PHOENIX — PHOENIX - It had been years since Glen Campbell made news, yet all it took to wangle the singer back into the limelight was a mug shot - a startlingly unflattering one.
Now, after a series of humiliations that began with his arrest for extreme drunken driving in November, leading to a month in rehabilitation and a short stint in jail, the singer reclines in the overstuffed den of his 10,000-square-foot Italianate manse, the television tuned to weather, his wife, Kim, right next to him, smoothing his rough edges, filling in the blanks of his memory.
Campbell is genial but absent-minded, his sentences often fractured. When the conversation moves to the murky depths of alcoholism, Campbell squirms and sighs as if trying to shake off the past few months of trouble.
But his demeanor instantly calms when he talks about music and, guitar in hand, he sings readily, his voice as clear and poignant as ever.
Despite his travails, Campbell looks tanned, fit and younger than his 68 years, if exhausted. It has been quite a couple of months. Days before his release, he obliged Maricopa County Sheriff Joe Arpaio and performed his greatest hits for the imprisoned multitudes of the so-called Tent City jail, a gig that resulted in a lot of media but no leniency. He's had a few shows since.
On this day, Campbell has spent the morning golfing with Dateline NBC's Stone Phillips, the first of several media interviews he hopes will motivate other struggling addicts to get sober.
"I'd hate to see what happened to me happen to anybody else," he says. "It's tough to go through. ... It is tough to go through."
And yet, in today's fame-crazed America, notoriety is sometimes just the thing to kick-start a career - a "defining moment," his publicist Sandy Brokaw called it. Reporters lobbied hard for the post-arrest interview, among them Larry King of CNN and Diana Sullivan of Phoenix's CBS affiliate, who plied Brokaw with chocolate-covered berries and a note that read: "I would be so berry happy if I could finally have that interview with Glen Campbell."
"There was a lot of interest in this story," Brokaw says. "It's made him hot."
Indeed, but at a steep price, one that cost Campbell - now an evangelical Christian who sings gospel as much as pop and country - a good portion of his pride.
The now-famous mug shot was taken after a round of golf, two "tall" rum and Cokes and one very energetic struggle in the back of a police car. Campbell, his hair a mess, glared into the camera, his eyes bloodshot and watery, his mouth fixed in a menacing grimace, more Jesse James than Rhinestone Cowboy.
Leno punch line
Suddenly, Campbell - the all-American pop star, Middle America's answer to the subversive longhairs of the 1960s - was now just another disgraced celebrity. After Jay Leno used it as a punch line in his monologue on The Tonight Show (after a clip of a devastating blimp accident, Leno says, "We have a picture of the pilot"), Brokaw spotted the mug shot in a parking attendant's booth, alongside that of James Brown.
Campbell's friends, even those who had lived through his first bout with addiction in the 1970s, were shocked by his arrest.
"I know he must be very embarrassed about this," says Tommy Smothers, co-host of the 1960s variety show that helped launch Campbell's career. "You know he's very righteous. And ... the fall is much greater when you're righteous." Still, he added, "This man is like a rubber ball. He bounces good."
Songwriter Jimmy Webb, one of Campbell's closest friends and longtime collaborator (he wrote "By the Time I Get to Phoenix," "Galveston" and "Wichita Lineman," among others), says the arrest and embarrassing publicity could inspire "a real renaissance" for Campbell.
"In quite the most base and ludicrous way possible, it has really brought him back to the attention of the American people," he says.
Campbell is philosophical about the photo now. He says he wasn't surprised that his troubles became a national joke, although he says he wouldn't have treated Leno so callously if their places had been reversed.
"I expected the worst," he says. "And I got the worst."
Campbell isn't much for detail these days. Names and dates seem to be just out of his reach, and when Kim does much of the talking, he quips, "I'm glad I brought my mouth with me."
When asked, Campbell happily sings lines from "By the Time I Get to Phoenix," a song that spent about three months on the charts in the late 1960s. He closes his eyes as he sings.
It was a Monday evening in November when Campbell - wearing a backward baseball cap, swaying and bleary-eyed, reeking of alcohol - answered the door of his home to a police officer. An anonymous caller had alerted Phoenix police to a minor hit-and-run at the entrance to his upscale subdivision, the Arizona Biltmore Estates, and reported Campbell's license plate number as belonging to the car responsible.
Campbell had just come from the golf course - a break after several back-to-back shows in Minnesota. His wife and daughter were in New York.
After Campbell was handcuffed, he kicked the inside of the patrol car, cursing the officers, demanding to speak with the chief. After a few minutes of his thrashing, they shackled him. To this day, Campbell has only vague memories of the day.
When Kim heard about the arrest, she refused to post bail and demanded that friends and family do the same.
'That scared me'
"I have never been so mad in my life," she says. "I knew if they got him out ... that he wouldn't remember what happened to him. And he needed the impact of waking up in a jail cell. It definitely did the trick."
"That scared me, boy," Campbell says. "I'd never been in jail before. I'd never been arrested before. But I guess you got to do everything once, don't you?"
He pleaded guilty in May to extreme drunken driving and leaving the scene of an accident and was sentenced to 10 days in jail and 75 hours of community service. For one year, he must use a device on his car that blocks ignition until a breath test that measures blood-alcohol content is passed.
By this time next year, Kim says, the family might have relocated to Malibu, Calif. Son Caledonia, 21, is pursuing a music career there and their daughter Ashley, 17, hopes to attend a local university.
Yet the past has taken its toll. During the interview, Campbell couldn't remember the name of his latest album, a collection of inspirational songs released in June titled Love Is the Answer: 24 Songs of Faith, Hope and Love.
Asked whether he had reached any conclusions about the past few months, he says, "This was one of those stupid things. ... I've never been arrested. Never been to jail. Once is enough."
The Los Angeles Times is a Tribune Publishing newspaper.