Rick Barnes is where he feels most comfortable, one on one, at Helio’s Cigar Lounge, tucked away in a strip mall on Fort Apache Road. He smokes the Fuente Opus X, a fine cigar made in the Dominican Republic.
As it lights up, Barnes talks about himself. This is not his favorite subject. Barnes has been a life coach, working anonymously with celebrity clients for more than two decades.
To those who know him, especially those customers, Rick Barnes is the real Ray Donovan.
Like the main problem-solver for the showbiz elite in the Showtime series, Barnes is a “fixer.” He is called upon to provide one-on-one alcohol and drug counseling, as well as general health, to prominent people in difficult times.
In most cases, these clients were rock stars, A-list movie stars, and professional athletes who needed help but were not in a position, equipped, or even interested in finding treatment.
“I have to remind myself that it’s not my life, it’s theirs. I’m coming along for the ride,” Barnes says, peering through his designer glasses. “I need to identify the problems that exist in this work, specific to this world. I have to overcome the ego, the narcissism, the crowd of consenting men who are afraid to tell the truth.”
An unconventional career
This is not a job with a traditional career trajectory, and his path to the profession is circuitous and unconventional.
Barnes, who moved to Las Vegas in 2019, describes his education in the field as “trial by fire, listening, working with people on issues and staying very centered.” He is a certified addiction recovery coach that required 60 hours of training from Recovery Coach University in New York.
Barnes, 60, grew up in Tuscon. His father was a construction contractor and his mother was a computer technician at the University of Arizona. Barnes acted in school plays and enjoyed making short films on 8mm film. He enrolled at the University of Arizona to study architecture, switched to film and television, then packed his bags and left for New York.
Within a year, he had a SAG card, attended an acting conservatory and booked several commercials. Remember the New Coca-Cola campaign? Barnes does.
“I was in that one,” he says, laughing. “They aired it twice before it was pulled.”
He had many unofficial appearances as a “daytime player” in daytime dramas.
Barnes moved to LA hoping his career would take off. But he never gained momentum and began working as a bartender and assistant producer.
And he partied hard.
One January evening in 1991, Barnes was in Palm Springs partying with friends at a hotel. He stayed awake for 48 hours, drinking heavily, “snorting a ton of coke and smoking heroin.” He passed out and his co-workers called 9-1-1, “then they packed (their things) and left.”
This was followed by a 90-day stay in an outpatient program at a clinic in Beverly Hills.
Over the next 20 years of his own recovery work, Barnes discovered that he had an innate ability to connect with those who were struggling, who were also high achievers—those who were ripe for a massive collapse, without intervention.
A question that changed everything
After about 10 years in recovery, Barnes answered a life-changing request.
“I had a rock star friend who had come out of rehab who asked me if I wanted to go on tour with him,” Barnes says. “He says, ‘I just need a sober person on tour with me.’ I had no training other than being 10 years sober. But sober rock stars and actors, I knew. There were many in the Hollywood recovery community.
Jack Osborne was once a part of this community, having been clean and sober since April 21, 2003.
“When I got sober, the name ‘Rick Barnes,’ ‘Rick Barnes,’ was very much on the LA music scene. He had a lot of friends,” says Osbourne, son of Ozzy and Sharon Osbourne. “He coached my dad when he was on tour, spent a lot of time traveling with him and made a name for himself as the guy he brought on the road with you.”
In 2018, Barnes was recruited to come to Las Vegas for a high-profile assignment.
“I was hired to work with an artist who had a residency on the Strip, and I was here long enough to see the whole city, not just the Strip,” Barnes says. “I really liked this city.”
Barnes would move to Las Vegas a year later, just before COVID, the main base of his life and career. In his rare job, he is available at short notice to fly anywhere in the world.
Barnes’ abilities are invaluable at the highest level in the entertainment industry. He often keeps world tours and major movies running on schedule. He is not cheap. Barnes charges a daily fee for 24/7 “accompanied” coaching, which essentially means spending every waking hour with a client. He is also available for hourly in-person or virtual training.
Barnes doesn’t quote rates until he knows how much of his time is needed if he has to arrange an intervention, transport his client to a rehab center, follow-up care, case management and other variables (specifics are at apexcoachingpartners.com).
Although he doesn’t reveal what he makes a year, Barnes admits to living a comfortable life. He doesn’t dispute a Forbes story that said sober best friends can make $4,000 a day. And he is certainly at the top of his field.
