The Conception of L'Elizabeth's

Battle-fatigue was the state I was in. My devotion to the cause was no less than that of the Catholic nuns taking their vows, or those Vietnam vets who believed in their country. A nut-house run by the inmates was where we achieved sobriety. Back then, my group was holding about five meetings a day. I usually went to the eight o'clock meeting to avoid the hype of the ten o'clock meeting. The serious players were to be found at the eight.

There was some nut who expounded on "creme de menthe" on ice cream. We all knew that was live alcohol, but he insisted on insulting our intelligence. He must have gone out and had some with one of the women in the group, for he started calling up and demanding to speak to her. We had this pay station in the meeting hall which turned out to be more trouble than it was worth. The phone was to be used to drop the dime when trouble broke out, but no one ever used it for that purpose. Rather it was just a nuisance. The lines were busy with the traumas of the day to day troubles of us, the inmates.

Let me not get stuck here in the story, but you have asked me to tell you the story of how L'Elizabeth came to be, and this is where it started. Not only was I worn out in the area of my service work in the fellowship, and from working five nights a week, but there were still three active children at home who had not the foggiest what the word "serenity" meant. Neither did I. Service was a word I knew all too well, and these children were to get the effects of service burnout. I was four years sober and they were to wait till I was five years in this God given program before they were to see any signs of my nerves finding cushions to rest their ends on.

We (me and three black fellows) were to go to the A.A. conference up in Montreal. I had been there before, and thought how great it would be for them to experience the conference in the country. Of course, I volunteered my car, a little Scamp, and said I would make the lunch, and we would leave when I got out of work at one in the morning. Now that was a sound plan, don't you think? Well, at that time in my life, it was.

I would have canceled out if it wasn't for the fact that they might have thought I didn't want to travel with three black men. They are, by the way, still sober today and very accomplished in their fields.

Mind and body were pulled together and the four of us started out into the night. I sat in the back
handing out the coffee and sandwiches. When we got to Montpelier, our little Scamp was getting thirsty too, or was it before Montpelier? Yes, it was before, and all the gas stations were closed. I assured them as we went through the clouds not to stop but to proceed , that I knew that car and she would not fail us. And so she did not.

We made it to Mount Pelier about five in the morning. A gas station was open. There we took our first pictures of all our happy faces with our stomachs full and our Scamp with all she could swallow.

On arrival I went directly to my room in the Queen Elizabeth Hotel. Took a look at my face and didn't see me in the mirror. This was a face I only remembered seeing when I was actively drinking. I must have eaten some food and gone into a coma. When I woke up, I was anxious to get to a meeting.

There were hospitality rooms set up where coffee and snacks were served. I had already had my supper at four P.M. but felt like I wanted to connect. On my way in, I was stopped by a tall, handsome man with white hair. He was dressed in a commodores jacket and said hello in a thick European accent. Believe me, he was just what the doctor ordered. "Would you like to have dinner?"

"Well, I've just had mine."

"I'm, going over to the Barnsider on Guy Street."

"Really," I said, "that's where I was going later. I'll sit with you while you're having your dinner. That's the company I work for in R.I.. I want to say hello to the gang."

He took my hand and before I knew it we were sitting at the Barnsider and into a heavy discussion on what I label today as people addiction. Can't remember if he ate or not we were so involved in our discussion. Back then, personal issues like these were never discussed and my isolation was broken. I felt cleansed.

He took my hand and off we went to to the Bonaventure Hotel to see a French show that he insisted I must see. Here again, we're head to head in our discussion. The show may have been good, but I didn't see it.

Realizing now that I'd spent a few hours with this man I had just met, it was time to say good night.
I had passed my limit. But no, he took my hand again. It was time to eat! We must have some coffee and crepes. We had already done more socializing than I had seen since I stopped drinking. My pattern was to eat early, go to bed early; then up early, and hurry through the night, and start the whole process again in the morning.

This man took my hand again and made the slogan " Our old ideas avail us nothing." Made a lot of sense. We drove through the cobbled streets of the city's waterfront district, and taking my hand (What can I say?) again, we stepped into a bar that wasn't really a bar. A man in a tux greeted us at the door. "Hello," he said in French. My handsome escort, speaking in his native tongue, gave him a bill, and we were seated in one of the few couches in this dimly lit room.

Here is where I found myself feeling totally relaxed, thank you God, and where the spiritual experience took place. " Now my dear," he says, "why is it you have never thought of having your own business? You work so hard for the fellowship and this Barnsider Company."

So that was the setting. With my face restored to it's original beauty, and this handsome Frenchman holding my hand, I was feeling all my male and female instincts. Quietly sitting there, I conceived my own business which I thought might reflect the elegance and gaiety of this powerful city that hosted this conference where 4,000 gathered to celebrate life. There could be no other name than "L'Elizabeth". I was staying at the Queen Elizabeth Hotel, and my name is Elizabeth. The French overtones are a tribute to the insuperable spirit that the city offered me that night.

In October of 1972, I returned home a different woman. Did the handsome Frenchman and I go beyond hand holding? I'll take the Ninth Step when making amends would do more harm than good.

October 1972