Friday is Good!

On Good Friday, 1999 I entered the SHARE Recovery Home in Hoffman Estates. I had been sober for eleven days after spending three days in the detox unit of Hinsdale Hospital. I spent an additional eight days in the psych ward on voluntary admission. That's how many days I had left on my insurance for inpatient care. I had been fired while there. I was so afraid that I was going to drink, that the extra few days with the guys in white was not of concern to me. I so desperately wanted to begin a life free from chemical dependency.

Although I had to surrender my shoe laces, pointed objects, belt and any thing else that I could do harm to myself or someone else with, I was free to come and go from the unit to attend recovery meetings. I spent time in the chapel trying to sort out the insanity that I had been living in. It's hard to make sane decisions with a sick mind. I loved the quietness and peace the tiny room offered and symbolized. I was still fearing, running from, and chasing after a GOD I did not understand. I still figured he didn't have the time to deal with my petty problems. My temporary stay in Hinsdale would be the start of almost five years without alcohol. It was also where I was first diagnosed as being Bi-Polar.

I chose not to participate in craft making during my stay. The thought of making Popsicle stick and macaroni pictures made me feel too much as if I was one of the lock down patients. They were nuts. I wasn't one of them! I surmised that putting yourself in a psych ward didn't count! I spent those times alone trying to sort out what I was going to do with my life when I was on the outside again. I also had visits with the psychologist who wanted to know what made me tick and sick. I lied and denied that I was a REAL alcoholic. I was just a guy who let things get out of control for a bit. He saw right through my addict speak and we got down to how my racing mind and tattered body had driven me to self-commitment.

I explained to him that while most folks could sit and read the morning paper while enjoying a nice cup of coffee, I didn't have the ability to focus on one thing...EVER! 2 minutes after I met someone I couldn't even tell you their name. I still struggle with that problem. I went on to intimate that while I was reading the paper and sipping my coffee, three different songs were running through my head. I was reliving painful moments of my past and obsessing about the doom that was certain to fall upon me at any moment. I was worried about war, famine and the laundry. All I did was THINK...THINK...THINK!

His diagnosis of manic depression, or Bipolar Disorder was swift. As he explained the symptoms and parallels to my life I couldn't deny that it was me he was describing to the letter. He went on to share the fact that many people with BPS and depression often self medicate with drugs and alcohol to slow their minds. I was put on a commonly prescribed medication and he went on his way. I had a hard time accepting the diagnosis even though I knew I suffered manic highs and the darkest of lows. I now embrace the fact, and try to educate people on the misconceptions of mental disorders, or more accurately chemical imbalances.

After my eleven days were up and I entered SHARE for 27 days. My loved ones didn't come to "Family Night." I spent Easter with my new recovery friends as most of the others laughed with their folks and children. After my treatment was complete, my third marriage fell apart. Our toxic relationship that was once strained by my addiction was unsalvageable in sobriety. I checked into the Lagrange YMCA. It was a sad desperate place. It was only 90 days after arriving there that I began to use pot and speed heavily. It was classic switch and control behavior. It was just new candy for the same sick kid. The thick roots of addiction erased the gratitude that God had given me yet ANOTHER chance. I began to have anger issues that I did not understand. The medication I was on was not working for me.

 I stayed on it for nearly 3 years before I realized that something was terribly wrong with my mood swings. The drugs I was ingesting was massive and grew with each passing day. I wasn't drinking. I saw no problem with the drugs. I didn't have a desire to drink. It is no wonder that I was not progressing in establishing. emotional balance. It often takes several different trials of medications to find the one that truly offers balance. I was once again masking my discomfort with prescriptions from Dr. Feelgood. As of this writing, through chemical free living, and the help of a therapist, my mania and depression have been arrested for the most part.

I stopped going to recovery meetings even though they held them in the very building I lived in, and throughout Lagrange. I quit talking to people like me. I did nothing that was suggested for a life of contented sobriety. I could do it all on my own. I was a survivor, a warrior! That need to figure it out on my own is a common addiction thread. Nobody understands us. Nobody feels like we do. No one can help us. We have all the answers.

It would be another nine more years before I was completely sober. Between my days living in the street to the last drunken end I learned to be highly functional in my disease. I lived 7 years with my depression unchecked. My addiction was a roller coaster ride of ups and downs and I couldn't get off! The highs were never high enough to slow my thoughts down. My using was increasing but my professional career was booming. Good money was coming in and bringing out bad behavior. I had all the justification in the world! I was salesman of the month! I was top ten in the country! How could I possibly be out of control? Even after Squeaky left me for a few weeks and I tried to end my life, I still couldn't stop....

