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The truth behind David Strickland's (Todd in Suddenly Susan) death.

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Chris B.

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Jun 27, 1999, 3:00:00 AM6/27/99
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The weekend before David Strickland hanged himself in a Las Vegas motel
room on Monday 22 March, he was basking in favourable reviews for his
latest big-screen release Forces of Nature - starring Sandra Bullock and
Ben Affleck, and featuring himself in a plum supporting role. The film
was released on 19 March to the sort of healthy box-office one
associates with its two big stars.

Strickland's death came just when his career was taking off, exactly the
kind of conundrum that TV reporters couldn't fathom. He had appeared
for three years in Suddenly Susan, the Tuesday-night NBC sitcom starring
tabloid-magnet Brooke Shields. Set in the offices of a glossy San
Francisco magazine, Strickland played Todd, its man-child of a music
critic, whose nanosecond attention-span has been dictated by a
lifetime's ingestion of MTV.

The suicide of this supporting actor from the modesty rated sitcom
stunned the TV media world, an industry more usually concerned with
weight loss, hairstyle clashes and ratings battles. Strickland's bleak
and dispiriting story - drink, drugs, depression and a lonely death
after a night of Vegas indulgence - cut through that triviality big
time.

On Sunday, Chicago Tribune carried an interview with Strickland in which
he talked of his drug problems and cited alcohol as one thing he would
omit if he could wave a magic wand over his life. Tellingly, he also
recalled the worst piece of advice his father had ever given him, "If
something is bothering you, keep it to yourself." On Monday a maid at
the Oasis Hotel - which offers porno movies, "fantasy rooms", Jacuzzis
and hourly rates - found Strickland's body hanging by a bedsheet from a
beam in Room 20.

Evidently, he took his father's advice in the hours leading up to his
death: whatever was wrong Strickland was giving nothing away. Police
took a testimony of lap dancer Kimberly Braddock, who works at the local
strip-joint the Girls of Glitter Gulch and who performed for the drunken
Strickland at 11pm, noticing his "red eyes". "He was really out of it,"
she recalled.

The trail led next to a prostitute who spent 20 minutes with Strickland
in her room at the Oasis. Manager Peter Napoli said she told him
Strickland's expression was totally blank. "Not happy, not sad. At the
time, he must have known what he was going to do."

After his assignation, Strickland rented a room of his own at the Oasis
($55, American Express), then purchased a six-pack of beer which he
apparently drank before he killed himself. The beer bottles and a
tipped-over chair were found near his body. The bed was unmade, and on a
table lay his wallet and pager. "There was no plane ticket in his room,
or car in the parking lot," said Las Vegas homicide Lt Wayne Petersen.
"We're not sure how he got here."

Over the next few days, Strickland's life story and his recent
tribulations slowly came to light. He had been due to appear in court on
Monday to discuss his progress in a 36 month drug rehab programme he had
enrolled in as part of his sentence for a cocaine possession bust the
previous Halloween. When he failed to show up, a warrant was issued for
his arrest. Just three hours later his body was found.

The Suddenly Susan team were distraught. Co-star Nestor Carbonell told
reporters that Strickland had "held us together because he was light and
fun. He was the glue." But Carbonell also knew of Stricklan's history of
manic depression, which was apparently the source of his drink and drug
problems, and how he would fall of the wagon every two to six months.
"He'd have a bad episode," remembers Carbonell, "and we'd all worry
about it for a night or two, and he's resurface as if nothing had
happened. He always resurfaced." Comedian Andy Dick, who'd met
Strickland in Vegas the day he died, said in a prepared statement: "My
heart goes out to Tiffani," a reference to the former Beverly Hills
90210 star Tiffani-Amber Thiessen, whom Strickland has been seeing since
they met at a kick-boxing class.

Brooke Shields also issued a statement saying, "I have lost my best
friend whose talent and good humour graced everyone who knew him. David
was my family and if the press have even a modicum of integrity, I beg
them to spare us their insensitive prying." The media spared Shields
their attentions, but would resume their scrutiny a few weeks later when
her marriage to tennis star Andre Agassi hit the rocks and their
imminent divorce was announced. Ironically, filming was due to start
that week on 'Suddenly Susan's' Halloween episode (CB: This is
inaccurate reporting for you!!) in which Strickland was to appear
dressed as Agassi. Without Strickland, the final two episodes of the
series had to be cancelled.

Strickland's untidy death forms a sharp contrast to the highly-
controlled world of the American laughter factory with its battalions of
scriptwriters, tantrum-throwing stars and audience-chasing producers.
His suicide stands as one of those brief and devestating eruptions of
real life that tear apart the sitcom fantasy. It has happened before,
with the murder of comedian, Simpsons voice and Newsradio star Phil
Hartman by his wife last summer. Or the death, in 1977, of breakout
Latino comedian Freddie Prinze, 22-year-old star of TV's Chico And The
Man. Prinze killed himself with a gun, despondent over his drug use and
believing himself to be the reincarnation of Lenny Bruce. Or the death
of Brian Keith, famous as the loveable star of the late 60s sitcom A
Family Affair, who killed himself after discovering he was dying of
cancer.

Had he lived, David Strickland may have capitalised on Forces of
Nature's success and become a bigger star. Instead the problems he faced
on a dark night of the soul, alone in a cheap motel in Las Vegas, drove
him to the end of his agonies in the grimmest fashion imaginable.

Written by John Patterson.
Taken from "Heat", 22-28 May 1999 issue.
Used without permission.
--
Chris B.

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