Dan Bigg, activist, visionary, and harm reduction pioneer, died on Tuesday, August 21, 2018. In this episode of the Narcotica podcast Zach Siegel interviews journalist Max Blau, who has been researching the history of naloxone, about Bigg’s radical legacy.
Tessie Castillo: When I think of Dan Bigg, I think of Santa Claus — not a jolly, red-suited figure of lore who delivers tricycles and wooden horse rockers to children, but an edgy, swearing, fingers-in-the-air Santa Claus whose gifts were the gifts of life.
Steve Kamenicky, known on the street as “Ponytail Steve,” is fully aware of the harsh truths about the opioid epidemic having been a heroin addict for four decades. Now that he’s kicked the habit, he helps addicts gain access to a drug called naloxone.
For those addicted to heroin or other opiates, naloxone can mean the difference between life and death.
If you weren’t looking, you’d miss it: a silver van the size of an ice cream truck parked at North and California and emblazoned with the words Chicago Recovery Alliance. Step inside, and you’ll find a whirl of activity: volunteers drawing blood for hepatitis C tests, hazmat bins being filled with used syringes, opiate users stocking up on needles, cookers, alcohol swabs, even bike inner tubes to tie off with. At the center of it all is CRA’s director, Dan Bigg.
Hey, folks. I, Charles Preston, reporting fellow for City Bureau, would like to tell you all about a magical silver truck that you can find throughout Chicago. My reporting team is investigating the impact of the Illinois budget impasse on mental and behavioral health organizations through the lens of the opioid crisis. Our reporting has led us to Chicago Recovery Alliance, an organization that has been servicing heroin users since 2001.
It’s nearly 12:30 p.m. when a rushed young man drops by the Chicago Recovery Alliance’s parked silver truck in West Garfield Park. He’s turned away for HIV testing, but told to come back next week, but just a bit earlier. The truck can’t be late for its next stop in Austin. If the staff and volunteers don’t show up, addicts might think the program, like others facing budget shortfalls, is unreliable. And that means next time they need clean syringes, they might not come back to the truck.