On GOOD FRIDAY 2012 God's grace was shining on me. I finally completed and submitted the final manuscript for Soul Parole: Making Peace with My Mind, GOD and Myself. My marriage is stronger than ever. My friends are close. My recovery is strong. I am doing the next right thing, a day at a time. I have worked on 3 TV series in the last month and have a commercial and 2 movies to shoot in the coming weeks. I have two agencies considering representing me on a tour promoting the book.

As I felt the tension, brought on from deadlines and editing subside, I realized it was Good Friday. I saw the grace of God shining into my world. On that holy day that represents the end of suffering and the beginning of life renewed in paradise, I had come full circle. Where there was once only despair, there is rebirth. I was lost but now am found. Hopefully, Soul Parole will help someone seek sobriety, a relationship walking with God and let them know that dreams come true. For almost 28 years I was lost in the wilderness. I was lost but now...I'm found! HE saved a wretch like me. Every Day IS a GIFT.

A Christmas of Love and Extra Hands of Hope....

On November 13, 2012 I was 3 months away from the anniversary of my third year of chemical free sobriety. My dedication to service work to those in need was at an all time high. I couldn't imagine my life without it. From helping others in sobriety to lending a hand at an area food pantry my life was rich with the desire to serve.

About that time a friend I had worked with as a movie extra came to me with an idea to start a toy drive similar to "Toys for Tots," mobilizing actors and extras to help the less fortunate. I loved the idea from the start. My all or nothing mentality set in. This cause was ALL IN for me. My mind began to brainstorm on who and how we could make it happen.

After working in several underserved neighborhoods on the South Side of Chicago in the past, I wanted to center our efforts there. In the inner city poverty, foreclosures and the jobless rate is double that of the national average. I did much of my work in Englewood where crime rates are high and the pressures of the economic downturn are clearly visible.

I called my church and asked if they could put me in touch with a community support organization on the South Side. They gave me names of worthy local programs and one in Englewood. It was as if God had directed me to the place I wanted so desperately to reach out to. The name of the organization is Urban Youth Outreach (urban7.com), a safehouse for underserved and homeless kids situated in a home at 63d and Union. The fearless man who devotes his life to the kids, and GOD, is Pastor Keith Vosler. I told him what we were trying to do and set up a meeting.

On my first trip to Urban Youth Outreach I was unaware that the home was located in the middle of a powerful gang controlled part of the city. I had been given the address and was looking for a church. I pulled down the street and pulled over waiting for the Pastor to pull up to what was the safehouse. I did not realize I had parked my car in front of a gang leader's home. I was  concerned when two cars with blacked out windows began driving past my car repeatedly. I quickly realized that it was not a good situation.

One of the cars began to pull along the side of my car. The window rolled down slowly and the driver was slouched down behind the wheel with just one eye peeking over the door. I knew instantly I was in trouble. My window was rolled down. I prayed and waited for his next move. I have been around the city enough to recognize he was a street soldier positioned to shoot.

 He asked if I was in the right place. I looked at the car as I spoke, careful not to show disrespect as I answered his questions. I replied that I was looking for Pastor Vosler. He never sat up, but told me he was in the corner house. I thanked him and breathed a sigh of relief. The car slinked away back to the areas he was protecting.

It wasn't long before a tiny white man pulled up in front of the home. He was all of about 5'7" and had a smile that was infectious. I have to be honest that based on our conversations, and the fact that we were in the middle of a stretch of African American churches, my mental picture was of a Black Minister with a swagger and unshakeable purpose in helping the kids.

I was instantly captivated by the conviction of this man, and the fearlessness that glimmered in his eyes. The house is more of a compound than a church. It truly is a safehouse. The Pastor quickly informed me that the houses down the street where I originally parked were home to street liutenients who commanded over 100,000 soldiers in the city. I thanked GOD again and knew I had chosen the right place for the drive.

During our previous discussions the pastor explained to me that the ministry served more than 200 plus families and several kids living on the streets. The house provided safety, food, games and access to computers, along with words of hope and a message of faith. After our talk I decided to expand the drive to clothes and books along with toys.

