CURING A FAMILY DISEASE; ALCOHOLIC'S WIFE, CHILDREN TRAVEL DOWN THE LONG ROAD OF HEARTBREAK, RECOVERY.

Byline: LOCAL VIEW By Arthur R. Vinsel

THEY might be a 1990s Norman Rockwell family portrait, as common and average American as pizza and a Saturday night movie, or hot dogs at a Sunday barbecue at the park, one of their favorite outings.

Eddie Hunnel is 5 feet, 3 inches and unashamedly balding at 32, his wife, Stephanie, 33, merry and patient, then quiet Amanda, 13, winsome Nicole, 11, and Christopher, 8, a redheaded boy prone to doing handstands just for joy. He adores his dad, and that's how it should be.

If there were a poster family to represent Alcohol Awareness Month throughout April, they might be it.

Common wisdom after two centuries of experience dictates that alcoholism is a family disease. Drug addiction, its ugly twin, has the same characteristics and dynamics. The average victim markedly influences at least seven other people: spouse, children, parents, siblings, friends, co-workers and employers.

One in every 10 people worldwide is genetically predisposed to this formidable affliction, which gives no free passes to any race, class, ethnic group or religion. And alcoholism kills more than 100,000 Americans a year. Alcohol is a factor in 41 percent of all domestic violence cases. Studies show 11 percent of drinkers in North America, 13.6 million people ages 18 and up, consume more than 30 drinks a week.

This society's consumption in 1981 hit a record peak, accounting for an average of 2.76 gallons of pure alcohol per capita that year. The top 2.5 percent of all boozers average 12 drinks a day. That's not partying; just functioning. These people account for one-third of all liquor, beer and wine sold in North America.

Statistics are all well and good, but this is a story of real people.

Eddie Hunnel entered the Beacon House Association of San Pedro, a licensed, nonprofit residential recovery center April 1, 1997, driven by his alcoholism to seek help and inspired by the story of a sober alumnus his wife met in a college class.

Eddie has learned how to stand tall in the athletic shoes he wore as captain of the the Beacon House Dawgs softball team that took the third-place trophy in the Los Angeles City League last season, though he is still teased about his height. He went through a sea of alcohol and drugs in his time. Stephanie and the kids were along for the horrific ride.

``I love you, Daddy,'' Amanda said recently, ``But I never, ever want to marry a man like you.''

``Now that Dad is so different, having our last name won't be so embarrassing any more,'' says Nicole.

``Chris, our son, has begun to question things that occurred in the past, wondering if maybe he should have called the police on his dad. He wonders if he could have helped or made a difference,'' says Stephanie Hunnel, a formidable lady indeed. That's doubtful, but in an alcoholic family, kids always wonder if it is their fault.

They wonder what they might have done, too young and innocent to understand that alcoholism is a disease and not willful misbehavior.

``My family is scared of their future, because of my actions in the past,'' Eddie related at his intake interview.

Early on, the Hunnels experienced denial, the phenomenon that causes alcoholics, addicts and others to claim they have no problem. Their undeniable woes are just bad luck or maybe ``just life.''

Recovery parlance compares it to ignoring an elephant in the family room. No one can possibly not notice but don't call attention to it. What would the neighbors say?

``Before I came into Beacon House, I thought I knew all there was to know about being a husband and father,'' Eddie said in an address at our annual New Year's Eve Dinner. ``I found out I didn't know `jack' about it. I had a lot to learn.''

His wife beamed. His daughters - budding young ladies emerging from ragtag girl kids in just two years - were quiet and pensive. Chris was unaccustomed to wearing a necktie.

Eddie had not yet that night received Beacon House's Most Inspirational Resident Award, for the second consecutive year.

He's a multitalented guy, who'd fix this or that for a client and it led to a retainer from scores of merchants who'd formed a Business Improvement District. Valuing himself was never one of Eddie's talents, a common trait in substance abusers, long before we ever go wrong.

``When I read that story (after the first award) and saw what people told the reporter and how they actually regard me . . . Wow. What an awakening . . . '' he recalled with a grin.

Back in 1984, he'd chosen thievery to finance drugs and alcohol. Eddie could hardly imagine some day being a Neighborhood Watch leader. He would have laughed at the idea of a citation from state Sen. Betty Karnette, D-Long Beach, for his work on her citizens anti-crime advisory committee.

``When I was 17, I was committed to the California Youth Authority - nine years for armed robbery,'' he admits. ``I got sent to the CYA school at Chino. I knew I'd better learn a trade and when I came out, I had my state welding certificate. I loved welding.''

Residing initially at a prison halfway house in Orange County, he was introduced to Stephanie by mutual friends and a year later they were married. Eddie never dreamed bad times could end so easily. They couldn't. And they hadn't.

``I just kept drinking,'' he recalls. ``I didn't want to be a drunk, but I didn't know how to not drink, and I really didn't think I was an alcoholic.''

First he lost good welding jobs, fabricating burglar bars and ornamental fences, then building a skyscraper in downtown Los Angeles, and finally even piecework was hard to find. Eventually, they lost their home in Dana Point. They moved on, pitching a tent that bitter winter, 12 years ago in the rugged Santa Ana Mountains off State Route 74, the winding Ortega Highway.

``We were homeless for seven months,'' recalls Stephanie, who was too optimistic when Eddie began to get occasional day jobs and they could move to a low-income neighborhood in Wilmington, on the edge of Los Angeles Harbor.

During his busy 20 months at Beacon House before he moved back with the family last Christmas, Eddie devoted himself to recovery and more. He hasn't had a drink since late March 1997 and is a 12-Step sponsor, or mentor, to men newer to sobriety.

Where do I fit into all of this?

They make me even prouder to acknowledge again being among the millions in recovery from alcoholism.

There's no better company of people in this world.

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