Requiems
Vol. 3, Issue 40
In 2015, when I was dragging my feet to pick a rehab I got in touch with my friend Maer, who was also in the media industry like me AND like me had a serious alcohol problem. Maer went to rehab, got sober, and said he knew many people who could help me. He gave me so many numbers and all technicians and in-take personnel workers from all across the country I spoke to were empathetic and kind. I had so many options: There were rehabs near beaches, some near lakes, some had horses I could tend to, some had state-of-the-art workout rooms, and, some had in-house acupuncturists and chiropractors. A couple of the pricier facilities even offered me partial scholarships – one was $15,000 off of my month-long stay. For a few minutes, I felt like a blue-chip quarterback getting recruited to play for Alabama. Except I was not. I was a 41-year-old drug addict who had shit his pants in the kitchen a week earlier. Roll Tide.
None of those places felt right for me, though. I went back to Maer and said I wanted to go to a rehab where famous people went because I wanted to feel important – but I also thought if I could get sober with some Z-list celebrity it’d make the time go faster. Maer suggested I talk to his friend Joe. “He worked with Courtney Love and a bunch of other people. Courtney loves him,” he said. Now that’s the guy I need to talk to.
When I got in touch with Joe, I told him some of my alcohol and drug history and my current usage.
“I’m a total garbage head right now, but mostly coke and booze.”
Joe sort of sighed. It sounded like he wasn’t too concerned about my well-being nor did he think my alcohol and drug use was all that dangerous. He didn’t make me feel like a VIP – he actually made me feel worse than I already did. Or rather, not that important. He didn’t like sending people to rehab, especially for someone with not-so-unmanageable drinking and drug problems. He said AA would probably work fine for me. “But if you want to waste your money and go to someplace fancy like Promises I will give you names.”
I hung up, but saved his number on my phone anyway just in case – as “Joe Dick”. I ended up going to a rehab in Florida. Insurance covered most of it, but not all of it.
*****
We reconnected a couple of years later and I actually learned to love the guy. He’s been a crucial part of my recovery since then and taught me how to be kind to people who are struggling but not be a doormat. I’ve always described Joe’s approach like this: If someone’s about to hang themselves, Joe will slide the stool underneath their feet – but it’s their job to take the noose off.
I’ve even had Joe call a few friends of mine to talk to them, most of them are parents whose kids have drug problems. I’m still nervous he’ll be a dick but everyone’s loved him so far. Joe’s watched too many parents take out second mortgages to help pay for their unreachable kid’s multiple rehab stints. “People shouldn’t go bankrupt for another person’s drug problem – even their own child’s.”
But he also knows the pain everyone goes through. He knows the constant heartbreak and frustration that comes with loving an addict. It’s tough not to want to rescue them. Sometimes loss is unavoidable.
*****
When the comedian Greg Giraldo overdosed after a comedy show in New Brunswick, N.J. nearly 11 years ago, Joe was crushed. Greg was initially a client, but they became very close friends. He tried everything to help Greg get out of his own way and keep him alive and away from all the temptations that come with being a road comic, but nothing worked. Greg got one full year sober once, but it didn’t stick.
Kristen Johnston, the Emmy-winning actress from 3rd Rock from the Sun and more recently Mom, is also a friend of Joe’s. She met him almost 20 years ago, soon after she got out of rehab. She lived in New York at the time and didn’t know anyone sober so somebody recommended she called Joe. They talked on the phone and she had a similar experience that I did with him. “Are you famous?” he asked her. At the time she was, but he didn’t care. He was a little gruff, but he said he’d absolutely take her to a meeting. She liked him right away.
“He wields a dry sense of humor and compassion-less compassion in a way I really connected with,” she said.
“Addicts are so used to causing pain, creating disappointment, and hurting others, that there’s this huge sense of relief when you meet someone like Joe who’s impossible to shock or let down.”
They stayed close and she was there for him in a big way after Greg died.
“It was so painful to see because I think Joe took it – and he's never said this to me – but I think he took it as a personal failure, as anybody who loses a loved one to addiction probably does: Did you do everything? What else could you have done? I know it really devastated him.”
*****
I’ve always been struck by Joe's emotional connection to Greg – it’s definitely unique and always breaks my heart a little. Joe’s got lousy bedside manner sometimes and he’s also this big, huge imposing guy who could probably easily tip over one of those BMW Minis, so to hear him talk about his love for Greg is a little disorienting. But he hasn’t become jaded or dispirited because of his death. He’s there to help anyone who’s ready to receive help. Joe’s got almost 30 years of sobriety himself. It helps him to help others.
And this is my favorite Joe-Greg anecdote, that gives a little scene of what their life was like on the road together.
“I was his traveling companion in modest motels in mid-sized Midwestern towns, where he performed in grimy clubs that were far beneath his potential. One of the saddest aspects of his demise was that he would let me do what he couldn’t: after his performances, I would decline the drugs and party invitations that were sent his way so that we could go back to the hotel to watch marathons of Flip that House. Hardly sex, drugs, and rock and roll, but there was safety in the mundane boredom. Greg would always autograph the bible in his hotels with a simple message: Best Wishes, God.”
