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Eventually I returned to Dr. Pursch again, seeking his help. This time the doctor surprised me. Rather than admitting me again to the naval hospital, he said, “I think you should meet Clancy Imislund. Clancy is a former alcoholic who has been sober for a long time. I think he can help you.”

I was insulted and shocked. “You would rather send me to a recovering drunk than to a man of Dr. Sturdevant’s caliber?”

“You don’t need academics, medication, or psychoanalysis. You are too bright, Buzz, too strong. Granted, your genetic disposition may tend to cause you to be depressed, and that same genetic makeup allows you to drink more than most people without always feeling its ill effects, but if you want to get well, you must seek help in getting sober and staying sober. Clancy can help you do that.”

After a while, I met with Dr. Pursch only to maintain my pilot’s medical evaluation for the FAA. An Air Force dictum of some sort basically said, “If Buzz Aldrin applies for a medical certificate to fly an airplane again, he must have a psychiatric exam every year.” That irritated me because I was doing my best to remain sober, and the psychiatrists still had to verify my ability to fly an airplane. Although I thought it unfair at the time, I now see it as a wise rule, but I sure didn’t feel that way then.

By the end of the year I had tired of Beverly telling me what to do—although, in her defense, she was probably simply trying to save my life—and after a loud disagreement, I told her I wanted a divorce. I was on a roll—two divorces in less than two years. In the process, the divorce with Beverly managed to clean out my bank accounts, or what was left of them. But it was worth it to be back on my own again. In retrospect, Beverly loved me as best she could until she could love me no longer. In many ways, however, I will always be grateful to her for encouraging me to seek help for alcoholism, not simply depression. That was worth far more than mere money.

I moved out of Beverly’s place to a newly-built duplex on Barry Avenue. While living there, I got a job with the Hillcrest Cadillac dealership, which is a story in itself.

12 Interview with Lisa Cannon, StarBuzz LLC, December 19, 2008.

10

TURNING

POINT

I’VE ALWAYS LIKED CARS, THE FASTER THE BETTER. BUT I never dreamed of selling cars, not until I got to the point of needing some form of gainful employment. I was ready to take almost any honest job. I’m not sure what prompted me to try it, other than sheer desperation, especially since I had never sold anything in my life.

While attending Alcoholics Anonymous meetings with Admiral Bud Scoles, I got to know some of the people who were regulars. A guy named Lynch showed up every week and was well thought of because he had a good job as a Cadillac salesman. I talked to him and asked him, “How did you get that job?”

He said that he would recommend me to the owner and maybe I could get a job there, too. Selling cars is a noble profession for many people; for me it was a desperate step. I was trying to save my life, and I needed to be doing something besides sulking alone in my apartment. I had an interview with Mike Brown, the son of the owner, and the next thing I knew, in July 1977, I was going to work at the Hillcrest Cadillac dealership in Beverly Hills every day. I was a terrible salesman, though. People came onto the lot in search of a car, and as soon as I struck up a conversation with them, the subject immediately turned from the comfort and convenience of a new or used luxury automobile to space travel. I spent more time signing autographs than anything else. Worse yet, I was too honest. I was not a backslapping closer. I could inform the customer, but I could not glibly tell a prospective customer that our cars were his or her best choice, when I knew the weaknesses of our vehicles as well as the advantages. Nor could I sell an expensive Cadillac to somebody who I knew could not afford it, or sell the person a bunch of options that he didn’t need. When I told