Kevin Hanlon and Dan Carracino figured they would face a steep learning curve when they started making their first documentary in 2004. They expected to make the usual newbie mistakes when it came, for example, to finding the right visuals. But considering their subject, they should have known better.

Bill W., the co-founder of Alcoholics Anonymous.

“We had looked around before to see if anybody had made a documentary on him, and we were surprised to be the first ones,” Mr. Hanlon said. “We must’ve looked like a couple of knuckleheads. We were making a film about an anonymous man and we got no photos.”

What they had, fittingly, was faith. It paid off a year later, when Mr. Hanlon sat in the kitchen of a Long Island man who had sold him six images of Bill W. on eBay. The man hauled out a shoebox and dumped its contents onto a table. All told, there would be some 1,600 images of William Griffith Wilson at meetings, at home, at rest and at play. They provided a rare peek into the life of a man who was as influential as he was anonymous (though Mr. Wilson allowed his name to be made public after his death in 1971).

“We had been going on faith that we would find this stuff,” Mr. Carracino said. “I flew in from California to see what Kevin had picked up. That’s when I said, ‘O.K., now we can make a film.’ ”

“Bill W.” was completed last year and premiered to favorable reviews. It will be screened at some two dozen theaters in June. A catalog and prints from the Bill W. collection will be on sale today at the Salmagundi Club in New York, followed by similar one-day events in other cities, with part of the proceeds going to recovery-related groups.

“To me, some of the really wonderful photos are when he is just a regular person,” Mr. Hanlon said. “There was a series from a picnic held every year, and there’s a photo of Bill picking up a crate of Coca-Colas from a store in Bedford Hills, relaxing in his studio, playing the cello. There was just a wide range of photos.”

The first-time filmmakers had been friends since attending high school in New York. Mr. Carracino was in the electronics business and Mr. Hanlon in real estate when they decided to act on their teenage promise to make a movie one day. Neither had been in A.A., but as they were casting about for ideas, Mr. Hanlon was reading a book on the group’s history. He thought it was “a page-turner,” and suggested to Mr. Carracino that they consider doing their documentary on Mr. Wilson.

The duo began doing interviews and research in late 2004. Though the lack of visuals was daunting, their search took a momentous turn the next year when they learned of 13 images being sold on eBay. They bid, like newbies, about $300 for each of the six images they would eventually win. Considering that similar photos in a previous sale had gone for about $60 an image, the seller agreed to meet Mr. Hanlon to discuss selling more.

A lot more.

The seller, whom the filmmakers declined to identify, had obtained the Wilson pictures as part of a larger lot purchased from the photographer’s estate. He had sorted them out and almost tossed them. “He thought they were from a Fuller Brush convention in the 1950s,” Mr. Hanlon said. But when he noticed that some of the negative sleeves were marked “Wilson,” he started digging around and realized they were of the A.A. co-founder.

Purchasing, organizing and restoring the photographs cost Mr. Hanlon and Mr. Carracino “north of six figures,” but added a dimension to the film that was priceless, they said. To use them without violating A.A.’s tradition of anonymity, they blurred the faces of people who appeared with Bill or his wife, Lois. Through the pictures, and through the final film, they got a sense of the great sacrifices Mr. Wilson made through the years.

“He was always looking and expecting to be done, but he was never done,” Mr. Carracino said. “He’s like Jimmy Stewart in ‘It’s a Wonderful Life,’ where he thinks he’s about to go on his honeymoon, he’s about to leave, but then he has to stay. That’s Bill Wilson’s life. He was constantly being called upon to do more and more and more for A.A., and he always answered the bell.”

Among the things he gave up was the chance to be a regular member of the fellowship he helped start, because other members not only held him in high esteem, but placed him on a pedestal. The filmmakers, however, set out to create a more well-rounded and grounded portrait of the man, who sought privacy in a studio he built behind his suburban New York home.

Mr. Carracino said the pictures gave him a clear sense that Mr. Wilson had known he was an historic figure. So, too, did the photographer.

“These photos are journalism,” Mr. Carracino said. “The photographer is aware he is photographing an important person and giving you a sense of who that guy is. He had access.”

What he does not have, at least publicly, is a name.

“We think we know who he is,” Mr. Hanlon said. “But we chose not to disclose his name because we’re certain he’s an A.A. member.”

---

Follow @ BillWMovie , @ dgbxny and @ nytimesphoto on Twitter. Lens is also on Facebook .