What we didn't learn from River Phoenix's overdose death

or anyone else's.

Credit: Rain Phoenix, Instagram

If you liked boys in the 1980s and early ‘90s, surely you had a crush on River Phoenix. Dreamy, yes, but also smart, cool, and idealistic. His allure came from a sense of maturity beyond his years that belied a beautiful — if slightly somber — soul. He was easy to love. So when he famously overdosed outside of the LA nightclub the Viper Room in 1993, it was a gut punch.

Phoenix’s death was devastating to fans, but obviously, it must have been beyond horrific for his family — especially his two younger siblings Rain and Joaquin who were with him at the club that fateful October 30 night along with Phoenix’s girlfriend, actress Samantha Mathis. As the story goes, Phoenix thought he might get to play some music on the Viper Room’s legendary stage where bands he was friendly with were slated to do a few sets. He was already high when they got there, but according to what Mathis told The Guardian, “… the heroin that killed him didn’t happen until he was in the Viper Room.” For whatever reason, it turned out he wasn’t asked to play, and once he realized he wasn’t going to be getting on stage, he got high on a mix of cocaine and heroin. Too much cocaine and heroin.

Just after 1 a.m., Joaquin called 911 and urged paramedics to hurry because his brother was seizing. Even then, the 19-year-old Joaquin understood the gravity of the situation, begging, “Please, because he’s dying, please!” Paramedics found Phoenix, clad in brown pants with dark stripes and black high-top Chucks outside of the front door of the club in cardiac arrest. According to the autopsy report, he arrived at Cedars-Sinai at 1:34 a.m. and was pronounced dead at 1:51 a.m.

By then, his shirt was lost to the rescue effort, but the red star stamp from his entry to the Viper Room remained on the back of his hand, even as the lauded young star himself had burned out. The 23-year-old son, brother, boyfriend, friend, musician, actor, and reluctant crush of Gen-X teens was gone just like that. His ashes were scattered at his parent’s ranch in Micanopy, Florida.

I was freshly graduated from high school when Phoenix died, and at that time, I ran in dangerous circles that didn’t seem dangerous. Drugs were fun and edgy, we thought. We bonded during blitzed-out after-parties and formed what felt like deep friendships while hanging out in small messy apartments in the pre-dawn hours, exploring new freedoms while dancing around lurking voids that could swallow us with a misstep. We lamented the loss of our fantasy dream boy as we continued to dance around the void.

River Phoenix didn’t go to the Viper Room to die. He made a bad choice based on previous risky choices that didn’t result in life-ending outcomes. This time, he misstepped. And even though people of that generation lost an icon to drugs, it didn’t do much to quell the desire to put drugs in our bodies for a reprieve from the burdens, stresses, and traumas of life, disguised as having fun. In fact, overdose deaths have increased from just under 20,000 a year in 1999 to nearly 108,000 in 2022. Suffice it to say, we’re doing it wrong. If only it were as easy as just saying no. But then again, maybe Nancy was on to something.

In Phoenix’s case, there were people in his life who were aware of his drug use and concerned for him, as is the case for plenty of young drug users. But one fatal flaw of fame and wealth is that it’s easy to get drugs. People want to be near you and will do things for you, they’ll give you drugs, and the cost is not prohibitive like it is for your average college-aged kid who works in restaurants or retail. Plus, he was hanging out with a dangerous, fun, edgy crowd in LA, including Red Hot Chili Pepper’s bassist Flea and guitarist John Frusciante — the latter of which is often accused of supplying the drugs at the Viper Room that killed Phoenix. What a thing to carry.

Still, I’d wager that plenty of others did hard drugs that night at the Viper Room and as a general lifestyle, and it was probably not all dark, depressing “Under the Bridge” shit — I’m sure good times were had among the young creatives in LA whose successes and social networks opened myriad doors for them. Unfortunately, once you pass through some thresholds, there’s no turning back. Yet, people are willing to see what’s behind door number three time and time again, rolling those dice for a fleeting reprieve from reality, a chance to find numb bliss. It won’t happen to them, they hope — unless it does.