Remembering Dennis

      The last of the sober cowboy poets has left the building, and things won't be the same around here.  Dennis's stories, (and boy he had some stories) were colorful, poignant, and sometimes true.  He'd be the first to tell you, with a central casting Irish twinkle in his eye "never let the truth get in the way of a good story."  Yes, he had the Irish storyteller's gift for a bit o' the blarney, yet he was probably one of the most honest of our members when it mattered.  And I don't think anyone's attention ever drifted when Dennis was holding court in a meeting, because he had so much to say, and always said it in the language of the heart.  Dennis inhabited a world of jakey bums, tickle bullets and cash register honesty, and his stories were laced with these colorful gems.  A favorite of mine was the one about rolling off a freight train and careening down the stairs of the old Centerville where his sober journey miraculously got its start.  Long before he passed on, whenever I heard a train whistle, I would think of him and smile.  Dennis's gratitude for the sober life was obvious, and yet he was stubborn in his concern that the program might change his personality.  As far as I can see it didn't, except for the quiet generosity in his considerable commitment to helping other alcoholics.  I know he was a praying man, because so many of his sentences began with the invocation JESUS CHRIST!

I met Dennis at the nooner, when we were both brand new and a bit ambivalent about sticking around.  We did, and gradually got comfortable with the terms of our surrender, which in the long run turned out to be the best deal in town.  Dennis met Annie in a hail of tickle bullets, and a great love story ensued.  I treasure having known the two of them, constant reminders of the simplicity of the program, just show up, don't drink, go to meetings.  So when you hear that train whistle, think of Dennis, he was one of the great ones. 

Richard Mayer

January 2019