Scott did have some problem dealing with the fame associated with the phenomenal world wide success of San Francisco. Perhaps this can somewhat be described in an extract from Ned Wynn's book, "We Will Always Live in Beverly Hills: Growing up Crazy in Hollywood" (reproduced with kind permission of the author).
He (Scott) was a crooner in an era which lacked crooners under the age of fifty. He was a natural for the song (San Francisco). What he wasn't a natural for was the result of having a hit record.
"God, Ned, hide me willya?" It's Scott.
He stands on my porch looking wild-eyed and frightened. He looks as if he's been up all night.
"What's wrong, man," I ask.
"Women. They're all over my place. They're swarming up Laurel Canyon."
"Wait, lemme get a few things, a toothbrush ..." I said, heading for the bathroom.
"No, you don't understand. I mean armies. Dozens of girls literally breaking into my house to have sex with me." We stood there looking at each other, he pleading for understanding, me for time.
"Toothbrush and toothpaste," I said, picking up the pace.
"You don't see it, do you? One month ago these chicks wouldn't give me the time of day, and now they can't wait to f*** me. Why? I mean -- it's sick, man. It's perverse. Some of these girls are fourteen, fifteen years old!"
"Toothbrush, toothpaste some gum ..."
"Ned, you're not listening. They come at all times of the night and day, they don't care. They have boyfriends, husbands, it doesn't matter. They're like animals. It's not a turn-on at all, it's -- terrifying." This was subversive talk and it made me uncomfortable. Since when did a man turn down free pussy? It wasn't in the book.
"Get hold of yourself, Scott. This is what we're here for. You're supposed to get all this sex and fame and money. These are the goods for chrissake."
"Then how come it's got me all freaked out?"
"Simple. You're a very sick person, Scott. Now, do you think you could convince some of them, the ones you don't want, that I have a hit coming out, too? Nothing spectacular, I'll just skim off the blowby." Scott stared at me, turned, and fled.