Usual declaimers apply. Copyright by C. W. Campbell: cwc89028@yahoo.com
My name is C. W. Campbell. Most of my friends and acquaintances simply know me as Campbell. One of the most important things I can say about myself is that I was a friend of Sam Best.
I'd known Sam Best about three years when he approached me, to ask a personal and very disturbing favor.
Sam had been involved as a performer in porn films for as long as I'd known him. He'd made straight porn films as early as 1991, under the names Bobby Best and Big Bob Best. But by the time I met him he was working for Trigger Films, which produces only gay male films. He was then using the name Sam Best.
I come from a medical background and was working for Trigger and a couple of other film companies in the Los Angeles area as an advisor and consultant.
In the spring or early summer of 1996, Sam approached me seeking medical advice. He had just learned that he was HIV + and from the tests which had been done it looked as if he had an especially virulent strain of the disease. He asked me what I thought his probable life expectancy was at that point, given the medical treatments available at that time.
I told Sam that I was not an expert on HIV/AIDS but would make some inquiries and let him know what I found out. He told me that he needed to make some personal decisions in the fairly near future and would appreciate any information I could get for him. I told him I would make enquires and get back to him as quickly as possible.
After talking with several doctors who had worked closely with HIV/AIDS I learned that Sam's prognoses was very poor. It was likely that he would continue in relatively good health for a few months to a year and would appear to be healthy during that period. As his immune system was increasingly weakened he would become more and more vulnerable to opportunistic infections. It was likely that the first such infection would strike Sam quite hard.
Some HIV/AIDS patients with less virulent strains of the disease were able to overcome several bouts of infection and more or less recover from them. Each would take its toll but significant recovery could be expected after the first few such periods of severe illness with a gradual decline until the body's defenses were weakened beyond a point where recovery was possible. At that point such patients could be expected to laps into a final stage during which any number of symptoms might occur, including blindness, crippling bone and joint disorders, dementia and pneumonia, which was the most frequent cause of death in AIDS patients.
Because of the especially virulent nature of Sam's infection it seemed likely that the first, or almost certainly the second opportunistic infection would overwhelm his body and either result in death or a period of severe illness leading to death. This was evidenced by the extremely sudden drop in Sam's T-cell count and the rapid rise in his viral load. Sam's prognoses was not good but he had asked me for as accurate an opinion as I could form based on his test results and the information available to the medical community at that time.
When I reported this information to Sam in July, 1996, he thanked me for my efforts and said he might come back to me at some point for further advice.
Sam Best, as I knew him, was a bright good looking young man of 31 and it was heartbreaking to face the probability of his rapidly approaching deterioration and death.
I suspected, knowing Sam as I did, that he was probably planning to take his own life, rather than face the inevitable deterioration and death which he was facing. I had steeled myself for that probability and had already decided that I would help him if that was his decision. I knew individuals from whom he could acquire sedatives and depressants which, in combination, would case rapid and painless death. If he asked me for such help I planned to introduce him to the people who could give it.
About two weeks after our first conversation Sam called me again. It turned out that he'd reached the conclusion I expected he'd reach but the way he'd chosen to accomplish his own death truly shocked me. We met at a sleazy bar near the Trigger studios and as I nursed a beer, Sam sipped a ginger ale and we talked.
"I need your help," Sam eventually said.
"I sort of figured you'd be asking, Sam, and I'd already decided I'd do what I could." I said.
"I have a plan. I want to take care of my daughter but I don't have any savings or anything else anybody would want."
"Have you thought about trying to get life insurance?" I figured I knew the answer, that there was no company who would right coverage on somebody who was HIV+.
"Yeah, I've found a couple of companies who will sell me policies and don't require a medical exam. None of them will write as much coverage as I want but I can buy several smaller policies so that won't be a problem. The real issue is money. I figure I may live for a while after I'm no longer able to work and if I get sick and linger a while I'd not be able to continue paying the premiums and the coverage could laps long before I actually die."
"But you said you had a plan," I said.
