Pilgrimage

On the first weekend in October, I took a road trip to Vermont so that I could be present at my friend Suzanne's wedding. The drive from Virginia to Vermont is long, but I had a fine trip, arriving at Bennington in the early evening on a Friday. It was dark by the time I reached my destination.

The next morning, even though I had only had a few hours of rest, I awakened refreshed before the alarm went off. I hopped out of bed, shaved & showered, and dressed warmly in wool pants and a bright orange sweater. I headed to the other end of Main Street to a 7:00 meeting of Alcoholics Anonymous. It was a chilly but sunny day.

Thirty 30+ people gathered at the Baptist church, and there was one newcomer, so the group shared short personal stories about their experiences with alcohol, and the strength and hope they had found in Alcoholics Anonymous. I mentioned how grateful I was for the meeting, since I was traveling solo from out of town, and would be attending a social event which would include an open bar later in the day.

Afterwards, I was invited to a coffeehouse with several members of the group, and we had a nice time getting to know one another. There was some talk about local real estate, and one woman mentioned that she & her husband had purchsed an old house from an elderly couple, and found out after they moved in that the previous owner was a crossdresser. One room upstairs had been turned into an enormous closet for his finery, and he had enjoyed making grand entrances via the sweeping staircase to the foyer. Just when you think Vermonters are a little prim and boring...

I was able to get confirmed directions to East Dorset over coffee and an almond scone. Before I left Richmond, I learned that Bennington is just a few miles south of the birthplace and final resting spot of Bill Wilson, one of the co-founders of Alcoholics Anonymous, so I was determined to make a pilgrimage to East Dorset.

One of the ladies at the table, Sue, had inherited property south of the town of Bennington, and operates an antique store. After coffee, I moseyed around a church bazaar, and then visited Sue's antique shop. While I was at Sue's, my sponsor called to see how I was getting along in New England, so I told him about the meeting. Then Kristen, Suzanne's maid of honor, called and we made plans for breakfast.

After breakfast with Suzanne & Kristen, the three of us went on a hunt for large glass vases for the roses Suzanne had flown in from South America. Things were looking grim until the frustrated bride suggested trash cans. I found two mock cut-crystal plastic trash cans in the bath section of Walmart, and the problem was solved. No one would have guessed they weren't expensive vases once Kristen arranged the roses in them.

I decided that Sunday would be the day for my journey to East Dorset, so I took off after breakfast. The fall colors were beautiful on the trees, and soon I was standing outside Wilson House, the inn where Bill W. was born in a room behind (appropriately) the bar in 1895. The building still operates as a bed & breakfast, and draws recovering alcoholics from all over the globe. Many old homes in New England have the barn attached to the back of the house so that livestock could be tended easily in cold winter months. The barn at the inn is now a huge meeting room, with comfortable seating areas and a large stone fireplace. Everyone I met was happy to be there and very friendly. I was also given a key to explore the small house nearby where Bill spent many of his childhood years with his grandparents.

On my way back to Bennington, I had one last stop on the outskirts of East Dorset. On the west bank along Route 7 lies an old country cemetery. Here, Bill and his wife Lois are buried. As I pulled into the cemetery, I scanned the hillside and wondered how I would find the graves. On a far slope to the back of the graveyard, I saw a dozen people standing in a circle. I knew that was the spot.

The group was leaving as I approached, so I stood alone at the grave of an ordinary man who made an extraordinary difference in my life and the lives of many others. Because of him, I am alive today. He had faced the same struggles as me, felt the same hopelessness & despair, and been wracked by the bewildering craving for another drink - even though it was killing him. He discovered the key that eluded the medical experts: recovery from this fatal disease is possible when one alcoholic helps another.

The graves of Bill & Lois are honored with simple tokens left by other recovering alcoholics: stones, medallions & chips, meeting schedules from distant places, and personal thank-you notes. The grass was worn bare around these graves.

Not too long ago, I could not have imagined that I would be at this place, feeling the warm sun and the brisk breeze, seeing the splendid autumn colors of the trees, and being overtaken by a deep sense of peace and gratitude.