Baa Baa Black Sheep (53 page)

With the weight of the obsession to drink removed I find that I have time now to appreciate some wonderful things I never thought about before. For an example, birds have always held my interest, but now, when I watch them fly, I think of the Infinite Wisdom telling the birds to fly south before the first snow appears. They know exactly the course to the best feeding, even if they have never been there. And they don’t choose their leader; they take turns leading. One bird leads for a spell, then another takes his place; anybody who wants to can lead for a while.

Birds don’t get caught in an early winter, because they aren’t alcoholic, for one thing. One bird doesn’t say to another: “I ain’t gonna fly south with Joe this year, because I think he’s a drunken bum.”

I have learned that it is good for me to be criticized, right though I think I may be. Others have a right to their opinions. This is the only way any of us can progress.

Some are going to doubt the author’s sanity. They shall be partially correct, for, God knows, I have practiced insanity on numerous occasions for twenty years. But the most beautiful part of it all—I am the guy who knows it.

But my past is not one of regret, for I can look back and chuckle at many things I wouldn’t have done if I hadn’t been a drunk. These memories come in mighty handy because it has been said: “Time doth make monks of us all.”

If this story were to have a moral, then I would say: “Just name a hero and I’ll prove he’s a bum.”

In 1946, Max Miller helped me to get started on the manuscript of this book. During the ten years that followed I was in no shape to do much work on it, and it seemed unlikely there would ever be a happy ending of any sort until I met my wife, Frances, whose loyalty and confidence have made all the difference.

I also want to express my appreciation to Eloise O’Brien, who suggested the title.