Promising coach turns into a junkie

Part one of two parts.

THE SON of a top criminal judge in a family of high achievers was overwhelmed by anxieties and quickly found himself addicted to drugs.

PORTLAND - Alone and shaking, Michael Abraham sat in the bedroom closet of his large Southern California house. Burns spotted his fingers and legs, his right cheekbone.

He was there nearly every night, fumbling with a butane lighter.

Abraham remembers trembling as he held a baby-food jar over the flame. In the jar was a mixture of cocaine, water and baking soda that would become highly addictive crack cocaine.

He would smoke the crack, burning his fingers and any other body part that touched the pipe. It was July 1996.

He was once a rising star in the coaching ranks of women's college basketball, a good-looking, sharp-dressing, slick-talking recruiter.

The story of Abraham's promising coaching career and his fall due to cocaine addiction was detailed in a four-part series in The Oregonian by Jason Quick, who spent four months on the project.

Abraham grew up in an esteemed, closely knit Portland family as the oldest son of Multnomah County's top criminal judge. His siblings proclaimed him the "king" of the family.

And he was a junkie. In a year, his recreational use of cocaine turned into a $1,000-a-week crack habit.

His bank account, once comfortable from his $67,000 salary as head women's basketball coach at California State University, Northridge, was bottomed out, and his five credit cards were maxed. He was $50,000 in debt, and unpaid bills mounted. His wife, seven months pregnant with their first child, was threatening to leave him.

It started with a barber named Jesse.

The two slipped easily into conversation.

Abraham revealed that he was about to become a first-time father, that he lived in a nice home.

But Abraham never revealed that depression had engulfed him the previous year while he was the top assistant at Oregon State University, where he envisioned becoming a Pac-10 head coach.

Anxieties about his job

But in 1995, the university investigated the women's-basketball program for NCAA violations. Abraham, anxious about his job, began snorting cocaine.

The investigation uncovered only minor violations and no penalties. But Aki Hill, who had coached the Beavers for 17 years, and her staff resigned.

Before Oregon State, he was the top assistant for the Long Beach State team that twice went to the Final Four, but he was reprimanded for talking to a transfer player without the other school's permission.

But after helping Oregon State reach unparalleled heights, Abraham remembers feeling that his achievements were attributed to unethical behavior rather than to hard work.

Suddenly, he felt like a failure.

He had always pressured himself to succeed, to achieve the prestige of his family. His father, Phil, was Multnomah County's chief criminal court judge. Michael's older sister, Leslie, was a deputy district attorney. Another sister, Lori, was a U.S. marshal. His brother Matthew was a vice president at retailer Norm Thompson, and two younger brothers were court clerks.

California State, Northridge, was one of the worst women's-basketball programs in the nation.

So it was a volatile man who walked into the barbershop that day.

He found source of drugs

When Abraham sat in Jesse's chair, he had been in Northridge for a month. He was still depressed, but he hadn't used drugs. He didn't have a source.

As he was cutting Abraham's hair, Jesse was sniffing and touching his nose. And there was the sweet smell of marijuana.

Abraham knew the signs and discreetly asked if he could score him some weed.

Jesse did and later offered other drugs. Soon Abraham was buying cocaine in $100 amounts.

By day, he recruited, structured practice plans and developed relationships with his players. By night, he snorted cocaine.

Soon he met Jesse whether he needed a haircut or not.

About five months after meeting Jesse, a new character slipped into the picture.

His name was Bernie, Jesse's supplier, who made a move to cut Jesse out of the loop.

Bernie not only started to supply Abraham, but he also showed him how to make crack.

Soon, Bernie called up to 10 times a day. Abraham needed cocaine.

It was six months since he had moved to Northridge. Michael Abraham - the father-figure coach, the perfect son - was a full-blown addict.

He was constantly afraid, fearing people were watching him, stalking him.

He smashed a hole in his bedroom wall with a baseball bat, imagining there was somebody inside.

He crawled on his belly, military style, so the spies could not see him.

He ripped up the carpet, trying to find the people scurrying beneath him.

And through it all, he coached the Matadors.

Eventually, he stopped going to work regularly, telling the athletic department he was receiving treatment for testicular cancer.

The only stabilizing force was his wife, Trisonya, a 6-foot-1 former All-American volleyball player.

She fed him, holding a cup to his lips. Abraham lived on oatmeal and Malt-O-Meal because the cocaine made him grit his teeth.

She urged him to enter treatment or at least cut back.

He had dropped 33 pounds off his 180-pound frame. At practice, he often couldn't finish yelling instructions without gasping. But the team made strides in his first year.

The improvement fooled Abraham into thinking everything was under control.

Raging addiction

By September 1996, one month after the birth of his first child, his addiction was raging.

When he went to Portland for his brother's wedding, his suitcase did not include any of his own pants. The crack had so eroded his frame that he wore his wife's Size 10 jeans.

At brother Matthew's bachelor party, Michael used cocaine in public for the first time.

By 2 a.m., there were only Michael and Matthew. The party was over for everyone but Michael. He continued to smoke crack every 10 to 15 minutes.

Soon, everyone in the Abraham family knew Michael had a drug problem.

Back home, Trisonya took the baby to be with her mother, telling Michael she would give him a week to clean up.

But when she returned to their home in Northridge, she found a war zone.

Michael was crawling on his belly in the living room. He was ripping up the carpet. He had ransacked the car looking for microphones.

Trisonya dialed his father, Phil.

"Phil, he's out of control," Trisonya said through tears. "He's tearing up the carpet, he won't listen to me. . . . I'm leaving him."

"Go!" Phil said. "Pack your bags and go immediately. I'm coming down on the next flight."

Michael looked even worse than Phil remembered.

They went inside and talked. Michael confessed the depth of his addiction.

The two talked about a treatment program, but Michael again said he feared it would cost him his job and reputation.

They agreed to do it Michael's way.

Over the next two weeks, Phil, 70, lived with his 36-year-old son.

He slept with him, holding Michael as he shivered throughout the night. He went to work with him, to the movies, to dinner. He answered every phone call.

Every night, a family member called, encouraging him, reassuring him of his worth.

Almost immediately, Michael Abraham's life righted itself. His wife and baby came home. His zeal for coaching returned.

"I'm making sure people notice a change," Abraham said. "I wanted to make sure Northridge finally got the coach they hired."

He remained clean from cocaine, but he still smoked marijuana on occasion. The team skyrocketed, winning 14 games, the most in school history.

He had beaten his drug addiction. It was past dealings that would be his undoing.