Illinois State Second Year, Second Arrest, Second Call to Dad...

After my first year at ISU, I was placed on academic probation and was risking expulsion. I was drinking everyday and smoking about 7 grams of pot alone a day. While my friends went to class and were preparing for their careers, I was doing the wake and bake and watching Bozo or the newly created MTV. I had a radio program on WZND, the ISU radio station. The show began with the Ramones jamming "Do you Remember Rock-n-Roll Radio?" Ironically the show was called the "Happy Hour Show" as I broadcasted from 4-7pm. I took requests and played the songs I liked and disregarded the requests for Culture Club and the Thompson Twins.

My sophomore year picked up right where my freshman one left off. I flunked 4 classes the first year and started year 2 on probation. To me, college was "Animal House" come to life. I was being treated for a spastic colon with medication. I now believe the condition was a symptom of my depression. As I got older the runs went away and the desire to run from everything took over. I remember very little of my academic career at ISU, but I can remember the parties and the drugs. By this point I was using drugs and alcohol day and night. Classes were recreational.

I would go home on weekends to see my girlfriend and hit my dad or grandma up for money. When I started my first year of college I had $5,000 dollars of spending money in an account for necessities. I went through the money in that first semester and was mooching my dad by the second. While I was home, I would lay a song and a dance on my dad and grandmother about my financial woes and could always weasel some cash out of them. Addicts know how to play each character specifically. We are chameleons. We can be smooth and gentlemanly, street wise and slick, loving and pathetic all to get the money we need to continue our run.

On one trip back to Bloomington from Mokena, I was drunk and high after a party earlier in the day. As I headed down I-55 in my '74 Buick Le Sabre, I was nodding off and clipped the bumper of a car in the lane next to me. I freaked. I hit the gas and the car chased me for about 25 miles before I finally pulled over. While they were moving in on me I knew they had my plate numbers and I was planning my scheme on how to get out of this latest pinch. I switched into an often used addicts' role. I acted like I was completely nuts!

I pleaded with the driver not to call the police. I gave them my insurance card and my father's phone number assuring them that the damages would be repaired. I cried or sobbed to gain their sympathy. I ranted and mumbled apologies, I paced and scared the driver enough for him to accept my proposal to keep the law out of it. Another scrape I escaped through the cunning tongue and acting of an alcoholic addict. These skills have been useful in my comedy and acting career. Now they're used for character identification and visualization, not for manipulation of family and friends.

I made it back to campus and called my father. He said he would take care of it after I balled like a baby. That always got him; to hear his grown son sob. I played him like a fiddle. When the call was ended, I wiped the crocodile tears from my eyes, had a beer and smoked some more hooch. I was completely immersed in chemicals now, including mushrooms and LSD. Like most users I did it to "expand my senses" and "write poetry." I knew the greats like Hemingway and Lennon were drunks and addicts and I thought my creative genius would be fueled from these "trips". The poetry was bad but the music was good. The toll the hallucinogens took on my body left me bed ridden for 2 or 3 days after use. I was the pariah of my Manchester Hall roommates. A joke, really. They talked to me but laughed behind my back at how truly pathetic I had become. I was the center of a joke that every one was in on, except me.

Early in the year campus officials were considering banning alcohol on campus and at parties. The students cried NO! I took part in an evening melee that even brought Oprah down to Normal, Illinois for a story on the pandemonium that ensued that night. When there was revolution or anarchy in the air, I took the lead and cheered my fellow hooligans on in their destruction. They knocked over garbage cans and when they began to break stuff my anarchist participation ended. I was in support of keeping the booze flowing but not at the expense of a campus window or innocent bystanders' property.

The police were making themselves more visible in the Cherry Street neighborhood and fraternity row. I was still bringing booze in from home and had connections for anything else I fancied right there on campus. On Halloween I was especially drunk and stoned. We were planning to go out to the costume parties. As a drunk I had to drink and use before we went out and drank and used in case they didn't drink and use at the same level as I did. You follow me? One of the greatest fears of an alcoholic addict is that they will arrive at a social function and find out there wasn't enough to reach the oblivion we so desperately seek. That made getting primed justifiable and necessary before heading out.