"Yeah." Sam looked down at the scared table top. He was silent for time and then eventually, looking across the table at me, he asked, "Have you heard of Dungeon Films?"
"Sam," I recoiled in shock, "you've got to be kidding.
Dungeon Films made the most violent kinds of bondage and S and M films. There were a lot of stories circulated about them in the back rooms of the gay film industry. I'd heard that in addition to the milder films they distributed commercially they also produced some very violent films which were only sold privately at very high prices to a group of wealthy clients.
"No, Campbell, I'm not kidding." We were both silent while I considered what Sam had said. "Maybe you know Dungeon shoots a lot of their films in Mexico."
I'd heard that as well. The rumor was the owner of Dungeon Films had a huge ranch near Hermosillo, someplace between the town and the coast, and the local constabulary had been paid off and told to keep their distance. The ranch was said to be huge and treated by the Mexican authorities as tantamount to an independent country.
"Dungeon will pay me $50,000 in advance, a flat fee, no royalties, for one film. With that much money I can get about two million dollars for one year of life insurance coverage. I can almost double that coverage for the same money on as six month policies and some of them even offer double indemnity for accidental death. I figure I can get close to six million in coverage if I work it right."
"Sam," I said, my voice shaking with the horror of what he was saying, "are you saying you'd go into this suspecting you'd not come out alive?"
"Not suspecting, Sam, expecting. It's guaranteed, otherwise I couldn't plan the insurance properly."
"We're talking about heavy duty bondage films here, aren't we?"
"No, Sam, we're talking Snuff."
I was so shocked I got up from the table to leave. I staggered as I stood, my legs shaking under me.
"Please, Campbell," Sam said, his powerful hand shooting out to grasp my arm. "If I knew somebody who could help me with this I'd just let you walk away. But I don't know anybody else. I need your help."
I sat back down. Many times since I've wondered if it would have been better if I'd walked away. Probably not. There is no way I could have won in that situation.
Over the next half an hour Sam explained his plans.
He'd gone to an old and respected friend. I suspect that the gentleman in question may have been a client of Sam's in his younger hustling days. The man, now in his fifties, was an officer of a major bank and with his help Sam sat up a trust in his daughter's name. The trust would be funded from the proceeds of the insurance policies he intended to buy with the advanced payment he'd receive from Dungeon Films.
Sam felt confident that his ex-wife was a good woman, a good mother to their daughter, and that she was living a respectable, if somewhat financially strapped existence in a small rented house in Van Nays. Susan, their daughter, attended public schools. She was a excellent student and a budding musician.
Upon word of Sam's death in a one car accident Mexico, the insurance claims would be filed. As soon as the first payments were received Sam's ex-wife would be given use of a house, to be purchased and owned by the trust and would be hers to use as long as she lived. Upon her death the house would be given free and clear to Susan.
If all went as planned, an old friend of Sam`s family, actually the spinster sister of the banker, would contact his ex-wife and daughter. They'd meet at Sam's funeral and then she'd go to visit them a few days later. She would do what she could to make life easier for them, small things at first, a few extras, a trip to some special place or money for a new dress. It was hoped that over time she would become a real friend of Susan and her mother and also the personal link between them and the trust.
Sam had already met the woman, Miss Lydia McNeil, who was a retired social worker. He said he had a good feeling about her. She seemed to have taken an instant liking to Sam, but then who wouldn`t? While she knew he was making plans for his ex-wife and daughter, she did not know and would never know the actual facts behind the money which would fund the trust. So far as she was told, Sam had been well insured and had died tragically at a young age.
The trust would be used to meet any unexpected expenses, pay for Susan's college education and generally make life easier for both the mother and the daughter. There other plans and provisions and the expectation was that Susan would eventually come into a significant inheritance.
Sam was realistic about the ability of money alone to guarantee a happy life but he was doing everything he could to provide for his ex-wife, Clara, and daughter Susan.
When Sam had completed his explanation of his plans we sat again in silence. Finally I asked the question I'd been dreading.
"Are you going to tell me what your deal is with Dungeon Films?"
