The Noble Battle

"You, as much as anybody in the entire universe, deserve your love and affection." - Buddha

Chris Pettiet was an actor my age that I knew from Hollywood in the 90s. He died of an accidental overdose in April of 2000. This was devastating. But not quite devastating enough.

Later that year, I was having illicit prescriptions filled by a shady doctor in Beverly Hills, Dr. Shady, I called him. He shared a floor with a commercial talent agency, and there was one communal bathroom in the hallway. Someone from the agency started shouting that a person had collapsed in the bathroom.

Dr. Shady and I rushed over to find my friend, Harold Pruitt (another actor my age)—the person who’d introduced us in the first place—OD’d on the bathroom floor. Dr. Shady collapsed too. With two bodies sprawled on the floor, I performed CPR on Harold and he came back to life. As the paramedics were hauling him out, I can still hear this exchange:

EMS, “Do you suffer from anything?”

Harold, “Anxiety.”

My only thought was: Brilliant, he’ll get some Klonopin out of them.

September 23, 2000, was the night of the Remember the Titans premiere at the Rose Bowl in Pasadena. On the red carpet, Hayden Panettiere, the ten-year-old girl from the movie, ran up to me, leapt into my arms, and gave me a big hug. Holding her I was lighter, some of her energy and innocence washed over me, and for a moment my smile was genuine.

I went from the press line to the bathroom and smoked heroin.

I was late for the cast meetup with our real-life counterparts. When I finally got there and met the real Louis Lastik, he wasn’t fat. Not like I was. I imagined his disappointment at seeing who they’d gotten to play him. So I went back to the bathroom and smoked heroin. Then we were all supposed to take laps around the stadium in golf carts with the guys we played. When I sat on our cart, it broke, I crushed one of the rear wheels. The other carts rolled off, and while they wrangled a new one for Louis and me, the cavalcade disappeared. We made a much slower lap, way off the back.

While the movie played, I sat in the bathroom, cried, and smoked heroin.

I saw Hayden one last time, as we made our way out of the stadium. Once again, she leapt into my arms, and once again I felt some relief.

I didn’t die of an accidental overdose that night. But I went to bed believing I wouldn’t wake up, and that didn’t seem so bad. Better than whatever a new day offered.

Harold Pruitt died of an accidental overdose in 2002.

Hayden Panettiere died of an accidental overdose last night.

I feel a tremendous sense of loss today, I don’t know what they were going through at the end. I only know that for them, the battle is over. And I’m sad.

The miracle of my life wasn't just asking for help, it was finding the courage to accept it. Something that seemed impossible.

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