Moments of Clarity
Lawford, Christopher Kennedy
HarperCollins (2010)
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SUMMARY:
In his New York Times bestselling memoir, Symptoms of Withdrawal, Christopher Kennedy Lawford chronicled his deep descent into near-fatal drug and alcohol addiction, and his subsequent hard-won journey back to sobriety, which he has maintained for more than twenty years. The overwhelming response his book received impressed upon Lawford the number of people struggling to find their own way back from addiction and the need to share their stories. The histories gathered here are the recollections of lives snatched back from the brink of a precipice so wide and deep it threatened to engulf them. Moments of Clarity includes stories from men and women, young and old, across all barriers of celebrity, color, and class. Represented in these pages are the singer and the actress, the writer and the anchorman, the man from the movie screen and the woman who lives down the street. This book brings together a myriad of different moments, all with the common understanding of where these men and women have been and where they must go. As they bravely share their stories, they shed light not only on their own experiences but also on the journey we all take as human beings who are trying to make sense of our world.
Christopher Kennedy Lawford
Moments of Clarity
Voices from the Front Lines of Addiction and Recovery
For my father, for my cousin David, and for all of those who die from this disease so the rest of us can get sober
His craving for alcohol was the equivalent on a low level of the spiritual thirst of our being for wholeness, the union with God.
The only right and legitimate way to such an experience is, that it happens to you in reality and it can only happen to you when you walk on a path, which leads you to higher understanding. You might be led to that goal by an act of grace or through a personal and honest contact with friends, or through a higher education of the mind beyond the confines of mere rationalism.
—From a letter from C. G. Jung to Bill Wilson, cofound er of Alcoholics Anonymous
Contents
Epigraph iv
Foreword viii
Introduction
Jim Vance 1
Susan Cheever Chris Gerolmo
Aimee Liu Ron Smith
David Black Alec Baldwin Judy Collins 47
Mike Binder
Dallas Taylor 63
Ed Begley Jr. 69
Kelly McGillis 75
Gerry Cooney Steve Earle Stephen Bergman
and Janet Surrey 91
Richard Dreyfuss 98
David James Elliott 107
Tom Arnold Velvet Mangan 118 Jamie Lee Curtis 128 Earl Hightower 136 Chris Mecham Karl Fleming Larry Kudlow Lou Gossett Jr. 160 Malachy McCourt 164 Greg Behrendt 171 Marie Morning- Glory 177 Thomas Henderson 183 Mike Early Denny Seiwell Michael Glasser 197 Bob Timmons Rudy Tomjanovich 208 Richard Lewis Katey Sagal Jim Ramstad Kale Browne Martin Sheen Max Cleland Elaine Stritch Dejuan Verrett 257 Epilogue 263 Ac knowledgments 267 About the Author
Other Books by Christopher Kennedy Lawford
Credits
Cover
Copyright
About the Publisher
vii | contents
Foreword by PATRICK KENNEDY
I
n his last book, Symptoms of Withdrawal, my cousin Chris Lawford shared his very personal tale: a tale of his struggle with his brutal addiction to alcohol and drugs. In publishing Symptoms Chris boldly
brought to light what it is like to succumb to the disease of addiction, and also what it is like to recover.
When Chris described his concept for another book, I was impressed by the approach he proposed for his follow-up to Symptoms. He told me that as he had traveled promoting Symptoms, individuals had come up to him asking him about his moment of clarity. Many, he said, also shared their own experiences and their own personal moments of clarity.
Instead of writing a follow-up book focusing solely on his own story, Chris decided to compile a collection of stories, essays, and anecdotes accumulated over the course of the last several years. In doing so, Chris has removed the focus from himself and created a book that illuminates the lives of the hundreds and thousands of Americans who suffer from addiction, thus confronting this societal epidemic from a grassroots level.
The recoveries and renewed lives you’ll read about in this book are only possible because each contributor had that moment of clarity, a moment in which they realized they suffered from a disease, a moment that would forever alter their lives, because—through treatment, friends, family, faith, and a never-ending commitment to being healthy—they would build the strength to confront the disease and live a sober life.
My moment of clarity was a little different. In fact, I’ve had more than one, and both were very different. The first moment was when I realized I had a problem I couldn’t manage by myself and so I sought proper treatment.
But months later, I experienced a second moment of clarity, an epiphany if you will. By the very nature of my profession, by serving in public office and having a public life, my public admission that I was in trouble appeared on TV, the Internet, and in newspapers all around the world. I have never experienced anything more frightening than having to admit to myself, my family, and the world that I was struggling to stay healthy. Standing in front of those cameras and admitting my faults was one of the most difficult things I have ever had to do.
It was a moment of pure fear. But it also was a moment in which I realized that I didn’t have to hide anymore, I didn’t have to try and deny to myself or others that I was suffering from this disease. In front of all those cameras, I took a great step forward in my life, and I shed the burden I had carried for so many years.
