I'll Sleep When I'm Dead

by Crystal Zevon

  CRYSTAL ZEVON: I was calling Ariel whenever I could find a post office open. We were traversing rural France, sleeping in farmers’ barns and holding town meetings in villages at night, so finding phones where I could make international calls was difficult. When I did reach Ariel, I was immediately concerned because she was timid on the phone. I got the sense that she wanted to say something, but couldn’t.

  Warren would take the phone from her and tell me how they’d taken her to some dinner theater show of Annie, or how much she loved American breakfast cereal. He’d assure me that everything was fine, and the people I was marching with tried to convince me that I was just nervous because I’d never been separated from Ariel for that long. About halfway across France, I called and I was sure from the sound in Ariel’s voice that something was very wrong. She sounded scared. I tried to get her to speak to me in French, but she said she wasn’t allowed.

  Finally, Warren got on the phone; he was obviously drunk. He told me that he and the DJ were moving into a two-bedroom apartment and that they were keeping Ariel. He said, “I’m to the right of your father and Ronald Reagan and if you think I’m going to let my daughter be raised by some fucking Communist hippie, you’re sadly mistaken. She’s staying here.”

  JORDAN ZEVON: Dad and the DJ lived together, and that was like one of the few times, at that age, that Ariel and I hung out. We were both there at the same time. That was like a big bonding moment for us. They were living right around Rittenhouse Square, and I was staying there for a little while, and then Ariel came, and that was our big bonding moment. We hadn’t actually seen each other in a few years.

  CRYSTAL ZEVON: I got back to Paris and on a plane to Philadelphia as quickly as I could. I did talk to Warren’s girlfriend, who kept telling me everything was fine. She knew I was coming, and even suggested I stay at their apartment overnight since I couldn’t get a flight out until a day after I arrived.

  I got to their apartment before noon. Ariel answered the door. When she saw me, she broke down sobbing. She clung to me like I was her last lifeline. Warren’s girlfriend was at work, and Warren was asleep. Ariel wanted me to take her to McDonald’s. She was hungry. I asked why she hadn’t had breakfast, and she told me the cereal boxes were up high and she wasn’t allowed to climb up on the counter. I asked if she was packed and ready to go, and she said, no, her father wouldn’t let her pack, and he’d hidden her suitcases. We went into her room and it was a disaster. They had only moved into the bigger apartment a couple weeks earlier, but it was obvious that no one was looking after my six-year-old daughter. She needed to eat, so first I took her to a café downstairs.

  When we went back up, we had to wake Warren up to let us in. He was in bad shape, shaking and disoriented. He wanted to know what I was doing there. I said I was taking Ariel, and that I’d talked to his girlfriend.

  He followed us to Ariel’s room and watched while we started stuffing her belongings into bags as quickly as we could. Ariel didn’t say a word. Warren disappeared for a while and then came back dressed and a little steadier. He said we needed to talk, and he insisted that we leave Ariel there and take a walk in the park. He was quiet, he seemed calm, but Ariel begged me not to go. She kept asking me to take her to McDonald’s. We’d just eaten, but somehow, it was like that was the way out to her—can’t we just go to McDonald’s? The unspoken message—it’s safe there.

  I figured the path of least resistance was to see what Warren had to say, so I told Ariel I’d be right back, and we left. We sat down on a park bench, and Warren accused me of blindsiding him. I said his girlfriend had even invited me to stay overnight—looking back, I realize I was baiting him. I was furious, and he went wild. He tried to hit me right there in the park, in front of mothers with baby strollers and the park police. I was able to brush him away fairly easily, but there was no question that we were engaged in a physical struggle, and not one person came to my aid.

  I flashed back to that time in Canada when he’d had his hands around my neck and I was screaming for help and no one came. And then, I had a moment of insight…I realized how, with all I’d been through with this man, I had actually sent my child across an ocean and into harm’s way.

  Things were sliding “like a rockslide down the hill,” but in Warren’s case, the failed attempts to recapture career and family may have been his saving grace.

  ANDY SLATER: I got the demos from the R.E.M. sessions in Atlanta, and I sent them to Michael Austin. They sounded like an indie rock band fronting the great songwriter, and not so great singer, at the time. They passed. This is 1984. I tried to get somebody at EMI interested, Gary Gursh, and he passed.

