McGee

On the night TJ McGee overdosed from a mixture of drugs and alcohol in his freshman year at UC Berkeley, his friends found him passed out in the hallway by their shared dorm room.

The roommates tried to help, but when McGee stopped breathing, they called 911.

McGee survived and, racked with guilt over what happened that night, committed to confronting his substance-use problem. Then, in the days that followed, McGee received a surprise email from campus officials that ushered in a whole new wave of emotions.

The letter said the administration would be placing McGee on academic probation for violating Berkeley’s residential conduct rules against drug and alcohol possession, use and distribution — possibly jeopardizing his academic career.

“They made me feel as if I was a villain for the choices I made,” said McGee, 20, now a junior. “I felt shameful enough already.”

Today, McGee speaks regularly in support of California State Assembly Bill 602, which would prohibit public colleges and universities from punishing students if they call 911 during an overdose emergency, or if a peer does so on their behalf. It requires schools to offer rehabilitation options and requires students who seek emergency medical assistance to complete a treatment program.

“The bill would protect students just like me from even receiving a letter like that,” and ensures that they are given care instead, McGee said.

The bill recently passed in both houses of the state Legislature; it awaits Gov. Gavin Newsom’s signature. A spokesperson for Newsom said he typically does not comment on pending legislation.

Despite a recent nationwide plunge in the number of deaths stemming from synthetic opioids such as fentanyl and contaminated versions of those drugs, overdose remains the leading cause of death for Americans age 18 to 44, according to the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention.

Though numbers could be revised as new data from California come in, the CDC provisionally estimates a 21% drop in overdose deaths in the state to 9,660 between March 2024 and March 2025, compared with 12,247 in the previous 12-month period. Opioid-related deaths, in particular from fentanyl, made up the bulk of California’s overdose fatalities in 2023, the most recent year for which statistics are available on the state’s opioid-prevention website.

In response, California started requiring campus health centers at most public colleges and universities to make the opioid overdose-reversing nasal spray Narcan available to students in campus residences.

McGee said that while he hadn’t taken any opioids the night of his overdose, he was administered Narcan while incapacitated.

Advocates for AB 602 say more needs to be done to increase the likelihood that college students will seek immediate help during a drug-related emergency.

It’s important for lawmakers and college officials to realize how much fear is involved when an overdose occurs — not just with the person who is overdosing but among peers who seek to help but don’t want to get a friend in trouble, said UC Berkeley student Saanvi Arora. She is the founder and executive director of Youth Power Project, a nonprofit that helps young people who’ve had adverse health experiences use their personal stories to promote policy reforms.

“California has dramatically increased investments in school-based mental health and crisis-intervention resources and access, for example to fentanyl testing strips on college campuses and access to Narcan,” Arora said. “But one big gap that we see … is that there’s still a really low utilization rate among young people and students.”

Fear of academic probation, suspension or expulsion leads some students with substance-use problems to avoid reaching out to residential advisors, instructors or school administrators for help, leaving them feeling so isolated that they see few other options besides turning to the police as a last resort or doing nothing at all, Arora said.

Youth Power Project authored a bill to combat these problems; Assemblymember Matt Haney (D-San Francisco), its chief sponsor, introduced it to the state Legislature this past spring. “During an overdose any hesitation can be deadly,” the lawmaker said in a statement. “AB 602 makes it clear that calling 911 will never cost you your academic future.”

Campus discipline and legal prosecution can be counterproductive if the goal is to prevent overdose deaths, said Evan Schreiber, a licensed clinical social worker and director of substance abuse disorder services at APLA Health, an L.A.-based nonprofit that offers mental-health and substance-use services and backs the bill.

“By removing the fear of consequences, you’re going to encourage more people to get help,” Schreiber said.

Schreiber and Arora said AB 602 extends to places of higher learning some of the protections guaranteed to Californians outside of campuses under the “911 Good Samaritan Law,” which went into effect in 2013 to increase the reporting of fentanyl poisoning and prevent opioid deaths.

That law protects people from arrest and prosecution if they seek medical aid during an overdose-related emergency, as well as individuals who step in to help by calling 911. It doesn’t, however, cover disciplinary actions imposed by colleges and universities.

One difference between the 911 Good Samaritan Law and the version of AB 602 that passed both houses of the Legislature is that the latter does not cover students who call on behalf of an overdosing peer and who are themselves found to have violated campus alcohol and drug policies, said Nate Allbee, a spokesperson for Haney. Allbee noted that Haney hopes to add this protection in the future.

Even though AB 602 doesn’t include all of the protections that supporters wanted, the rule solves what Arora identified as a major problem: UCs, Cal State campuses and community colleges in California are governed by a patchwork of policies and conduct codes regarding substance use that differ from campus to campus, making it difficult for students to know where they stand when they are in crisis.

