HelloAngel
ONE love, blood, life
By Barry Dorsey
2006.10
This is a thank-you note to Dublin. My Labor Day weekend there rivaled the night I lost my virginity. The twists and turns of four days in your city were born of pure magic.
Everything was last minute: a friend offered me a ticket to see the U2 gig at Slane Castle through Moby; my old boss fronted the flight; my brother and friends loaned money, an international cell phone and lists of places to go. An Irish friend in New York said I could crash at his parents, but it fell through the day before departure. On the plane over, there was a list of hostels in my pocket and a few emergency numbers the Irish community in New York had given me. Without a doubt, I was in a state of euphoria coupled with slight shock.
Friday, 8:30 a.m., my passport received its first stamp. At 32 years old, this was my first time out of the United States. I felt the chilly morning air but had incredible warmth growing inside of me. The guy who works for Moby was staying at the Berkeley Court (five-star hotel). The plan was to get the Berkeley concierge to hold my bag, find and check into a hostel, come back and get my ticket to the show. My expectation was a city of green, not a city of Dutch dressed in orange sweat suits. Between the Holland football match and the U2 show there were no hostels available. One lady laughed at me. Options were limited—if I found a hotel room, the budget would be blown.
I stopped at St. Stephen's Green, sat on one of the benches and started laughing. This is where I would sleep and it would be just fine because I was in Dublin. At that moment the doors of your city opened up to me. Back at the Berkeley my friend let me take a shower. The conversation danced around my dilemma but in fairness to him he was consumed with preparing for the show and he was the one who got me my ticket.
Simon Ward, a guy I know from New York, had told me to call his brother, Gavin, to go for beers. Gavin asked where I was staying. I told him the park and he said I could crash on his couch. We met for beers; he took me around Dublin, then back to his "gaff" where I quickly passed out.
Saturday morning. Gavin woke me and said that I could ride to the show with him and his sister Rachel. On the bus they told me that they had a connection with U2 and we were all going backstage. Unbelievable. Rachel explained that I would wait while they went inside to get a wristband for me.
We got off the bus when we saw the sign for the VIP parking area. The gardai explained it was a four-mile walk. Rachel approached a car and swung a lift from a footballer from Limerick. After offering him a few pounds, he said, "Put it in a poor box." On the way in, a lady was collecting money to help Recovering Drug Addicts. They got the money.
About a half-hour later they came back out defeated, no sign of their contact. It didn't matter to me, I was at Slane Castle for U2, life was good. They wouldn't give up. They both waited with me hoping to see someone they knew. A young lady walked up and said hello to them. Rachel asked if she could help us out with a wristband and the woman told me to put out my hand. I thanked her and the only thing she asked in return was, "Please don't kill anybody."
Just as we walked through the gates of the VIP area, fireworks went off. Ireland beat Holland. The mood was electric. Beers began to flow as we watched the winning goal on TV.
Here I was in Ireland, standing next to a castle that's older than any structure in my country, hanging out with strangers who were treating me like family. Ladies and gentlemen, it didn't seem like it could get any better.
Turns out, the VIP area was not the real backstage area. Regardless, when they took me back, I was in heaven. We sat at a picnic table and shortly after a bevy of gorgeous Irish women sat with us. I dove right in asking if they wanted to hear a good story. The journey was explained and Gavin sat there looking kind of bewildered. Introductions were made and "your one" Alison was very nice. Turned out she had spent two years in Los Angeles and was familiar with New York as well. After she left, Gavin said, "Um, Barry, that was Alison Doody, she is kind of famous in Ireland." Alison came back and introduced me to her husband, Gavin, she had told him my story and he welcomed me to Ireland. I said, "Oh, my friend's name is Gavin, too." Gavin Ward shook his head and later explained that Alison's husband was Gavin O'Reilly, CEO of Independent News & Media.
Straight from the park bench, the comedy continued. It was time to share the experience. I called my mother back in Freehold, New Jersey, and put her on the phone with Gavin and Rachel. It was a great moment. I could hear the joy in her voice, as I'm sure she heard it in mine.
Without going into detail about the whole show, there are two moments that must be shared. During "Out of Control" there was an instrumental. Bono started talking about the days when the band first started and they went to play in London. Paraphrasing here, "I want to thank my old man for lending me 500 pounds, I want to thank Larry Mullen's father for lending him 500 pounds, I want to thank the Edge's brother and father for …" It shed a tremendous amount of light on the band for me. Here they were playing in front of 80,000 Irish people who loved their music but they had to borrow money at one point in order to do it. Brilliant.
The other was something unexpected. I was aware of the passing of Bono's father. I have never lost anyone close to me; however, there has been no contact between my Father and myself for the past 10 years. He's a stranger and my memory of him is tainted with unpleasant thoughts.