  DR. SANFORD ZEVON: After the family saw Warren at the Bottom Line in 1976, I don’t remember being in contact with him at all. Then in 1984, I got a call in my office. He said he was in trouble—physically. He was in Philadelphia, and I told him to take the train and I would meet him at the station. He was one of the last people off the train and I couldn’t believe my eyes. He was wearing a long, grungy overcoat with a guitar on his back, and unshaven. Shaky. He looked terrible. He was bleeding from his rectum and thought he had something terrible.

  I took him to a doctor and it was nothing serious. Then we went to my wife Madeline’s office at the National Council on Alcoholism. We made some phone calls, and St. Mary’s in Minnesota accepted him. He came back to the house. Then my oldest son, Paul, and I drove him to the airport. He handed me his Darvon and other stuff he was using; that was the beginning of the end of his drug use.

  This did not turn out to be Warren’s last treatment experience, but the effect of having turned to his family for help made a lasting impression. Following rehab, he returned to L.A. He started drinking again almost immediately.

  ANDY SLATER: I found him an apartment, the Oakwood Gardens. He had all kinds of issues, mainly financial. He was so smart and funny and sarcastic and endearing when he wanted to be that I just fell in love with the guy. I made it my mission to help him get back in the record business.

  February 26, 1985

  Meeting with Dr. Leventhal. Sat with the old man for hours in claustrophobic room; at times I felt like half my face, mind-deep, was sliding off. Wondered if I had wet brain. Dr. said liver not processing toxins as fast anymore. Analyst was perceptive, told me I wasn’t psychotic, I just had to resolve not to drink…Home. Called Crystal; good talk; got out of taking Ariel to orthodontist.

  March 4, 1985

  Drove to Century City…Bill Harper says I’m more or less broke. Bought filofax with inserts. Dinner at Musso’s. 15 Valiums 3 Darvons from Susanella.

  March 11, 1985

  Talked to Crystal. Work on “Reconsider Me”…Played it for Waddy. He likes it but thinks “Piano Fighter” needs work.

  ANDY SLATER: Warren was definitely drinking during these days. He would show up in my office smoking these cigars. He was not a cigar smoker. I later found out it was an attempt to mask the smell of alcohol. I remember going to his apartment a bunch of times while he was working on songs. He was constantly writing, but there were all sorts of shenanigans that were going on there.

  He had what looked like a game of darts going on on the wall across from his bed, only there was no dart board. So, there were all these holes in the wall. When I got closer, I realized they were knife holes. He was lying in bed throwing a knife at the wall.

  The apartment looked pretty…rugged. At this point he started opening up to me about being a “chemical engineer.” He talked about the various prescriptions he was taking to create whatever effect he felt was necessary. It became clear to me that he was going to have to get sober if he was going to be able to work.

  March 19, 1985

  Filled Rx. Andy has tour starting April 24…Jorge can’t make tour—opt for more electronic accessories?

  March 23, 1985

  Wrote “Factory”

  March 26, 1985

  Record One—Niko—Detox…Got drum track of “Hygiene” (I hope)…J. D., He
nley, Andy came by (no pills, 2 days now)

  CRYSTAL ZEVON: Around the time Warren got out of rehab, Ariel and I moved back to L.A. We’d just rented a condo in Burbank, and Warren called to say he was sober and that Philadelphia had all been a huge mistake. He wanted to get together. I wasn’t quite ready, but he did send a check, and eventually I invited him over.

  There was a moment when we both thought it might work out between us again. We decided to go to Knott’s Berry Farm for Easter as a family. Warren came over the night before Easter, and Ariel was excited, waiting with her report card and a drawing she had made for him. When he arrived, he sat down, barely aware of Ariel, and opened his guitar case. I’ll never forget watching Ariel watch her dad while he looked at me and sang his new song, “Reconsider Me.”

  That song is so beautiful…it tormented me for months. I still loved Warren, and he loved me. That never changed. But, Ariel was crushed, and Warren was totally oblivious. That overshadowed what used to allow me to forgive him anything. I offered him some platitudes but not what he was looking for. When he came to pick us up for a day at the amusement park the next day, he was two hours late, and he was drunk. It was a disaster.