"How much do you want to know?"
"Only as much as I have to know. I still don't understand what you want me to do."
"Well, I don't have a date yet but I told you the film will be made in Mexico. I want you to go down with me. You'll need to drive your own car. I want you to be available when it is all over. I have to make arrangements for disposal of my body, Campbell. The Dungeon people will help but I want my own person, that's you, there to see it's done right."
"A prearranged funeral?" I asked. It sounded like a bad joke but I was just trying to understand what he wanted me to do.
"Yeah, more or less, but it's a little more complicated. Dungeon prefers to get rid of the body. I think they usually just bury them in unmarked graves out on their ranch someplace. If the victim wants something else done, he or she has to arrange it."
"And that's were I come in?"
"Yeah," Sam said. "I'll drive down a few day early in some sort of conspicuous car, probably an older sports car. I haven't decided yet. I'll spend some time in a nearby town, be seen driving recklessly, drinking excessively, that kind of thing.
"When it's all over they'll drive the car to some appropriate place, a winding country road. They and I will figure it out when I get down there.
"The Dungeon people will take care of the body, put it in the driver's seat and run it off an embankment and set it on fire. We all want the body burned badly enough that anything suspicious which might have been done to me that's not be consistent with a car wreck has to be wiped out. They don't want any evidence of how I actually died and I don't want anything that might mess up the accident verdict.
"The wreck will be reported to the local police and you'll be notified. You and I will have been staying at the same hotel and some anonymous person will tell the authorities they'd seen me driving the car involved in the wreck and they can also say they saw me hanging out with you.
"Just so there aren't any complications or unnecessary suspicions, I want you to leave the area for a couple of days. You should take off the day before it's all going to happen. You can check out of the hotel but make a reservation for when you return. We'll arrange some witnesses who will see us saying goodbye and you driving off. You can say something about seeing me in a few says."
"Where do you want me to go?"
"I don't know, someplace at least a day away and were you can be seen in public and have a solid alibi for the time of my death. I just don't want anyone thinking it was anything but an accident and I sure don't want you to be at any risk.
"Then you show up a day or two later, check back into the same hotel and ask for me, as if you expect me to still be around. It will be arranged so the police will have heard about you by then and be on the lookout. They will probably leave a message at the hotel asking you to call when you get back.
"If they don't find you, you can go to them, saying we are friends and you are worried because you didn't find me at the hotel when you got back.
"It won't be nice, Campbell, but you'll have to make the identification.
"I've probably seen worse, Sam," I said, remembering my med school days.
"That's why I'm asking you, Campbell." He paused and then went on. It was clear the guy had thought things out. "Even badly burned, you can identify me by my height and maybe a ring and watch, something like that. It just has to be good enough for a legal death certificate so the insurance companies are satisfied.
"Eventually the body will be released to you. You are going to be down there with me as a friend and some sort of business associate. I'll have all the papers ready so you can act as my agent with a power of attorney, whatever is needed under Mexican law. I've not been able to find out about a crematorium anyplace near by so you'll probably have to arrange to have the remains shipped back to the States.
"I want my ashes scattered in the Los Padres National Forest. It's legal, I've all ready checked." He paused and then added, "I'll leave money with you to cover all your expenses. I think $10,000 should be more than enough and anything left over will be for your time."
"Sam, you don't need to do that. I'd never do this for money, you know that"
"Yeah, Campbell, I know, but I want to give you something."
"Do you want me to arrange some sort of service?"
"No real service, just half a dozen people, nobody from Trigger or any of the other film places, please."
"I guess you'll give me a list."
"Yeah, but it's simple enough, you, my ex-wife and Susan if Clara will let her come. I know Clara will want to be there. We've stayed friends over the years, but you'll probably have to arrange a car for them. The others are Clyde McNeil, the banker who will be my trust officer and his sister, Lydia. I told you about earlier."
"That's five. Anybody else?"
"Yeah, one more. Robert Landers."
"I don't know him."
"He's the pastor of Maywood Community Church. I've been having some conversations with him. He'll probably read a scripture or something. I've already told him to keep it short and sweet."