I returned home and began to work on a name for our cause. I came up with "Extra Hands of Hope." I drew a basic concept for the logo. It was a peace sign made of hands. A local graphic artist Victor T. brought it to life. The logo was amazing. It far exceeded my rough sketch and wildest dreams.

I immediately began to call the casting companies in Chicago. I contacted both extras casting and principal casting companies. The first on board was Atmosphere Casting owner Jon Kinnas, Joan Philo of JP Casting and Darlene Hunt of Extraordinary Casting. They all agreed to join in the cause. Jon offered to be media contact. Darlene offered field support and Joan said to call if we needed anything else.

I was amazed that the competitive nature of the 3 was cast aside to embrace a worthy cause. The next step was to secure drop box locations for toy, winter clothing and book donations. A plea on Facebook got the ball rolling. As we moved forward I approached the 3 biggest principal casting companies to see if they too would take part in our mission. Simon Casting, Paskal-Rudnicke and O'Connor Casting all said yes. Some have told me it was the first time that all of the cities casting agencies had come together for one common project. I was grateful to all of them and felt GOD was making things happen to make the drive a success.

The logos were printed. Jeffrey H., a Sag insider, offered a donation of 20 drop boxes. Jay D. promised to get the Screen Actors Guild involved. I reached out to several "Ma and Pa" stores and community centers to see if they would allow a drop box at their location. Not one of them said no.

Every day I made impassioned pleas to the Facebook community to join the cause. With well over 100,000 actors in Chicago I knew we couldn't fail. Along thwe way friends began to offer their help. Jeffrey H., Jan and Kera S., Theresa C., The Bolber family, Charmane W. and Randy B. were my elves. After trying to run the show alone I saw that as in most cases reaching out my hand to friends was needed if we were to reach our goals.We also took on two more organizations bringing the total number of families we hoped to serve to 800.

The drive was to run for 30 days between November 17th and December 17th. 16 locations were secured around the city. The casting agencies put notices of the drive on their home pages and Jon Kinnas did a press blast announcing Extra Hands of Hopes' mission. Boxed were put in place and I sat back and waited for them to fill up with everything the families needed to make Christmas extra special.

Yahoo Contributor Patricia B. ran a story on the cause (appendix). I was certain the city would embrace the idea. I was certain that as in "A Field of Dreams," if we built it they would come. I could just sit back and drop off the thousands of donations to Keith back at Urban 7. For the first few weeks things looked shakey.

Everyday I posted what we needed. I was emailing my drop box locations like a man posessed. I felt like a tv preacher trying to get people to "fill them boxes." I waited for the press to jump on the story. The casting agencies devoted more announcements and even pages devoted to the drive. Still there was no media pick up.

For the first 2 weeks dribbles and drabs of items began to come in. Charmane W. recorded a song to encourage people to give. I am confident that it will be a song known to many as we make the event an annual event. We moved from collecting only new items to "gently used." That would be the ticket. My prayer life couldn't be stronger. With every call I made to my satellite elves there was only a couple items in the box or nothing at all. I prayed harder but I can honestly say that I was discouraged. I was concerned about the kids and didn't want to let them down.

Meanwhile Jan S. and Jeffrey H. were making things happen on the North Side. The halfway point came and it looked like we would only be able to help about 25 families. There was no way we could accomodate the original goal of 800. I bought the website extrahandsofhope.org. I was beginning to see that a month was too short of a time frame to collect the amount of resources needed. Jon did another press blast. Paskal-Rudnicke, O'Connor and Simon Casting all had postings. Where had I gone wrong?

As we closed in on the collection date of December 15th I was happy for what we had accomplished to date but disappointed that I had not brought corporate sponsers into the mix. My own disdain for Big Brother got in the way of doing the best for the families. People shared kudos and posts congratulating us on a job well done. I set my goals so high I was having a hard time seeing just how much we had done.

On the the 14th we began to collect items from the boxes. Charmane covered the downtown. Pert cleaners on Irving seemed to be a fountain of giving. Randy had collected several items of his own. As we made our rounds to clear the drop boxes our cars began to fill up. Jen had a warehouse lined up for us. Kids were joining in. Police officers hopped on board. We were beginning to see things shape up at the finish line.

We assembled at the warehouse and were astounded at what we had. Darlene, Jon, Erin and Jess from Girls Gone Casting, Jennifer from Paskal-Rudnicke, Claire Simon all came in at the end with huge personal donations. We were blown away with what we had amassed. I finally felt the beauty and generosity of the actors and agencies around this beautiful city. I had been overwhelmed by the logistics and almost missed the spirit of the Christmas Season.