  ARIEL ZEVON: I was eight or nine years old and I was really excited to see him. We were going to Knott’s Berry Farm, and he got to our apartment and I’d drawn something for him and he pushed it aside and went after my mom. He couldn’t have cared less. That was when these unrealistic fantasies I had about who he was came crashing down and I started into my pre-teen and teen hatred and anger.

  ANDY SLATER: Initially I thought, here’s the great outlaw of the L.A. music scene, the legend in all his raging glory in his apartment with his guns and his knives and his prescriptions and his guitars. I got completely swept up in Warren’s world. This was not a guy who was just completely out of it. He was smart and sarcastic and charming in the right moment. But, none of it was working, and it was getting worse and worse.

  That’s when I started pouring out liquor, emptying Coke bottles, talking to him about having to go back to rehab. We were going to go out to dinner one night, and I said, “I’ve found a place for you to go. It’s the only way, man. You’re going to have to be able to function to be able to do anything in your life.” He knew it was coming.

  GEORGE GRUEL: He called me a couple of times from his Oakwood Gardens apartment. I’d get him a bag of dope, and we’d smoke a few joints, but the spark was gone, and it was very depressing. The abuse over the last few years had caught up with him.

  April 8, 1985

  [mostly illegible, scribbles]…slashed knee…must have been inebriated in…where…quarrel afterwards. Maybe…

  ANDY SLATER: He wanted somebody to tell him to go [back to rehab]. So, I said, “I’ll take you over, and it’ll be fine.” And he was like, “Listen to me, Andy, how about a cheeseburger for the condemned man?” I said, “Sure.” So, we get a cheeseburger, and I go to the bathroom and when I come back, I see three beer bottles, two empty and one in Warren’s mouth, and he’s sucking it back like he’s going to the chair. It’s his way of saying, “You know what, fuck you, I’m going to have my last beer.” And, that was cool with me.

  The rehab was on Pico Boulevard near 20th Century Fox. We go in the waiting room, and he’s waiting to be admitted, and there’s another guy in the waiting room, a patient. He’s got the demeanor of Paul Lynde, and he was talking to no one in particular, ranting about how he was going to get into the hospital and drink some lye.

  Warren looks at me over the top of his glasses with the one eyebrow raised, motioning with his hands like “we’re out of here.” I’m saying, “We’re going to stay and see the doctor.” He says, “Andy, I’m not going to be here with no cukaboos. We gotta get outta here right now.” He kicked and screamed, and I didn’t get him checked in. Within forty-eight hours, he was in a rehab, only he didn’t last too long.

  April 19, 1985

  Waiting to meet Andy at sundown, killing time in Beverly Center, took turn for the worst…bought some books (Stravinsky, Stephen King)…ended up in Thai bar with vodka, beer, water and a straight line eye-wise to loo in case of sickness. Called Andy for detoxing…Andy loved this: asked for race, I said, “I’m a Caucasian, but I sing the blues.” Also demanded a single room with no kukaboo in the next bed. We split—when we called back, they wouldn’t take me. Went for a burger & Lowenbrau while Andy made phone calls, checked into Cedars-Sinai. Andy made visits with supplies incl. long silk-like socks for tying up girl patients! Also brought Silk Cut cigarettes, which I took to. Given massive doses of Valium…high b.p. Lots of nice kids, friendly nurses—except for the one who searched my mouth to make sure I was taking the Valium—a switch! Henley called…

  April 22, 1985

  Checked out of Cedars early afternoon. Met Duncan Aldrich at Frontline. Went to my room at Le Dafy. Made high priced ($300) call girl after passing on two…she left 5ish, caught one hour’s sleep. Flew to Rochester.

  DUNCAN ALDRICH (DR. BABYHEAD), road manager: This was in 1985. The job was to go on the road. It had been a while since Warren had done any records, and it was maybe a year and a half later that he did Sentimental Hygiene. So, I met with Andy Slater, and he offered me low money and I said, “Forget it.” He called me back, desperate this time, and I agreed to take it on.

  I kept saying to Slater that I should really meet Warren before I went out on a six-week tour that was to be just the two of us. He’d say, “Not important, not important, not important.” I didn’t know that Warren was in rehab and got out roughly before he got on the plane to fly back to the East Coast on tour. So, I had never met Warren. We sat on a plane and talked for five hours, and I found him to be a very interesting and witty guy.