During the song "Kite," I cried like a little boy. You could feel the love Bono and his father shared for each other. The tears fell not because of the absence of it in my life but because we were witnessing its existence—love as an absolute truth. He was bold enough to share that with us. Halfway through the song, Rachel reached over and hugged me. She had no idea I was crying. I melted and then felt I'd learned something, had an epiphany of sorts. For the past year, I'd been wrestling with the relationship that has been destroyed with my father and the fact that he had the same tension with his father. Was this my destiny? Were these my roots? Maybe it was the drama of the moment or maybe it was a gift saying you can give this love to a child one day too. I hope for the latter.
Two of Gavin's friends drove us back to Dublin. We all went to The Clarence for the after party. I was smiling like a kid in a candy store. Bob Geldof, Moby, Bono and an absolutely stunning girl named Deirdre were there. Gavin and Rachel left for home and I stayed on to see what the hand of God was planning for me next. Into the party walked Ali McMordie, my buddy who works for Moby. We hung out for a little while and then he went to Lillie's. He sent Moby's car back for me and I arrived at Lillie's in a Mercedes with Moby's DJ. They took us up to the VIP room and the Irish Football team was there singing old school Irish songs. Out on Grafton Street, before we entered, I bought a rose from a vendor just in case Deirdre was there. She was upstairs. I gave her the flower and I walked away. I just wanted to make her smile. They must have sung "The Mighty Quinn" three times for some guy named Niall Quinn. People were there from backstage and they all were amazed by what I had just, and continued, to experience.
That night I stayed with Kevin Lynch, a friend from New York. He was at the party and told me it would be cool if I crashed at his parents. No key to his house upon arrival, he had to wake his father, Gus. They made me Irish stew and tea. The next day Gus took me back into town to collect my bag and check into a hostel. He asked if I would like to see where he worked at RTE. It was priceless, pure pride. He had worked there for 30 years and it was part of his fabric. His conversation bordered on the hilarious. He drove me around Dublin for about an hour.
If Dublin, in all its hip glory was a new hot single looping a James Brown track, Gus Lynch was that James Brown track in the form of a limited edition vinyl print. He was what I was hoping to find in Ireland, he was Ireland.
There were a few more episodes that were quite surreal but I think that the aforementioned will suffice. My last night in Ireland, Monday, took me from a benefit at the Voodoo Lounge to Lillie's VIP room again. There was a band playing and at closing we all went to a party at someone's house. Then a fella named Ena called a cab to see me off to the airport.
Earlier at Lillie's he'd listened to the events that transpired over my four days in Dublin. He said something that made me feel like a million bucks. He said, "You've come home." I could only be so lucky.
You're an old soul, Dublin, and your streets are breathing with the life of the young. I can't wait for the day I get to return. Thank you for the trip of a lifetime, thank you.
2006.10
This is a thank-you note to Dublin. My Labor Day weekend there rivaled the night I lost my virginity. The twists and turns of four days in your city were born of pure magic.
Everything was last minute: a friend offered me a ticket to see the U2 gig at Slane Castle through Moby; my old boss fronted the flight; my brother and friends loaned money, an international cell phone and lists of places to go. An Irish friend in New York said I could crash at his parents, but it fell through the day before departure. On the plane over, there was a list of hostels in my pocket and a few emergency numbers the Irish community in New York had given me. Without a doubt, I was in a state of euphoria coupled with slight shock.
Friday, 8:30 a.m., my passport received its first stamp. At 32 years old, this was my first time out of the United States. I felt the chilly morning air but had incredible warmth growing inside of me. The guy who works for Moby was staying at the Berkeley Court (five-star hotel). The plan was to get the Berkeley concierge to hold my bag, find and check into a hostel, come back and get my ticket to the show. My expectation was a city of green, not a city of Dutch dressed in orange sweat suits. Between the Holland football match and the U2 show there were no hostels available. One lady laughed at me. Options were limited—if I found a hotel room, the budget would be blown.
I stopped at St. Stephen's Green, sat on one of the benches and started laughing. This is where I would sleep and it would be just fine because I was in Dublin. At that moment the doors of your city opened up to me. Back at the Berkeley my friend let me take a shower. The conversation danced around my dilemma but in fairness to him he was consumed with preparing for the show and he was the one who got me my ticket.
Simon Ward, a guy I know from New York, had told me to call his brother, Gavin, to go for beers. Gavin asked where I was staying. I told him the park and he said I could crash on his couch. We met for beers; he took me around Dublin, then back to his "gaff" where I quickly passed out.
Saturday morning. Gavin woke me and said that I could ride to the show with him and his sister Rachel. On the bus they told me that they had a connection with U2 and we were all going backstage. Unbelievable. Rachel explained that I would wait while they went inside to get a wristband for me.
We got off the bus when we saw the sign for the VIP parking area. The gardai explained it was a four-mile walk. Rachel approached a car and swung a lift from a footballer from Limerick. After offering him a few pounds, he said, "Put it in a poor box." On the way in, a lady was collecting money to help Recovering Drug Addicts. They got the money.
About a half-hour later they came back out defeated, no sign of their contact. It didn't matter to me, I was at Slane Castle for U2, life was good. They wouldn't give up. They both waited with me hoping to see someone they knew. A young lady walked up and said hello to them. Rachel asked if she could help us out with a wristband and the woman told me to put out my hand. I thanked her and the only thing she asked in return was, "Please don't kill anybody."
