Jun 12, 1983 - Sept 1, 2011
Max struggled with the loss of his father at the age of 13. We lived in Manhattan and he had access to so much. Max spent so much of his time at his dad’s parking garage, Area Garage Corporation located on Delancey Street and Columbia Street, and at our restaurant The Continental Divide located on Third Avenue and Saint Mark’s Place. He loved working on cars in the car body shop. It was his passion. Max loved to build anything mechanical.
Max worked with local artists at The Continental Divide changing the decor to show off the artists’ work. He was a very loving, caring soul, creative and very sociable.
The struggles came after the loss of his father and we moved to Long Island, New York. Max was heartbroken. Everything he did was no longer here on Long Island. In New York City, he played roller hockey and baseball; he worked on building show cars and creating art with upcoming new artists. To this day, on the walls of Area Garage is a painted mural of Max created while he was still alive.
Max was lost on Long Island and my heart ached for him. Max was exposed to so many activities while living in Manhattan and he was fortunate enough to have a summer home in East Quogue, New York where he would bring his friends who lived in the city.
Max’s first encounter with prescription drugs was after a severe car accident at 20 years old. It was a miracle that he survived. Max spoke to me openly. He was concerned about his constant use of Oxycontin. He had undergone six surgeries and he was scared. I had no idea where to begin to help him. We found a place near Woodstock, New York. Max stayed there for a month and when he returned home he told me that he learned more there about drugs than he could ever have imagine.
Six months later, after returning home from a party that he had attended in Blue Point, New York, he came to me and told me “Mom, while I was at the party a girl stuck a needle in my arm and told me that it would make me feel better. I am scared how could I have let this happen”.
I cannot explain the hell Max endured going through the revolving doors of various rehabs.
I miss his hugs, smile, laughter and his love for me.
Submitted by Dorothy Johnson, Mother