Leaving Las Vegas: Rearview:A Lifetime Of Struggle Went Into John O'Brien's Most Famous Work"

[Taverner]

http://www.freetimes.com/stories/15/50/leaving-las-vegas-rearview

Oh god I am welling up with tears reading this article. The scenes are so familiar - Its like I know John O'Brien. At times I feel as if I am John O'Brien.

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By Erin O'Brien

Mom and John On March 16, 1994 my father Bill O'Brien fielded a call from Dr. Michael Meyers of the Brotman Medical Center in Los Angeles. My brother John O'Brien was in severe chemical shock and on the verge of life-threatening alcohol withdrawal. The situation was dire.

Dad headed to Hopkins and got on the first plane to LA.

When he saw his 33-year-old son, he barely recognized him. He was bruised and shaking with delirium tremens. He begged Dad to take him out of the hospital, that it was teeming with devils and demons. Despite the doctor's fervent recommendation that John stay, Dad was worried John would leave anyway and slip directly back into the bottle. So he reluctantly went along with his son and the two went to John's spartan Beverly Hills apartment. Dad stayed for a week, sleeping fitfully on a recliner while John sweated through the long nights.

They sipped chicken soup at Nate 'n Al's Deli in Beverly Hills. They had dinner in Malibu with Lisa O'Brien, John's wife of 13 years, whom he divorced a year earlier when his drinking finally eclipsed the marriage. They took long drives through Death Valley as Dad tried to convince John to enter a long-term rehab. John half-heartedly said he would, but Dad didn't believe him. He tried to formulate a plan that would physically keep his son away from the bottle. Desperate, he contacted the local police about some outstanding misdemeanor, the court date for which was looming. ("Can you trump up the sentence and just lock him up for a month? Away from the booze? Until I can figure out what to do?") Of course they did not comply. Attempts to find him work on an industrial freighter or other long-sailing ship failed.

In the middle of Dad's visit, an official-looking envelope arrived in the mail. Dad puzzled over it and asked a shaky John what it was all about.

"It's this thing about a film contract, Dad," he said.

But when Dad returned to Cleveland on March 25, the movie business was the last thing on his mind. He knew my brother was in grave danger and that he could not protect him. He didn't tell us at the time, but he later admitted to Mom and me that when he boarded the plane in LA, he knew he'd never see his son again.

SIXTEEN DAYS after Dad returned from Los Angeles - April 11, 1994 - my phone rang at seven minutes after midnight.

"Erin."

"Dad?"

"John's gone."

"What?"

"John. He's gone."


<SNIP>

Dad: "I will not allow you to read this!" (Because it shows men that remind me way too much of myself dealing with homosexual rape and murder and it scares the hell out of me. I just want to protect you.)


Johnny: "You can't stop me!" (Why are you pushing me away from something that impressed itself upon you, the man from whom I was fashioned, when all I want is to know what you fear within these pages? I am a man too.)

"You will not read that book if you are living under my roof," bellowed Dad. "End of discussion."

John stormed out and took flight on his 10-speed, fleeing the inescapable.

Both men were right. Both men were wrong. Neither was capable of having that parenthetical discussion when it may have made a difference. Now both men are dead. And here I am having it for them anyway, 35 years too late.

Do I get a prize for getting it right?

<SNIP>