Twenty-one years ago, Bill Johnson, brash and confident, followed through on his astonishing prediction that he would win at the 1984 Sarajevo Games. He was the first American to claim an Olympic gold medal in men's downhill skiing.

Last month, Johnson spent a few days in Pittsburgh trying to reach a much different plateau, or at least to climb a little farther out of a skid that took over his life and then nearly ended it when he sustained a brain injury in a horrific fall during a ski run in 2001 as he was attempting a comeback in competitive skiing.

Johnson, 45, and a tight circle of family and friends desperate to help him are hopeful that doctors at UPMC's sports medicine concussion program -- led by Mark Lovell and Joseph Maroon -- can come up with some answers.

Johnson beat the odds to survive after the fall and now has a somewhat independent life in Gresham, Ore. Although doctors have described his recovery as remarkable, problems linger.

He is missing years from his memory. He has trouble at times sorting things out and occasionally goes off on a tangent. When dealing with complicated situations, he struggles with frustration, a condition which escalated a confrontation with police.

Lovell said Johnson's remaining problems are mostly associated with injury to the frontal lobe, which he described as the brain's conductor.

The series of sophisticated MRIs and neuropsychological testing performed on Johnson might point the UPMC doctors to medication or therapy that can help, Lovell said. He expects to see Johnson again as part of an ongoing process.

"I think it went well," said Johnson, whose speech is slurred as a result of the accident, when his tongue was nearly severed.

"We had not had any testing for the last couple of years," Johnson's mother, DB, said. "I would hope that maybe we could come up with some new options."

Lovell -- who works with the NFL, the NHL and recently helped develop new safety guidelines for the U.S. ski team -- said the tremendous extent of Johnson's amnesia makes his recovery to this point all the more astounding.

"I've been working with brain injuries for 25 years, and in terms of sports, this is one of the worst I've ever seen," he said.

Johnson stayed with his parents for three years after the spill and now lives by himself near their home. DB Johnson describes her son as usually in good spirits but "very lonely."

That feeling might be only in part because of the brain injury, considering the course Johnson's life took in the 17 years between his gold medal and the accident.

Some say it was Johnson's arrogance that prevented him from greatly capitalizing on his gold medal. He moved around, serving for a time as a ski ambassador in Crested Butte, Colo. Then tragedy struck.

About 14 years ago, his 13-month-old son, Ryan, drowned in a hot tub. He and his wife, Gina, had two more boys. Eventually, they moved to San Diego, near her family.

The marriage dissolved. The divorce was final in 2000. Gina got custody of their sons, and Johnson moved to Oregon.

"That's when he became upset and frustrated," said DB Johnson.

Her son then tried to make a comeback, his goal being to make the U.S. ski team and compete at the 2002 Salt Lake City Olympics. DB Johnson said she believes the comeback in skiing was a way to try to win back his family.

The comeback was stopped cold when Johnson tried to negotiate a turn during a practice run at the U.S. Alpine Championships in Whitefish, Mont., March 22, 2001. He lost his balance, slammed head-first into rock-like ice and tumbled through two safety nets. He nearly drowned on blood from his tongue, needed brain surgery and lapsed into a coma for three weeks.

"The first question was, will Bill live?" said friend Loran Hickton, a Castle Shannon native who now lives near Johnson and runs a public relations company. "The second question was, will Bill come out of a coma? Then it was whether he would talk, then whether he would walk."

Johnson did all of those things. Although damage to the left side of his brain affected the right side of his body, he began skiing again within nine months of the accident. He also golfs, although he's gone from a 2-handicap before the fall to a 16-handicap.

Still, there are those cognitive problems from his frontal lobe injury, including about a six-year memory gap, from around 1995 until after the accident. When Johnson was well enough to fly home to Oregon, he had to learn all over again that his family life had fallen apart.

"My mom meets me at the airport and she said, 'Bill, you're divorced and your kids are living with their mom,' " Johnson said.

"I remember marrying my wife, that it cost me $25 in Austria, and then marrying her again in a ceremony for $25,000 in Tahoe. I remember being late for Tyler's birth and on time for Nick's birth. I remember moving to San Diego.

"I don't remember selling the house in San Diego or moving. I don't remember divorcing my wife."

He did remember how to ski.

Lovell said Johnson's ability to pick up skiing again so quickly was a strong example of muscle memory.

"He still has his form in skiing," said another friend and neighbor, Petr Kakes, a former Olympic speed skier. "I'm not saying that he could be racing on the master's level and be really competitive, but he can ski. And he can coach and give tips."

That's what Johnson wants to do. Oregon's Mount Hood was plagued by a lack of snow last winter, but he's hoping to hold clinics for aspiring young racers this winter. He's also taking on projects such as remodeling his house and gardening.

The cockiness remains -- "I'm a good skier," he said. "Even when I'm bad, I'm better than most people on the mountain."

"He's a character, very matter-of-fact," said John Creel, a lifelong friend who was coaching Johnson in his comeback attempt and is a firefighter who works a couple of blocks from Johnson's house.

It distresses those close to Johnson to see someone nearly the man they knew, yet not quite whole, especially in the area of reasoning.

"The decision-making process is not one of his strong suits now," Kakes said.

"He just raises his voice. He's not a swearing type of person," DB Johnson said. "He'll get mad at me and I'll stop him and say, 'Why are you mad at me?' He'll say, 'I'm not mad at you.' He doesn't realize he's doing it."

Asked about it, Johnson snapped, "I never get upset."

The problem became especially apparent earlier this year when he was pulled over by police and, because of his speech, suspected of drunk driving. There was no alcohol in his system, but Johnson became so agitated that he was arrested and charged with assault. Now he doesn't drive, relying on family and friends to take him everywhere.

"That shows how people with brain injuries can be misunderstood," Lovell said.

"We have him around, that's the big thing, but my biggest worry is what's going to happen to him if something happens to me," DB Johnson said.

Hickton shares the concern and wanted to find help for Johnson. His Internet research kept leading him back to his hometown, to Lovell and Maroon and UPMC.

There's great interest in Johnson's recovery. Creel said The Bill Johnson Foundation, started by his friends, hears often from parents of brain-injured children.

"He's on the computer. He's got all our numbers in his cell phone. He's making a real effort to put things to together," Creel said. "We're all going to give it the same effort as we put into anything.

"Then we'll throw the rope over the wall to anybody else that needs help."