November 8th, 1981
Splendid day. I slept late, getting up just in time to shower quickly and rush to get my clothes to the laundry and hurry to the High Noon meeting. The day is bright and brilliant and the sky high voltage blue. Dick is there— he is gregarious and friendly and seems to make friends easily. After the meeting— he goes for breakfast with people. I came home and had a cup of coffee and visited briefly with Allan and Arthur who were getting ready to go to a movie. I walked over to Astor Place and took the subway uptown to browse through thrift shops. I took the wrong subway and would up having to walk cross town. I then walked from 59th Street to 95th— and found no thrift shops open. The walk felt good and I needed to be outdoors. I came home and made my Scarsdale dinner. Dick dropped by for coffee on his way back to D.C. Sitting in the kitchen he said he rather hated to go home. I said I will miss him and that I wish we lived closer. His head dropped and he was silent. I realized he was weeping. I hold him close to me and he sobbed. “I’ve never had friends before” he said. Nor I, Dick. I have never loved myself, or any other person, until the miraculous gift of sobriety returned me to life. It is late night and unlike all the other late nights of my life I am not drunk. I am completely sober and filled with a deep gratitude at this amazing grace.