Growing up in the late 80s and early 90s, I became well-versed in the “Very Special Episode” of TV. A strange mashup of regular TV and after-school special, these episodes featured a show’s regular cast of characters encountering an Issue (drinking, drugs, divorce, disordered eating, date rape—even things that don’t start with D) that didn’t typically arise in their otherwise charmed lives.

In these early days, there was a nice little lesson about either not doing these things (drinking, drugs) or finding a trusted adult to have a brief but meaningful conversation with before the episode concludes.

As I got older and TV shows became more complex, there were fewer obvious morality tales and more reliance on character archetypes. We had the protagonist’s fun-loving but will-get-you-suspended sidekick, the queer friend, the nerd with a crush, the very hot, brooding guy who’s secretly dyslexic—ok, that last one is just My So-Called Life—but similar characters appear consistently throughout this era of television.

These archetypes were often a vehicle for the narrative tropes with which we’re so familiar. If the character is using, all sorts of juicy crises might unfold. If they’re in recovery, the threat of relapse is an easy way to build tension and drama. If the character actually relapses, it can trigger a slew of heart-wrenching, messy plotlines.

Too often, this results in the character becoming more of a plot device than a person. It’s difficult to think of characters in recovery who aren’t largely identified by their past use or current sobriety. One relatively early exception to this familiar character arc is The West Wing’s Leo McGarry (played by the incomparable John Spencer).

As Chief of Staff to President Bartlet (Martin Sheen), McGarry’s previous substance use isn’t mentioned until the fourth episode of the first season. When it is addressed, it’s the least significant plot point—all we learn is that he attends AA meetings.

The specifics of McGarry’s history aren’t addressed until halfway through the season. The absence of discussion in the show’s early days isn’t because Leo’s a minor character—he’s central to the show. In a dash of realism in a show with an otherwise sketchy record in that department, the President’s inner circle has more pressing things to deal with than the fact that half a decade ago, the Chief of Staff misused substances.

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The only episode in the show’s seven-season run in which Leo’s past use becomes enough of a plot point to clear the (detailed and rigorous) criteria for inclusion in Making a Scene occurs in episode 3 of season 9.

In “Bartlet for America,” show creator and writer Aaron Sorkin (himself sober at the time) subverts the traditional relapse narrative without diminishing its stakes.

If you need spoiler alerts for a show that ended more than 20 years ago: Spoiler alert.

The setup: President Bartlet recently admitted to the public that he has a relapsing-remitting case of Multiple Sclerosis. He was aware of his diagnosis while campaigning, but never disclosed it, opting instead to have his physician wife (Stockard Channing) treat him for the incurable, progressive disease. Only the smallest handful of people knew before he became President, most of whom were in his immediate family.

Politicians in the opposition (Republican) party are deeply outraged and want to know who knew what, and when. They’re also eager to do as much damage to the administration as possible, regardless of the connection to Bartlet’s illness.

As Chief of Staff, Leo McGarry is high on the list for a congressional hearing, ostensibly about Bartlet’s diagnosis.

From the outset, it’s clear that McGarry is worried about something other than his knowledge of Bartlet’s MS. There’s a past incident—something that happened on the campaign trail—that a smug and weaselly congressman named Gibson was somehow privy to.

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The day of the hearing, McGarry’s lawyer, Jordan Kendall (Joanna Gleason), is begging Leo to tell her what Gibson has in his back pocket, as it increasingly looks like he’s planning on torpedoing the Chief of Staff with it. The scene alternates between McGarry recounting the story to Kendall and flashbacks of the incident.

I had a little trouble tracking down clips I could embed, so, uh, don’t mind the Korean subtitles on the first clip (unless you speak Korean, in which case, enjoy) and the questionable video quality on the second clip. The audio works well on both, and if you’d like a transcript of the full episode, you can find that here.

The scene:

If I hadn’t known that Sorkin was in recovery when he wrote these lines, I would have after this scene. He succinctly encapsulates the self-imposed isolation and visceral yearning that drives addiction. I can remember being drunk and thinking his exact words before I’d ever heard them on TV. How can you have enough of feeling like this? How can you not want to feel like this longer?

And while John Spencer was an incredible actor, the fact that he, too, was in recovery undoubtedly deepens his portrayal.

Every moment of Spencer’s performance is layered and understated. We see him grapple with his desire for the Johnnie Walker Blue. We feel the slight shame under his reasonable, if not accurate, excuse for declining to partake (the need to stay sharp for his candidate’s debate).

Even the casual urgency of Spencer’s “now gimme a sip of that” is simultaneously subtle and gutting. Unlike traditional relapse narratives, we know that McGarry physically makes it out of the relapse and back to recovery relatively unscathed. What we don’t know is if, years later, the incident will destroy him anyway.

Predictably, Mr. “I don’t get drunk in front of people. I get drunk alone,” keeps drinking after the big-money boys leave. Downstairs, candidate Bartlet is having an MS attack, and no one can find McGarry, who is passed out in his hotel room.

When one of the men he was drinking with earlier knocks on his door after forgetting his briefcase, it’s clear that McGarry has been indulging in a party of one.

Unfortunately, that man is none other than Congressman Gibson, who is now in the committee hearing armed with the knowledge that not only did Bartlet and McGarry hide the President’s MS, but McGarry hid his campaign trail relapse.

The next clip is short, but has to be (according to my anecdotal observations) one of the most-referenced exchanges about addiction recovery on TV.

I love and hate what Leo says here. He’s right that alcoholism doesn’t have anything to do with being smart or stupid. His analogy about anorexia is apt. Addiction most certainly can be ‘a family thing.’ But the MENSA line is obnoxious. If alcoholism doesn’t have anything to do with being smart or stupid, why does it matter how many alcoholics are in the Fraternal Order of Smarty Pants?

I digress. The last part of the scene is one I couldn’t find an embeddable clip for, but it’s short enough that it doesn’t matter.

Kendall asks McGarry who knows about his relapse, and he tells her that only Josh and Bartlet know. When she asks why, he replies, “I went to rehab. My friends embraced me when I got out. You relapse, it’s not like that. ‘Get away from me’— that’s what it’s like.”

I could write a whole post about that line, but for now, I’ll just say that this is an unfortunate and too common response to a relapse. It’s ridiculous to spout platitudes like “relapse is a part of recovery,” and then treat people who actually relapse like failures or pariahs. Nonetheless, it happens, and it’s another element of the scene that feels painfully accurate.

If you haven’t seen the episode or haven’t watched it in a while, I highly recommend it. It’s worth rewatching just for Spencer’s superb performance. And if you have other examples of characters in recovery who are depicted like actual people, please let me know in the comments or via email! I’m always looking for the next scene to make.

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