McGee said he wished he’d learned more about the support services that were available to him at Berkeley before his overdose. But he was already struggling emotionally and living on his own when he entered college in fall 2023.

McGee described growing up in an environment in which substance use was common. He never felt that he could turn to anyone close to him to work through feelings of loneliness and bouts of depression. It was easier to block it all out by partying.

McGee started using harder drugs, missing classes and spending whole days in bed while coming down from his benders. He wouldn’t eat. Friends would ask what’s wrong, but he’d stare at the wall and ignore them. His grade-point average plummeted to 2.3.

Some of the friends who helped McGee on the night of his overdose grew distant for a time, too dismayed over the turmoil he was causing himself and those around him.

McGee knew he needed to keep trying to salvage his academic career and earn back the trust of his peers. All he could think was: “I need to fix my grades. I need to fix myself.”

One day during his recovery, McGee sat his friends down, apologized and explained what he was going through.

Then in his sophomore year, McGee happened to be lobbying lawmakers in Sacramento over campus funding cuts when he overheard a separate group of students from Youth Power Project talking about a bill they authored that would become AB 602.

It was like eavesdropping on a dark chapter in his own life. McGee agreed to present the bill to Haney and share his experience at meetings with legislators and in hearings.

McGee’s disciplinary probation on campus lasts until the end of 2025, but working on the overdose bill has given him a new sense of purpose. A psychology major, McGee eventually took on public policy as a minor.

“I feel like I became a part of this bill and it became such a large source of hope for me,” McGee said. “It would be amazing to see this support and care implemented nationally. This is not just a California issue.”

There is no single figure in television history whose longevity and influence match Barbara Walters’.

She became a star on NBC’s “Today” in the early 1960s, raising the stature of the morning franchise. She opened doors for women as a network anchor and turned newsmaker interviews into major television events — 74 million tuned into her 1999 sit-down with Monica Lewinsky. She created one of daytime TV’s longest-running hits with “The View,” which evolved into a major forum for the country’s political discourse.

“The audience size that Barbara was able to capture and harness is unmatched in today’s world,” said Jackie Jesko, director of the new documentary “Barbara Walters: Tell Me Everything,” debuting Monday on Hulu after its premiere at the Tribeca Film Festival earlier this month. “Everything she did sort of made a difference.”

Jesko’s feature — produced by Brian Grazer and Ron Howard’s Imagine Documentaries and ABC News Studios — is the first in-depth look into Walters’ storied career. The film also serves as a sweeping historical review of the decades-long dominance of network news that made figures such as Walters a gatekeeper of the culture, as Jesko describes her.

Before the advent of social media and podcasts that allowed celebrities to control their messages, going through the X-ray machine of a Barbara Walters interview delivered exposure on a massive scale. David Sloan, a longtime ABC News producer who worked with Walters, recalls how the screen images of her specials flickered through the windows of Manhattan apartment towers.

“Tell Me Everything” came together not long after Walters died at the age of 93 in 2022. Sara Bernstein, president of Imagine Documentaries, approached Betsy West, executive producer and co-director of the Julia Child documentary “Julia,” about taking on a Walters project. Sloan, who oversaw an Emmy-winning tribute after Walters’ death, also wanted a deeper exploration into the impact of her career. West, also a former Walters colleague, and Sloan became executive producers on the film. “Tell Me Everything” taps deeply into the ABC News archives, which contain thousands of hours of interviews Walters conducted over her 40 years at the network.

Former President Richard M. Nixon during an interview with Barbara Walters in 1980 for ABC.

(Ray Stubblebine / AP)

Imagine not only gained access to program content but also outtakes that give parts of the film a cinema vérité-like look at Walters on the job. The newly unearthed footage provides some surreal moments, such as Walters — in a pink Chanel suit — exploring the damaged palace of Libya’s deposed leader Moammar Kadafi.

“The archive gave us a the perfect canvas to relive her scenes and her moments,” Bernstein said.

Walters’ story also gives a guided tour of the obstacle-ridden path women faced in the early days of TV news when it was dominated by patriarchy and self-importance. Female reporters were relegated to writing soft features and kept at a distance from hard news. But Walters shattered those barriers through her grit and wits. She toiled as a writer in local TV and a failed CBS morning program before landing at NBC’s “Today” in 1961. (“They needed someone they could hire cheap,” she said.)

Walters went from churning out copy for the program’s “Today Girl” to doing her own on-air segments, including a famously beguiling report on a Paris fashion show and a day-in-the-life look at being a Playboy bunny. More serious assignments came her way.

The morning viewing audience loved Walters even though she didn’t believe she was attractive enough to be on camera. Her career trajectory was slowed down only by male executives unwilling to embrace the idea that a woman could be the face of a network news operation.

Harry Reasoner with Barbara Walters during her first broadcast as co-anchor of ABC Evening News on Oct. 4, 1976.

(Associated Press)

By 1971, Walters was the main attraction on “Today” when she sat alongside host Frank McGee every morning. But she was denied equal status.

