Nothing General About It

by Maurice Benard

  But an hour later I got a call from Manny that would break my heart.

  Manny told me that when Jeff hung up with me he was fine, but a few minutes later Manny heard him fall down the stairs. When he ran to help him Jeff was unconscious, so Manny called 911 and held him in his arms until the paramedics arrived. Jeff was in a coma and Manny was at the hospital waiting for the doctors to figure out what had happened. It turns out Jeff had meningitis and a few days later he succumbed to it without ever waking up from the coma. I didn’t really get to say goodbye to him, but when Manny called me to tell me Jeff was gone, I’ll always remember his take.

  “Man, it looks like he needed to talk to you before he died,” Manny said.

  Jeff was only thirty-seven.

  I had never before lost a close friend to death. You go through your life thinking everyone will always be around, that you’re invincible, until suddenly a life ends and it’s a loud, loud silence.

  I wish I had made up with him before it was too late.

  I wish I hadn’t wasted all that time because of some argument that meant nothing in the grand scheme of things.

  The point is, life is very, very short and you need to value the people in it. Beyond becoming aware I needed to use my platform to help others with depression and bipolar, this was by far the biggest lesson I learned during this time in my life.

  Even though Jeff’s death haunted me, I appeared not long after at the Didi Hirsch Mental Health Erasing the Stigma Awards ceremony. Didi Hirsch Mental Health Services is another wonderful organization I’m proud to support because it is the home of the first suicide prevention center in the nation for people contemplating suicide. It provides training and research and raises money that provides mental health services and substance abuse services in Los Angeles County. The Erasing the Stigma program meant so much to me and it was an honor to be acknowledged with the award because I know all too well what the stigma surrounding mental health can pressure a person to do.

  The reception and luncheon took place at the Regent Beverly Wilshire in Beverly Hills, and again I was honored alongside Carrie Fisher. Paula and I had been good friends with Carrie’s brother Todd’s wife, Catherine Hickland, since All My Children; at the time she was married to a costar. When we later attended Carrie’s memorial it hit so close to home about what her struggles had been. Carrie was gone too soon and I hope she’s at peace.

  Rod Steiger was also awarded that day, and afterward the talented and wonderful Annette Bening presented an award to me. “Maurice plays a ‘macho guy’ on General Hospital, and macho guys—especially Latinos—don’t go for help,” Annette began, as people started applauding.

  She was right. I was one of the first Latinos and actors to publicly discuss my bipolar disorder because I know how hard it is to come forward. It’s hard enough, but very hard for guys, and then even harder culturally for Latino men. But the statistics can’t be ignored and people need to learn to talk about it, accept it, and manage their disease, no matter what it is, no matter what sex they are or what their cultural confines. Depression and bipolar disorder are equal opportunity diseases and account for ninety percent of all suicides. Those numbers are staggering and so it means a lot to me every time I get one of these awards, because it’s about something much bigger than me. I’m grateful I am healthy and alive and kicking and can try to help others deal with this terrible disease.

  While I was spending time outside the show in the trenches of the mental health advocacy world, there was also a surprise return to Port Charles that enraptured fans and was another one of my all-time favorite stories and, in particular, favorite scenes.

  Sonny and the rest of Port Charles assumed Brenda was dead from a car crash several years prior, and in this scene Sonny walks in the rain to St. Timothy’s Church while “Amazing Grace” is playing and goes inside. While he’s there, the doors open and suddenly Brenda is standing before him, smiling. He’s stunned, in shock, exuberant, but of course there’s always something in the way of those two characters, and Sonny is shot by a character played by A Martinez. As he’s dying in Brenda’s arms, he asks Jason to promise to take care of her. It was well written, beautifully directed and shot, and so deeply emotional.

