The Navy in the late 60’s and early 70’s was a great place for drinking. The were always parties. On base the booze was cheap. Very few did not drink and those few were usually ridiculed and teased. I got my first motorcycle in 1970 and totaled it 4 months later. I walked away from the accident with just scrapes and bruises. I advanced in rank, but very slowly. After 3 years I was still a Seaman First Class (E-3). During my annual review one year the Operations Officer warned me that my drinking was the reason. I still didn’t stop but did slow down and started tending to my duties. Within 3 more years I made it to Petty Officer First Class (E-6). My performance was rewarded with several Sailor of the Month awards and even made the cover of Navy Times. I was then transferred to shore duty as an instructor. I passed the exam for Chief Petty Officer (E-7). My friends threw me a party at a downtown Hotel and I lost the promotion by getting my first DUI (Driving Under the Influence) on my way home. I was also sent back to sea duty. At the time I felt that the Navy was being totally unfair and left the service.
Hello, I’m Steve M. and I am an alcoholic.
I was born in Wyoming in 1950, a third generation alcoholic. I had my first drink before I was a week old. My mother’s doctor prescribed a few ounces of beer in a baby bottle to help me sleep.
My biologic father denied responsibility for my paternity so my mother started raising me by her self, Then she met my first step-father, an airman on temporary duty. They married and the chaos began. The Air Force moved us every 18 to 24 months all over the US.
My first real drunk happened on New Years Eve 1955 at a family reunion. All the adults were at an uncles house and all the kids were at grandpa’s house with the older kids in charge. The older kids broke into grandpa’s wine cellar and broke out his homemade wine. I have a vivid memory of standing over the radiator in my attic bedroom, wasted, looking at the full Moon shining on the newly fallen snow on the roof. All was well with the world and wine was nice.
I have wasted the last 50+ years trying relive that moment.
He left the service in 1957 and we landed in Chicago. The family had grown, I now had a sister and a brother. One other brother died shortly after birth, That is when the physical abuse started. If anyone did anything, I paid the price. I was the family whipping boy. Nighttime raids on the liquor cabinet helped me cope.
Alcohol was a constant companion in my family. Kids around the daily parties were considered cute when they wanted a little taste. A trip to the stock car track, the drive in or the beach required lots of alcohol.
When I turned 11, I was sent to live with my grandparents in a small town in Wyoming. Their liquor cabinet was better stocked.
As I grew up, occasional scrapes with the law occurred. But back then, in a small town, the police would usually just take your car keys and drop you off at home.
Finally, after a wild High School graduation night including a high speed police chase, I ended up in Jail. At trial the Judge offered 2 choices 6 months in jail or enlist in the military. Two hours later, I was on my way to Navy boot camp.
(Continued in the next post)