A respected journalist with the demeanor of an undertaker, McGee insisted to management that he ask the first three questions of any hard news subject who appeared on “Today” before Walters could have a chance.

The restriction led to Walters going outside the NBC studios to conduct interviews where her subjects lived or worked. The approach not only gave her control of the conversations but added a level of intimacy that audiences were not getting elsewhere on television.

Walters also had written into her contract that if McGee ever left “Today,” she would be promoted to the title of co-host. NBC brass agreed to the provision, believing McGee was not going anywhere.

But McGee was suffering from bone cancer, which he had kept secret. He died in 1974 and Walters was elevated to co-host, making her the first woman to lead a daily network news program. (Or as Katie Couric candidly puts it in the film, “She got it literally over Frank McGee’s dead body.”)

Walters made history again when she was poached by ABC News in 1976. She was given a record-high $1-million annual salary to be the first woman co-anchor of a network evening newscast, paired with Harry Reasoner, a crusty and unwelcoming veteran. Walters was mistreated by her colleague and roasted by critics and competitors such as CBS News commentator Eric Sevareid, who, with disgust in his voice, described her as “a lady reading the news.”

The evening news experiment with Reasoner was a short-lived disaster, but Walters found a supporter in Roone Arledge, the ABC Sports impresario who took over the news division and had an appreciation for showmanship. He recognized Walters’ strengths and made her a roving correspondent.

Barbara Walters arranged a joint interview with Egypt’s President Anwar Sadat and Israel’s Prime Minister Menachem Begin in 1977.

(ABC Photo Archives / Disney General Entertainment Con)

Walters scored a major coup in 1977 when she was the first TV journalist to speak jointly with Egyptian President Anwar Sadat and Israeli Prime Minister Menachem Begin during Sadat’s historic visit to Jerusalem.

“She was a household name in the Mideast,” Sloan said.

Over time, Walters would become known for her prime-time specials, where lengthy interviews with world leaders aired adjacent to conversations with movie stars. She could be a blunt questioner in both realms, asking Barbra Streisand why she chose not to get her nose fixed and former President Richard M. Nixon if he wished he had burned the White House tapes that undid his presidency (“I probably should have”).

News purists clutched their pearls, but the audience welcomed it. “She had a vision back then that celebrities are news,” said Walt Disney Co. Chief Executive Bob Iger in the film. “She was practicing the art of journalism when she was interviewing them.”

The film explains how Walters developed an understanding of celebrities after growing up around her father’s nightclub, the Latin Quarter, a hot spot in Boston. Sitting in the rafters above the floor show, she observed how audiences responded as well.

Barbara Walters with Barbra Streisand, whom the journalist interviewed for a special in 1976.

(ABC Photo Archives / Disney General Entertainment Con)

Even though Walters’ programs earned significant revenue for ABC News, she still had detractors, including the network’s star anchor Peter Jennings. A clip from the network’s political convention coverage in 1992 shows Jennings surreptitiously flipping his middle finger at her following an on-air exchange.

But Walters was unstoppable, and as the 1980s and 1990s progressed, she became a mother confessor for perpetrators and victims of scandal. During a memorable jailhouse meeting with the Menendez brothers in which Eric describes himself and Lyle as “normal kids,” a stunned Walters replies, “Eric, you’re a normal kid who murdered his parents!”

As always, she was speaking for the person watching at home.

“She always wanted to ask the question that was percolating in the brain of someone who didn’t have the opportunity or was too afraid to ask,” said Meredith Kaulfers, an executive vice president at Imagine Documentaries.

Walters became a pioneer for women broadcasters out of necessity. While in her 20s, her father’s nightclub business collapsed and she became the sole source of financial support for her family, which included her mentally disabled older sister. The terror of the insecurity she felt during that period never left.

President Barack Obama speaks to Barbara Walters during his guest appearance on ABC’s “The View” in 2010.

(Pablo Martinez Monsivais / Associated Press)

“There was a survival instinct in her that drove her,” said Marcella Steingart, a producer on the film. “Not necessarily on purpose, but in her wake, she opened doors for people.”

“Barbara Walters: Tell Me Everything” is not a hagiography. The film explores her fraught relationship with her adopted daughter Jacqueline, who did not sit for an interview. Walters’ unhealthy obsession with colleague and rival Diane Sawyer is covered, too, as is her willingness to use the social connections she developed through her career, and not just to land big interviews.

Walters had a friendship with unsavory lawyer Roy Cohn, who pulled strings to make her father’s tax problems go away. She carried on a secret romance in the 1970s with a married U.S. senator — Edward Brooke — while she was a fixture in national political coverage.

While the film draws on interviews where Walters laments not being able to have both a successful career and a family life, Jesko sensed no regrets. “I think if she could live her life over again, she wouldn’t change anything,” Jesko said.