  Sonny, of course, did not die but faked his own death to lure his enemy, Luis Alcazar, who had been holding Brenda prisoner, into the open. Sonny had also just had another child, his first girl, Kristina, with Alexis, his lawyer, played by the wonderful Nancy Lee Grahn. Sonny then went through a stint in jail and suffered extreme claustrophobia, and I had amazing scenes with Nancy in which the writers had crafted wonderful material for us with beautiful monologues helping Sonny deal with the debilitating fear of closed spaces due to his abuse as a child. Again the scenes were close to home for me and I had to go to some dark places to access those feelings, but I did it and managed to get through them.

  Sonny also confronted his demons and confessed his sins to a priest in hopes of getting some understanding from God for the crimes he had committed as a mobster. It’s a rich dynamic and always interesting to play those shades of Sonny’s struggle between doing bad things and at the same time seeking absolution. It’s also interesting to play Sonny the more the character changes, and I believe he changed the more people he had to love because the stakes in his world were different, and higher, with family and loved ones to worry about.

  In May 2003, at the age of forty, I was nominated for another Emmy Award. Steve had started calling me the male Susan Lucci because I was always nominated and never won. Even though I acted like it didn’t bother me, it did. The first few times I was nominated it meant too much to me and I was sure I’d win. I attended the ceremonies and waited, anxious, in the audience, and when someone else’s name turned out to be in that envelope my heart sank. I had to decide not to let things I can’t control control me. I have played the role of Sonny for almost half of my life, but I am not defined by it.

  Even though the buzz was strong and many people were convinced I would win, I wasn’t so sure, because in addition to lead actors from competing shows, I was up against the master himself, Tony Geary, from my own show. The day of the awards, a limo picked me up and my parents and Paula and our little girls attended with me. Paula looked beautiful as always in a gorgeous black dress, and Cailey and Cassidy were in adorable dresses with the crowning touch—a tiny tiara on Cassidy’s little locks. Most of the show, Cassidy sat in Paula’s lap, and fell asleep before my category was even announced, but Cailey was transfixed by all the beautiful gowns and felt like such a grown-up staying up late at the adult function.

  As Erika Slezak, a veteran of One Life to Live, read all the actors’ names who were nominated for Best Actor, and as the clips of scenes were played on the huge screen, Paula squeezed my hand. After the applause died, Erika opened the envelope.

  “The winner is Maurice Benard!”

  The auditorium, filled to the rafters with fans and my peers surrounding me, exploded in a deafening roar. Stunned, and with a racing heart, I made my way to the stage and pulled out my notes. I began by telling the fans they were the best, because they are, and I then gave a shout-out to Tony, who was smiling and clapping for me offstage.

  “We wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for you,” I said, nodding to him, and went on to thank the network, my agents, and the producers. When I got to the writers I was on fire. “To the writers, Bob and Chuck, thanks for getting this character. Elizabeth Korte, thanks for writing such brilliant words. And all the writers, if it ain’t on the page it ain’t on the stage!”

  More applause erupted in the audience and I could barely hear myself talk. “To the director and crews, I love you guys,” I said, as I choked back tears. My voice wavered slightly, because I was looking out at my wife and girls in the audience and thinking about them as well as my parents, who were somewhere in the crowd. The fans and most of the people in the auditorium had no idea what I had gone through with my parents, Paula, doctors, hospitals, therapists, and me
dication to get to this point, on this stage, holding this shiny award. When the orchestra started playing music to get me off the stage, I waved them off, ignoring the cue.

  “To my mother and father, to Cailey and Cassidy, to my wife who was sent from above, I love you.” I barely got the words out; partly because I thought my heart would burst, but partly because I was still struggling with that emotional aloofness that makes it so hard to say those things out loud to the people I’m closest to in the world. In a strange way the camera helped, like having to read lines in a scene.

  Paula wiped her own tears as she listened, and the entire place rose to their feet for a standing ovation. It was one of the best moments of my life and I flashed a peace sign, holding my Emmy above my head. I had dreamed about this from the day I’d decided to act, and Paula had dreamed about it, too, never giving up on me and always helping me to get there. My parents had never given up on me, either, and my mom was crying and my dad clapped louder than anyone else there, proud of his son.

