The Pusher

It was one of the first rock concerts I ever attended.  The year was 1969: I was 14 and had tickets to see Steppenwolf perform at the Coliseum in downtown Honolulu.  The popular band from Canada was one of my favorites, but I approached the concert with mixed emotions.  One of the songs I knew they would be playing was The Pusher, and it featured a lyric taking the Lord’s name in vain.  (Note: A pusher is a person who sells illegal drugs.)  I desperately wanted to see Steppenwolf, but I also knew at some point during the concert one of the Ten Commandments would be broken.  To ease my conscience I signed a petition outside of the Coliseum urging lead singer John Kay to refrain from singing the infamous lyric ‘G** D*mn, the pusher.’   As you might imagine, the petition had no impact whatsoever; after all, the show must go on.  I doubt Mr. Kay ever saw the petition.  As I said, signing it was simply a way to ease my conscience.

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Caleb was a friend of one of my sons since the time they went to elementary school together.  In fact it’s safe to say they’ve been lifelong friends.  Caleb shared his parents with three other brothers, one older and two younger.  I remember playing with the youngest brother in the local swimming pool before he reached his first birthday.  I distinctly remember throwing him out of the water, catching him and letting his tiny body splash back into the water all the way up to his neck.  Today that little boy is a starting offensive lineman for a Division 1 college football team.  Lord how time flies.

As for Caleb, he was a tad short for his age but that never held him back from playing a variety of sports, doing quite well at every single one of them.  He played on several basketball teams I coached in the mid-1990’s; Caleb was barely 10 years old when one of ours teams went undefeated and won the city’s rec league championship.  I remember how hard Caleb used to play, both during the games and at practice.  One of my favorite things to do as a coach was get on the court and scrimmage with the boys as we played a mock full court game for the last 30 minutes of every practice.  Caleb--easily a head shorter than me--always wanted to be the one to guard me.  One time during practice I was dribbling the basketball and stopped to shoot, holding the ball lower than normal to give Caleb a chance to block my shot.  And boy, did he ever.  A split second after the ball left my hand Caleb slapped the ball so hard and so fast that the ball instantly reversed direction and slammed into my hand, jamming one of my fingers so badly I couldn’t bend it for two weeks.  The boy played with reckless abandon, and it was impossible not to admire him for it. 

As a teenager Caleb had a growth spurt that lent a hand towards him earning a position as the number one wide receiver on his high school football team.   That in turned led to an athletic scholarship playing football for a Division 2 school.  Caleb was young, athletic and charismatic.  He had the world on a string. 

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When I saw Caleb last January it had been close to a generation since I had seen him last.  In fact I barely recognized him when he walked up to me and called me by name.  His voice was several octaves lower than I remembered, stubble was on his face where his peach fuzz used to be and he was now a full head taller than me.  Lord how time flies.  We talked about his mom and dad, his brothers and the time Caleb jammed my finger (He had forgotten, but I never will.).  We also talked about what Caleb would be facing in the days ahead: Rehabilitation.  Sadly this young boy who once had the world on a string had taken a bad turn somewhere along the way: A really, really bad turn. He was introduced to the wrong people who introduced him to the wrong things that…well, things that people just have no business being introduced to in the first place.  The rest of the story you can probably figure out for yourself.

Caleb, not quite as young or as athletic but still every bit as charismatic as ever had become an addict.  He didn’t blame anyone for his problems—other than himself, of course—and told me of his wishes to become clean and sober.  He was saying all the right things, but in his eyes where I hoped to see conviction and confidence I saw apprehension, fear and doubt.  I was dying on the inside as I tried my best to project a façade of optimism and encouragement on the outside.      

I wished Caleb the very best with his rehabilitation and told him I looked forward to the day he would be coming home.  I shook his hand, got in my car and noticed a tear in my eye as I drove off and watched him slowly disappear from my rear view mirror. 

I thought about the path of Caleb’s life and the similar paths of others whom I hold near and dear to my heart.  Then I thought about the people…those wrong people who sell illegal drugs for a living, preying on the young and destroying lives all over the world just to make a dollar.  Then I had this thought which gave me a shred of comfort:

There’s a special place in hell for every last one of them.  There has to be.      

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Caleb was found dead four months after I saw him last, the victim of an apparent drug overdose.

He would have been 30 later this year.     

You know, I've seen a lot of people walkin' 'round

With tombstones in their eyes

But the pusher don't care

Ah, if you live or if you die

God damn, The Pusher

-Lyrics by Hoyt Axton