At His Destination

A.A. stays one fellowship from town to town only while no group in it belongs to anyone else, and capture is what breaks that. In 1939 the book's writers set down a hope (Big Book, p. 162): "Some day we hope that every alcoholic who journeys will find a Fellowship of Alcoholics Anonymous at his destination." Not a fellowship. The same one. A drunk who got sober in one city could walk into a room in another and find the same thing: free, run by its members, belonging to the alcoholics in it. That sameness is what the Long Form calls "a great whole" (Big Book, p. 563). Every group is a small part of it, the way every member is. Now a man on a job far from home looks up a meeting and finds that the only one in town is held inside a treatment facility. The door is locked after eight. Staff run the format. A sign says the meeting is for residents and alumni. The schedule says A.A.; nothing else in the room does. Every room like it makes the name mean a little less, and the next traveller trusts it a little less. Test it tonight: if a stranger walked in from out of town, would he find the A.A. he left behind?