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Memorializing Days
The unofficial start of summer is an official holiday to remember all Americans who have died in wartime service for our country.
That's easy for me to do, because I cry every time I watch the opening scenes of "Saving Private Ryan." I'm …Read more.
Enough Already
Rarely do I go back to back on the same topic. But I'm awash in readers' responses to a daughter's plea about her alcoholic mother, so here we go.
Last week, Cathy W. from Milwaukee asked, "When is enough enough?" Her family wants to do …Read more.
Into Action
Right now, there are too many people in crisis for me to fill this space with the musing of my own head. It's time for action.
Dear Mr. Moyers: You talk all the time about alcoholics or people who use drugs. But what about the rest of us, the family?…Read more.
Lives of Faith
This is a short story about faith and recovery — recovery not from addiction but from tragedy — a story involving people I knew of but never had met, even though we had shared a horrific moment, a sudden jolt of electricity that forever …Read more.
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My Hero Mel, TwiceIt's not often any of us can claim one hero twice in our lives, and for different reasons. In my life, that's Mel Schulstad. He died this month. He was 93. This past week, I had the honor of offering a eulogy at his memorial service in Everett, Wash. Here is part of what I shared: Col. Lewis Melvin Schulstad is my genuine war hero. A combat veteran of the air battles over Europe in the second world war, his courage was matched only by his service to his country. I so admire such men, who were young once and had so much to live for but sacrificed the halcyon days of their youth — and often their lives — for America and the freedom of other nations, too. Col. Schulstad flew 44 combat missions as the commanding pilot of a Boeing B-17, even though he could have gone "home" after 25 and the average survival rate of bomber crews was about five missions. In fact, 69 years ago today (Jan. 23, 1943) Col. Schulstad missed a day on the job. He was sick and stayed behind in the base infirmary as his plane, with a replacement pilot, flew the mission over France and was shot down. Seven of the 10 men died. That could have been Col. Schulstad, and very few of us in this room would have ever known him, much less been graced by his presence in our lives. How fickle is fate. How uneven is God's grace. Col. Schulstad always marveled that he survived the war — and not just because the enemy was trying to kill him every day for a couple of years. It turns out another foe just as lethal as the Germans but a bit subtler was stalking him, too: alcohol. For 20 more years after World War II, alcohol waged war on Col. Schulstad, until one day in 1965, when an incident involving top-secret documents, a blackout and a hangover in a hotel near the Pentagon finally convinced him it was time to stop. He recounted: "I called the Army chaplain and said, 'I am here. I am a full colonel. I am very drunk. I am very sick. I've got lots of trouble, and I need help." The chaplain hooked him up with a couple of men who were very different from him in so many ways but were fundamentally like him in one very important way; they, too, were alcoholics.
Mel spent the rest of his long life giving back to people just like him. He was unselfish and unrelenting in this mission. Mel was as comfortable working one-on-one with homeless alcoholics in downtown Seattle as he was standing in front of thousands of people sharing his experience, strength and hope at a recovery convention in Minneapolis. Somewhere along our way, that's where I met Mel, and though our friendship spanned only a sliver of his long life, his influence is a cornerstone of mine. He encouraged me to speak out publicly about alcoholism and recovery, not to be deterred by the stigma or by other people in recovery who feel it is wrong for us to share our stories in the open. Mel's been my personal hero in recovery. About a month before he died, I visited Mel at his bedside. His eyes remained closed during the short hour we were together. It was difficult for him to talk. His sentences were short and shaky. I read to him from one of the most oft-quoted passages of Alcoholics Anonymous' "The Big Book," the chapter called "How It Works." When I got to the sentence "Remember that we deal with alcohol — cunning, baffling, powerful," he suddenly interrupted me. "I sure did drink my share of alcohol in my life," Mel said. "Yes, you did," I replied. "You sure did drink your share of alcohol, too," he said. It's true; we did. Alcohol should have killed both of us a long time ago, more than once. "Why?" I asked him. Why did we make it? Why did we find recovery? There was a long pause. Mel knew the answer before he could articulate it. "God Almighty saw us through it all so we could tell others the story of our lives." And then he told me to go. He was tired. What a story Mel told of his life. What a life Mel's story was, too. Thank you, Mel, for sharing your story and your long life, with all of us. William Moyers is the vice president of public affairs and community relations for the Hazelden Foundation and the author of "Broken," his best-selling memoirs, and "A New Day, A New Life." Please send your questions to William Moyers at wmoyers@hazelden.org. To find out more about William Moyers and read his past columns, visit the Creators Syndicate Web page at www.creators.com. COPYRIGHT 2012 CREATORS.COM
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