“Second Thoughts” from August 16, 1947

"Second Thoughts"
August 16, 1947

Norman Rockwell painted many Saturday Evening Post covers featuring kids in everyday situations, beginning in 1916. Still going strong in the 1940s, the artist remained a master at capturing youth.

“Second Thoughts” from August 16, 1947

"Second Thoughts"
from August 16, 1947

Striving for realism, Rockwell took a long board and stuck it out of a second story window. Then he told son Peter, “I want you to crawl out onto that board and look scared.” Rockwell models became adept at acting a part. Peter was not acting; he was terrified.

“We’re all on diving boards, hundreds of times during our lives,” Steven Spielberg said in a 2010 article in The Oregonian. “Taking the plunge or pulling back from the abyss…is something that we must face. For me, that painting represents every motion picture just before I commit to directing it—just that one moment, before I say, ‘Yes, I’m going to direct that movie.” Hmm, maybe we should all have this one on our walls.

“The Census Taker” from April 27, 1940

"The Census Taker"
from April 27, 1940

In 1790 the U.S. Government decreed that a census be taken every ten years to keep track of the ever-populating land called America. In 1940, this census taker shows up with his big black book to interview an ever-populating housewife. She appears to be much like the old woman who lived in a shoe, with so many children she didn’t know…how to recall all their birth dates. Or perhaps she’s even trying to remember just how many cute little red-haired moppets there are!

“Home From Camp” from August 24, 1940

"Home From Camp"
from August 24, 1940

Just as they do today, droves of youngsters in the 1940s made their way to camps for an outdoor adventure. This particular one came home with everything except the cabin, making it a perfect vehicle for Rockwell’s passion for detail. She seems sad to leave the friends she made and get back to real life, where it remains to be seen if Mom and Dad will go along with the critters she collected.

“Devil May Care” from March 21, 1942

"Devil May Care"
from March 21, 1942

Rockwell and his wife were not blessed with girls, so the artist must have located a young lady’s vanity among his neighbors. The background is even pink to emphasize that this is girl territory. Rockwell did have three boys, however, and this was one of them. If young Tommy Rockwell did have a sister, no doubt the little scamp would be having a ball sneaking a peek at her diary for the juicy stuff.

“Cover Girl” from March 1, 1941

"Cover Girl"
from March 1, 1941

People often call after finding old issues of the Post, thinking they’ve uncovered a gold mine. They often forget that for many decades, it was printed by the millions, and then the would-be nouveau riche take our advice and troll the Internet for sites that sell vintage magazines. They are disappointed to find an issue they thought was old (1940s, for example) may go anywhere from $4.95 to $25.00. On occasion, up to $75.00. With the exception of this issue.

Sure it has an adorable Rockwell cover, but that isn’t why this is the most sought-after issue of the Post. If you can find it, be prepared to pay over $1,000 because of its rarity. And the rarity is because of the groundbreaking Jack Alexander story, “Alcoholics Anonymous.” AA had been showing striking success in the past six years (since its founding in 1935) in achieving sobriety for the “medically helpless.” Thousands of reprints were requested and the article was key to spreading the idea that alcoholism is a disease rather than a character flaw. (Read more about the “Alcoholics Anonymous” article here.)

Groundbreaking story and issue rarity aside, back to our man Rockwell with his Saturday Evening Post cover-within-a-Post-cover. Leave it to Norman to show how yellow socks and scuffed oxfords contrast with perfect make-up and a sophisticated chapeau.

Classic Covers: Rockwell Kids of the ’40s The Saturday Evening Post

In the aftermath of his last bout of drinking, Wilson once again entered a detoxification program. He was hoping this time he could end the 13-year struggle with alcohol that had destroyed his career and his health.

He soon realized that simply “drying out” in a sanitarium wouldn’t help. But it was during this hospitalization that he got the inspiration for a better program. Between 1935 and ’36, he worked with a physician (and fellow alcoholic) to create a new approach to ending their addiction to drink. Together they created a program called Alcoholics Anonymous, which Wilson described in a book that he wrote under the pseudonym of “Bill W.”

Six years passed. Two thousand Americans had joined the program and many had recovered sobriety and sanity in their lives. But the program was still relatively unknown, and had never promoted itself to the public. Then, in March, the Post published “Alcoholics Anonymous” by Jack Alexander and introduced this unusual program to the rest of America.

A.A. was unusual for several reasons, as Alexander pointed out. First, it threw out the traditional thinking about alcoholism, which regarded it as a moral failing, a mental weakness, or a personal choice. Rather it defined the condition as a disease, which could never be cured but could be successfully managed. The program’s members told Alexander—

There is…no such thing as an ex-alcoholic. If one is an alcoholic—that is, a person who is unable to drink normally—one remains an alcoholic until he dies, just as a diabetic remains a diabetic. The best he can hope for is to become an arrested case.

Another unusual aspect was the program’s emphasis on personal responsibility and spirituality. A.A. required the alcoholic to be fully committed and willing to seek guidance and strength from some “higher power.”

The program will not work…with those who only “want to want to quit,” or who want to quit because they are afraid of losing their families or their jobs. The effective desire, they state, must be based upon enlightened self-interest; the applicant must want to get away from liquor to head off incarceration or premature death. He must be fed up with the stark social loneliness which engulfs the uncontrolled drinker and he must want to put some order into his bungled life.

If he applies to Alcoholics Anonymous, he is first brought around to admit that alcohol has him whipped and that his life has become unmanageable. Having achieved this state of intellectual humility, he is given a dose of religion in its broadest sense. He is asked to believe in a Power that is greater than himself, or at least to keep an open mind on that subject while he goes on with the rest of the program.

Another unique feature was the absence of ministers, doctors, or other professionals. The program was run by alcoholics, who knew all the dodges, excuses, and denials that applicants would bring to the program.

There is no specious excuse for drinking which the trouble shooters of Alcoholics Anonymous have not heard or used themselves. When one of their prospects hands them a rationalization for getting soused, they match it with half a dozen out of their own experiences.

But of all the remarkable aspects of the program, the most important was its success. Over the years, thousands of Americans were able to reclaim their lives, their families, and their careers through the program.

In 1950, when Alexander wrote a follow-up article, the program had grown to 3,000 groups with 90,000 members.

Ninety thousand persons, roaring drunk or roaring sober, are but a drop in the human puddle, and they represent only a generous dip out of the human alcoholic puddle. [Yet] to anyone who has ever been a drunk or who has had to endure the alcoholic cruelties of a drunk —and that would embrace a large portion of the human family — 90,000 alcoholics reconverted into working citizens represent a massive dose of pure gain. In human terms, the achievements of Alcoholics Anonymous stand out as one of the few encouraging developments of a rather grim and destructive half century.

(The top photo, from the Alexander’s 1941 article, illustrated how some member of A.A. managed to continue drinking when their hands were shaking violently: “[They tied] an end of a towel about a glass, looping the towel around the back of the neck and drawing the free end with the other hand, pulley fashion, to advance the glass to the mouth.”)

Here are the pages of the Post article as they appeared in 1941:

Bill W’s Last Drink The Saturday Evening Post