Ronnie Wood of the Rolling Stones is the rare superstar who has actually publicly acknowledged Barnes’ role in his life. Wood outlined his addiction to cocaine, heroin and alcohol in his autobiography, Ronnie.
It took Wood, who once said, “I’d do anything to get a crack pipe,” three years to get clean.
“Rick Barnes was called upon to support me and keep the monster at bay,” Wood wrote in his 2007 book. on yourself. He was gently coaxing me (in a relatable environment) to enjoy the madness and appreciate the peace I was able to find. This tempo brought with it a new dexterity of guitar and (paint) brush. My two great passions.”
Barnes is an independent contractor after starting his new company, Apex Coaching Partners, last January. He is on the board of directors of SilverBell Coaching, which provides crisis services of all kinds, not just alcohol and drug addiction. Founded by Natasha Silver Bell in 2012, the company has become an international destination for those seeking specialized assistance.
“The most discreet of the elite trust Rick’s energy,” says Silver Bell, who serves on the board of the National Council on Alcoholism and Drug Dependence (NCADD) and is an international leader in drug and alcohol addiction treatment. “Ninety percent of communication is non-verbal. It’s not what you say; that’s how you say it. Rick is not boastful or loud. He doesn’t try to impress you – while he could, easily. He listens and observes, consistently providing clients with incredible insights and a safe place to heal.”
Barnes remembers a moment in the early 2000s. He is in a line-up of contemporary music superstars in London’s Hyde Park. These were some of the biggest recording artists at the time. They were all waiting to meet the then Prince Charles, minutes before a concert for his charity Prince’s Trust, a charity supporting young people in the UK
“I was there helping somebody,” Barnes says through a wisp of smoke. “There were some questions about protocol when meeting a member of the royal family.”
His client was about to perform in front of more than 100,000 jubilant music fans. This man has sold millions of singles and albums, but was more nervous about meeting the prince – than about his upcoming act.
Dressed in a sparkly dress, the singer turned to Barnes and asked, “What should I call him?”
“How about ‘Dude?'” Barnes replied.
The star was speechless. She then elbowed Barnes and said: “I can’t believe you said that.”
“Call him ‘Your Highness,'” Barnes said.
The prince made his way down the line. The star was first. She was perfectly OK, “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Your Highness.”
The prince thanked the performer. He then moved on to Barnes, who was wearing black leather pants, a white collared shirt, and a black v-neck vest.
“Thank you for being here,” said Charles, looking around at this unfamiliar figure.
“He was probably going, in his mind, ‘Who the hell (expletive) is that?'” Barnes recalled. “Normally I wouldn’t, but I had to calm her down. I stood next to her.”
Ten days before moving to Vegas, Barnes was diagnosed with prostate cancer. He lived in Maui for five years, taking a much-needed break from international travel. He had built custom furniture (among his many latent talents) while maintaining two famous clients.
Now it was time to rebuild his life.
“The first thing I did when I got to Las Vegas was put together a medical team,” Barnes recalled. “My plans to restart my career are gone.” He underwent a major operation that nearly wiped out his savings. His health had improved enough by June 2020 to return to his career.
A world of coaching
Back in Vegas after nine months on a particularly challenging assignment, Barnes returns to Helio. His trip was a success, he said, with the client in recovery and therapy.
But the truth is that in the Barnes universe, not every assignment succeeds and not every client accepts the process.
Years ago, Barnes was called by a movie star in New York who needed immediate help. The next morning, Barnes rushed to Los Angeles International Airport. He was at the exit, ready to board, when he looked at the monitor, which was flashing CNN breaking news.
“There was a live shot of the fire department taking his body out of his house,” says Barnes. “It was horrible. If I had left the moment we finished talking, maybe he wouldn’t be dead. If I had said, ‘I’ll be back tomorrow,’ I might have been there in time. I was heartbroken. That’s the reality of it , which I do.His death reminded me how lucky I was not to be dead myself.
After a moment of silence, Barnes’ phone rings and the caller ID shows the name of an internationally famous rock star.
“Give me a minute,” says the coach, who is on call again. “I have to get this.”
John Katsilomets’ column appears daily in Section A. His “PodKats!” podcast can be found at reviewjournal.com/podcasts. Contact him at [email protected]. I follow @johnnykats on Twitter, @JohnnyKats1 on Instagram.