Just as we walked through the gates of the VIP area, fireworks went off. Ireland beat Holland. The mood was electric. Beers began to flow as we watched the winning goal on TV.
Here I was in Ireland, standing next to a castle that's older than any structure in my country, hanging out with strangers who were treating me like family. Ladies and gentlemen, it didn't seem like it could get any better.
Turns out, the VIP area was not the real backstage area. Regardless, when they took me back, I was in heaven. We sat at a picnic table and shortly after a bevy of gorgeous Irish women sat with us. I dove right in asking if they wanted to hear a good story. The journey was explained and Gavin sat there looking kind of bewildered. Introductions were made and "your one" Alison was very nice. Turned out she had spent two years in Los Angeles and was familiar with New York as well. After she left, Gavin said, "Um, Barry, that was Alison Doody, she is kind of famous in Ireland." Alison came back and introduced me to her husband, Gavin, she had told him my story and he welcomed me to Ireland. I said, "Oh, my friend's name is Gavin, too." Gavin Ward shook his head and later explained that Alison's husband was Gavin O'Reilly, CEO of Independent News & Media.
Straight from the park bench, the comedy continued. It was time to share the experience. I called my mother back in Freehold, New Jersey, and put her on the phone with Gavin and Rachel. It was a great moment. I could hear the joy in her voice, as I'm sure she heard it in mine.
Without going into detail about the whole show, there are two moments that must be shared. During "Out of Control" there was an instrumental. Bono started talking about the days when the band first started and they went to play in London. Paraphrasing here, "I want to thank my old man for lending me 500 pounds, I want to thank Larry Mullen's father for lending him 500 pounds, I want to thank the Edge's brother and father for …" It shed a tremendous amount of light on the band for me. Here they were playing in front of 80,000 Irish people who loved their music but they had to borrow money at one point in order to do it. Brilliant.
The other was something unexpected. I was aware of the passing of Bono's father. I have never lost anyone close to me; however, there has been no contact between my Father and myself for the past 10 years. He's a stranger and my memory of him is tainted with unpleasant thoughts.
During the song "Kite," I cried like a little boy. You could feel the love Bono and his father shared for each other. The tears fell not because of the absence of it in my life but because we were witnessing its existence—love as an absolute truth. He was bold enough to share that with us. Halfway through the song, Rachel reached over and hugged me. She had no idea I was crying. I melted and then felt I'd learned something, had an epiphany of sorts. For the past year, I'd been wrestling with the relationship that has been destroyed with my father and the fact that he had the same tension with his father. Was this my destiny? Were these my roots? Maybe it was the drama of the moment or maybe it was a gift saying you can give this love to a child one day too. I hope for the latter.
Two of Gavin's friends drove us back to Dublin. We all went to The Clarence for the after party. I was smiling like a kid in a candy store. Bob Geldof, Moby, Bono and an absolutely stunning girl named Deirdre were there. Gavin and Rachel left for home and I stayed on to see what the hand of God was planning for me next. Into the party walked Ali McMordie, my buddy who works for Moby. We hung out for a little while and then he went to Lillie's. He sent Moby's car back for me and I arrived at Lillie's in a Mercedes with Moby's DJ. They took us up to the VIP room and the Irish Football team was there singing old school Irish songs. Out on Grafton Street, before we entered, I bought a rose from a vendor just in case Deirdre was there. She was upstairs. I gave her the flower and I walked away. I just wanted to make her smile. They must have sung "The Mighty Quinn" three times for some guy named Niall Quinn. People were there from backstage and they all were amazed by what I had just, and continued, to experience.
That night I stayed with Kevin Lynch, a friend from New York. He was at the party and told me it would be cool if I crashed at his parents. No key to his house upon arrival, he had to wake his father, Gus. They made me Irish stew and tea. The next day Gus took me back into town to collect my bag and check into a hostel. He asked if I would like to see where he worked at RTE. It was priceless, pure pride. He had worked there for 30 years and it was part of his fabric. His conversation bordered on the hilarious. He drove me around Dublin for about an hour.
If Dublin, in all its hip glory was a new hot single looping a James Brown track, Gus Lynch was that James Brown track in the form of a limited edition vinyl print. He was what I was hoping to find in Ireland, he was Ireland.
There were a few more episodes that were quite surreal but I think that the aforementioned will suffice. My last night in Ireland, Monday, took me from a benefit at the Voodoo Lounge to Lillie's VIP room again. There was a band playing and at closing we all went to a party at someone's house. Then a fella named Ena called a cab to see me off to the airport.
Earlier at Lillie's he'd listened to the events that transpired over my four days in Dublin. He said something that made me feel like a million bucks. He said, "You've come home." I could only be so lucky.
You're an old soul, Dublin, and your streets are breathing with the life of the young. I can't wait for the day I get to return. Thank you for the trip of a lifetime, thank you.
