From grammar school through high school, teachers periodically made comments on my grade reports such as, "John is a capable student but he will not apply himself." They were right. I did just enough to get to the next grade. My dad wouldn’t let me quit. Because I was 17 my during entire senior year, I needed parental consent. Though I wasn’t enthusiastic academically, my father still managed to instill a value for education that would surface in my life almost 30 years later.

My lack of academic initiative was exacerbated by the ethos of the 1950s. Rock and Roll and James Dean was spurning out a breed of rebels that turned into the hippies and druggies of the 1960s. So it was with me. In 1956 when I was eleven years old, upon entering junior high school, I started drinking on weekends. Unlike youngsters of later generations, I didn’t start experimenting with drugs until the summer of my high school graduation in 1962. I certainly would have, however, if it had been offered to me. In a nutshell, I went to a party when I was eleven and didn’t get back until I was 45. Over a period of more than 30 years, there was scarcely a time when I wasn’t on the lam, doing time, paying fines or restitution, doing community service, serving probation or parole, pending court, or suffering the loss of my driver license. I considered those repercussions as ‘dues’ that I had to pay to continue to live the way I wanted to.

My parents were awesome. Being their only child, I pretty much got whatever I wanted and did whatever I wanted to do--they were not strict disciplinarians, though I did spend my share of the time on parental restriction. Nor was I abused in any way; therefore, I don’t blame them for my drug and alcohol use. I got high to have fun. Having fun was my goal in life and I avoided responsibility like it was a germ.

By the end of my 15^th summer in 1960, I was an alcoholic. Three times within a six-month period, I landed in jail. Each time I had been drinking. My first night in jail was for Curfew. Probably the most significant thing about my first arrest was meeting a new friend who remains one of my best friends today. Jim and I had one hell of a good time in that jail cell, climbing around on the bars like monkeys, tearing up the mattresses for cotton ball fights, and yelling obscenities at the cops. From that point on, going to jail wasn’t much of a threat. A week later another friend and I were busted for petty theft--stealing milk off of someone’s porch because our mouths were dry from drinking all night. Eight months later, I got my first DUI on my Cushman Eagle motor scooter. My driver license was revoked before I got it. I was Jailed again the night after graduation in 1962 for trespassing and again later that year for stealing hubcaps. There were five more charges in 1963 for minor offenses, two of which got me 60 days in the county jail.

Once incarcerated at Glen Helen Rehabilitation Center near San Bernardino (county jail camp), two of my friends joined me there. We played practical jokes on each other, met new drug connections, and planned what we were going to do when we got out. It was not an unpleasant experience. Not only was being jailed for the night not much of a threat, serving time wasn’t either. After I was released, one of my friends asked, "Well, how did you like it?"

I smiled and said, "I liked it." Compared to what I was expecting, I did like it. To me, it was like being in a summer boy’s camp.

I was a happy kid, a happy-go-lucky teenager, and later a relatively happy drug addict. So why did I quit? Because my life was going nowhere, my family was concerned about me, and I knew my mind and body wouldn’t take the abuse much longer, so after more than 30 years of drug and alcohol addiction, I quit. It was a process, however, rather than a decision.

Would I change anything if I had it to do over again?

No!

Why not?

Because I wouldn’t be who I am today if my life had been lived differently. In my opinion, happiness is part of a temperament that is innate. Of course, life circumstances can alter that, but I believe that the basic temperament is static. If trauma doesn’t strike, and we have had a stable and loving foundation in early childhood, most of us are capable of handling most of life’s encumbrances. That’s my opinion, anyway. However, I don’t believe I could have remained very happy if I had not stopped. Trauma--physical, mental, or spiritual would have inevitably struck.

Before I elaborate any more on my shadow side, I should comment on the shining star of my life--my daughter Lynda. We lost her mother when she was four years old, so before and after and between wives, I raised her. She gives me a mothers day card every year. She and I agree that my drug and alcohol addiction during her childhood has not damaged her. She inevitably became an addict herself, however, but she found recovery after only five years of drug and alcohol abuse. She got clean and sober before I did, and then she hoped and prayed that I would also find recovery. Today, Lynda and I are best friends, and she has brought two more shining stars into my life.

