PUBLIC SUICIDE AWAKENS PORTLAND TO ITS HEROIN PROBLEM

PORTLAND, Ore. (AP) -- As afternoon traffic rumbled by, a young couple in
grunge clothes and combat boots climbed over the rail of the downtown Steel
Bridge, slipped twin nooses from a single rope around their necks and
jumped to their deaths.

For nearly an hour, the bodies dangled side by side about 50 feet above the
Willamette River. Cars slowed. A crowd gathered on the banks. Workers in
office buildings rushed toward the windows. Amtrak passengers were warned
to close their curtains as their train drew near the lower level of the
bridge, where the bodies hung at eye level until police could remove them.

The couple, 29-year-old Michael Douglas and his 25-year-old fiancee, Mora
McGowan, were heroin addicts whose habit left them broke, tormented and
hopeless.

``I think I've decided on an old-fashioned public hanging,'' Douglas wrote
in a 13-page journal found in the book bag slung over his shoulder. ``The
Steel Bridge shall be my gallows. ... Mora and I go together on the Steel
Bridge.''

The very public suicide July 1 shocked this city, at least for a moment,
into the realization that many of the young people who live on the streets
here are addicts and there is little help available for them.

``A lot of us really took this to heart,'' said Donna Mulcare, a volunteer
at the Oregon Partnership's drug and alcohol HelpLine. ``This issue hits
many more people than you realize -- chances are you know somebody or work
with somebody or passed someone on the street who is addicted.''

Heroin is responsible for more deaths in Oregon than any other drug,
according to Dr. Larry Lewman, state medical examiner. In 1997, there were
221 drug-related deaths in Oregon; of those, 161 involved heroin.

In a study released this month by the Office of National Drug Control
Policy, nearly 14 percent of the men arrested in Portland and 27 percent of
the women tested positive for heroin or related opiates. The rate among the
Portland women was the highest of all 23 major U.S. cities studied. Just
over 1 million people live in the Portland metropolitan area.

Oregon has the nation's 10th-highest suicide rate, at 17 suicides per
100,000 population.

Douglas had once worked as a tattoo artist and landscaper, McGowan as an
assistant manager for a downtown beauty salon. They got engaged and moved
in together a year and a half ago, and had been responsible about paying
their rent until last August.

Those who knew Douglas said drugs were always a part of his life. When he
and McGowan began using heroin, they started pawning everything they owned
of any value to feed their habit. They were eventually kicked out of the
friend's apartment where they had been staying and put out on the streets.

At least once, McGowan tried treatment but failed. In despair, she tried
suicide by cutting her wrists, but her mother rushed her to a hospital.
Douglas tried to come up with the money to buy enough heroin for an
overdose, but he couldn't.

Police Sgt. Kent Perry said Douglas wrote in his journal about the grind of
having to raise $200 every day to pay for his fix and how he considered
other ways of ending his life, including shooting himself or lying down on
the train tracks.

``It was a waste of life,'' said Isaac Frankel, an analyst at Northwest
Natural Gas who saw the twin suicide from his office building. ``I thought
it was just a prank, until police came.''

Every weekday morning, on the scrubby fringe of Portland's downtown, where
black tar heroin sells for about $50 per quarter gram, at least 20 people
line up for a chance at the few daily slots in the Hooper Center for
Alcohol and Drug Intervention, the city's biggest detoxification clinic.

``There are far fewer treatment resources than are needed -- probably for
every 10 addicts that have wanted treatment, only one is admitted,'' said
Richard Harris, executive director of Central City Concern, which oversees
the clinic.

Some of those who waited in line said news of the double suicide spread
quickly on the streets, but any effect it may have had was overshadowed by
their own daily struggles with heroin.

``It seemed like people should have taken it harder,'' said a slender
22-year-old heroin addict who asked to be identified only as Margaret.
``When you are a junkie, your options are limited. You just have to keep
doing what you are doing.''

For three years now, Margaret has been scrounging for the $50 a day she
needs to stay high, selling everything she owns, even her body. She and
more than 10 others were turned away at the treatment center.

``Once you start, it's one of the hardest things to get off of,'' she said.
``If I don't quit, I'll end up dead.''

Checked-by: Mike Gogulski