While thinking about Sinead O'Connor in recent days, I remembered this photo of her -- which I've kept for 33 years in one of the many photo albums I've collected for decades. It's a reminder of a mistake I made -- and Sinead's appropriate response.
It was July 21, 1990 on the Alexanderplatz in Berlin. I had convinced Entertainment Weekly magazine to give me one of the best free-lance assignments of the twentieth century. During a break from visiting friends in Germany, I was paid to report on the all-star performance of Pink Floyd's The Wall at the site of the Berlin Wall, about 10 months after the reunification of East and West Berlin.
Away from the celebrity circus in the U.S., I had unusual access to all the performers. I had lunch with Bryan Adams, watched the show with Joni Mitchell's then-husband Larry Klein, and had free reign in the backstage area where Sinead and others were preparing to perform.
Because Entertainment Weekly didn't send a photographer, I decided to take photos with my little point-and-shoot camera. Just to be on the safe side. But since I was busy writing notes, I recruited my German friend Martin to take the photos. Martin -- a very excellent family doctor -- had absolutely no concept of celebrity journalism. As one of the kindest, gentlest people on any continent, he was hesitant to ambush the performers with the camera. He thought it was rude. So I gave him a lesson.
I said, "Martin. These people are used to this. It's their job to have their pictures taken. You have to be very aggressive or we'll leave here with nothing. Trust me. This is how it works."
Looking around the corner from the alley of backstage tents where we were conferring, I saw Sinead coming. So I whispered to Martin that he had to get her photo. Then I pushed him out about two feet in front of her. Panicked, he took the photo you see above.
That's when Sinead lit into him. She said, "That's not right -- jumping out like that. We're not meat, you know. If you want a photo, you need to ask. To treat us like humans. I'm not an animal in the zoo."
Martin looked like he wanted to melt into the ground. He apologized in his gentle way as she walked past him.
Four years later, when Sinead released the Universal Mother album, it included the song "Red Football." The lyrics have a familiar ring: "I'm not no animal in the zoo/I'm not no whipping boy for you/You may not treat me like you do."
Cindy and I recently watched "Nothing Compares," the documentary about Sinead's life. We both found it moving, haunting -- couldn't stop thinking about it for days. It's now clear that Sinead was ahead of our time in many ways. I wish I had risen to her standards with a little common courtesy. But at least I have this photo -- which I will not be throwing out -- as a reminder of that lesson.
(For the latest episodes of the podcast I Couldn't Throw It Out, click here.)