Fortunately, my two grand kids will never have to see me the way my daughter did. They’ll never have to watch the police take me out of the house in handcuffs like my daughter did. They’ll never have to control their behavior according to what drug I was taking like my daughter did. And they’ll never have to endure being embarrassed in public like my daughter did. The most important thing I can share with you today, is that it hasn’t been necessary for me to take a drink or put a needle in my arm since 7 May 1990 (my last relapse date), and for that I am eternally grateful.

I have been arrested over 40 times for various misdemeanor and felony offenses, served five county jail sentences, many probations, and a three-year state prison sentence. Fortunately, I was released from parole early for collegiate scholarship and compulsive attendance in 12-step meetings. Since then I have become responsible and accountable for my actions, which I wasn’t previously capable of.

Addicts have an automatic denial system, especially when it comes to their addiction or when they’ve been accused of something. Most of the more than two million inmates in our country’s prisons are innocent, or so they think.

Before I went to prison, my querulous old friend Jack called me on the phone to explain--or whine (most drug addicts are chronic whiners) about being arrested for a burglary he didn’t commit. He carried on for five minutes about the injustice of it all. The whole time he was ranting on, I thought about the thousands of burglaries he had gotten away with. Finally, I asked: "Jack, why are you so outraged about this?"

"Johnny, I didn’t do it! God damn them! The bastards are trying to frame me."

I calmly replied, "what about all those burglaries you got away with over the last 25 years, Jack?"

"What? don’t get carried away Johnny. The fact is, I didn’t do it. This charge doesn’t have anything to do with what I did before." He dismissed my question as ridiculous.

While I was in the county jail, I overheard the following conversation: "Ya know Frenchy, I wouldn't be here for robbin that liquor store if the damn clutch wasn't bad in that old Chevy of mine. Just as I was taking off, the motor died. I got it started, then it died again. That happened three times. By the time I made it to the corner there were red lights everywhere."

"I hear ya bro, if my old lady's mother wouldn't have turned me in, I wouldn't be here either," replied Straight Razor.

I could identify with those middle-aged bikers, because I have all too often placed the blame for my behavior outside of me. It would have been a waste of time to say, "Frenchy, you wouldn't be here for robbin' a liquor store if you hadn't been robbin' a liquor store." It's strange, but that obvious statement is absurd to them. So it was with me.

While having a beer on my night off in the bar where I was a bartender, one of our regular customers asked if I could get him a quarter gram of speed. I said no. Later he asked again. Again I said no. However, when he asked me again around one o'clock in the morning, I knew that there was some in the bar, so I got the drugs for him. He was an under cover policeman. I fought the sales charge in a jury trial and lost. I took it all the way through the court of appeals, and lost that too. I was entrapped. It was not my fault. They were picking on me. The truth is, if I had not been selling drugs, I would not have gone to prison for selling drugs. However, like Jack and those bikers, I was incapable of being accountable for my actions.

I was 45 years old before I made it to state prison. I had been knocking on the door for twenty years, however. As the judge looked at my wrap sheet he said, "I can’t figure out why you haven’t been sent to prison before." Then he looked at me and said, "I can’t believe that I’m sitting here trying to talk myself out of sending you to prison now."

My wrap sheet didn’t have violent crime on it. Though there are a couple burglary charges and a robbery charge, they were investigation charges and didn’t result in conviction; in fact, they didn’t get past the arraignment or preliminary hearing stage. Most of my offenses were drug and/or alcohol related. I believe that’s why judges were hesitant to send me to prison. But by the time this judge viewed my wrap sheet, there were 40 charges that took up several pages. As it turned out, I am glad he sent me to prison.

A few months after I arrived on the prison yard, there was an experimental program starting called Project Change. It was a nine-week education and therapy program designed for pre-release inmates. On the flyer was a request for interview. I knew that I would never terminate parole successfully unless I refrained from the use of drugs and alcohol, so I filled out the request form and interviewed for a place in the program. I only wanted to remain abstinent for as long as my parole lasted, then I planned on returning to life as I knew it before I was incarcerated--a fun-loving, dope-fiend party animal.

