Free The Harder They Fall by Gary Stromberg

returned to Minnesota the following day—I’ll never forget the buzzwords were “unfortunate misunderstanding”—just tell the press and your constituents that it was an unfortunate misunderstanding between you and the Sioux Falls police. After my experience that morning in jail and turning it over, I said, “No. No. No more. I can’t. That’s … No. This time I’m going to tell the truth about my drinking. I’m going to let it all hang out, be totally honest, and let the chips fall where they may. I can’t deal with this any other way. I can’t continue with it anymore.”
    I knew I needed help and wanted my alcoholism to stop. I knew I couldn’t do it alone. I needed treatment. So instead of hypocrisy, I told my story. About twelve years of abusing alcohol. What happened in Sioux Falls. That I really didn’t remember the details—I was blacked out as I commonly experienced it in those days. Being in a disco with loud music and drinking, and that’s the last I remembered except flashes in the hotel lobby across the street—the hotel where we were staying, and the security guardwho came by and asked if I was a guest. I said, “No, I’m not.” Well I was. Apparently I didn’t have a key. I have no independent recollection of the rest of this, no firsthand knowledge. This is what I was told by the authorities, that the guard said I had to leave. I was sitting in a roped-off area which was a coffee shop during the day and in the evening, because it was two o’clock in the morning, and I refused to leave. “Are you staying here?” he said, and I said, “No, and it’s none of your blankedy-blank business. Leave me alone. I’m not moving.” The guard called another security guard, and when I wouldn’t budge, they called the police. Then I again refused to leave and was charged on three counts. I was on probation for a year with the condition that if I didn’t get into any further trouble, the charges would be dropped. There was never a formal adjudication. The plea was as a first-time offender. And going into treatment was not a condition. I didn’t need a judge to tell me I needed it.
    Treatment was a scary proposition, going into the unknown, the uncertain, not knowing what to expect. Every day, though, improved over the previous. I learned about my disease; things like the pattern of it started making sense. It seemed that I personified the disease concept. Speakers and small groups during the treatment reinforced my understanding and provided tools for recovery. I made a commitment during my stay that I would put recovery first for the rest of my life, as long as the good Lord gave me on this earth. And I’ve been able to maintain that—one day at a time.
    The more truthful I became with people, the more they embraced me. The more honest and open I was, the more people responded. The first week I got out of treatment, I went to my American Legion post for a luncheon meeting and saw a gentleman who frequented it but was no friend of mine. In fact, he did everything to foil me. I had just won the election that previous November and finished my first year of my first term. It was a hotly contested campaign. I beat a popular Democratic incumbent, strongly supported by this gentleman. Even though we were both members of the legion post, he hated my guts! He came up to me and said, “You know,Ramstad”—and I figured he was on the verge of asking me to resign my state senate seat or something negative, something involved in politics and very critical given what had just happened. But he said, “You know, Ramstad, I always thought you had three strikes against you. First of all you’re a damn lawyer, and I hate lawyers. Secondly you’re a damn politician, and I hate politicians. Thirdly you’re a damn Republican lawyer, and there’s nothing worse.” And then he reached up his big arms. (His forearms were as big as tree stumps. Was he going to hit me or what?) And he got this big smile on his