"He knows about all this?"
"Not the details, just enough to be expecting your call."
"You'll give me all the names and phone numbers, right?"
"Yeah, Campbell, I'll give you everything you need."
We sat in silence for a few minutes as I thought about everything Sam had told me.
"This is really weird, Sam," I eventually said.
"I know, man," he said, as a sweet, sad smile moving across his handsome face. "But it's for the best."
Over the next few weeks I saw Sam many times. He gave me an entire file with maps and route instructions. He'd made hotel reservations for both of us at the town near Dungeon's Mexican ranch. He also made a separate reservation in my name for two nights at another in a costal resort about three hours drive away. I later learned that he'd prepaid all the hotel costs, including his own room for three days beyond his actual stay.
The file he gave me had contact numbers for his ex-wife and daughter and everyone else he wanted invited to his memorial service. There were numbers for McNeil at the bank and at his private address.
There was also the phone number of the dentist from whom he'd had a complete dental checkup and a fill set of X-Rays. It had been done two months earlier, before our first conversation. I guess Sam had begun making his plans earlier than I'd realized.
Sam had even bought additional car insurance coverage for both of us when he learned that extra coverage was appropriate for Mexico.
There was also a complete set of documents naming me as his agent and business manager. There were several Powers of Attorney, giving me authority to do just about anything needed. That didn't include financial oversight of his estate, of course, although there was a copy of his trust documents naming Clyde McNeil and his bank.
In other words, Sam had planned everything to the last detail. It was amazing and also horrible. I was overcome with grief whenever I had to go over his plans or take any action on his behalf.
He didn't stop going to the gym until the day before we left town. When I asked him about the seeming futility of driving himself he just grinned. "Look, Campbell," he said, "I'm making one more film and I want to look my best. I guess not many people will ever see it, it is a limited market, but the ones who do will be paying top dollar for the experience. I'm going to give them their money's worth.
I must admit Sam was looking a good as I'd ever seen him. His massive frame was filled out with solid muscle. He'd obviously spent time in a tanning bed and had himself barbered. He looked great and no one would have ever guessed how precarious his health was at that time.
The afternoon before we left, Sam and I met for coffee and a final run-through of the plans. When we finished he handed me rather fat envelope and told me to open it later. When I did open it at home that evening I found a casher's check for ten thousand dollars, a second, drawn on one of the large Mexican banks for the ebullient of three thousand dollars, and a thousand dollars in small bills. It was more than we'd discussed earlier.
Five days before the filming date in Mexico Sam and I left LA and drove down to Hermosillo in separate cars, he in a little sports convertible he'd bought a week earlier and me in my Volvo station wagon. Seeing Sam behind the wheel of the little car was almost comical, given his stature, but he got himself in and was able to drive it with seeming ease.
For a few days we made ourselves as visible as possible at the hotel and in a few local bars. Sam was seen ordering tequila shots and tossing them back neat. What the bartenders didn't know was that he never swallowed the stuff. He was taking no chance on his health and potential interactions with his medications.
On our last evening together we had an early dinner by Mexican standards and then went back to the hotel.
"I've never been big on long goodbyes, Campbell," he told me as he gave me a big hug.
The next morning he came down to see me off about nine o'clock. He shook my hand and slapped my back and said for the benefit of the hotel manager and bell hop who'd come out to say goodbye.
"See you in a few days, man," he called out as I pulled away.
It was the last time I saw him.
That afternoon and evening and all the next day I made a point of staying visible at the resort hotel. I hung out by the busy swimming pool and made a past of myself with the staff. I had dinner in the hotel dining room and sat in the bar nursing drinks until after midnight. I wanted to be seen but even more, I couldn't stand being alone.
When I was alone in my hotel room I made a secession of telephone calls to friends or business associates in LA. All the calls had to be booked through the hotel switchboard so there was a further record my presence.
On the morning after my second night at the resort I packed up my car and drove the three hours back to Hermosillo. I was shaking all the way, knowing what I'd be facing when I got there.
