A Thousandth of an Inch

Ray ran a machine shop for forty years, and he was proud that he could hold a tolerance to a thousandth of an inch. He came into the hall on Fridays with his sleeves rolled and his chin up. "I've got discipline, Sal," he'd say. "I can walk away any time I want." He said it often. That should have told me something. Nobody repeats that sentence about a door they are not using.

I knew the speech because I wrote it. For years on the road I told people I was the most disciplined man alive. I could count cards, count change, count a room in a glance. I just could not count the nights I swore I would stop. Self-belief was the best thing I owned, and it was also the lock on my door. It told me I was too sharp to be hurt.

One Friday Ray's wife phoned the hall looking for him. She was not angry. She was tired. He had told her it was overtime. I handed him the receiver and watched his chin come down about an inch.

Afterward he stood at the counter turning his cap in his hands. "I always figured I'd handle it myself," he said.

"How long have you been handling it?" I asked.

He did the arithmetic the way a machinist does, slowly and without mercy. It was a long time.

Here is what I learned from him and from my own wasted decades. Believing in yourself is a fine thing at the lathe. Against a habit that feeds on your confidence, it keeps you alone with the problem, and alone is where the problem likes you best. The strongest thing Ray ever did was admit he could not hold it alone. He made a call that night from the pay phone by my office, and he made it with his chin down.

If you have been handling it yourself for a long while, the National Problem Gambling Helpline is 1-800-MY-RESET.

Believe in yourself enough to ask for a hand.

Sal