Stuart Hotchkiss is at the end of his rope. Underemployment, bankruptcy, and a looming third divorce have worn him down. His mother has died. He’s estranged from his own son. Death seems like a release. The son of a once significant Southern family, Hotchkiss spent his early life struggling to escape familial expectations and secrets. He paid for his own education and eventually secured a position as president of a national media conglomerate, only to resign a year later and bring senseless litigation that rendered him permanently underemployed. “Southern Fried Fiction” is all that a memoir should be—a captivating story, real and raw, with a healthy dose of humor to carry readers through the pain of its author’s loss and past mistakes. Through it, Hotchkiss eloquently exorcises the demons of his climb toward success, capping it off with a spark of hope beyond the veil of his near suicide, one that even the most cynical of us can find inspiration in. In the vein of Russell Baker’s “Growing Up” and Michael Gates Gill’s “How Starbucks Saved My Life,” Hotchkiss’s memoir is a moving account of one man’s battle to overcome his demons and start over.
Please learn from my example — do not sue your former employer. Don't destroy nineteen years of good will, reputation and friendships to prove a point. Move on.
Once you read this excerpt of my lawsuit against Time Inc., you will begin to appreciate how grateful I am to my former employer for allowing me to publish my memoir!
What leads a person to contemplate suicide? What inspires a person to seek treatment for mental illness? Have you ever had an epiphanic moment that has changed your life?
We often misjudge people because of their past actions. I certainly did when I was informed that I would be bunking with a convicted murdered inside a locked psych ward at Georgetown University Hospital. Turns out, he was as human as I. And he needed help. And the establishment had turned their collective backs on him. Rather than protect myself from him, I made myself his advocate. I am so blessed to have had such an experience and hope that Gil is alive and stronger today!
It was difficult for me emotionally to grow up white in the South in the 1960's. Despite having “colored” help, my family seemed reasonably progressive for the times, or so I thought. They were politically correct for the most part, but they also thought they were being cute by using the word “NIgra” as a sign of “respect” for black people. But the moment Martin Luther King, Jr., was assassinated in 1968, the truth came out. I saw them and their cronies in a very different and ugly light. They were venomously racist. It was an awful time in my life because I had very few peers who agreed with me and no ability to have an honest dialogue with my family.
Even though a primary care physician isn't a mental health professional, they can be great advocates for patients suffering from depression. Some have the ability to detect symptoms in certain patients and persuade them to voluntarily enter treatment programs before they harm themselves. This author gives thanks to one particular PCP, Jennifer Beach, M.D., for helping save his life.
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