Podcast Summary: The Moth – "David Carr: The Crackhouse: Snow Suits and Snow Blindness"

Episode Details

• Title: The Crackhouse: Snow Suits and Snow Blindness
• Speaker: David Carr
• Recorded At: The Moth Main Stage, 2007
• Release Date: January 4, 2010

Introduction

In this gripping and raw storytelling episode of The Moth, David Carr, a renowned New York Times reporter and columnist, delves deep into a harrowing experience from his past. Titled "The Crackhouse: Snow Suits and Snow Blindness," Carr recounts a night in 1988 that encapsulates his struggle with addiction, responsibility, and morality.

Setting the Stage

David Carr begins by setting the scene in November 1988, Minneapolis, Minnesota, during a frigid night that would forever alter his perception of life and fatherhood. He introduces himself as someone who works as a typewriter—"I type for a living. I don't usually tell stories." This admission underscores the rarity and significance of the tale he is about to share.

The Plunge into Addiction

Carr paints a vivid picture of his descent into addiction:

• Night vs. Day: He contrasts the allure of nighttime with the drudgery of daytime, stating, "Nighttime offers opportunity, unfolds, stretches out before you. Daytime implicates everything you see, indicts you." This dichotomy highlights his growing preference for the freedom and possibilities he associates with the night, despite its inherent dangers.

• Initial Exposure: On his 21st birthday, Carr tries cocaine for the first time. His casual approach—"I did a gram and I said, what's the big deal?"—quickly escalates as he spirals, selling his car to afford more drugs: "I sold my car and bought an ounce... I sold my house and bought a kilo." His inability to grasp the severity of his addiction is palpable.

The Pivotal Night

The core of Carr's story unfolds on that fateful November night:

• Family Circumstances: Carr finds himself alone with his twin daughters, as their mother is absent ("their mom was off God knows where doing God knows what"). The responsibility weighs heavily on him, yet his addiction blinds him to the urgency of the situation.

• Seeking Help: Desperate, he contacts his friend Kenny, who operates a local dope house. Kenny's response—"I got a house full of coke sluts and knuckleheads and willing customers"—illustrates the toxic environment that awaits him.

• The Drive: Carr describes the journey to Kenny's place in his dilapidated 1978 Nova: "a shitbox that my brother bought me out of pity." The car becomes a symbol of his degraded state and the perilous path he's on.

Inside the Dope House

Upon arrival, Carr navigates the chaotic milieu of Kenny's establishment:

• Atmosphere: He likens the cocaine scene to an avant-garde studio with an unsettling presence: "he had kind of this mad Professor Coke wrap... black helicopters, white noise, they're coming to get us."

• Cocaine Use: Carr provides an intense portrayal of the cocaine injection ritual, comparing it to an Olympic event fraught with danger: "shooting coke, if it's done properly, is kind of like an Olympic pairs event." The meticulous yet perilous process underscores the constant risk of overdose that addicts face.

• Paranoia and Solidarity: Amidst the paranoia—"little video cameras... black helicopters"—Carr and his peers engage in a futile search for surveillance, revealing the depth of their desperation and mistrust.

The Moral Quandary

As time slips by in the dope house, Carr confronts the stark reality of his choices:

• Realization: He grapples with the fate of his daughters left unattended in the car: "Could I bring them in?... Not good, not done. Bad manners." The internal conflict becomes unbearable as he debates whether to abandon his children or stay engulfed in his addiction.

• Decision Point: Ultimately, Carr chooses to leave the dope house, prioritizing his daughters' safety over his immediate desire to indulge: "I knew that I had done something that he would not soon forget." This pivotal moment reflects a sliver of hope and responsibility amidst the darkness of his addiction.

Reflections and Insights

David Carr's narrative is not just a recounting of past events but a profound exploration of human frailty and redemption:

• Addiction's Grip: Carr eloquently captures the seductive yet destructive nature of addiction, illustrating how it distorts priorities and traps individuals in cycles of despair.

• Parental Responsibility: The story underscores the profound impact of addiction on familial relationships and personal accountability.

• Hope Amidst Despair: Despite the bleak circumstances, Carr's final decision to prioritize his children's safety hints at the possibility of redemption and the enduring strength of parental love.

Conclusion

In "The Crackhouse: Snow Suits and Snow Blindness," David Carr offers a poignant and unflinching glimpse into a dark chapter of his life. Through his articulate and heartfelt storytelling, listeners are invited to witness the harrowing consequences of addiction and the fragile moments where humanity shines through. Carr's narrative serves as a powerful testament to the complexities of addiction, responsibility, and the enduring quest for redemption.

Notable Quotes:

• David Carr [02:19]: "I never cracked the code on what the big deal with coke was. It does have some sort of effects on how you view day and night."

• David Carr [04:10]: "Everything about the day sucks. But nighttime, now, that's when things rot."

• David Carr [07:45]: "Shooting coke, if it's done properly, is kind of like an Olympic pairs event."

• David Carr [11:30]: "I knew that I had done something that he would not soon forget."

About the Speaker:

David Carr is a distinguished reporter and columnist for The New York Times. He is also the author of the memoir "The Night of the Gun," where he explores the darkest stories of his own life. Carr's storytelling prowess shines through in this The Moth episode, offering listeners a deeply personal and introspective narrative.

Additional Resources:

• The Moth Website: themoth.org
• David Carr's Memoir: The Night of the Gun