The Full Hot Press Interview with Michael Murphy

There was a time when you couldn’t turn on the TV or radio without hearing Michael Murphy doing the news. But most Hot Press readers will probably best remember Michael’s face from his stint as the weekly resident psychoanalyst on RTÉ’s Today Show, with Maura Derrane and Dáithí Ó Sé. His voice is also familiar from his weekly dream analysis segment on 2FM’s Chris And Ciara show.

The veteran broadcaster doesn’t sugar-coat the advice he dishes out on air. On the Today Show, the Mayo man caused uproar on a few occasions, upsetting countless mothers with his contentious view that they should put their relationships with their husbands before their own children. He caused even more controversy with what was perceived as heartless advice to one woman, when he urged her not to invite her heroin-addicted son to Christmas dinner.

But Michael is a much warmer individual in person. People in the business will tell you that he’s a good guy, with a great sense of humour. He once famously fell off his chair presenting the news, when his co-anchor Anne Doyle read out the first ever bulletin on Mad Cow Disease. That mishap notwithstanding, he was a key player with RTÉ for 43 years – until they chucked him out at the “arbitrary retirement” age of 66.

Still, he keeps busy. A distinguished psychoanalyst, he studied at the Centre Européen Universitaire de Nancy in France, followed by two further post-grad degrees at the School of Psychotherapy in St. Vincent’s University Hospital, Dublin. He also has a BA from UCD.

Michael now runs a thriving therapy practice with his better half, Terry O’Sullivan, whom he recently married. He also lectures, does consultancy work, and he has two published volumes of poetry. He penned a best-selling memoir about his battle with prostate cancer, along with a follow-up. He even studied for the priesthood as a young man.

“I’m called Michael after the archangel,” he notes at the outset of the interview. “Although I don’t always behave that way!”

Jason O’Toole: For younger readers, could you tell us what it was like growing up when homosexuality was illegal in Ireland.

Michael Murphy: Micheál Mac Liammóir was the only gay in Ireland at that time – this was even before David Norris! So there was no language for it. There were no words. It was absolutely unspoken. You did not let anybody know that you were gay. All you had were these feelings inside that you couldn’t say anything about. You felt that you were utterly abnormal. Like you had to drink pints, attend GAA matches – and that was manliness; being gay wasn’t being a man! So, what you did was: you headed to the cities where you met some likeminded people. Bartley Dunne’s was the pub at the time and it was absolutely furtive and behind closed doors. It was a dreadful time.

Did you live in fear of being arrested?

No. Because I didn’t frequent any of these places. I was one of the youngest newsreaders ever – I was 23 when I began in RTÉ – so you couldn’t bring the station into disrepute! There was colossal self-censorship.

Did you always know you were gay?

Oh, I did, from a very early age. I knew. I recognised beautiful young men when I was growing up, more so than women. But it wasn’t until I was in my mid-twenties that I actually made the connection that sexuality tends in this particular way. It was extremely difficult because you really felt that you were a freak: you thought that you were the only gay in the village. It was only after a while that the gaydar would work and you’d suddenly say, ‘Hey, that’s somebody who’s similar to me’, and you’d strike up a tentative conversation.

A million miles away from what it’s like today…

Young kids today have no idea of the struggle we were involved in. I appreciate that it is still very difficult. And it is certainly difficult to tell your parents, because you worry that they’ll be disappointed in you. But the people of Ireland have accepted that there are gay people in their society and they’ve also accepted that you’re not supposed to poke fun at these people, and that it is a valid option. So, it’s a completely different world.

I’m sure you still feel undercurrents of homophobia.

That was part of the conversation Terry and I had recently: we’re being very visible here, getting married. It’s an internalised homophobia that we have and that we have to overcome. And you wonder when you make your vows what people will think – will they have a go at you?

I’m sure it was a very special day…

Ireland was the first country in the world to vote on it and to put it into the Constitution. So, that is an absolutely extraordinary event. People died in 1916 to gain our freedom – so we need to honour that vote. I grew up in an era where it was illegal to be gay and then suddenly Maire Geoghegan-Quinn – in ‘93 – brought in the decriminalisation of homosexuality. And she was actually at the wedding. So, we’re very honoured that happened because she set the whole ball rolling. The word that comes to mind is manumitted, which is you put your hand on a slave and you free them – and that’s what she did. She set the whole ball rolling.

