In the first three parts of this exclusive interview series with Three Dog Night vocalist Chuck Negron, we discussed why the classic rock group is not in the Rock And Roll Hall Of Fame, why the band ultimately split up, the big hits “One” and “Joy To The World,” when Negron discovered his voice and more. Here, we tackle a more difficult subject: Negron’s long-time battle with heroin addiction. It’s not pretty. We also ask whether he misses his late ex-bandmate, Cory Wells. Following are edited excerpts from a longer phone conversation.
Jim Clash: For a good part of your life, you avoided heroin, right? What finally made you try it?
Chuck Negron: I came home from a long tour in Australia and Japan. I hadn’t been able to get ahold of my first wife, Paula, for quite a while. When I opened the front door, it was obvious she hadn’t been home. Plants were dying, etc. Then I found out she had left me, was living with another guy and was pregnant. I was devastated, went into this really deep depression and ended up in a psych ward. I couldn’t eat, and had dropped to 142 lbs. When I got out, I felt somewhat better, bought a new car, a Mercedes 300 SEL, top of the line, then went to my dealer friend for some cocaine. But underneath, I was still pretty down. He said, “Look, if you really want something to help, I’ve got it.” I knew what he meant. It was heroin, which I had always turned down. I sniffed it, and went to this unbelievable place. It’s a very powerful drug, as opiates are. It removed all the angst and pain. The guy then proceeded to meet me every day to give me the drug for free. This went on for two weeks. One day I felt sick, thought I had the flu and stayed home. The next day, the guy called and said he couldn’t believe he hadn’t heard from me. I told him that I knew we had been hanging out, but that I had a bad cold. He said, “I don’t think it’s a cold.” I said, “What do you mean?” He said he’d come by to give me some heroin. “You weren’t sick, you just have a little habit.”
The guy did it the textbook way to hook someone! Then he said, “By the way, that’s $100.” My habit escalated to the point where he told me the supply had been interrupted, that I couldn't get any, that I’d have to taper down. I told him I had almost finished up my quarter-ounce. He said I had better get into detox right away, if I was doing that much. In fact, it was so much that he thought I had been selling on the side. When I went to the hospital, the doctor said he’d never seen anyone with so much heroin in their blood. He put a pin in my finger and asked me to taste it. It tasted like dope! Then he said that he didn’t know how I was still alive.
Clash: Wow. I know you were on it for years. How did you finally stop?
Negron: I went through many rehabs trying. It wasn’t only a physical addiction, but a mental obsession. That’s even more powerful, because while being seriously sick for five days is awful - the retching and pooping all over the place - and then subsequent uncomfortableness, it’s finite. But the mental part of needing it now drives you insane. You’ll go to the bank, you’ll borrow $20, whatever it takes, and it doesn’t stop. That’s why people can’t get clean. You have to be separated from that mental obsession long enough to both physically detox, and then have the mental right-of-choice. Your brain runs the show. And it’s constantly telling you to get high. Finally, after 37 rehabs, 13 years, I went to the house where I now help out, called CRI-Help, old military barracks from the 1940s. They had a contract with the prison system, so it had some bad-ass people in there, along with more regulars, too - Sly Stone and Robert Downey, Jr., went through. It was a really tough, end-of-the-block place. And, because of its popularity, it took six to eight months to even get in.
Once in, I found out there was no detox. It was cold turkey! There were these tough guys, with tattoos all over their bodies. When I got antsy, they’d tell me that I wasn’t going anywhere, not even to think about it. I’m like, “Oh sh&t [laughs].” But I did get clean after almost a year. When I went in, I weighed 126 lbs. I’m 6-ft, 1-inch. I only had 15 teeth left in my mouth. I felt so ashamed. CRI-Help saved my life. For two years after I got out, I went back to play basketball with the guys. They’d always ask me why I came back all of the time. “What’s wrong with you, homie?” I’d say, “Look, man, this is the only place I feel safe, the only place I’m not going to get high.” Little by little, I was able to detach from them. But they’re still a big part of my life. I do what I can for them - sponsor people, take them out. I even wrote a song they use in their meetings.
Clash: Do you miss your ex-bandmate, Cory Wells, who passed from blood cancer in 2015?
Negron: As I’m getting older, a lot of people are passing. This is a time in life for reflection. Sadly, many of the things you wish you had said, wanted to do, wish you hadn’t done but did, come to mind. Cory is one of those. He was like a rock, the guy when we came back at 5 a.m. from the clubs who’d be sitting out front in a bass boat ready to go fishing. I swear to God [laughs]. He was a straight guy, a good father, and music happened to be his business. He must have thought that after we’d been doing this so long, and finally got a break, that we screwed it up. I did finally get to talk to him, many years before he passed, and told him how much I loved him. I even wrote a song called, “I’m sorry,” and sent it to him. We started writing back and forth. He also said he was sorry. We made our amends. But I wish I had gotten more time to actually sit down and tell him how important he was to me, and that never happened. He was one of the greatest singers I ever heard.
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