My travails began when I was younger, and they had been chronicled in the media. Based on the pattern of my behavior, most people could have guessed where I was headed.
A few years ago, I realized I was having a problem again. I was able to hide the problem from my friends, family, and my constituents because I was still functioning at a high level, but at some point I realized I couldn’t get better on my own. I was fortunate to have the resources for and access to treatment, but as I would learn a few months later, I was not fully free of the weight of the disease and the pressures it imposed on me. Not until that day before the cameras.
That day in front of the cameras had been building for a long time. And at that moment, with everyone watching, it all came to a head. Finally I was exposed; finally my problem was revealed; finally my weaknesses were laid bare. There was a sea of TV cameras and a huge cavalcade of press outside my office. My capacity for denial had been enormous, but there was no way I could keep up the denial after that. I sat in my office and watched news anchors from CNN and FOX-TV deliver the story and scour over my past and present. It was impossible for me to deny the pattern; it was all being documented to the world.
Soon after my three-minute statement in front of the world, I realized the burden had been lifted. I no longer had to deal with my disease in the shadows. I was able to live my life without the fear of stigma that I have fought so long to erase. Instead of living in a constant state of anxiety, I am now constantly reminded of those things in life that are worth staying sober for. I’m not proud about how this all happened. If I were writing the script I would write it differently. But I wouldn’t change the ending.
There are millions of Americans with stories just like mine and just like Chris’s. What Chris has done is to bring some of them together, and in doing that, in a sense, he’s brought us all together. In sharing these moments of clarity, Chris is helping to expose the proble
ms that persist in our society, and the good that can come from working together to achieve a larger national, cultural, and societal moment of clarity; a moment in which we can all admit to ourselves that this disease plagues our families, our friends, and our neighbors. This disease plagues our national soul and our national conscience.
Shortly after my own recovery began, my dear friend and Republican colleague Jim Ramstad and I launched a nationwide tour promoting our legislation and investigating the state of mental health in America.* Having met so many people during that pro cess, many like those chronicled in this book, I am left bewildered about the inability in our culture to value people for who they are as human beings. That basic idea is both universal and necessary for the survival of our culture and our society. Every time I speak now on domestic or international issues, it all starts from the contentment I feel in being my own self in the world. The fact is that I can’t be totally self-reliant, none of us can. We are dependent on others; we’ve got to be engaged with our neighbors, in our world; we can’t
* In 2007 Kennedy and Ramstad held hearings around the country to support the Paul Wellstone Mental Health and Addiction Equity Act. The bill seeks to broaden health-care access by preventing insurance companies from setting discriminatory restrictions on treatment for psychological afflictions, including addiction. It would require insurers to offer ordinary Americans the same coverage available to all members of Congress. As this book went to press, the bill had passed the House and was awaiting a vote in the Senate.
foreword | x
be just out for ourselves. Think about what might happen if we took the values of humility and service and, as a country, applied them to our policy domestically and internationally.
For too long , stigma has kept those with this disease in the shadows of our society. I am living proof that—with the care of others—clarity, recovery, and a better, healthier life are possible. There is a tenet of the twelve- step program: in helping others who are afflicted with the same disease that we all suffer from, we help ourselves. I have dedicated myself to helping erase the stigma and remove the discrimination inherent in our health-care laws.
In the spirit of our family’s tradition of public service, Chris has dedicated himself, through Moments of Clarity, to improving people’s lives in a meaningful way. By publishing this book, he underscores that this is a problem that spares no family and no community in this country or in this world. Chris bravely shared his own story in his last book; he now humbly shares the stories of many others, all in an effort to change the way we think about this awful disease.
Chris has gathered the stories of everyday people from everyday walks of life. No matter who we are, how much money we make, or what neighborhood we grew up in, we and the people we love are susceptible to the disease of addiction. In compiling these profound stories, Chris is again adding to the dialogue and moving our nation forward; he is making it acceptable to confront these issues and care for one another.
I hope that in reading his book, you too are able to learn from and identify with the millions out there who have been struck with this affliction. And I hope you too can experience grace and find that inherent link we all share, and help us all work toward a brighter day in this world.
Introduction
Stand upright, speak thy thoughts, declare the truth thou hast, that all may share; be bold, proclaim it everywhere. They only love who dare.
—Voltaire
The biggest mistake, sometimes, is to play things very safe in this life and end up being moral failures.
—Dorothy Day
A
fter writing my memoir, Symptoms of Withdrawal, the last thing I wanted to do was write a book about recovery. I thought I’d covered that already. When I first contemplated writing Symptoms I was seventeen years sober, recently separated from my family, living in a teardown on the Westside of L.A. that my cousin owned and was letting me squat in until I put my life back together. My career was in flux and I had just begun therapy for hepatitis C, embarking on a course of treatment that would save my life but leave me feeling really angry and depressed for close to a year. My only friend seemed to be a mouse that lived in the decaying chimney of the practically empty house I was living in.
