s original members – and is an active member to this day:
“Hi There…An AA archivist is doing histories of groups & I’m assisting. We know Sob First was started with a resentment & a coffee pot by the 2 Jimmy’s & I was asked…’Do you know what the original resentment was??’ Good question & so I am asking…do you remember & what was it??!! Looking forward to the answer…kissy kissy…” ( She usually concludes things with, “kissy kissy.”)
MY REPLY:
SOBRIETY FIRST:
I’d love to report that Sobriety First was the altruistic product of a couple of service-minded ambassadors of recovery.
Instead, it was spawned from the resentments of a couple of disgruntled guys. What the actual, original resentment was, and who specifically was responsible, seems to have been obscured by the mists of time.
If the meeting you habitually attend consistently pisses you off, you’d do well to seek recovery elsewhere.
Such was the case in May of 1991.
We wanted to put some distance between ourselves and some boneheads at our usual morning meeting, The Hour of Power. There’s no need for naming names, because in the end, who cares? It was clear that continued attendance at the Hour of Power wasn’t healthy.
The morning meeting at Burger King in Dennis was too far away, too early, and too crowded. So the only alternative was to do something completely drastic, ‘think outside the box’, and start our own meeting.
Please understand, I’m not bashing the Hour of Power. That meeting forever altered the trajectory of my recovery and saved my life. I’ll always feel sentimental about it, and regard it with gratitude and affection. If it wasn’t for Mike Dacey and the Hour of Power, I don’t know where I’d be. I guess you could consider us to be an offspring of the H. of P.
Anyway, 
The whole prospect of starting our own meeting was daunting, because there’s this huge element of uncertainty…like you’re working without a net. 
It definitely took the two of us to do it, because Jim was prone to panic attacks, and I tended to be impatient. Plus, we assuaged each others’ fear during the process. Having someone as a sounding board makes all the difference.
Our initial task was to find a meeting hall, and the first stop was The United Methodist Church on Pond Street in Osterville (we wanted our meeting to be in Osterville).
The secretary handed us a stack of papers (the ‘application for occupancy’) instructed us to fill it out( “and press hard, because it’s in triplicate!”) return it, and wait for the board’s decision. I can recognize a brush-off when I see one.
The next stop was to see Father Murphy at Our Lady of Assumption on Wianno Ave.
This was familiar turf.
Having grown up in Osterville, I’d been an alter boy at Assumption in the early ’70’s. Back in the day, it was a well known(but never discussed)fact that Father Murphy was a drunk. I served many a mass under him, and we were familiar with each other.
We stood outside the rectory and rang the bell. I looked over at Jim who was getting agitated, “What’s the matter with you?” “I can’t help it – I’m having a panic attack.” “Take it easy. If he gives us any crap, you hit him high, and I’ll hit him low. I think we can take him.”
As it turned out, we had much better luck with Father Murphy.
When he came out to see us, he was different from what I’d remembered: older, grayer, paunchier. He now wore glasses and had a hearing aid (personally, I’ve remained untouched by the passage of time).
He was now sober, and on the Board of Directors at Gosnold, the local detox. He was delighted, and loved talking AA with us. Father Murphy was a special guy. I loved my talks with him, and he was very good to us.
After he retired, there was a new priest in charge (Father what’s-his-face). He drove a black Mercedes with a VATICN vanity plate(talk about a dubious vow of poverty)and looked upon us as the dirt beneath his dainty feet. He rescinded the agreement we had with Father Murphy, and proceeded to squeeze us out.
We were homeless for a while, and met wherever we could, finally winding up at our current home, Saint Peter’s Episcopal Church, way down at the other end of Wianno Ave.
But I digress. . .
Our first meeting took place on Monday, June 10, 1991.
It was only later I discovered that June 10 is ‘Founder’s Day’ (AA’s birthday). A providential coincidence (coincidences are God’s way of remaining anonymous).
Me & Jimmy taped a handwritten sign on the side door: “AA Meeting Downstairs, 8:45am”. The coffee was brewed and the hall was set up. We were ready.
We stood by the side door and had a smoke. He looked at me with alarm, “What if no one shows up?” I shrugged, “ I’ll talk and you listen. Tomorrow you can talk and I’ll listen…relax, we’re covered.”
As it ended up, there were five of us in a little circle. Over time, the circle got much bigger.
We were both broke, and working on a shoestring budget. I got a tackle box for chips, and donated all my old medallions I’d been hoarding over the years to jump start our collection.
As time passed, we became better established. We acquired more and more stuff and started to look like a real, honest-to-God group. I can’t tell you how exciting and gratifying it was to see our meeting evolve from a vague idea to a real, viable, solvent entity that actually helped people.
One thing that bothered me was our lack of a decent coffee urn. We were borrowing this puny, plastic thing that wasn’t quite cutting the mustard.
On one of my visits to Intergroup (they were getting to know me pretty well by then) I walked in and noticed something sitting forlorn in the corner: an old, beat up coffee urn. Dusty, dinged and dented, it wasn’t exactly love at first sight. I turned to the lady who was manning the desk, “What’s the story with that?” She looked at it, then at me, “Some group donated it.” “Would you take ten bucks for it?” She smiled, “Sold.”
That was our first coffee maker, and proved to be a sound investment. God doesn’t usually present me with what I want, but he gives me what I need.
Since we were brand new with a sparse membership, I needed to wear a lot of hats: treasurer, church liaison, supply chairperson, setting up & making coffee… In time, I was only too happy to step back and hand off those duties.
I’ve noticed two things about God: He’s incredibly generous, and he has a sense of humor. In time, as our little meeting caught on, those same boneheads we wanted to avoid started showing up. …I can never catch a break.
Today’s Sobriety First bears no resemblance to the meeting we started so long ago. That’s okay, because it’s not supposed to. Over the years, people leave their own indelible imprint, which gives a group character and makes it special. In the end, it’s all about the people.
I haven’t made it back to Cape Cod for quite a while, and Sobriety First is doing just fine without any meddling from me. I love that.
Being involved with Sobriety First is the most meaningful and important thing I could ever hope to accomplish, and I’m eternally grateful to those who made it possible by continuing to show up.
~ Jim Fisher
