Back when Rob Smith was in rehab, Rivrdog encouraged folks to write him a letter. I’d only been reading Acidman for a couple weeks, but that was enough for me to fill an entire page. I wrote on the back of an 8.5×11 blowup of this pic — figured he could read it and then tack it to the wall for color/inspiration/amusement. At the time, I hadn’t written anyone a letter in more than twenty years. Boy I’m glad now I sent it to him when I did. Thanks, RD, and yeah, Kevin, Acidman would have loved Heller.
Phil Reads
Enjoy the Decline
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Uhhh…. Rehab? Me?
Sorry, one too many Scotches. See post below. 🙂 Corrected now.
At the time, Rob took rehab because he thought it would impress the court into letting him have more visitation with his kids. He was miserable there, and the rehab place he had selected failed to treat him for serious medical issues that he also had.
He was one miserable mo-fo, and having worked in jails, I knew his feeling and his desperation, completely akin to inmates.
I took on the job of acting as his communications agent just to keep his mind up off the floor far enough for him to survive the rehab, and not be totally broken by it (which is what the rehab vampires want).
Little did I know that he was doomed by his physical frailty, no doubt brought on by 25 years of working in and around toxic chemicals (Kerr-McGee has probably killed as many over the long haul as Union Carbide did in one night in Bhopal, India).
His was a voice of reason, a sage for the ages, a muse for ideas yet unrecognized, stilled on one awful night that shocked us all.
Rob Smith will never be forgotten, and he can never be replaced.