Red McCombs, a prime example of the rags-to-riches American Dream, built his empire in cattle, oil, cars, sports and smart investments.  A self-made millionaire by the time he was 30, he was credited with being one of the top three Ford dealers

Red McCombs in Minnesota, 1999

in America. McCombs soon turned himself into a billionaire, as co-founder of Clear Channel Communications and McCombs Energy Corporation as well as owner of several professional sports team, including the Texas Clippers, San Antonio Spurs, Denver Nuggets and Minnesota Vikings. While attempting to claim the crown of the business world, however, McCombs battled a serious addiction to alcohol which almost ended his whirlwind life before he could enjoy it.

In my 48th year, I realized I had a problem with alcohol. I’ve had people ask me how you can tell when you need to stop drinking, and my answer is a simple one. You know you have a problem when you can’t get through the day without it.

I didn’t drink at all until I was twenty. Up to then I had been trying to develop as an athlete, but even so I was not your typical 20-year-old. I began to drink socially, at a fairly steady clip, from the time I was twenty-five. Gradually it became a little

I didn’t like the way I felt. My system had to be fed. It was like feeding a python.

bit more of a necessity. The need sneaks up on you, which is why this illness can be so hard to confront. Another is the fact that drinking is traditionally a kind of American sport, legal and acceptable and all too available.

When I was around 47, I began to challenge myself to see if I could go several days at a time without a drink. I found that it was virtually impossible to do so, and that bothered me greatly – although not enough to stop, or even cut back. An addiction to chemicals is hard for anyone to fully understand if they haven’t been through one. Most of the people I have known who were addicted to booze were able to hide it pretty well. But they had to become liars and sneaks to live with their habit. In my vernacular, instead of becoming falling down drunk, they stayed half drunk all the time.

But the damage to your health catches up with you, even if the problem never reaches the proportions of Ray Milland in the movie Lost Weekend, with bottles

Red and his wife, Charline, at Meadowlands, December 26, 1999.

hidden in the light fixtures. I don’t think I ever became mean or unruly or passed out with my head in a spittoon. I had enough discipline to build and maintain a multimillion-dollar enterprise. I didn’t like the way I felt. My system had to be fed. It was like feeding a python.

In my case, God decided to handle the problem for me. I went into a convulsive state one morning at home, and Charline thought I was having a stroke. In fact, I had experienced an attack of hepatitis, magnified by my overuse of alcohol. I don’t remember the ambulance ride to the hospital in San Antonio. I was unconscious and unaware for several days, and Charline made the decision to have me moved to Methodist Hospital in Houston.

After my hepatitis had been diagnosed, the doctors asked her if Mr. McCombs had a drinking problem. She replied, quite honestly, no she didn’t think so, “but he does drink a lot.”
 
The first few days, Charline was told

Red McCombs in his office, 1999

bluntly that the odds were against my survival. Then they told her a miracle was happening. I would survive, but that would be depending on a dialysis machine. Then they said that I was facing a long period of recovery, but I would not be on dialysis. “There are complications,” they said, in a message intended for me. “He has a surprisingly healthy liver.”

Once I was conscious, and praying constantly, I began to come out of the fog. After eight days in the hospital, my mind had cleared and I no longer had a craving for alcohol. That may sound glib, too quick or too easy, but it was true. My body had been detoxed. I asked a doctor the best way to be sure I quit drinking. He said different people try different cures. Some join Alcoholics Anonymous. Others check into clinics and go through rehab. Still others withdraw from their friends and society. None of the ways are easy.

My hospital stay, and the physical crisis I survived, had gotten me through the hard part. This was a last-resort treatment. I don’t recommend it. There  are better programs than a near-death experience. I went through the process without joining a twelve-step program. I follow the twelve steps and strongly believe in them. But my recovery came in a different way.

I thanked God for delivering me, and with His help I have been sober for going on twenty-two years. I have not had a drink since November 12, 1977, and I don’t plan on ever having another. I would rather blow my brains out. But I do know it is a day-to-day issue.

What I have to stress is that you cannot do this by yourself. This was verified for me by my doctors, after my release, when I came back for a series of weekly tests. I was told that they had treated many patients who had died from conditions not as severe as mine. My recovery could be attributed to three factors: 1) excellent medical technology; 2) a highly motivated patient, and 3) a power greater than any of us.

I was blessed by that power and consider it an absolute truth. I can’t say this any plainer: God intended for me to do other things.

Excerpt from The Red Zone: Cars, Cows and Coaches by Red McCombs (Eakin Press, 2002). Used with permission.