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DIXFIELD - The meeting draws about a dozen men. They have been in and out of binges, jails, hospitals, despair. They have made promises and broken them, battled to keep jobs and lost them, cherished loved ones and betrayed them, usually more than once.

Their sobriety ranges from 34 steadfast years to a few, tenuous months. But when they rise to speak, they all sound the same.

''Hi,'' says one. ''My name's Bob, and I'm an alcoholic.''

In a region renowned for its drinking, Alcoholics Anonymous, or AA, plays a particularly active role here. An AA meeting is held daily in at least one of the region's towns - Rumford, Mexico, Dixfield, Bethel or Andover.

Some meetings draw as many as 75. Some draw only a handful.

All, say advocates, are a lifeline for those with no place left to go.

''AA,'' says Bob, ''has kept me alive, and sober.''

At this meeting, a dozen weathered men sit on stools in a science lab at Dirigo High School. Their ages range from about 30 to 70. Most wear jeans and T-shirts. Each holds a coffee cup, a soda can or a cigarette, all ''part of the cure-all,'' says one man, smiling. ''We like to say, one addiction at a time.''

Because a basic tenet of AA is confidentiality - especially important in a small town - the men would only allow their first names to be used here.

Leaning on lab benches, surrounded by beakers and skeletons and models of body parts, they tell their stories, or what they call their ''travelogues.''

They are tales of car wrecks, blackouts, divorces. Of harrowing hospital stays, weak and delirious, and going home vowing ''this has got to stop.''

Of starting drinking at 12, of drinking Sterno and ''anything that wouldn't bite back at me.'' Of lying and stealing, and the self-hate that came when family members pleaded with them to show up at a wedding sober, or not at all.

Of getting thrown out of bars all over town and keeping a lawyer on retainer for OUIs. Of stopping at a store for something but compulsively buying beer instead, and buying extra booze Saturday night to get through the dry Sunday morning, but then devouring it all Saturday night anyway.

Of starting off the day with a pint, then a fifth, then a half-gallon. Of throwing it all up, and starting in again.

''No one in their right mind would do it,'' says Harry. ''But I did it for years and years, until I got sick and tired of being sick and tired.''

Finally, they tell of finding peace in what those in AA like to call ''a program of miracles.''

Says Andrew, ''The program gives spiritual support for people who have already been to hell, and don't want to go back.''

In recent years, AA has seen its share of criticism and controversy. Many don't like its rigidity, its references to God, or its mandate that members admit they are powerless over alcohol, and their lives.

Still, AA remains seminal, the oldest, largest and, arguably, most effective of recovery programs. Even as a host of alternative programs have sprouted, many have used AA's traditional 12-step recovery as a model.

The program has its own rules, language and support system, in which each person has a mentor, or sponsor. Its bible is the so-called ''Big Book,'' which tells alcoholics' stories and outlines the 12 steps they say saved them.

The first step: ''We admitted we were powerless over alcohol - that our lives had become unmanageable.''

Steps 2 and 3 describe coming to ''believe that a power greater than ourselves could restore us to sanity,'' and turning one's life over to that power.

The next steps call for ''a searching and fearless moral inventory of ourselves,'' admitting wrongs, turning to God for help, making restitution to those harmed, and prayer and meditation.

AA advocates attending regular meetings, daily if possible, and living life one day at a time. That goes even for those with decades of sobriety.

Says Bob, who has been sober 25 years, ''For an alcoholic, there is no such thing as stability. I'm the same person I always was - I'm a drunk and an alcoholic, and I cannot safely take a drink.''

Only one in 32 alcoholics, he says, will stay sober and in AA once they first enter. Many spend years going in and out of the program, struggling with their addiction.

The longtimers watch the newcomers. Bob says he can tell someone is about to ''go back out'' when they start talking less about the horrors of their past and more about the parties they miss.

They try to beat the odds by reliving the badness. At every meeting, they tell and retell their burdensome stories, reminding themselves what they have to do.

Near the end of the meeting, Norman describes hearing the raucous noise from a bar down his street, and ''sitting at home feeling sorry for myself.''

''Sometimes I get to thinking about that walk (to the bar),'' he says. ''I know I'd walk down, but I'd crawl back.''

The meeting ends with a circle. The men hold hands, say the Lord's Prayer, and recite together, ''Keep coming back, because it works if you work it.''

The men drift out of the meeting in twos and threes. They chat a few minutes in the parking lot, tell each other to take care, climb into their cars, and slowly pull out. It is late evening, cool and clear. In Rumford, the bars are just starting to heat up.