After two Triangle men won millions last week in an online poker contest, "Sam" asked to share his story about life as a compulsive gambler.

The 74-year-old Chapel Hill man's addiction began in the Marine Corps; the action of the poker game and opportunity to win snagged him.

"I lost -- most of the time I lost," Sam said. "The electrifying feeling made me feel I was alive."

He borrowed from buddies until payday, and he was caught in the allure until his cohorts completed their tours and he had to start saving for his pending marriage. While honeymooning in Miami, he and his bride went to the dog races, where he bet and lost until their money was "gone to the dogs," he said.

Two years later their son was born. Though some of his Wall Street colleagues placed bets with "the bookie upstairs," Sam stayed away until the day a co-worker wrestled $2 from him for a bet that was a sure thing. The wager paid a whopping $6 -- the amount didn't matter. The thrill was back.

Like the races, he was off, betting $200 to $300 a week (while making only $60) -- and losing. Lying, unpaid bills and eviction from their apartment followed. He and his wife soon separated.

After his wife took him to court for non-support, he served 30-day and 90-day sentences -- where he gambled, using cigarettes instead of money.

One December day he bought a one-way ticket to a Maryland racetrack. After losing all his money, he began to hitchhike home but was dropped off on the New Jersey Turnpike, where, without a hat, he slogged home for 18 hours in the snow.

He contracted pleurisy and spent a month in the veteran's hospital -- where he gambled. While he was there, his sister read a newspaper article about Gambler's Anonymous and got him to a meeting.

"I tried to listen . . . and comprehend," Sam said. After the meeting someone extended his hand and invited him to return. "It was like a handshake from God." He started going three times a week for a year until he felt cleansed. "No longer would I have to lie, hide, pretend or live in fear," Sam said.

After Sam had surrendered himself on another warrant for non-support, an understanding judge offered to call his wife and invite her to the Gam-Anon support group. She agreed to go, and afterward they saw each other for the first time in years. She took him home to see their son, who was then 5, who woke up while Sam watched him sleep and happily hugged his father.

It was a new beginning. But less than three years later, his wife caught the flu and died. Sam's guilt and loss were overwhelming, but he stuck with the Gamblers Anonymous program.

The next year a temporary employee named "Sara" arrived at the company where he worked. She had been a nun, and he learned that she had left the convent on the same date as his birthday. During the last five minutes of her last day at work, he asked for her phone number.

On their second date, he told Sara about his problem. They continued to date and fell in love, while he slowly started to miss meetings. When she left for a two-week trip, he dropped her off at the airport then went straight to the racetrack. By the time she returned home, he had been writing company checks to pay his gambling debts. The day before they were to marry, he was arrested -- charged with two counts of grand larceny. He didn't call her from jail, but arrived home at 2:30 a.m. and told her the truth. They cried together. Later that morning, two days after he made his last bet, she took the biggest gamble -- they got married. His company dropped the charges in exchange for restitution. He and Sara raised his two children and two more they had together.

Sam remains grateful to the program. He continues to attend meetings three times a week.

"It's a wonderful feeling of gratitude. I'm at peace," Sam said. He wants others to know the number to call to get help for this progressive illness.

"There is life after gambling," he said. "It's a gift."

Call 888-846-4427 to find a Gambler's Anonymous meeting.