While tending bar prior to going to prison, two of my friends used to come in and drink soda. "What’s up with this, Jerry?" I asked.

"I’m on parole. If I don’t give my PO any dirty tests or I don’t have any brushes with the law, I’ll get off parole early." Jerry and Lisa both got off parole 13 months after their releases, so I was determined to do the same.

I was accepted into Project Change six months prior to my release date. Since the program was just starting, they needed to fill the dorm that was allocated for the program. Later, only inmates in their last 60 days were eligible. A month later I got a clerical position with Project Change. Never having used a computer, I found an inmate in the education department who tutored me until I was familiar with the word processing program on CDC’s Apple computers. Once I was proficient, I typed questionnaires, work sheets, and other classroom material, much of it gleaned from Hazeldon recovery books. We held classes five days a week in the TV room, and part of the dorm was also converted for classroom activities.

Another reason I volunteered, was for the fringe benefits. Project Change students would go to chow first, and they would be first in line for commissary and linen as well as mail call. I am surprised that more inmates didn’t volunteer, if for no other reason than the fringe benefits.

The letters I was receiving from Lynda, my 21-year old daughter, even prior to my enrollment in Project Change, were motivational and rife with 12-step cliches and jargon. She seemed genuinely happy in recovery. What follows is a letter I received from Lynda when I was in prion:

Dear Dad,

Hey, hey, whad’ya know, a letter from your dear ‘ole daughter! Miracles happen! How ya been? Me? Never been better! I’m working the 12 steps in every area of my life & now my reality is a better place to be!! I’m unlearning old patters and recreating my life. It works!

I work at Bobs Big Boy now, and I’m paying back Grandma’s money and saving for a car,... a Fiero. A used one of course, but I want a Fiero & it’s already mine, I just have to claim it. So, by the time you get out, I’d love to take the drive to come and pick you up! I may come visit you if I get it sooner. We’ll see what happens.

You know I haven’t seen you in a long time. I’m dieing (sic) to meet you again! Now that you’re clean and sober, I get to meet "you." Not some crazy, party animal legend, but good ole John Smethers, father of mine. And you get to meet "me." Not a rebellious fuck-the-world, let’s party, crazy adolescent, but good ole Lynda Smethers, daughter of yours. What an adventure this is gonna be!!

Grandma reads "Just for Today" every day so far. She heals every time she reads it. With the both of us doing good for ourselves, heals her. It’s love. The better we get, the better she gets because then she’s not a failure anymore. See what I mean? Guess I’m taking her inventory.

I think there’s something you should know. You have raised a wonderful, beautiful, daughter who is successful! And do you know why? Because you are beautiful and wonderful and successful today! That’s the truth.

I was thinking about my childhood and upbringing. And it was awesome! It was very exciting and sometimes dangerous. Perfect for me. Out of all the insane people and situations, I was taught how to survive. I can remember how you understood me when I needed a curling iron and bought me one. How you allowed me to go hang out with the black family down the street when you are prejudice. How you allowed me to go to church with the neighbors and be baptized when you are atheist. How you took me to the movies on my 1^st date with a Philippino boy whom you were prejudice. How you took me to dances with friends, and when you took me to buy clothes. No matter what crazy things we did and what happened you always let me be me. As my only parent, you tried to understand. Nobody could have told me about my period and about sex better than you did! Your the best mother I could ever have! I want to thank-you for the freedom of choice & belief you gave me. For allowing me to create myself. If I had to be born again & choose my parents, I’d choose you! You did it perfectly! As for the harsh words and violent moments we exchanged, they are forgiven. For myself & you, we make a great team when we’re clean and sober. I love you, I really do.