We counted and sorted. I had rented a truck for the haul down to Urban7. Pastor Vosler had assembled a team at the house and we were ready to rendesvous at 3pm. There were clothes, coats, toys, books, bikes and every conceivable item. The two funniest donations were a can of pumkin filling and a karate outfit. It was all the more encouragement as it was a bitter cold day as we sorted. Theresa was dressed as an elf. We had Santa hats donated to us. We laughed and shivered our way as we organized the booty.

By the time we had finished we had hundreds of coats, shoes, kids outfits, books, jeans, toys, stuffed animals and various odds and ends. We would meet our original goal of helping Urban7's 200 families. I was grateful to have such wonderful friends and supporters of the worthy cause. I imagined the smiling faces of the kids and gratitude of their parents. I felt Christmas joy bubble up inside me. It warmed me to the core.

We made our way to the safehouse. The cube truck I had rented was completely full. As we arrived at Urban Youth Outreach there were small children dancing and singing by the gates excited to see what the truck held inside. The Pastor's army of volunteers began to pur out and move the haul from the truck into the house. A team of missionaries had come in from Arizona to help sort the gifts for distribution to the families during the annual community dinner.

At the last minute we were shocked and amazed that a few groups outside of ours were delivering packages to the center directly. I was extra grateful because I wanted others to see the amazing work the Pastor was doing in the community. It is a place where some kids get their only meal and clothing from. I pictured them with a shiny new toy as they returned to the street. I prayed for them that they would find safety and a home.

As we finished up the drop Pastor Keith explained that he treated a gun shot wound a week at the home. These are mean streets where he had set up the home. The little man with the big heart was fearless. Stories of kids coming to the compound with guns and intentions to shoot other youngsters after losing basketball games left us gasping. Our respect for the Pastor's mission grew. He is truly a miracle worker.

Jeff and I left the outreach feeling blessed that we were making a difference. It was another example in my life that I can't go it alone. So many people stepped up at the end and took us over the finish line. We warmed ourselves in the truck and began talking about Christmas 2012. My plans are to make Extra Hands of Hope a full time charity. This time I will put my feelings aside and approach every store and corporation I can find. A council of elders will be in place to relieve me of the burden of such a massive undertaking. We will start months earlier instead of weeks. I will have a game plan in place.

My wife asked me what I wanted for Christmas. I thought about her question and couldn't find an answer. I was filled with the joy of giving. My normal practice of self-criticism had been pushed aside. I told her I was grateful for whatever her and the kids chose. As we sat opening gifts on Christmas morning I couldn't help but think of the kids in Englewood. We had made a difference and put some smiles on tiny little faces. Pastor Vosler told me the items were gone within hours and the new gifts were distributed at the dinner.

God gives me all I need and more. It is so easy to forget those underserved and overlooked in our world and city. I get frustrated when people say the folks in the inner city have the same opportunities and resources we have in the suburbs and nicer city neighborhoods. It is just plain not true. I would suggest to those who hold that philosophty to take a ride down to Englewood for an afternoon and come back and chat with me again. I defy anyone to return with the same thoughts about the area.

I am grateful to all those who helped, donated and were drop locations for the first year of Extra Hands of Hope. It will certainly become an annual event. I have the elves in place. They took a simple plan and turned it into a beautiful reality. My worry that the kids would not be served was for naught. God came through working through his people. He always seems to amaze me with his grace when I least expect it. I am humbled by his surprises.

STATEVILLE PRISON-"You Make Those Guys Laugh You're Funny."-Brenner

STATEVILLE! My First Invitation to Prison and I Didn't Want To Leave.....(original unedited copy 12/10)

 Soul Parole:Making Peace with My Mind, GOD and Myself  (PREVIEW)

I was part of the "Comedy Faith Outreach" Ministry Tour that did a show at Stateville Prison. The program was conceived by comic, and spiritual leader George "Milkdud" Poe, and coordinated on Statesville's end by the unforgettable prison Chaplain Adamson. The Comedy/Faith Ministry has already visited Dwight Women's Correctional Institution and will be heading to Danville Prison a week from today. I was honored to be a part of that show. It changed the direction of my career dramatically and I hope it changed some young men's future choices as well.