I had gone to the thrift store and bought a yellow rain coat, a fisherman's hat, and stopped at the Kroger for a box of fish sticks. I was going dressed as the Gordon Fisherman, that tiny guy in the corner of the box of fish sticks. I thought I was hilarious. Another commonly held notion of the active alcoholic is that we are an absolute riot when drunk. We don't realize that people are laughing more at us than with us. Me and a bunch of guys headed for the party. I smoked dope all the way and was blotto when we got there.

I poured a beer and snaked my way through the overcrowded house to get some fresh air. As I was stepping into the night air, a Bloomington police officer was stepping in. I tried to make my way around him but he shifted over to block my way. He asked if I was the one throwing the party. They were cracking down heavy after the campus and property damage, resulting from the earlier riots. I casually responded "no" and tried to move past him once more. He stepped in front of me with more resolve. His night stick was in hand, no doubt for protection, unsure of how the crowd would react at the announcement that the party was over.

He questioned me further, his night stick resting on my chest, and inquired if I knew whose party it was. The adrenalin and chemicals mixed with the interrogation began to anger me. My response of "no I don't" was more cocky and less respectful. His third question was accentuated with a poke to my chest with the night stick."How old are you?" My polluted mind and misdirected testosterone bubbled up until I spat out, "I'm 15!" He felt my sarcasm and knew I was older than stated. He asked for my student ID and asked me to wait in the front yard until his return.

In an alcoholic fog, the injustice of being singled out ate at me. The ache in my chest from the poking of his night stick made it more real and I was fuming. One of the crazy things alcohol and drugs creates in the user, beyond the removal of inhibition, is the dismissal of reality and the consequences our actions may hold. I shouted some expletives and left for another party, leaving my ID with the officer. I had directly disobeyed an officer.

I moved from party to party and was in complete blackout, an early sign of alcohol dependency. When I got rocked I blacked out nearly every time. I was an alcoholic and knew it at 18. It didn't bother me. There were plenty of boozers throwing them back around my family tree. Somehow I made it back to my dorm and convinced them to let me up to my room without my ID. The fact that I had thrown up down my shirt most likely contributed to their decision to allow me entry.

I passed out in my room and came to early the next morning, startled by the shaking of my arm from my roommate. I mumbled a greeting and asked what was up. He said,"What's up? You don't remember last night?" My response was clouded and honest when I said, "No I don't. I had a bit too much." He went on to explain that a police officer had called my dorm room late the night before and my roommate couldn't rouse me to take the call. In his efforts to revive me, and explain that the officer was on the phone and wanted to speak with me, I blathered a "Tell him to go screw himself!" loud enough that the officer heard my response. He instructed my roommate that I had better be at the police station early the next morning or a warrant would be issued for my arrest.

Nursing a hangover that would blind a rhino, I staggered to the police station still drunk from the night before. The officer greeted me and reviewed the nights events with me. He had returned the ID's to the party goers and left the party. I had fled and told him to screw himself. I was arrested for underage drinking and disobeying a police officer. It was my second arrest in a year. As I stood before the judge, the same one I had for my first arrest, he remembered me. He informed me that it was my second alcohol related arrest in a year. If I were to be arrested again at ISU or in Bloomington for any alcohol related offense he would recommend the maximum penalty that could include jail time.

I was scared and called my dad again. This time he was speechless but his silence stung worse than if he were screaming at me. I knew I had hurt him again. I hated hurting him but I seemed to do it over and over. It was a little over a month until the end of the semester. I was on academic probation and the law had it in for me. I did what any alcoholic would do in this case. I decided not to return to ISU and run as far from Bloomington as I could.

Alcoholism is like your shadow. Wherever you run to, it's there to help you unpack. The problems are inside you, not outside your door. I finished the semester and decided to transfer for "educational reasons". My alcoholism was happy to go to any school or any destination I chose. It wanted me dead but would settle for me drunk.

