Brad said to her. This was in the summer of 1960, during her father’s first year as the company’s new president. “She called me at the office this afternoon, and I couldn’t make head nor tail out of what she wanted. When she’s drunk, she gets belligerent. The first thing I knew, she was shouting at me and calling me foul names. I finally had to hang up on her and tell my secretary not to put through any more calls from her.” “Everybody’s tried everything,” she said. “I used to pour her liquor down the drain, but she just found cleverer places to hide her whiskey. I tried to close her charge account at Sherry-Lehmann, and she just went to another liquor store. We had a doctor prescribe something called Antabuse; it’s supposed to make you deathly ill when you take a drink. But she wouldn’t take the pills. I’ve tried to get her to join Alcoholics Anonymous, but she won’t attend the meetings. I’ve tried calling her early in the morning, and have had friends call her, to catch her during the hangover period, to give her pep talks.
