The Night of the Gun: A reporter investigates the darkest story of his life. His own.
Format: PDF / Kindle (mobi) / ePub
From David Carr (1956–2015), the “undeniably brilliant and dogged journalist” (Entertainment Weekly) and author of the instant New York Times bestseller that the Chicago Sun-Times called “a compelling tale of drug abuse, despair, and, finally, hope.”
Do we remember only the stories we can live with? The ones that make us look good in the rearview mirror? In The Night of the Gun, David Carr redefines memoir with the revelatory story of his years as an addict and chronicles his journey from crack-house regular to regular columnist for The New York Times. Built on sixty videotaped interviews, legal and medical records, and three years of reporting, The Night of the Gun is a ferocious tale that uses the tools of journalism to fact-check the past. Carr’s investigation of his own history reveals that his odyssey through addiction, recovery, cancer, and life as a single parent was far more harrowing—and, in the end, more miraculous—than he allowed himself to remember.
Fierce, gritty, and remarkable, The Night of the Gun is “an odyssey you’ll find hard to forget” (People).
received what seemed to be a nice offer, he would buy out my New York contract, give me a raise, and quit changing my job around every other month. “There,” he said, “that is my offer to you as your editor.” And then he said this, and I remember every word: “As your friend, I need to tell you that if you go to that place, and they like you and you like them, it will change your life. I can’t offer you that. Why not take the job, see how you like it, and if you don’t, just come back?” I took the
out to an anchored fishing barge, and Donald immediately caught a walleye. I continued to fish while Donald and Eddie ducked around a corner of the barge for a joint just to add to the sparkle of an early summer day. Donald, always concerned about supply, had brought along a half gallon of Old Grand-Dad. All these years later, did I wish I could help him along with the jug of whiskey? I did not. I’m the kind of guy who would have been even more worried about the amount on hand if I joined in,
many wonderful times, often on week nights, school nights. That was always kind of a challenge.” Scotty liked my company just fine, but my lifestyle corrupted him osmotically. He’d plan on turning in early, reading a book, and I would come plowing in after the bars closed with a crew of rowdies and a pocket full of dry goods. The best intentions frequently met their match around me. When I was living with Scotty in the winter and spring of 1986, some guys I knew had a commercial music
who has found God afoot in his life, a God that has left him awash in the promises of sobriety. A drunk is a guy who comes out of the gate quick and stays there, a tremendously talented and charismatic leader. Instead of putting his talent to work building wealth for himself, he becomes a steward, a man who mines and encourages compassion. He finds and marries his true love, and his influence grows. He sits among world leaders and the least of us with equal ease. People come for miles to hear
world is a fundamentally meritocratic place, that hard work will out, that winning is a matter of effort. And if the goals are accomplished, that person will believe he lives in a just, beautiful world. And if things don’t go well, he will be down at the bar muttering bitter oaths into cheap whiskey about what might have been. In possession of my chemical health and professional life, finally or at least temporarily, I had a general goal. I wanted to have enough juice and accomplishment so that