  I was proud of, and pleased for, Vanessa, too, when she also won an Emmy that night and we all celebrated together at the after-party. The windows of the venue were covered so no one could see in, and Mom, Dad, Paula, and the kids were all dancing and having so much fun that we partied until six a.m. Best night of my life.

  Aside from the Emmys, May also marks mental health awareness month. I had gotten involved in Mental Health America (MHA; formerly the National Mental Health Association of America) to become the spokesperson that year for the Do You Know It Campaign, which played during that month to promote awareness about mental health issues. MHA is the nation’s leading community-based nonprofit dedicated to addressing the needs of those living with mental illness, including prevention services, intervention for those at risk, integrated care, service, and support with recovery as the goal. It promotes education, research, services, and advocacy, collaborating with affiliates and supporters to advance policy recommendations and protect the rights of individuals. Countless times moms had told me their children were suicidal, or individuals wrote me asking for advice because they were so depressed, so as I expanded the number of programs that I gave my time to, it helped me to know that I was helping others.

  The high from the Emmys and all the life work I was accomplishing was replaced in 2004 with news that came as a terrible blow. My dear friend Carol had cancer. I heard the c-word and my dark thoughts of course took me down a very dark road, imagining the worst. Carol, however, was positive and she was sure she was going to beat it, so she started treatment and we all said prayers. Donna did her best to distract me at work and keep us all upbeat about Carol’s prognosis.

  We got some good news to cling on to when we found out Paula was pregnant. I have to admit I secretly hoped for a boy, but when we were told we were having another girl and I realized I would be the only man in a house surrounded by females, I figured that could be fun. Once it got out publicly that we were having a girl, the fans thought it was great that I was going to be a father to three girls, too.

  As we continued to say prayers for Carol, Paula prepped the house and filled the nursery drawers with clothes for a baby girl, but about six months into her pregnancy we got a surprise. One day at Paula’s routine obstetrician visit, Dr. Crane took a look at the sonogram and then studied it more closely. Paula was afraid something was wrong, but Dr. Crane just smiled and showed Paula that the little person growing inside her was definitely not a little girl.

  When she called to tell me, I wouldn’t take her seriously; I thought it was a joke and told her it wasn’t funny. I explained that I was really excited about having all girls and defended myself, reiterating that I was really okay with it. It took Paula several moments to convince me that she was serious, and when it finally dawned on me that I was having a son I was speechless. I was truly exhilarated and terrified at the same time. It would be amazing to have a father-son bond; naturally it’s different than the bond a father has with his daughter.

  But at the same time, I wondered, What if he’s just like me? and I had to fight my dark thoughts.

  That year the Los Angeles City Council acknowledged me with an award for contributing to raising awareness of mental health issues. Antonio Ramon Villaraigosa, who would be elected mayor the next year, gave me the award. Mr. Villaraigosa told me his friends and family had told him that he looks like me and we had a laugh about maybe being related. After the ceremony, someone in Mr. Villaraigosa’s office came over and thanked me for helping to save their son’s life. That’s what this is all about.

  As I waited for my son to arrive, I had a huge life realization. Maybe it was brought about by being a father and worrying about my own children and how they would grow up, what challenges they would face. Maybe it was also having watched Carol valiantly fight for more time on this earth for so many months. Either way, I knew time was precious and I didn’t want to waste any of it.

  I had to go public in a big way with my bipolar story.

  In November 2004, I agreed to appear on Oprah to share my struggle with the disease.

  Being on Oprah is somewhat like auditioning for a movie—there are multiple phone conversations before a representative from the show then comes in person for a pre-interview session. That all happens before you ever sit with the wonderful Oprah herself. Winning an Emmy had been a dream of mine, and so was being on her show, but this was not exactly the way I had visualized it when I was starting out as a young actor. I had imagined how cool it would be to sit on Oprah’s couch and chat with her about cool things. Now that I was perched next to Oprah in front of a live audience, knowing millions were also watching, one of the first questions was far more difficult to answer than I’d thought.