My Addiction Laundry List or Man, I'm Glad They Didn't Have Meth in the 80's!

I need to point out ,once again, that I am NOT A DOCTOR or PSYCHOLOGIST. I am a person who has struggled with alcoholism and a variety of other addictions for 28 years. That doesn't qualify me as an expert but if I was listing my addiction history on a resume I would say I have "extensive and diverse experience in a variety of chemical and non-chemical dependency issues and recovery."

My sister, and only sibling, Chris Brown is a medical professional. She reminded me that I should always stress those two points. I do list those facts on my blog page in 3 different areas. People, this is my story. There are a lot of similarities between addictive behaviors. However, it is not like a burst appendix where there is a specific symptom, cause, prognosis, procedure and recovery. The only constant in addiction is the obsession and inability to control a behavior once it is begun. I am telling my story to the reader who identifies themselves as an addict or the ones who question some of their behaviors and the earthlings that live with them.

Mentioning my sister illustrates this point perfectly. We grew up in the same house, under the same conditions, share the same DNA and she is not an addict. She is well adjusted and responsible, hardworking and attentive to details and she can pour a bad margarita down the drain. I, on the other hand, would walk over to said sink and lap the margarita up, horrified at the waste of perfectly good alcohol. Insert laugh here.

My addiction to alcohol started around the age of 17. When I try to pin point the exact times in my life it is difficult because I just simply don't remember. The excessive damage that I did to my mind and body mixed with an unhealthy dose of convenient denial has blotted out large chunks of specifics in my history. I started smoking weed when I was 16 or so. I began using speed, hallucinogens, downers and other any other stuff that was handed to me, and guaranteed instant check out, at about 18 as well.

I have also been addicted to people, love, sex, pornography, work, things, gambling, food (to some extent) and cartoons. I added the cartoon part because after seeing my list I needed a little levity to lighten the tone. Man I really am F#*!ed up! Alcohol is my go to drug! It is the one that my recovery revolves around. As long as I do the things that long term recovery REQUIRE, the other ones have less of a chance to join the party.

My addictive mind knew how to work me. When I felt like my drinking was getting out of hand I would stop and switch to weed. Weed was created by God after all! It grew like tomatoes in the warm, sweet earth. Indians put it in their peace pipes. The U.S. government used to subsidize hemp farmers for growing the stuff in war time! Surely, there was nothing wrong with that. By switching to weed I could prove to myself that I wasn't an alcoholic because "they drink everyday." "I haven't drank in 3 days. Never mind that I've smoked an ounce of skunk in that same time period." I didn't just wake and bake. I did AWAKE and BAKE. As long as I was awake I was baked.

By switching from booze to weed, drug to drug, addiction to addiction, I created a false sense of control in my mind. I couldn't possibly have a problem because I could morph from one fiend to the next without being creeped out by staying on any one of them for too long of a period of time. My disease knows me better than I know myself. It is always looking for an "in". It participates in my recovery. It pays attention to what I learn about preventing relapse. It is always waiting, ever so patiently, for me to let my guard down. If I do, God only knows what would happen.

I don't ever want anyone to think that I take this stuff lightly. I am a comedian and get great pleasure, almost addictive pleasure, out of making people laugh. This is no game. Addiction is no joke. Recovery is no party. I just like to put a smile on the face of a subject that destroys the lives of users, their family, friends and innocent bystanders every minute of every day.

Hey Pop's I'm in a TV Series with Jennifer Beals and so are You!

My father's ashes were interned at Abraham Lincoln National Cemetery on October 8, 2010. It was a beautifully patriotic ceremony that included a bagpiper playing "Amazing Grace" and a 21 gun salute. He was listed as "ashes divide" so I can return part of them to the Ring of Kerry in Ireland. I was asked to tell a brief story about my dad during the service and I completely lost it. I had been so stoic and swallowed all my feelings instead of booze and they all came flying back out in that moment. I could not stop the tears as I stumbled along the pavilion picking up the spent shells from the tribute.