I have been in a jail before. I have even spent a night in one or two before. No, it wasn't for a charity fundraiser but the jail did raise some funds from my personal overnight stays and the required fees for me to be released. PRISON is a different universe. Statesville Prison is another dimension. Let me put it this way. Stateville is an enigma wrapped in ah....whatever that thing Churchill talked about during the war, but just add some really heavy vibes, killers, thieves, murderers, rapists and some guys who made some really poor choices. It was an unforgettable day for me and I hope it was for them too. I was one of 7 comedians and a headliner, plus an emcee and Minister. Lets startfrom the beginning.

Pulling into Stateville, you are quickly deceived by the tranquil drive outside of the massive maximum security that stands a quarter mile from the perky entrance. I felt like I was heading down Forest Gump's driveway. The words Stateville are written out neatly in big stones. I wanted to grab a couple of the big fellers and put em' in my drawers because I realized trying to humor 300 inmates, who may never seefreedom again, was like having a mild stroke at a morticians convention. They would all just be staring at me, waiting for their moment. I pulled into the staff lot and could see the armed guards waving down at me. I wish it was with their teeth. My smile was much more disarming as I was unarmed.

I went into the visitor center and checked in with a sergeant who didn't know about the show. Government didn't work on the inside either. That gave me comfort in my choice to join the band of merry makers. Chaplain Bishop came out and greeted me along with Tom Dykstra, Ray Fisher and Salty Peters. Milkdud Poe, our emcee and minister for the show's end, wasn't there yet. We were waiting for Poe, Patrick Bagdon, Jay Washington and headliner Lady Lunchabell.

I really wasn't as nervous as I thought I would be. I had been in cuffs a few times, was comfortable around weapons and hung out with some bad guys back in the booze and dope days. The cool thing was that back then, I would spend the night hopped up and paranoid that I could get busted for an assortment of things that I was doing. I was clean the day of the show. I knew I was going home and I was eyeing up a couple of the weaker comics like we were gazelle in the Serengeti. If someone was going down it wasn't going to be me. I had been doing leg crunches all week and had a reverse chastity belt made for the gig. The only thing I feared was a skeleton key.

Chaplain Adamson was not what I pictured. I was the idiot picturing Spencer Tracy in a collar and whites. No. Adamson was part Jeff Bridges, part Chuck Norris and part Dennis Hopper, but with a theological bend instead of an existential one. He was cool, all the way from his pony tail to his snake skin boots. I wanted this guy on my side if I was dying or in a bar fight. After we left I saw why he needed all these characteristics to survive, and thrive, with a positive message in a pretty dark place. The chaplain also had a great sense of humor...I think. Being April Fool's Day he told the 300 inmates we were performing for that we were theologians from around the country, coming in for a round table discussion.

Our fearless leader George Poe, Patrick Bagdon and Jay Washington arrived and we began our walk to the gymnasium for the "theological symposium." The walk took about 4 days. I would have been thrilled with a "Green Mile." This was a "Red faced 2!" I walked the line and hummed the Johnny Cash song, keeping my head down. The chaplain kept us cool with funny stories and the guys we met were very respectful. I tried to act like I was just one of them. I was for a couple years as I recall. I was proud to be part of a show that was sending a positive message to these men and glad that I had the stones to commit to doing it. I will do it again. Milkdud, you have my word.

We entered the gymnasium to a largely minority group of males, who at first looked pissed that we weren't imams or monks or bishops. I thought I would piss myself but I didn't want to rust the chastity belt and create a possible weakness in one of the hinges. Adamson had a podium and 8 chairs sprawled out in front of our captive audience. He is a truly inspiring guy with the perfect demeanor for a difficult job.

As I sat and listened to the first few comics do their sets, I was people watching. I can't speak for other comics or actors but I literally could watch people for hours on end. My favorite part of air travel is the terminal, not the flight. Human behavior is fascinating. I saw these guys as men, not inmates. I wondered to myself what they had done to get there. Out of the 300 I saw, one young man was barely 20. I have belts that old. A haggard old gentleman of about 90 sat calm and chiseled with life experience. I also saw two people I recognized from recovery groups I had attended with in the past. I was floored. My life's troubles seemed like whining suddenly. I won't speak on the morality of the deeds the men did but they were paying their dues to society.

It EASILY could have been me sitting there and one of those guys telling jokes. I just didn't get caught. I got the breaks. I was leaving that night to have a nice dinner not mystery meat and beans-n-rice. You become very aware of how blessed you are after being in a prison. We were allowed to bring in a piece of paper and an I.D. That was it. No Tic-Tacs, Chapstick, Blackberry or bubble gum. We take for granted how we can just reach into our pocket for some Bazooka or an Atomic Fire Ball. These guys would love to have that just once in a while as a TREAT.

