Marie and Bobby are two of the best people we know.
They are old and close friends,
Musicians in their fifties,
they were coming home from a job
when they were involved in an auto accident, and injured.
During their recovery they got hooked on pain pills.
These are not dopers.
They are wholesome people, who play fine music,
and always keep a nice home.
Marie speaks six languages.
They got a doctor who always had a waiting room full of people,
coming from miles around and waiting 5 or 6 hours
for the pills he so liberally dispensed.
Marie and Bobby went on tour
and had doctors all over the country.
They lost their home, their health,
and got old before our eyes.
They went into deep depression.
I got a phone call late one night from Bobby.
He said that he and Marie were sitting in their car,
in the closed garage, with the motor running.
They’d had it!
They wanted me to explain to their kids,
who were grown and had families of their own,
that this was their only way out.
They didn’t want to be any further burden.
That was the reason for the call.
Or maybe it was a call for help.
They lived 70 or 80 miles from us,
so I couldn’t get there in time to do anything,
and I couldn’t reason with him, so I tried this:
I told him that if I didn’t get a phone call from him
every ten minutes for the rest of the night, I would call 911.
It made him mad.
He pleaded and cursed, but it worked.
They stayed alive and got off the drugs.
Copyright © Jack Blanchard 2005 to 2017