Needle And The Damage Done

A famous (infamous?) misquote of F. Scott Fitzgerald by, of all people, Ernest Hemingway:

Fitzgerald: The rich are different than you and me.
Hemingway: Yes, they have more money.

I’d like to add this: society -- courts, cops, employers and more -- treat the rich with deference, with respect and care.  Obeisance even. Mountains can be moved if you've the right name and a fat wallet.

I know. ‘Gee duh RILLY, Donna? You don’t say?’

Here, compare and contrast.
From Wednesday’s New York Times:

The arrests stemmed from the investigation into the death of Mr. Hoffman, an actor widely considered one of the best of his generation, in a rented West Village apartment where he lived near his family’s home.

The daughter of one of the men, Robert Vineberg, 57, said her father had been “an acquaintance” of Mr. Hoffman’s. But officials said no link had been established between the people arrested and what the police believe to be Mr. Hoffman’s fatal overdose on Sunday.

Instead, the three — Mr. Vineberg, Max Rosenblum, 22, and Juliana Luchkiw, 22 — became caught up in an investigation that sprawled beyond what would be typical after an overdose from heroin in New York City. More than 382 people died that way in 2012, the second year of sharp increases after several years of declines. (The total for 2013 is not available.)

Hoffman OD’d on Sunday. Arrests were made Tuesday.

And then there’s the nephew of my potter friend Lori. From her Sunday blog post, which she’s graciously allowed me to quote:

Regular readers may remember that back in June my teenaged nephew came to live with us, from out of state. It was a desperation move, which seemed his only hope to overcome a heroin addiction. It's been difficult for everyone, most of all him, of course, but for my husband and me, too. We've all invested a lot into his sobriety. I blogged a lot less, for a long time; I also worked out less, gardened less, did less yoga, socializing, and even working. My energies were going elsewhere.

Then, slowly, things improved. He got a job, then a GED. He made some friends. He started talking about community college, in the fall. He was eight months clean.

I started to resume my old activities.

Last night, on a visit back home to his father, my nephew OD'd. He's okay - not damaged, anyway - and was released from the hospital this afternoon.

It seems we are back to Square One. I am heartbroken and discouraged and a little angry; but there's nothing to do but bring him back to Augusta where we can try again. He returns tomorrow.

I am in the studio tonight for solace and distraction. I may well wedge up these pots - if heartsickness makes for better artwork you couldn't prove it by me. But the activity itself, the hum of the wheel, the musty smell of the clay, the deep familiarity of the motions provides a comfort. Throwing occupies just enough of my mind to let me think without letting me think too much.

He’s alive. There’s hope for recovery. A future. He still has people who love him and are willing and able to help. He’s lucky.

John Cole of Balloon Juice made this observation on all the official attention given, the speed and thoroughness of the investigation into Hoffman’s OD:

It’s a tragedy, and it is horrible, but the only difference between Hoffman and every other junkie that overdoses is that Hoffman died on expensive tile in a multimillion dollar apartment, while most junkies die on a cum and body fluid stained couch in a flophouse or under a ratty blanket under a highway overpass. And I assure you, NYC’s finest aren’t knocking down doors and grabbing surveillance video for those people.

Yup.
Neil Young - Needle And The Damage Done