After Tom, Ray and Salty did funny, well received sets. Then it was my turn. A calm came over me. I opened with a bit about this being my first sold out gig and that after reviewing all the restrictions on material, I was left with only Knock, Knock jokes. I told a few more and went on to talk about my alcoholism at 17, homelessness at 32, 4 marriages and now an acting and comedy career starting to take off at age 45! I'm in "The Chicago Code" with "Flashdance" knock-out Jennifer Beals, blah, blah. The point being that I never gave up, even when I wanted to die.

Hell, I used to pray to die! Literally, as the roaches crawled on me. I told them to have faith in the goodness of their God because He saved my ass for some reason. I am nobody special but we all have our burdens to face each day and we have to keep our chins up and move forward. I didn't make light or try to intimate that I had a clue as to what they were facing, but I did tell them that we all are in prison within our hearts and minds. Some of us do it in jail. Some at Walmart. Some of us alone in our bed. Life is for living, no matter what your circumstances are. No man is better or worse than the next in God's eyes. We have all failed. We will all stand before Him and account for our actions individually.

Jay Washington came out and tore the house down. He is one of Chicago's hottest! Patrick Bagdon was feeling a little under the weather but I admire the fact that he showed up to the gig and kept his word. That's a pro. Of course, Lady Lunchchabell had them rolling in the aisles and I just soaked it all in. George "Milkdud" Poe wrapped up with his words of faith, surrender, hope and redemption. He hit all the good stuff. He has a gift for comedy but more importantly, faith. It was the most memorable show I have ever done. Then came the twist...

As we finished it seemed like, we/I shook hands with all 300 men who were in that sweaty gymnasium. I was not concerned about why they were there. I was glad I had made them laugh and given them a moment or two of hope. It might have been the high point of their day. As I said earlier, the restrictions on our material made me take a hard look at my set and write comedy that could play anywhere from a church to a nursing home and it felt good. It also taught me that we are all screw ups, some just get caught. Some of us are screwed up and live in a prison of our own, in our own private universes that we call our lives.

About half way through the hand shaking, a young man stopped by and said he was inspired by my message from addict to actor/comic, faith and hope and asked if I would give him my autograph. Any comic or actor remembers the first time someone asks for their autograph. At least I will. This was my first. It was not an ego feeding moment. He asked me to sign his bible where he had written some encouraging, sad, desperate and cheerful thoughts over the years for inspiration. There were a lot of notes. I was moved to a little tear, and certainly wasn't going to take that moment to scrawl in 2 inch letters, "GREAT TO MEET YOU MY MAN, ALL THE BEST TOMMY CONNOLLY", especially in a Bible. I took it as a message to keep my ego in check and that I can deliver a clean show and message that is funny and uplifting. God has a sense of humor. For the first autograph request in my career, I merely wrote next to his notes "Faith Not Fear." I printed it like it was for a 1st grade school paper. That's how humbled I was by the moment. I was proud that my words touched the young man. I was moved to humbly print in pencil a word of encouragement to him and pray that he finds a new path when he gets back on the other side of the wall - if he gets to the other side of the wall.

I was glad to be a human on this earth, trying to get along on this troubled ball of pain and confusion we know as Earth. God Bless. Never did I think, EVER, that my first request for my John Hancock would be in the words of God! I had a goal of reading the Bible cover to cover the first year of my sobriety. I had a Gideon's Bible from one of the crack hotels I lived in during the late 90's. Every night I would scribble a line or two about my feeling after reading a few pages. It became a sort of diary in the footnote of that Bible from my "Lost Years." I finished reading it from Genesis to Revelations that year and I have a journal of my first year of sobriety.

That young man saying I gave him inspiration and putting a few words of hope in his Bible made that whole thing come full circle. My pain wasn't wasted years fully realized in a moment. Good luck to all of you. Bishop Adamson, keep slinging the word and riding that white pony. You are a tribute to the profession, a great messenger and I am amazed you can walk around with a Bible in one hand and 50 pound cahones weighing you down all with a smile in your heart.

To Milkdud, The Bishop, Jay, Lady, Patrick, Salty, Tom, Ray and "The Comedy Faith Outreach" Tour and Ministry: thanks for letting me be a part of such an amazing day. I will never forget it. Amen.