Although as a seminarian I worked summers and holidays at Anheuser Busch, it wasn’t until years later that alcohol became a problem. Initially, I would use a stiff drink to get to sleep. Soon a stiff drink became five or six stiff drinks. But still it wasn’t a problem. After all, I could still function. It didn’t affect my duties as a priest. At least not to me.

Then, on a fateful Sunday evening gathering for clergy, I consumed my usual quantity of whiskey. There were two recovering priests in attendance. Unbeknownst to me, they approached our bishop and expressed their concerns about my drinking. Being familiar with Guest House from brother priests who had been treated there, he authorized an intervention. When the two showed up to “intervene”, I was indignant. After all, my alcohol consumption didn’t interfere with my ministry. I was so irritated that I suggested a votive Mass for those unjustly deprived of their liberty.

I first entered Guest House kicking and screaming. I thought I was being “shanghaied” by my bishop. My counselor, Bob Martin, was a perfect match for me. He worked with me to break through my denial and helped me see that I truly was an alcoholic. Bob asked my bishop to visit to attempt reconciliation between the two of us. During the visit, Bob mediated and then left us alone to work it out.

Thereafter, my bishop and I became fast friends. As an alum, I visited Guest House quite often. Bob and I became close friends and remained in touch for many years. When he died in March of 2020, I felt a deep loss.