Source: San Francisco Chronicle (CA)
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Copyright: 1999 San Francisco Chronicle
Pubdate: 13 Jan 1999
Author: Neva Chonin, Chronicle Staff Writer
Section: Page A1

HEARTBROKEN SCAGGS FAMILY SPEAKS OUT AGAINST HEROIN

Musician calls drug that killed son `S.F. plague'

Sitting in his South of Market recording studio, veteran rocker Boz Scaggs
occasionally pauses to wipe tears from his eyes as he talks about his son,
Oscar. ``This is a parent's worst nightmare. It's as though there were an
explosion and everything was blown to smithereens. There is nothing left of
the world as I knew it.'''

Scaggs' voice is calm, but his face is drawn and haggard. Twelve days ago,
on New Year's Eve, Oscar, 21, died of a heroin overdose in the Mission
District's decrepit Hotel Royan. In an exclusive interview with The
Chronicle, Scaggs, 54, broke his silence for the first time since Oscar's
death to convey a father's feelings of loss, frustration and anger. He also
wants to use his celebrity to warn about what he calls ``the plague of
heroin threatening San Francisco.''

Being the son of a famous rock musician was no insulation against heroin
abuse for Oscar Scaggs, his father says.

``He went to some of the better schools in some of the better
neighborhoods, so in that way he was privileged,'' Scaggs concedes. ``But
he was a San Francisco kid. He lived his life all over this town. He hung
out in the park, he was a skateboarder, he played PAL league baseball and
basketball. It would be a mistake to view Oscar as a kid who grew up
spoiled and wayward because he didn't have grounded values.''

Boz and Carmella Scaggs were married in 1971. They divorced in 1980 and
were awarded joint custody of their children. Oscar and his younger
brother, Austin, split their time between their parents' San Francisco homes.

Though stable, the Scaggses' lives as part of the city's music and
nightclub scene were a far cry from the squeaky-clean American ideal. And
there were strains in the family's life. Though popular, Oscar never
excelled in school. At an early age, he was diagnosed with attention
deficit disorder, and he often had trouble reading and processing oral
information. He changed schools several times and never found his niche --
but neither, his mother said yesterday in a telephone interview, did he
ever give up.

Asked if his own experience with drugs might have affected his ability to
raise his children, Scaggs responds that his only drug since 1967 has been
alcohol.

``At the most successful point of my career, I could have been termed an
alcoholic because I used hard liquor every day, and at times it took
control over me,'' he acknowledges. ``And Carmella and I were among a
generation of people who used drugs and alcohol socially. That was in the
'60s. It was part of the culture. As far as its being around in the
presence of the boys, I would say emphatically no. There was no exposure on
their part to any abuses at all on my part or Carmella's.''

Although the reports of Oscar Scaggs' death have focused on his famous
father, Carmella Scaggs is suffering a mother's grief -- and anger as well.
In a hushed, shaking voice, she called heroin abuse ``an epidemic that
could happen to any mother's kid. When I was Oscar's age, it was the
ultimate -- something you only read about. Nowadays, kids are sniffing it
as easily as they're smoking marijuana.'' The fact that heroin is no longer
``the ultimate'' is one of the reasons for increased overdoses among young
people today, says Millicent Buxton, a counselor at the Haight- Ashbury
Free Clinic who tried to help Oscar Scaggs.

It's seldom the hard-core addicts who die by overdose, but rather sporadic
users and those trying to kick the habit whose lower resistance to the
opiate pushes them into respiratory arrest. Oscar, who never used enough to
suffer from physical withdrawal, belonged to the latter category, his
father says.

How did Oscar discover heroin? His father doesn't know. His mother, with
whom Oscar was living at the time, initially sounded the alarm.

Recalls Carmella Scaggs quietly, ``Oscar came to me in January of '98 and
told me that he had tried heroin and was afraid he would have a problem
with it. I was shocked. The next day we talked to Millicent Buxton, whom
Oscar had been seeing since he was caught smoking marijuana in school. He
was willing to do anything he could to get away from it.''

The next day, Oscar entered a program in Montana called Wilderness
Treatment, where his mother and brother spent a week with him as part of
his two months of rehabilitation. From there, Oscar spent time in a
Louisiana drug treatment program, then asked to come back to San Francisco,
where for three months he continued his treatment at the Sequoia Alcohol
and Drug Rehabilitation Center on the Peninsula.

Oscar emerged from his months of treatment, his father says, ``an alert,
vital young man who was beginning to put together a reality of himself that
he was pleased with and proud of. He was beginning to see a world that he
could manage. But success is measured a day at a time. To get through a
week is immense; to get through a month -- I've got a coin in my pocket
that he gave me commemorating his first two months. It was a big
celebration.''

But there were relapses, too, four to six during the course of the year.
``Oscar was working hard,'' his mother says. ``But there was always that
urge, that tremendous call to try it again.''

Still, by the time autumn rolled around, the Scaggses were feeling that
everything was going to be OK. Oscar seemed strong. He had a new girlfriend
and a great job. Life was good.

Then came the unmistakable signs of another relapse.

His father remembers the last time he saw Oscar, two days before Christmas.
``He was in a bad mood, tired and depressed,'' Scaggs recalls, tears
welling up in his eyes. ``All he wanted to do was lay on the couch and
watch television. He said he just wanted to go to sleep because he had to
work early the next morning. We later realized that he had been out all the
night before using heroin and had probably had some earlier in the day.''

A week later, Austin called to tell his father that Oscar was dead.

In the shell-shocked aftermath of Oscar's death, Scaggs says he has
resolved to use his celebrity to warn kids and parents about the heroin
epidemic.

``These dealers are selling death,'' Scaggs says, his eyes flashing with
anger and grief. ``Kids need to be given the means to defend themselves.
They've got to know that they're under attack so they can take care of each
other.

``I know there are only so many public resources, but there are priorities,
and perhaps it's time to rearrange those priorities. The city of San
Francisco that we love and call our own is getting a very dirty reputation.
My son is like many other sons, and there are going to be more deaths until
we respond as a community. Heroin is far more seductive and lethal than
other addictions. It's the most dangerous, unpredictable and volatile drug
of all.''

The huge tragedy has carried a small silver lining: Boz and Carmella Scaggs
have made peace after years of estrangement.

``Carmella has been very supportive and helpful to me, and I've tried to
support her in every way I can,'' Scaggs says. ``No mother could have loved
her sons more. No mother could have given them the unqualified support that
she did. She gave them her entire love.''

The Monday before he died, Oscar and Carmella won a trivia contest at a bar
in North Beach. The weekly contest was one of their favorite shared
activities, and Oscar was elated by the victory. ``He felt great. The day
that he died, he left the house smiling and happy,'' she says.

``I'll always remember watching him walking out the door, looking like a
million dollars. `I love you, Mom,' he said. `I'll see you later.' We'll
never really know what happened.''

She pauses, the words catching in her throat.

``The Monday after he died, we went back to win the trivia contest for him
a second time. We're going again tonight, me and about 10 of his friends.
And next Monday, too.''

If anything positive comes out of his family's loss, Boz Scaggs says, it
will be the opportunity to reach out to other kids with addiction problems.
It's the most fitting memorial he can think of for a young man who was
always looking out for his friends. He was the kind of guy who'd spend his
lunch break from his job at the Diesel clothing store on Union Street
helping out a stranger with a stalled car, his friends remember.

``Oscar was quite a rich little character, quite a piece of work,'' Skaggs
whispers sadly. ``He was unique. As we all are.'' 
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