I was grateful I was sober for the last two years of his life. We shared many deep conversations about death and God and I even gave him communion. If not the only time he took it, it was one of very few. His passing changed something in me permanently and profoundly. I had many dreams and aspirations growing up but didn't achieve very many because addiction is all about getting high today and taking care of life tomorrow. The next high becomes another tomorrow and the dreams never come. I would live in delusions and never attempt anything. High is a full time job.

I had done stand up comedy with some success on and off since I was 40. I decided I was going to get back to the stage and really make a go of becoming a professional comic. My sister Christine is an actress, and model and soon to be Chaplain. She encouraged me for a long time to submit my photos and try commercial print and acting. I always let my low self esteem, hatred for my physical appearance and fear of rejection prevent me from giving it a shot. These traits are shared by addicts. On the outside though we look like we have big egos and are fearless. Never let 'em see you sweat.

I decided I was going to take the chance. Life is short. No one lays on their death bed and says "I wish I had another drink" or "I wish I had another hundred bucks." Christine had taken some pictures of me and my youngest daughter the year before and gave me some contacts in the business to send my head shots to. On that Sunday night, October 10, 2010, I got a call from Darlene Hunt from Extraordinary Casting here in the city.

Darlene wanted me to report to the Cook County Courthouse early the next day. It was closed for Columbus day and the shoot was utilizing the courtrooms. I had a contact name for when I checked in and about 10 changes of clothes. I was told to bring 3. Overcompensation, another obsession! I checked in and was cast as an attorney. Wardrobe looked through the menagerie of pants, shirts and coats I dragged along and I was set.

The show was tentatively called "Ride Along." It would later be renamed "The Chicago Code". It stars Jennifer Beals of "Flashdance/L-Word" fame, Jason Clarke from "The Brotherhood," Delroy Lindo from too many things to list and Matt Lauria from "Friday Night Lights." I paid careful attention to the dynamic group of other actors in the room and asked lots of questions. I made some fast friends and learned what to do and not to do on a movie set.

I was placed in the scene and had an on-camera role with no lines but an important role in the story. We rehearsed the scene a few times and then the "First Team" actors were brought in.  It was surreal. I was sitting 10 feet from Jennifer Beals, strikingly beautiful and naturally graceful. Jason Clarke was cool and very Irish. I was surprisingly comfortable and fell in love with the film business instantly.

In a twisted irony I reflected back on when I had seen the movie Flashdance in the theater. I had taken LSD late that afternoon in anticipation of going to see Led Zeppelin "The Song Remains the Same" at the midnight movie in Orland. My buddies dropped me off at home to shower and were to pick me up later for the film. While I was getting ready another buddy called to remind me that I had set up a double date for that night to see "Flashdance" in Park Forest and that I couldn't let him down.

I cancelled the midnight movie date and headed to Park Forest for my evening as a wing man, tripping all the way. It was April of 1983. I was already a drunk at 17 and messing with any mind altering drug I could get my hands on. I made it through the film fairly normal but almost jumped out of my skin during the strobe scene when the girl rolls along the wall. I got pulled over by the police that night for a burnt out taillight and felt so cool that I didn't get a ticket while I was flying! It was twisted thinking then and sickening to me as I sat next to Ms. Beals.

I had reached out and grabbed hold of one of my dreams. I was in a scene with Jennifer Beals and it was one of the most amazing days of my life. But it was bittersweet knowing that I had been under the influence when I first laid eyes on her. Part of recovery is facing the mistakes of your past and cleaning up the baggage it piles on the addict.

 I had the prayer card from my father's memorial service in my pocket. I thought to myself "Pops, look at me, I'm in a TV series and so are you." The remorse of my past slipped away as I thought of the sober days with my dad at the end of his life. I was sober on that set, that day. Yesterday is gone! I am sober today and that's all that matters! We can't change our yesterdays but our tomorrows bring endless possibilities. My love for films and acting was set and it was just the beginning of many exciting days to come.