Your Baby Girl, Snivels [her nick name since she was a child]

I was not much of a father to my daughter and even less of a son to my mother. I had caused them more anguish than I could ever hope to make up for. However, once I started digesting all the literature I was typing and reading and started taking a sincere interest in the Project Change program, I also started feeling the guilt associated with the wreckage of my past. I found myself seriously considering a life without drugs and alcohol, rather than just a temporary abstinence until I got off parole. I started to really want it, not for me, but for my family. After Lynda started reading my letters, now rife with 12-step cliches and jargon, her return letters were so full of hope, encouragement, and happiness, that I became that much more determined to stay clean. She and my mom was so proud of me that I absolutely could not let them down after everything I had put them through.

A mother’s love knows no bounds in many cases. When my mom died, my aunt said, "Johnny, your mother idolized you. To her, the sun rose and set on you. There was nothing or nobody more important to her than you." My mom continued enabling me after her death. The inheritance she left provided me with enough money to finance two graduate degrees and enough for me to live comfortably since then. She went to her grave providing for the little boy she idolized. Today, I idolize her for giving me such unconditional love. She never lost faith in me. She loved me as much when I was drinking and using as she did when I was a kid or after I got clean and sober.

In Project Change we were taught that we had a disease that was chronic, progressive, and fatal: chronic because it never went away, progressive because it kept getting worse, and fatal because it killed people on a regular basis. We also learned about family dynamics such as co-dependency, and we learned about the addictive personality, barriers to intimacy, anger management, and a special focus on relapse prevention. We did role playing in preparation for saying no. We covered a lot of the material that I used later when I worked in a drug rehab. Project Change worked for me. Within four months I believed that I had recovered from a seemingly hopeless case of mind and body. I was certain that I would not drink or use anymore. However, the fact is, even among those who are certain they will not drink or use anymore, most of them will anyway. So it was with me--I had three short relapes

Kathy, one of the teachers in Project Change, recognized that I had academic ability and suggested that I go to school when I got out. I said something like, "Yeah, yeah, sounds like a good idea," but I wasn’t serious and she could see that. She approached me on the matter several times, practically nagging. Finally, I started giving it some serious consideration. I knew that I was going to be living with my mom again when I was released. She was on her last legs, and I wanted to take care of her for as long as she had left. I figured going to school would keep me busy with homework when I was at home. Plus, I could be of help to my mom and at the same time be doing something for myself. When Kathy heard me talking this way, she started believing that I might be serious.

In Project Change I learned that if lasting change is going to take place, one has to monitor and discipline their thought processes; therefore, if I was going to remain abstinent when I was released, I was going to have to change my thinking. As it was, almost every waking moment was spent thinking about either the bar where I was a bartender, how much fun scavenging at the dump was, the people I drank and used with, and all the women I slept with. I came to realize that being in a recovery oriented environment and having this stinking thinking going on in my head at the same time, was like having someone pushing me away and saying "come here" at the same time. I had to ask myself, how can intrinsic recovery take place with such a conflict?

All the great leaders throughout history have taught the principle that our life is the result of our thoughts. Buddha said, "A man’s life is the direct result of his thoughts." Solomon said, "As a man thinks in his heart so is he." Happiness comes from happy thoughts, that’s another reason why I was relatively happy when I was drinking and using (or maybe I choose to only remember the good times). Success comes from successful thoughts, failure from failing thoughts, etc. So it is, our life is controlled by our thinking.

Our minds have two parts: a conscious part and an unconscious part. The ‘depth’ component of Depth Psychology is the unconscious part. The conscious part is what we think and reason with, but the unconscious part controls bodily functions such as breathing, blood circulation, digestion, etc.--it never sleeps and is working all the time. It’s like a computer. It takes in data and processes it. It has a memory of everything that has ever happened to us, from the day we were born to the present moment. It is non-judgmental. It doesn’t know what is good or what is bad. It doesn’t care whether the thoughts come from us or from others. If we don’t take the effort to program it positively, our unconscious will take directions from other people or from the environment or from our own self talk.

I use to wonder why I didn’t always get what I wanted or why I couldn’t do certain things. Perhaps I was sending negative messages to my unconscious, or maybe it picked up negative inputs from those around me. My dad always said that I was too easily influenced by my friends. I was.

One of the tenets of the Project Change program was: If our lives are not what we want, we have the power to change it. And we change it by changing our thoughts, which are programmed to our unconscious.

