Not Dead & Not For Sale (12 page)

T
HE JUDGE GAVE ME A YEAR
, which was reduced to five and a half months. Fortunately, I avoided the downtown county jail and was put into a drug program that was run in a former Japanese internment camp in California. We slept in barracks rather than cells. We were put on work details, given no privileges to speak of, but were lucky enough to have therapy sessions. A twelve-step model, with which I was already familiar, was used. I understood the concept of admitting the unmanageability of my addiction, recognizing a higher power, and the necessity of turning my life over to that power, as opposed to my own broken-down willpower. I needed to surrender my willfulness, my ego, and my need for control. The question was: Could I?

I could get along with the other inmates. We were more afraid of the tough-ass counselors than we were of one another. The one thing we wanted to avoid was being sent to the Mainline—the general jail population. The counselors had the power to send you there in a heartbeat. They didn’t need a reason. I worked hard not to give them a reason, and I succeeded.

Mary wrote me practically every day. Hers were letters of extreme passion and longing. I answered her with equally impassioned words of love. My loving mother wrote as well. So did my stepdad and even my blood father, Kent, but no one really knew what to say. The truth was that after fucking up countless times I had landed in jail.

The salvation was music. When Christmas 1999 came rolling around, I organized a musical program. In our singing group we had blacks, skin-heads, and Latinos, but harmony ruled.

Inside jail, I felt okay. It was great being off drugs, exercising, participating in therapy, reading books, and putting together a choir. It was great being straight. My goal—as always—was to stay straight. My goal was to put the nightmare of opiates behind me. I had everything to live for. Mary and music were waiting for me.

What could go wrong?

Wedding dance to “At Last”

Mary envisioned this moment from the first day she met me.

“Celebrate the immoral youth that wasted you
Peel the skin back from all the lies that blistered you”

—FROM “REGENERATION”

O
UT OF JAIL, READY TO ROCK
, ready to re-promote
No. 4
, I joined up with STP to relaunch the record. The campaign was twofold: First, Dean and I went around the country, playing acoustic versions of the songs for select radio stations. Second, the full band went on tour, co-headlining with the Red Hot Chili Peppers. I’d been a big fan of the band in their early days and was thrilled to be on a bill with them. Most of the reviewers thought that we dominated the shows. The Peppers weren’t happy about those articles, but a little friendly competition among rock bands is good for the fans. Being that close to a group as powerful as the Peppers certainly brought out our best.

I MARRIED MARY FORSBERG IN
2000 at the Little Door restaurant in Los Angeles. Some 120 people attended. Because I was divorced, a Catholic priest wouldn’t marry us, but a liberal rabbi, with deep respect for all loving theologies, officiated and suggested we write our own vows. I said that I had been in love before, but my heart was broken. I was married once before, and I thought I knew what love was about. But it was Mary who taught me the meaning of love, true love. I said that she was my soul mate, my everything.

Birth announcement for Noah

M
ARY WAS EIGHT MONTHS PREGNANT
with our son, Noah. We were at the restaurant Sushi on Sunset in L.A. Mary and I got up and went to the unisex bathroom. As we went in, some frat guys followed us. We closed the door behind us. Impatient to use the bathroom, the guys loudly banged on the door. I went out to quiet them down. “Come on,” I said, “show some respect.” They called me a fag. I told them to get fucked. They came after me. One guy head-butted me. Hearing the ruckus, Mary emerged from the bathroom and punched my attacker full in the face.

MARY GAVE BIRTH TO OUR SON, NOAH, IN
2000. It was one of the most beautiful moments of my life. I had been clean for eighteen months, a minor miracle. The major miracle was Noah. When he made his grand entrance into the world, I was right there in the hospital room to greet him. My heart swelled. I’ve never experienced such joy. On the next Stone Temple Pilots record,
Shangri-La Dee Da
, I sang “A Song for Sleeping” for Noah:

Will you tell me the little things?

What does God look like?

And angels’ wings?

I don’t remember these things

So would you teach them to me?

For the moment

I’ll watch you breathe

Me and Noah

With Usher and Clive Davis