  “Maurice, how did it feel to threaten to kill your wife?” Oprah asked me.

  It was such a personal and unattractive memory and this was such a gigantic, famous public forum; it was hard to describe and relive that dark terrifying night I’d put Paula through hell when I was off my meds. Paula was eight months pregnant by this time, and although she didn’t like attention, she went on the show with me because she knew how hard it was going to be for me. When Oprah asked me that, I turned and searched Paula’s sweet face, and in her eyes I saw what I needed to see—I knew it would be okay. We were doing the right thing; we had to speak out to try and make a difference in the lives of so many who suffered silently, afraid to talk about a mental disorder most didn’t understand. I was determined not to cry, but that was a hard interview.

  Another big emotional moment came soon after, when Joshua James was born on December 5, 2004. As with both his sisters before him, Joshua’s birth was induced on a Sunday. The day Joshua came into the world, my parents were there along with Cailey, Cassidy, Heather, and my friend Mfundo Morrison, General Hospital character Justus Ward, the grandson of Edward Quartermaine.

  No matter how many times you go through it, it really is a miracle watching a new soul enter your life. It’s magical, a gift from God. I was immediately full of awe that this little boy might look at me the way I had looked at my dad, wanting to be like him. It also worried me because I didn’t want my relationship with him to be the same.

  We set up his crib in our room because Joshua was born with severe asthma and spent a lot of time in the ER when he was little. It was painful to watch him struggle to breathe, and there were nights I was worried, thinking people could die from this.

  Although Joshua pulled through, I found out that Carol wasn’t faring as well. When she didn’t show up to work in the spring, I asked Donna where she was, and she said Carol wasn’t coming back because she only had a few months to live. It was strange to be so happy for the new child in our life while at the same time knowing that Carol was losing her battle with cancer.

  On June 27, 2005, Carol left this earth. She was only fifty-six.

  Donna and I talked about it a lot, and I leaned on her heavily. I felt bad that I hadn’t been there for Carol the last few months, and that
I hadn’t seen her, but Donna told me Carol didn’t want anyone to see her that way because she said it would be too hard to say goodbye. Carol’s husband reiterated that when I spoke to him. It was just devastating that she’d only had a few years with her soul mate.

  ABC hosted a beautiful memorial for Carol at the ABC Prospect Studios where Carol had spent so much of her life and imagination and energy on the show she loved so dearly. Everyone gathered on the soundstage and there were beautiful loving stories about Carol, as well as many tears.

  There was a huge hole at work where Carol had been, and it was hard to get used to being on set without her. I found myself turning to say something to her so many times, and every time she wasn’t there it broke my heart again. She was one in a million.

  We continued to have our own close calls and scares with Joshua’s severe asthma attacks. I felt so bad for Joshua because his asthma impacted everything. He didn’t play sports, and wasn’t on teams when he was small, like I was, because of his condition. That’s probably why he didn’t have the same interest in sports as me or in watching football games with me like I had with my dad as a kid.

  I was struggling in other ways as I raised my son. When Joshua was little, he was a pain in the ass, like the universe was paying me back for all the trouble I’d gotten into as a kid. When he’s like that, Paula always says, “Talk to your son.”

  One night when he was about seven, he wouldn’t eat his dinner because he was on his phone; when I told him to eat, he ignored me. I was so angry I took his phone away from him and threw it, but he still wouldn’t listen to me. I started toward him and he ran, so I began to chase him, racing after him all the way up the stairs before he locked himself in the bathroom with Cassidy. I started yelling through the door and pounding on it. I was so worked up I didn’t know what to do. I was afraid I was capable of hurting him, given my upbringing, but fortunately my good friend Melissa Heck was over for dinner and calmed me down.