So, I invented a methodology to change my thinking: I simply decided that I would shoo my old thoughts away, and replace them with different thoughts. I did this quite literally. With my hand in a swishing motion by my ear, I shooed the recurring thoughts away and started thinking other thoughts. Walking around the big yard shooing thoughts away in that manner, I could tell by the looks I was getting that I was being viewed through jaundiced eyes. A nut case, I’m sure, they must have thought. I didn’t care. I was on the road to a new life without drugs and alcohol.

At first it took me a long time to remember to shoo the recurring thoughts away, so I only did it two or three times a day. As time passed, however, I started doing it more often, and then even more often, until I was doing it a lot--maybe 20 or 30 or even 40 times a day. That’s when I was getting so many of the looks from other inmates. After awhile I discovered that I wasn’t doing it as often. It started going back the other way. As time went on I did it less and less because I wasn’t thinking the old thoughts as often anymore. I had replaced them with new thoughts. And then . . . guess what? After about three or four months I had exorcized all those old thoughts by replacing them with thoughts of what I really wanted to be doing and where I really wanted to be when I got out. I visualized myself in 12-step meetings, and I visualized myself in college classrooms. I also visualized spending time at home taking care of my mom, which of course, served as further impetus to remain clean. How could I be a comfort to my mother at the end of her life if I was still drinking and using? Eventually, staying clean had become the very most important thing in my life, more important than having fun, even more important than my daughter and mother. Without total abstinence, what good would I be to them? They may have been my incentive for getting clean, but staying clean finally became my top priority.

A couple months before my release date, Kathy volunteered to help me with the tedious financial aide paperwork so I could get the federal Pell Grant when I was released. I received the financial aide paperwork and she helped me with it like she promised. I was 45 years old and was going to be a college student again. I tried going to college twice in the early ‘60s, both of which were failures, so I came to accept that I wasn’t college material. And maybe I wasn’t . . . then.

My daughter had gotten clean and sober while I was doing time in the county jail--about a year before I went to prison. She still has the letters I wrote to her during that time, plus the ones I wrote from prison. After reading over them, I am amazed at all the fatherly advice I was giving her. Some of it was actually sound, but most of it was from a refractory and hedonistic loser with an inflated male ego. One thing was consistent in those letters, however. I never failed to tell her how proud I was of her and how much I loved her. If nothing else she grew up knowing she was loved. And that, I believe, is the reason she is the epitome of motherhood to my two grandchildren today.

Letters she wrote to me was recovery oriented, and she mentioned several of my dope-fiend friends who were showing up in AA meetings. It was comforting to know that I was going to have friends at meetings when I got out, but since I considered myself more of a drug addict than an alcoholic (I never thought of alcohol as a drug), I planned on attending NA meetings. I eventually resolved to attend both.

Today I own the home I grew up in and I have earned a few university degrees culminating with a Ph.D. My car, truck, and camper are paid for, but none of those things are what makes me happy. The closeness I share with my daughter and grand children make me happy. Thinking about the time I spent caring for my mom before she died makes me happy. But could I have sustained the happiness I had during childhood, adolescence, and through much of my drug and alcohol use had I not stopped.

No.

Why?

I will answer that by quoting a paragraph written above:

"In my opinion, happiness is part of a temperament that is innate. Of course, life’s circumstances can alter that, but I believe that the basic temperament is static. If trauma doesn’t strike, and we have had a stable and loving foundation in early childhood, most of us are capable of handling most of life’s encumbrances. That’s my opinion, anyway."

It is highly unlikely that I could have handled the mental, physical, and emotional encumbrances resulting from continued drug and alcohol use. I learned early in recovery that becoming responsible and accountable for our actions is a cornerstone of a life well lived.

Hopefully, my now-published book Scumbag Sewer Rats, and my forthcoming book Scumbag to Ph.D.: 30 Years of Drug Addiction is published, and other contributions such as this autobiographical sketch, I will be an inspiration to others and their families who don’t believe that there is Redemption for a Drug Addict.