The First Clubhouse – 1274 Alamaden Street

Jim was a joiner, and at the time, Alano Clubs, primarily drying out places, although many varied in purpose, were being recommended for people like that. Jim approached Bob S., Dean Mc., John D. and others, and John D. said “If you can raise the money, we’ll start a club of our own.” That was all Jim needed. With a list of those he thought would agree and those he thought could be talked into it, he made the rounds again. Money was tight then, especially for alcoholics. There were a few who had their own business, so Jim made a special effort with them. He went to Carl T. at his jewelry store on First Street near the Hester Theater. Carl put in $50. Bob S. owned a window shade company – another $50. John D.’s mortuary provided another $50. And so it went – those who could did; willing to share for the sake of those who couldn’t.

With money in hand, they looked for a place to settle. The criterion was simple: inexpensive and cheap. As it happened, Bob G. had a dry cleaning shop on Almaden Ave. next to a vacant house. Shack is a better description, but the rent was right: $30 a month. No bathroom and it lacked in a few other ways, but it met the most important criteria – it was cheap.

AA member Martin K was against a club, feeling that it would create resentments. Bob G had started a club, of sorts, earlier at Vine and Virginia Streets, but that former sign shop was an exclusive group dedicated to card playing, mostly poker. This was often cited as a negative example. Herman K wanted a place to socialize, and didn’t want AA meetings at the club. Johnny B loved to dance, so his preference, naturally, would include room for that. Martin, sober since December 7, 1941, was a recognized spiritual leader, so when Johnny, a salesman by trade, began to solicit support for the new clubhouse, Martin’s objections to gambling were a key obstacle to overcome. The old-timers (8, 9 and 10 years at the time) said that a clubhouse would create resentments. Johnny thought that alcoholics are full of resentments anyway, so a club couldn’t make many more.

One by one, members would say “If you can get Martin to go along, we’ll go along.” Johnny’s reply would be “At meetings, Martin tells us we have to learn to stand on our own two feet, so why do we have to do only what Martin says.” Martin was against gambling and cards at the club, even though he’d play cards at his own or friends’ homes, so Johnny said that if that was a problem then there’d be no cards. Al C disagreed, saying “I wouldn’t do that. Cards are one of the few ways we have to make money, (taking a cut bit from each pot) and card players are the only regular ones we can depend on.” Martin was Johnny’s sponsor and would always say ‘~whenever I have a problem like that, I take it to my Higher Power.” Johnny finally did that, and decided “My Higher Power told me to go ahead.

Once the decision to move to a larger clubhouse was made, the task of finding the right place began in earnest. They needed room to dance, a lounge to talk sobriety and relax, a room for meetings, and, of course, cards. A tall order to fill on a small budget, but where there’s a will, there’s a way. Most alcoholics have a considerable amount of practice finding a way to get drunk on little or no money, so this acquired skill could finally be put to good use.

After searching and seeking, a suitable building was located on Almaden Avenue in Willow Glen, across from Mariani Gardens. The Old Filipino Hall. Prior to that, it was a winery, and now it was to be a “Sanctuary for Sobriety.”

A two-story building with the lower floor sunk about four feet below street level. It had all the desired features, including reasonable monthly rent. It had a small kitchen in the basement with a few tables and chairs. A raised area on the upper floor served as a base for a nice, long oak bar. Steps at the end of the bar led to the card room, it was often crowded with anxious on-lookers waiting for the next open seat in the game.

A door behind the bar led to a small one-room apartment, frequently occupied by a down-and-out member helping out at the Club. Refrigerator, coffeepot, tables and chairs (some of the old fashioned wooden folding variety), and a few miscellaneous knick-knacks set the mood. The Twelve Steps painted by the Los Angeles artist naturally moved with the other things from the Padre Theater clubhouse. Folding card tables saw many a game of canasta, bridge and pinochle after the meetings. Judd would sometimes play the piano in the corner while members gathered around and sang in and out of key. Shuffleboard occupied the time for many, testing their skills after signing up for their turn on the chalkboard hanging on the wall.

By this time, what with all the dissension and bickering going on, all the board members had resigned, leaving Johnny alone, also making him President, even though by default. He was proud of that. T members allowed Johnny to pick his own board. Martin was one he picked, and at one meeting in the basement the subject of pinball machines became a heated topic. Martin was dead set against them, viewing them as a sin of gambling dangerous for an alcoholic, rather than a source of enjoyment and, more importantly, revenue for the Club, so he gave an ultimatum: “Either the pinballs go, or I go.” The pinballs won and Martin resigned. It wasn’t more than a few weeks before he returned, resigned to the fact that more good came for the Club than harm was done by the machines.

You wouldn’t have called it a meeting place, because they didn’t hold meetings. Card room fits best. A coffee pot, a table, a few chairs and a waiting line if you got there after a game started. Poker was the first order of the day and the last call at night. Bob G. loved to play poker, and that was probably a bigger threat to his business than drinking, but the games went on.

Johnny worked hard as President, neglecting many of his business duties running soda pop and taking care of Club business while his wife, Amelia, ran the store, always wondering when he’d show up to make deliveries or care for other, to her, more important matters. When his term ended, he wanted to continue but was told “your, your time is up.” The early struggles and dissension among the board settled down, but periodically rose again, often as fierce, periodically being reflected by resignations, new appointments and more resignations. Johnny was also behind the counter, cooking behind the grill or any number of other tasks to keep the Club going – and going well.

Cliff E. was the first secretary of the Saturday Night Family Meetings held at the Club. The dance afterward attracted many from the only other Saturday Night Meeting held at the First Trinity Church on North Second Street. Johnny B. was sure to be one of the first on the floor and one of the last to call it quits. Potluck dinners in the basement rounded out the social activities. Clara B. started Beginners Meetings on Tuesday night, and the men got together for a Closed Men’s Meeting each Wednesday.

Duncan M. was the first Manager of this Club. A little hard of hearing, but dedicated to the task with the energy of four men, Duncan would rush to open the Club after work and stay long after a reasonable quitting time. The only monies he received for his effort was car fare to and from the Club, and members argued about paying that, saying “Why can’t he pay his own way out of his own pocket?”. Gratitude then, as always, strikes different people in different ways. Duncan continued to receive gas money, but most importantly, he continued to grow in his journey to sobriety, going to any lengths to get it.

The only reward we seek in the Fellowship is a daily life without drinking. The dedication of some for others, however, is occasionally recognized and honored for future posterity. We honor the memory and dedication of Duncan M. each time we attend meetings in Duncan Hall at the Fair Avenue Fellowship in the Alano Club.

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