  April 26, 1985—Utica

  College gig—fried by lights—saw a fellow in wheelchair—thought “Vets”—now I’m cool like Bruce—took his hand in passing, realized he had cerebral palsy or something—later turned to him while playing & saw his other hand waving—Duncan said, “That’s courage.” I was very moved—felt like my work was worth something. Prayed and wept hard that night. $4,000.

  DUNCAN ALDRICH: We went out to do the first gigs, and he’s trying to work me into some frenzy, complaining about this and that. I just figured I didn’t really need to do this if it was going to be like that. So, I lectured him, “As far as I’m concerned, you’re among the luckiest people in the world to be doing this kind of work. It’s what everybody else in the world envies. You could be working in a factory.”

  From that point on, I guess he took on a respect for me that I guess I’d had to earn through that little exchange. That went on for years and years. I worked for Warren on and off for the next twelve years.

  April 27, 1985

  Providence, R.I…. REM played concert this aft. Peter called, said they were coming down, he was bringing guitars—$4,000

  April 28, 1985

  Cambridge at dawn…Taking Halcyon & Valiums. Joyce arrived—said she loved her boyfriend—went home—I was stoned and depressed. Slept 12 hrs.

  April 29, 1985—Boston…

  Peter [Buck] forced me to sing “Gloria”—whispering first verse to me, 2nd verse said, “Sing anything!” I went into lengthy ad lib—Felt like rock singer again…R.E.M. want to record with me…Cousin Danny there…

  May 1, 1985—Philadelphia…

  Awful nerves—no sign of the DJ—good…Got through with God’s help. $5,500.

  DUNCAN ALDRICH: I never met the DJ from Philly, but every time we went to Philadelphia it was like “get the secret police out to protect me because she’s stalking me.”

  May 6, 1985—New York—Bottom Line…

  Very nervous—1st show okay. Dr. Sandy, Madeline, Paul & friends backstage afterwards—had to be dishonest about sobriety.

  May 10, 1985—Georgetown…

  Dinner with Duncan at Chez Odette where Crystal & I dined in ’74. Called Henley—“Walk the straight & narrow—you don’t want to rake leaves.” />
  May 13, 1985—Cleveland…

  Telegram: “Regret not having fulfilled song lyric nearly followed you to hotel room. Lost nerve. Allow me to portray brazen young seductress on your next visit to Chicago.” Maryanne, your Park West waitress

  ANDY SLATER: I took him to rehab three times. My own internal turmoil, my own disease, was progressing at the same time, and I didn’t know it.

  June 29, 1985—L.A.…

  Loaned car to neighbor for base…Dangerous ride with them. Basing all day…Admitted to Care Unit…

  July 2, 1985…

  Argued with sympathetic nurse that I need an MD for head not AA. Denial as Dr. said later. Walked to AA…beginning of seizure at lunch…grand mal seizure at night…Andy calling…

  July 26, 1985—Graduation Day…

  Went to AA. Tried to share, unsuccessful again. Very spaced. Called Eve Babitz.

  July 30, 1985—Fresno…

  Arrived Fresno Hilton…Called Nam…Jordan asked me when his great-grandmother was coming over thinking Nam was mother.

  July 31, 1985—Fresno…

  A lot reconciled. I have a mom now. And Nam. Elmer [stepfather] left us alone—he has a potentially abrasive (and retrospectively, infuriating) sense of humor.

  Warren’s sobriety seemed to be taking this time, and he was beginning to believe it was possible to have a career, a family, and a life simultaneously. As he reconciled with his mother and his grandmother, he invited Jordan to join him in Fresno. They traveled down the coast together with a last stop at Jackson’s ranch to celebrate Ariel’s birthday.

  JORDAN ZEVON: I knew my grandmother and great-grandmother cared about me. They would write me cards and things, but it was hard for me to embrace them as family because, like, I grew up living at my other grand-mother’s house, my mom’s mom, for a lot of years. So, I didn’t have the feeling with Dad’s family like, “Oh! It’s family! It’s Grammie!” I saw them and talked to them so infrequently and, unfortunately, that carried through until they passed away.