As soon as I arrived at the hotel the manager was out the front door greeting me. I guess he'd had the doorman signal him as soon as I pulled up.
The manager was as nervous as hell but managed to tell me there'd been an accident and the police wanted me to come to the station as soon as I got back. I asked for details but he said I would have to talk to the police. I asked for directions to the police station and he offered to come with me and show me the way.
Ten minutes later in a surprisingly neat, modern building I was ushered into the head guy's office and given the news. He spoke English so well I wondered if he'd been educated in the States. He asked where I'd been and why I'd left Hermosillo. My answers seemed to satisfy him.
"I have information on the vehicle, Mr. Campbell," he said, handing me a folder with a description of Sam's sport coupe. The photos in the folder were hardly recognizable as a car at all, let alone Sam's. I was impressed that they had been able to determine make, year, serial number, everything necessary to identify it. "Does the information seem to be consistent with what you remember about Mr. Best's car?"
I told him that it did.
"We will get a formal record of ownership from the California DMV but that will take time."
"Can you tell me what happened?" I asked.
"Your friend seems to have been driving on a little traveled road, so far as we can tell, about eleven o'clock last night. He apparently ran off the road at a curve. The gas tank ruptured and there was an explosion. At this point that's about all we know."
"Who reported the accident?"
"A farmer who lived about a mile away. He heard the explosion and saw the fire. By the time he'd walked to the scene and then gotten to a telephone to report it, over an hour had gone by. The fire had more or less burned itself out by the time a police car arrived."
"There was no other vehicle involved?"
"Apparently not. There was no evidence of a collision with another car, if that's what you mean."
Finally, he asked me to go with him to the local hospital to make a formal identification of the remains.
When we went into the outer office there was a brief exchange in Spanish between the chief office and another man and I was told the hotel manager had been driven back to the hotel in a police car. I was in the police station a total of twenty minutes at most.
The hospital was a rambling one story building, probably built in the last ten years but already showing need of repair. The police chief and I went in a rear door and were taken immediately down a short corridor to the small pathology department. In the back room were three autopsy tables. Only one was in use. On it a strangely shaped form was covered with a plastic sheet.
"This will not be pleasant, Mr. Campbell," the police chief said as the attendant pulled the sheet about a third of the way back. What I was strangely unrelated to Sam. It was a blackened form. It could have been some odd piece of contemporary sculpture. It wasn't even recognizable as a human being.
I stared at it in disbelief.
"How can I possibly make an identification?" I asked.
"I am sorry, Mr. Campbell, but the law requires that the remains be viewed by the person making the identification."
"I understand," I said as the attendant mercifully covered the dehumanized shape. "It's not the unpleasantness, I just don't know how I can make an accurate identification.
The police chief spoke to the attendant and we went back to the outer office. A moment later the attendant joined us with a large file containing papers and a large envelope.
"The subject," the police chief translated, "was a male, approximant six feet three to six feet six in height. He seems to have been well built but exact weight, complexion, hair color, etc., can not be determined."
"That would seem to fit Sam's description," I said.
He opened the envelope and took out two small, sealed clear plastic envelopes. "Please do not open the evidence envelopes, Mr. Campbell," he said placing them on the table. "Tell me if you can make an identification of these objects."
In one envelope was the blackened remains of a high school class ring. It had been cut to remove it from Sam's charred and twisted finger. In the second were the equally ruined remains of an old watch.
"Yes," I said.
"Yes, you can identify the objects?"
"There's Sam's."
"Good. I think for now that is all we need."
"What will be done now, if I may ask?"
"Do you have addresses for the next of kin?"
"Sam didn't really have any family," I said. "I'm his agent and manager."
"Do you have documents identifying you as his agent?"
"Yes, I also have powers of attorney."
"Excellent," the police chief said. "That will make all this much easier." He looked at the top paper in the file, which seemed to be some sort of check list. "Do you have the name of his doctor in Los Angeles?"
"Yes."
"Do you have the name of his dentist?"
"I think I have it in my files in LA."
