NCSB Journal Spring 2026

was quick to quip, and the truth hurt, “Everybody’s way ahead of you on that; you don’t need to worry about them finding out what they already know.” But even that didn’t curtail my drinking. By October 1, 2008, I had not drunk for a little while. I’d had a pretty good week. I think I’d won a case in court. I was having a profitable year. We’d made plans to go to the county fair, and I decided before I went, I’d turn to my old friend the social lubricant and just have a couple. This way, when I ran into people at the fair, I’d be ready to glad-hand everybody and have some fun. Well, those two drinks put me on my tail. My wife came to pick me up and took one look at me and left the office. I proceeded to go around the corner to a familiar watering hole and began a blackout. Blackouts had been a part of my life for years, but I’d always basically felt great. I didn’t have to remember any of the bad stuff when I did something stupid. I know I was never physically violent with my family, but I was certainly a loudmouth drunk and said things in and out of blackouts that I wish I could take back. Thus, I made my way to that bar. I got thrown out of there, and some friends took me home. As the story goes, they asked my wife if she was okay with them leaving me there. She relented. Subsequently, she called my brother, who was also my best friend. While we didn’t practice together, we were always looking after each other. Again, I don’t recall this because I was in a blackout. Apparently, he and I got into an argument. When I came out of the blackout, a city police officer friend of mine was telling me that my brother was dead. There’s no other way to say it other than I was at the gates of hell when I realized what had happened. I had no idea whether I’d done it, had hurt him intentionally or what had happened. In fact, the local paper and news organizations that caught wind of the story were going with the idea that I had murdered my brother, one lawyer killing another. That ought to be good for viewers. The truth was that we did have an argument, but he, in fact, died of a heart attack. When I came out of the blackout, I did not have any true remorse. I seemingly did not care about my family, my brother’s family, or our mother. All I really wanted was a drink to make it all go away. I just knew my life, as it had been, was over. I would never be able to hold my head up in my hometown and especially practice law. My family would want to be rid of me. That day and the next day were a

go to all my civic functions, and I go to all my kids’ games and performances,” putting on a good front, knowing good and well that at the core, my home life was starting to rot. And frankly, my soul was hollow over those last few years. Many people—friends of mine— attempted minor interventions. Of course, my wife tried everything in the world she could to get me to stop drinking: she’d be good and nice, then switch to bad and angry, kick me out, and let me back in. I was, unfortunately, also ruining my relationship with my children. Even though I had known about AA my entire life, my disease told me I didn’t need it. The first step in AA requires an admittance that you are not only powerless over alcohol, but that your life has become unmanageable. While I knew I was powerless over alcohol, I couldn’t understand that my life was unraveling. I’ve come to learn that alcoholism and addiction are unusual diseases, but they are diseases, resulting from genetics and other factors. But it’s the only disease we know of that tells you that you don’t have it. So, I rationalized what I was doing as being just who I was, and there was really no need to stop. In many ways 2008 was a horrible year, but it also was the springboard for me to get help with my alcoholism. That year, things were not going well at home, as usual. I was chair of the Chamber of Commerce Board and I got a DWI. I always said I never had a need to drink in the mornings, but one particular morning that year, I got to the office, and I was very hung over and just decided it wouldn’t hurt to have one little drink of vodka. Nobody’d smell it—that’s how brilliant alcoholics are. That drink threw me back to where I was the night before. My drunken thinking was that all I had to do was go to court and continue a couple cases. By the time I got to the courthouse, anybody that looked at me could tell I was ripped. Luckily, some friends got me out of there before somebody that might have taken advantage of that situation and really busted me could get hold of me. That year, because of the DWI in February and that incident in the summer, I was trying not to drink. I was bare knuckling it. I was mad. I was resentful. I was upset with everybody. I was probably worse as a dry drunk than I was as someone pouring a drink at every opportunity. Just before 2008, my wife told me she was going to go to Al-Anon, which is a program that helps family members dealing with an alcoholic. I responded, “You can’t go to Al Anon, people will think I’m a drunk.” My wife

complete blur. Some good friends of mine, a law partner and an assistant district attorney, came over to babysit me to make sure I didn’t do anything dumb. I don’t recall being suicidal, but it’s likely I was because I was at my wit’s end. Ultimately, I was involuntarily committed and went to Holly Hill for a few days. As some clarity started coming to me, I talked to a member of the old Positive Action for Lawyers (PALS) committee (today, the Lawyer Assistance Program (LAP)). I talked to some other lawyers with the State Bar, talked to my partners, my family, and some very good friends, and everybody agreed I was to go to rehab not for 28 days, but for at least 90. I missed my brother’s funeral while I was in lockdown at Holly Hill. I was being taken to a rehab facility in Atlanta by two of my law partners and my wife; they dropped me off and I began my recovery journey. But my recovery journey actually began when I came out of that blackout and then had my last drink on October 2nd. And thus, October 3rd is not only my wedding anniversary, but my sobriety anniversary. My wife cogently points out, if I didn’t have the 17, we wouldn’t have the 38. I get it. I had been to an AA meeting or two in Holly Hill, but Georgia was certainly where my true path to sobriety began. When I was asked to write this article, this poignant memory stood out in my thoughts: when I arrived at rehab, I had my own therapist. He had me sit down and read out of the AA “big book,” specifically a long paragraph beginning on page 21 as follows: “Here is the fellow who has been puzzling you, especially in his lack of control. He does absurd, incredible, tragic things while drinking. He is a real Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. He is seldom mildly intoxicated. He is always more or less insanely drunk. His disposition while drinking resembles his normal nature but little. He may be one of the finest fellows in the world. Yet let him drink for a day, and he frequently becomes disgustingly, and even dangerously anti social. He has a positive genius for getting tight at exactly the wrong moment, particularly when some important decision must be made or engagement kept. He is often perfectly sensible and well-balanced concerning everything but liquor, but in that respect, he is incredibly dishonest and selfish. He often possesses special ability, skills and aptitudes, and has a promising career ahead of him. He uses his gifts to build up a bright outlook for his family and himself and then pulls the structure down

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THE NORTH CAROLINA STATE BAR JOURNAL