Too Wong Foo, Thanks for Everything! Frank Capra

It truly is "A Wonderful Life."

I am George Bailey.

I'm not saying I am the famous Jimmy Stewart, war hero, actor, and one of Hollywood's most iconic stars. I'm not saying I am a cliché of a movie plot where the good guy confronts evil and triumphs in the end. I'm not saying that my life in any way emulates art. What I am saying is, in life, I am George Bailey.

Those who have read my book, Restaurant Management, the Myth, the Magic, the Math, know that I revealed that I am a recovering alcoholic. For the purpose of that book, that revealed detail was important to establish my journey on how I discovered the math principles that led to running successful restaurants. My goal in writing that part of my life's experience into the book was to let others, who may be experiencing depression and despair and perhaps using alcohol as a crutch, that there is hope and a way out of a desperate situation. But at that time in my life, when I was struggling with alcohol and a losing restaurant, the Mr. Potter that I was fighting was myself.

Reflecting on my past and writing why I said I am George Bailey is not pleasant experience. It forces me down old, dimly lit pathways, roads I would much rather forget than illuminate. However, in the spirit of "if my story can help just one other person struggling" understand that there is hope in a future they cannot possibly foresee, I lay it before the world as an example of Divine guidance out of a self-imposed pit of despair.

The date was July 1, 2008, and I had just returned from the funeral and internment of my brother-in-law two years my junior. At 42, he was not the picture of good health. He was a commodities broker, a two pack a day smoker, overweight and a heavy drinker. Those factors, unsurprisingly, led to a dropdead heart attack. In the six months leading up to that untimely funeral, my own alcoholism had ramped up to the pace of getting me fired from three jobs. The progression of my alcoholism led to more prolonged drinking binges. The first binge led to a firing that also included getting kicked out of a foreign country. The second binge firing earned me a trip to detox and the third binge firing brings us to July 2008.

After burying my bother-in-law and getting fired from what I thought at that time was my dream job, I had surmised that alcoholism was simply my fate. I concluded that I might as well die from that sword as soon as possible as, in my booze-hazed brain, I saw no way out of the hole I had dug. I stood on that icy, snow-covered bridge staring at the rushing waters below. But instead of hurling myself into the darkness to bring an end to my misery and suffering, I decided to let alcohol do the work for me. After all, alcohol and I had walked hand in hand for 25 years, was that not how my epic poem ought to end? Here was my calculus, I was a failed restaurateur, I was a failed employee, I was a failed father, I was a failed husband, I was flat broke and I had a 1.5 M life term life insurance policy on my head. I could see no pathway out of my despair and I was truly worth more dead than alive.

So, with my children securely with my parents for the 4th of July holiday, I stocked the house with enough alcohol to complete the task. From July 1st through the 4th, my wife and I were alone in the house, and I went  from states of conscious consumption to unconsciousness while rapidly depleting my stock. On July 5th, my wife left me alone to travel to Chicago to deal with her brother's affairs. However, before leaving town, she restocked the liquor supply so that there would be no break stride in my current binge to end all binges. This was not her first rodeo with my alcoholic drinking, I had been near death twice before and there was good reason to believe that, in my current state of mind, this time I would complete the task. Plus, there was big cash reward if she could get this rodeo clown to stand smack dab in front of the bull this time.

I have no memory of what transpired between the dates of July 5th and 8:00 pm on July 8th. But at that precise time and date I awoken. Ever ounce of alcohol in the house had even consumed, my heart raced and I thought to myself, I did it, this is how it will end, alone, and left for dead in my own house. But then a voice that was not my own appeared. The voice asked me if I wanted to die? And with the clarity of a sober judge, I said “no!”

What transpired after that was a phone call to a trusted friend who upon arrival administered first aide and called an ambulance. I had a resting pulse rate well into triple digits and elevated blood pressure twice a healthy person. For eight days I recovered in a hospital, suffering from pancreatitis, dehydration and malnutrition. I found myself under the care of a young internist, Dr. Allen, who at my bedside each day, informed me of my medical condition and what would happen if I drank again. On the seventh day, Dr. Allen made me promise I would seek treatment upon my release.

The story of my recovery can be found in the Big Book following page 164. It is there that I realized that my alcoholism was neither terminal nor unique. For one year, I marched on the path of recovery first and fixing the rest of my shattered life second.

What has transpired from July of ’08 until today is a story not of my making. However, my life isn’t a movie and I did not have Clarence the Guardian Angel to show what would have become of “Bedford Falls” if I had been successful in my binge the end all binges. Charles Dickens did not write into my life a ghost of Christians future to foretell the fate of my children, should I have not survived to be the single parent that guided them to adulthood. Would they have simply followed the trajectory of their father, or did I successfully break the string of alcoholism?

Had I done myself in in ‘08, would have the restaurant company that asked me to evaluate a cash flow deficiency in 2009 descended into a den on inequity on the main street of Potterville or would it have recovered to the vibrant and acclaimed eatery of Bedford Falls? If I had gotten my wish and silently moved beyond, would the church I belong to and the civic organizations I support missed my voice and my cooking?

What if in 2008, I lived in a country that had legalized euthanasia. The one thing I knew upon awaking in the hospital, was that I was staring at the enormous task of fixing my life and moving forward as a sober member of society.  I was broken, unemployed, had a marriage on the rocks and was distant from my children. Turning my life around meant reversing those truths and doing it without the aid of alcohol. If Dr. Alan had not requested that I seek treatment upon my release from the hospital but instead “compassionately” informed me that my odds of accomplishing recovery were extremely low. What if the doctor said the hospital could end my suffering and gently whisper me back to sleep?

I can assure you if euthanasia becomes legal in my country, we will no longer be living in Bedford Falls. We will not even be living in Potterville. If we legalize the taking of life, we will not continue to be the “shining city on the hill,” the beacon of truth and liberty. For in that case, our government and our doctors will have replaced God in foretelling our futures.  And, in our arrogance, we will rebuild that tower to heaven. As sure as the sun will raise tomorrow, God will not let a second city of Babel stand and will shake that deceitful tower to the ground. For this I am sure, there is no administrator, no doctor, no psychologist, or progressive thinking billionaire that can foresee the value of the human lives they so desperately want to extinguish. I pray that God saves our Republic and helps good men and women to become the leaders that will forever forbid the eugenics path that Canada and so many other countries are traveling.

I am George Bailey. I know not the appearance of my guardian angel, but through Divine guidance, I have been giving chance to live and with that, the gift of living a wonderful life.

Merry Christmas!