One morning I received a call from a writer who was doing another in a long line of books about my family and he wanted to talk about what it was like being a Kennedy male. I wasn’t in the mood and told him to write me a letter explaining why the world needed another book about the Kennedys. He recalled what he thought was a heroic story involving one of my cousins. I didn’t know the story, nor did I think it particularly heroic. I told him if he’d said he needed the money or was trying to impress a girl I would have talked to him, but the only reason that story needed to be told was if my cousin wanted to tell it. And then I had a flash—maybe I had a story to tell and maybe I should write it before the virus attacking my liver killed me. That was the moment I had to become public about my recovery because any story I told would in large part be about my recovery from addiction to drugs and alcohol. I also knew any publisher who might publish that story would insist I do my part to promote it—publicly.
Two months and fifty pages later I received another phone call. This time it was a treatment center in Indianapolis that wanted me to come speak at their annual fund-raiser. I had been asked many times to do this, the offers usually coming with large sums of cash attached. I had always said no, firmly believing that my recovery was private, anonymity a preference if not an obligation. I said yes to the good people in Indianapolis not because of a conversion in my thinking but out of necessity; I would have a book to promote in a year and the sooner I was comfortable speaking publicly about my recovery the better. At six o’clock the morning of my speech, I found myself in an Indianapolis television station being interviewed by a well-meaning young news reporter who wanted to know what it was like being a heroin addict.
“Oh my God,” I thought. I didn’t want to be on TV talking about that. What had I done? Why did I open my mouth? Maybe I shouldn’t write a memoir after all. How the hell am I going to get out of this? These were the thoughts racing through my mind as I settled into the hot seat at my next interview in a radio station studio, facing the large picture window that looked like something on the Tod ay show. The host of the radio program picked up where the TV reporter had left off: “Did you take LSD, Chris?” I’m sitting there thinking “Beam me up, Scotty!” when a homeless man walks up to the window holding a sign that reads, “Can you help me get sober?” His name was Lawrence, he was fifty years old, and he’d been living drunk in a Dumpster for five years. In an instant I knew why I was on the radio and television that morning. I was there to speak to Lawrence and others like him. I haven’t shut up since. So, I told my story of recovery,
xiii | introduction
and found, surprisingly, that that was the part of my life that fascinated people the most—the part that resonated more profoundly than any other. Everywhere I went on the Symptoms publicity tour, I was asked the same question: “What happened to you on the morning of February seventeenth in 1986?” I had written about that day as the moment I had the revelation that resulted in my continuing sobriety and people wanted to hear more. In fact, they asked me about that moment with a need to know bordering on desperation. It seemed like they were dying for me to share the secret that allowed me to change from hopeless addict to someone who had stayed sober for twenty years, lived a productive life, and written a book about it all. Everywhere I visited, I ran into folks thirsting for some reassurance that change might be possible. It was clear there was a powerful need for a message of hope and inspiration.
I had told my tale, but recovery is a bigger subject than just one person; there’s a community of voices out there, and each voice has a different story. The message couldn’t come only from me. I knew a lot of people who had put down the booze and chemicals—people who took their own path toward sobriety—and all these diffe
rent experiences were important. I realized that a collection of these stories, in different voices, would be more meaningful and powerful than any single recollection could be. There were two things that united us all: one, we were all addicts, and two, as recovered addicts, we had all experienced some form of what I call the “moment of clarity.” So I decided to interview those people I knew who had something to share and who were willing to open up their lives in order to serve as inspiration to others.
I sent out e-mails to four people I knew in recovery. The response surprised me, leaving me with a sinking feeling that getting people to share an intimate, profound moment that altered their life forever might not be as easy as I had imagined. The movie star I had known for years and who I was sure would say yes—said no! He didn’t want to make pronouncements about recovery or pose as an expert. The other movie star, someone I barely knew at all, said yes without reservation. A man I’d known in recovery who had a story to tell wanted to keep it private. Then there were the journalist and the rock star, both of whom I never heard back from.
introduction | xiv
Clearly the road to getting people to open up about their “moment” was going to be bumpy and full of unexpected turns.
A good friend told me, “Don’t worry, Chris. Whoever’s meant to be in the book will just show up.” And that’s pretty much what happened. I kept asking people, looking for people, letting people show up.
An old friend I had no worries about pulled out at the eleventh hour, saying, “I just don’t want to dredge all that up again. The last time I talked about my recovery the newspapers crucified me.” Several others had second thoughts as well and pulled out of the project at the last minute. I began to understand why it is so difficult to change the way we view addiction in this country. If accomplished, talented, well-thought-of members of society are wary about the stigma of the disease of addiction, what about those with less power and standing?
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