Paradise Life Daily Journal 3 2003

Another coincidence occurred in 1983. I was maybe about 5 months clean the first time as I relapsed on my six-month anniversary. Eventually got clean for good, for the long haul on 12/28/83. This must have been October 1983. I was asked to lead a meeting, share my story at this group in Baltimore Maryland, where I commuted from Washington DC. I got clean initially in Baltimore having first been exposed to recovery through the Sheppard Pratt and Enoch Hospital.

I'd like to tell a story about Mary Ann Sears, who committed suicide by hanging herself in her bathroom. Maryann about a year earlier has sliced her neck with a razor blade in order to kill herself. She was a beautiful woman who at onetime was a playboy bunny and had very wealthy boyfriends but her depression and alcoholism got the better of her. Anyway she sliced her neck and stay at Suburban hospital for a short stay not having health insurance. I drove her to Sheppard Pratt in an attempt to get her admitted. If Mary Ann was a Quaker we could have possibly got her admitted. The sad thing is we were not successful, whether it was Maryanne's lack of willingness, or the lack of insurance or the lack of bed space. I am not sure which as my memory fails me. I do have lots of photographs from the experience. Maryann stayed clean on her own for about ninety days but dove into active addiction and eventually killing herself successfully by hanging herself. She couldn't face life, couldnÕt ask for help and gave up altogether.

I was leading this meeting in Baltimore with five months clean giving my drug.a.log as I didn't have much recovery to talk about. I was sharing my experiences with smoking as much Ugandan Bhanghi, (Potent Marijuana-Cannabis Sativa), as I could get my hands on. I was bragging about doing this in eighth grade and that I could get a shopping bag full for about 10 cents an ounce. And that with my good fortune I proceeded to consume a lifetime worth because I knew it wasnÕt going to last when I eventually left the Paradise rainforest of Uganda. It rained every day for about half an hour with two seasons the not so rainy season and the rainy season. I remember chasing monkeys in my back yard and getting high in a Mango tree and when one got the munchies you didnÕt have to reach far.

So I tell a hair raising story talking about my misadventures all over the world focusing on all the drugs and the madness that it lead to jails, institutions and death. It was a miracle I was alive and able to share my story. This skinny, artistic Charles Manson looking dude with a scraggly beard comes up to me and says. Do you remember the kid that kept trying to burn down the Lincoln school setting fires all over the place? The Lincoln School was our American School in Kampala Uganda from grades 4 through 12, with a student population of about 38. Chris M. further went on to state that as a school all the older kids would pick on him and kick him hard on the soccer field causing him enormous pain. His way of getting back was to cause havoc but continual sabotage with his fire settings. Now that blew my mind, that here in Baltimore was this dude that we picked on in Kampala Uganda in 1972. He must have had two years clean I asked him to be my sponsor a short time later.

That American anti.social kid with conduct disorder has stayed clean and is now a technical genius working in the higher echelons for Nikon Camera.

The gentleman that Chris replaced as being my sponsor was this African American heroin addict named JR. JR had dreadlocks in 1983 before they were fashionable. He traveled with Cindy who was a biker chick from the Baltimore Ghetto. JR didn't stay clean and died from a Heroin overdose in 2000. JR was the kindest, gentlest man I had come across. He could only speak in a whisper because he poked his vocal cord hitting a vein in his neck from attempting to get a shot of dope in his bloodstream.

JR before his heroin Overdose to death.

When I was in.patient in the drug rehabilitation program at Shepherd Pratt that was called A.7, I asked JR to be my sponsor. There were thirteen of us in this sixty-day rehab. I was an Ambassadors son; another was a Mafia Lawyers son Ð Brad Coven who committed suicide about two months after discharge. Out of my group of thirteen I am the only one that remained clean. The rest are dead, incarcerated, missing or possibly in another nut ward. Quinton Dailey the Chicago Bulls Center Forward was also there. He was shocked I didn't know who he was. I had come from Zimbabwe with a household of servants and didnÕt know how to iron my shirt properly. Quinton humbled himself by ironing my shirt for me. Quinton also had some rape and assault charges. Anther dude was this artist from New York City and he was the artist for John Lennon's Double Fantasy album. He would constantly check his voicemail with this device that would send a beep to his answering machine. High technology in those days, May 1983. He never got clean or recovered from his paranoia. He was a freebase and opium addict. Another was a street whore Methadone addict from Baltimore named Barbara Jones. Her ass was so good looking with blonde hair and baby blue eyes with tight jeans. I had a crush on her and couldn't focus on my recovery. Another kid was this guy who stole all his neighbors silver and credit cards from a fancy neighborhood in Baltimore. His father had this computer software company and was loaded. The son was a disgrace because he ravaged the neighborhood and got caught because not only was he buying drugs, cocaine specifically but designer clothes. David Johnson was his name and I remember exchanging shirts with him because he felt guilty about having the clothes in the rehab from ill.gotten means. I remember this hideous preppy stripe lacrosse shirt that I received from him, trading a ratty shirt of mine. That week in.group on family night he had to admit in front of his mother that he was an addict. He father was too furious to attend group. David also didn't stay clean and went to prison for credit card fraud. He used like ten victims credit cards stolen from his neighborhood.

At this rehab we had to have a sponsor before we left treatment and mine was JR. The recommendation for me was to get this halfway house in York Pennsylvania called the Colonial House. JR and Cindy charged me $40.00 for the ride to the halfway house fro Towson Maryland to York, Pennsylvania. This turned me off, but I had no other way to get there as I was being discharged from the rehab. I was grateful that my dad was paying the $60.00 a day the halfway house wanted up front.

At Shepherd Pratt, in the rehab, I was placed in the same room as a Baltimore Narcotics Officer who had turned bad. His name was Roy or something. I was so paranoid, and my biggest resentment was against cops. I hated them, feared them and couldnÕt fathom that maybe this was legitimate, that I would have a police narcotics officer roommate in drug rehab. After Ray told me some of his war stories I believed that he too was an addict needing help. Roy would steal drug dealerÕs cocaine and not turn it. He had cut in his trunk and would weaken, dilute and substitute the cocaine from some powder substance he carried in his trunk. He kept a scale in his truck to make it the same weight. He was the first Narcotics officer at most scenes and made it a habit to get to the busts first. He was strung out on cocaine and used placidils to come down. When he told me about placidils I was like where can I get some. Placidils are similar to Tuinals and Quaaludes. Anyway he took too many placidils and fell asleep at the wheel of his cruiser. He crashed and they discovered Cocaine, cocaine cut and a scale in his trunk. He was busted and two and two started coming together with all the discrepancies at the Narc Squad. To this day I havenÕt heard anything about Roy. But I was having nightmares having a roomie as a narcotics officer.