"Excellent," he said. "The technicians here have prepared a complete set of dental X-Rays. They should make a positive identification possible."
"What should I do to obtain release of the remains?"
"If you have written documentation of your association with the victim, you can fill out forms and make the necessary arrangements for disposal of the body."
"I'd just gotten back to the hotel when the manager stopped me and we came on to your office. I'd not unpacked so my brief case is in my car at the police station."
"Then we should be able to get the proper forms completed quickly. Once that's seen to, there really isn't anything more that you can be done until the identification is complete and there has been a determination of the cause of death. Then a death certificate will be issued." He paused as he returned the evidence bags to the larger envelope and then placed the envelope in the file folder. "Do you have other business in Mexico?"
"I guess not."
"Then I would suggest you return to the United States, Mr. Campbell. The formalities may take several days."
"You said eventually an official death certificate will be issued."
"Yes, it will be sent to you."
"Can you tell me what will be shown as the cause of death?"
"That is up to the judicial officers, Mr. Campbell. Based on what I have seen and the information I have been given by the hotel staff and others with whom I've spoken, I will recommend that the determination be listed as accidental death while intoxicated."
"Are you saying there was a high blood alcohol level?"
"Yes, Mr. Campbell. That is somewhat confidential information at this point but since you are Mr. Best's legal agent, I will tell you that it was quite high."
I left Hermosillo the next day after completing the necessary forms. The formalities took time but when the body was released it was shipped to San Diego for cremation. Five weeks after Sam's death I received his ashes. The following weekend the service Sam had planned took place.
In due course the death certificate was issued, showing cause of death to have been accidental. I had to arrange to have certified translations prepared and then the insurance claims could be filed by Mr. McNeil. In time the trust was fully funded.
I'd called everybody on Sam's list as soon as I got home. I told each of them that Sam had died in a car accident in Mexico and that I'd be back in touch when it was possible to plan a memorial service.
When I called Clara, Sam's ex-wife back to tell her the plans for the service she immediately said that she and her daughter would come.
"Do you want me to send a car for you?"
"Oh, yes, please," she said. "Where will the service be held?"
"In the Los Padres National Forest," I said. "That was Sam's request."
There was silence on her end for a moment and then she said, "was he more precise, Mr. Campbell? It's a pretty large place."
"No, he only said he wanted his ashes scattered there."
"May I make a suggestion?"
"Yes, certainly."
"Can I call you back? I'll have to check a map."
An hour later she called back with some very specific directions. The place was a clearing along a level trail not more than a hundred yards from a parking areas. It was convenient and it turned out to be a beautiful location with spectacular views south over Santa Barbara. The day was amazingly clear and we could even see the outlines of the Channel Islands through a distant veil of haze.
I wondered if the place had some special significance for Sam, or maybe for both him and Clara. She didn't say anything and I didn't ask.
We all formed a little semicircle. Susan, a sweet kid about twelve years old, stood silently by her mother's side.
Robert Landers read John 15: 12 - 17. I wondered how much he knew about Sam's death. In any case, it was a fitting passage.
After we'd scattered Sam's ashes and Landers had said a prayer, we all went down to a restaurant in Montecito where I'd arranged for us all to have lunch. I figured it was a good way to spend a little of the extra money Sam had put in the envelope he'd given me.
Around the table, over a very nice meal, a lot of memories were shared and a lot of wonderful stories were told. Clara told us a few things about Sam when she'd first known him. I felt she was sharing her stories for Susan's sake but we all enjoyed what she said.
Clyde McNeil told us a little about his friendship with Sam, being careful, I felt not to say anything which hinted at the real nature of their relationship. It was clear that Mr. McNeil had really liked Sam as a person and wanted something of Sam's personality to come through in the stories he told.
Even Lydia McNeil made some comments about how much she'd enjoyed knowing Sam, even briefly. She hinted at some older family relationship which I assumed was a way of laying the groundwork for the visit she was going to have with Clara and Susan in a few days.
That's about all I can tell you about Sam Best, except to say that he was a good person.
The end.