Day 101, Tuesday June 25, 2024: Ludington, Michigan to Leland, Michigan

Carnegie libraries visited: Manistee, Michigan

Days sober: 369

Hail pelted Goldfinger around 4 this morning, which meant I had to squirm to the front to close the windows. When it storms on my car, it sounds as if I were sleeping in a cabin with a tin roof, if the roof was only a foot above my head. I’m glad I witnessed the sunset at the Butterfield Park Beach last night because the sun is not going to shine there today.

I learned a new term today: quit lit, a short hand for recovery memoirs. I had just finished listening to one of them, Matthew Perry’s Friends, Lovers, and the Big Terrible Thing. Perry’s account is, um, sobering in its repetition. Again, and again, and again, Perry recounts his drug and alcohol addictions, detailing the massive amounts of pills and booze he consumed, the devastating impact on his health, and his efforts to quit. He tells us of the fifteen rehabs he checked into and out of and the thousands of recovery meetings he attended. Towards the end of the book, he describes how he would gradually stop going to meetings after a year or two and then came the inevitable, horrible, relapse. Reading this made me want to grab his ears and shake him. “Have you learned nothing? Why do you keep making the same mistakes over and over?” The answer “Because I am an alcoholic, and that’s what alcoholics do” is not entirely satisfactory. Relapse, I’m reminded, is not a requirement of the program. The Big Book’s admonition that “Those who do not recover are people who cannot or will not completely give themselves to this simple program, usually men and women who are constitutionally incapable of being honest with themselves. There are such unfortunates. They are not at fault; they seem to have been born that way. They are naturally incapable of grasping and developing a manner of living which demands rigorous honesty” doesn’t seem to fit Perry, whose honesty does seem rigorous. It’s a mystery. Or maybe he’s not really being honest. Or maybe the Big Book is wrong about this.

Perry’s memoir was published on November 1, 2022. Almost exactly one year later, Perry died alone in his hot tub. Large amounts of ketamine, a “dissociative anesthetic used medically for induction and maintenance of anesthesia,” also used to treat depression and for pain management, was found in his blood. Perry had been receiving ketamine treatment, although his last medically-administered dose had been given more than a week before his death. The effects of the medication last only a few hours, so Perry’s final dose was one that he himself chose to take.

That’s the thing about quit lit. The memoirs are written while the author is sober enough to have the discipline to write them, yet no recovery is guaranteed to last. Including mine.

Perry doesn’t talk about the day-by-day tasks of recovery. Granted, they don’t make for titillating reading (Day 58: Went to a meeting. Day 117: Went to a meeting. Day 436: Went to a meeting.) Daily efforts are essential, however: as I have read, “half measures avail us nothing.” Today’s recovery meeting, in Ludington, was a good one. Four of the nine attending were visitors: three from Gen Z and me. The Gen Z’ers, two brothers and a girlfriend of one of them, were on vacation with family from Kansas City. It was touching to hear all three speak, and especially to know that the two brothers came to believe while young that they were alcoholics, and that they have been working earnestly since that time to put their lives in order. The regulars mainly related their experiences with DUI and prisons. Two of them had six or more arrests for driving while intoxicated, and both had spent some substantial time in prison as a result. One of them had spent five years in prison – sober – and on the day he was released he bought a carton of cigarettes and two cases of beer. Alcohol’s lessons are sometimes learned slowly.

Manistee Carnegie Library

Right: I’m researching libraries. The Manistee Carnegie in this charming Michigan town was a good one. Heather, although she normally didn’t work at this library – the branch library in Onekama was her home site – guided me to a file cabinet which had a folder on the library’s history as well as one on the Lakeside Club. 

Manistee Carnegie Interior

The Lakeside Club, a “group of dedicated women,” came together in 1885 for the main purpose of bringing a library to Manistee. Their efforts “gained momentum” in 1902 when they “joined forces” with another (unnamed) local literary association. A history of the library, compiled by Mr. W.J. Gregory in 1926, states that 

It seems fairly certain that the movement that culminated in the acquisition of our present [Carnegie] library was the result of the activities of the Lakeside Club and the Secretary of the School Board. The Lakeside Club…appointed a committee to meet with the School Board to enlist the support of that body…The result was highly satisfactory…[and] the Carnegie Committee agreed to make a donation of $35,000…

Manistee Carnegie Library

The Lakeside Club didn’t just advocate for a library; they were instrumental in raising the money necessary to buy the land for it. The library opened in 1905 with Miss Julia E. Elliott chosen as the first librarian. She served only briefly before being replaced by Miss Lida Townsend, who in turn was succeeded by Miss Angie Messer, who continued as librarian at least until Gregory wrote his brief history. It’s gratifying to see an historical marker outside the library that recognizes the efforts of the Lakeside Club.

As I drove north, I was able to visit both the Onekama and Arcadia branch libraries. Both tiny libraries were closed when I arrived. Although the driving tourist might not even notice these communities (Okema had 399 residents in the 2020 census, and the unincorporated village of Arcadia only 309) modernity had not passed them by. While photographing the Arcadia library I heard a familiar thwack thwack thwack, as both pickleball courts close by were filled with intense competition. What looked to be an old newspaper box stood in front of the library. I was puzzled by the pink, yellow, and white boxes that filled it. On closer inspection? Each box contained Narcan, the medication used to revive a person overdosing on opioids.

My route hugged the Lake Michigan coast, and took me through several cute towns and by the Sleeping Bear Dunes National Lakeshore. When I had popped into a grocery to pick up a few things, I saw a stack of Athletic Brewing Company non-alcoholic (NA) beer. Athletic hacked the code; until it began, the only thing going for non-alcoholic beer was the lack of alcohol. The Athletic beverages, brewed in many styles, taste great. A couple of weeks ago I had bought a six pack and had one can with dinner. And then I forgot all about the rest, which still sit behind my front seat! This feels important. I hadn’t obsessed over my purchase and drunk all of it as quickly as I could. One was enough. And that’s the thing. No one sits down and drinks a case of Dr. Pepper at one sitting. To down a case of beer doesn’t mean that you are super thirsty. It means you want to get drunk.

Whether those in recovery should drink non-alcoholic beverages is a matter of some great controversy within that community. Some give it a hard “no”: beer is beer, and drinking NA beer will inevitably lead to drinking WA (with alcohol) beers. (Once I sat next to a guy at a dinner party who, when I asked for a root beer, said “I don’t drink anything called beer.” I wondered if he would also refuse a ginger ale. I’m also wondering if one should say no to Coke, orange juice, and coffee if their drinks of choice were rum and cokes, mimosas, and espresso martinis.) Others say that life should be enjoyed as fully as is healthy, and if you like the taste of beer, and just want/need to avoid alcohol, then have at it. The advice that I find most compelling is “Think carefully about your choices, and choose carefully.” [Update: In 2025 Athletics and other companies were marketing “hop waters” which are zero calorie sparkling waters flavored with hops. They are tastier than NA beers, I think, and I love them.]

Sleeping Bear Dunes National Park

I lost cell reception when I drove into Bear Dunes, and I was glad of it. I noticed the loss when my map stopped updating and my audio book stalled. I didn’t need the map – I knew that I was driving a loop that would bring me back to the highway – and Goldfinger’s relative silence was calming. I was glad, in part, because the lack of phone access made it easier for me to look and listen. It also made me happy that every parent and kid taking this route would have to put their damn phones down.