And it got there in the end...

Minister Katherine Zappone wanted her marriage to Dr Ann Louise Gilligan recognised by the State, and they fought long and hard, and kept the ball rolling until marriage equality evolved. We met Maire Geoghehan-Quinn on the morning the vote was being counted and we actually did a conga around the boardroom table when we realised the vote was going to be carried. It was a joyous occasion.

You proposed to Terry for your civil partnership in 2011. Did you propose again?

I pushed for it. I was more keen on it than he was. His father, in 1921, was on the first hunger strike in Tralee jail. So, he has a strong republican tradition. What got him to agree was the vote of the Irish people: he wanted to honour that vote. He felt it was important that we go through the marriage ceremony – primarily because we love each other, but also to honour that vote.

Terry suffers from post-polio fatigue syndrome.

It gets worse as you get older. He was in a wheelchair for the ceremony, because he would have been too unsteady on his feet. But we managed fine.

He must find it tough going.

He does. He never complains. He’s in constant pain. He has to take heavy medication for the pain and he gets terribly fatigued. I would do all the lifting and carrying and hoovering and whatever. Technically, I’m his designated driver. But mentally he’s as sharp as a whip. (Laughs) You wouldn’t get away with anything, Jason.

It sounds like he’s your soul mate.

Utterly my soul mate. Absolutely. And he rides shotgun. I’m mostly out there in the public eye – be it on television or radio – and he would always accompany me. If I was about to say anything he’d look at me as if to say, ‘Michael, pull back here!’ And he protects me: if anybody said anything bad about me he would absolutely challenge them.

Did you try dating women in your teenage years?

I did, yeah. I had lovely, unfulfilled relationships, with some very kind, nice people in Castlebar and Dublin, until I realised, ‘Look, I have to be honest here and move into the area that suits me’. On the J1 Visa in the States I went into bookshops, and suddenly found books by French writers – Jean Genet in particular – who put names and words on what I was, and that gave me colossal freedom. So, French literature actually freed me.

Did you ever have sex with a woman?

No. I never had sex with a woman. Nor did I ever want to. I know some people say they’re bi-sexual and have fathered children, but that wouldn’t have been possible for me.

How old were you when you first became sexually active with men?

At 25 I fell in love with a priest. An American priest who was on a sabbatical.

How did it feel the first time?

It was a joyous liberation, Jason. Absolutely. To feel another person’s body beside you was – ah – amazing. Absolutely amazing. I’ve never forgotten that. It was absolutely joyous and I suddenly realised I was home. After that, I fell in love with a man from Donegal and I lived with him for about two years. And then after that, I was doing a programme, the first type of reality television called Access Community Television, and I was up in the Rutland Centre – and I saw Terry.

What were your first thoughts about Terry?

The wonderful thing is, as a producer, you can look through the lens of a camera and within two or three seconds you know whether somebody has got it – whether they’re able to present. But it’s also an x-ray of the person’s soul. If you turn down the sound, you can look at the person and know what they’re like. So, I suddenly saw this guy in the camera lens and said, ‘This is a good guy’. And at the end of the three-day shoot, we had a dinner together and I made sure I was sitting beside him. It was 33 years ago.

Before Leo Varadkar came out, he actually stated in a Hot Press interview that he was against same sex marriage. Isn’t that bizarre?

Yes. It puts my love on a par with men and women who marry. Because my love is exactly the same, my depth of it, my care, my devotion is there. It’s very important to have that recognised and not to be excluded. I wouldn’t go so far as to say discriminated against, but excluded. Wasn’t Leo up there recently in Belfast at a marriage equality rally? So, he has changed his mind on that. And I’m sure as he matures he will change his mind on a lot of things. That’s the wonderful thing about human beings: they can hold a position and then suddenly, when they’re presented with evidence, change that position.

Leo said this before he came out…

Okay, that internal homophobia that I was talking about earlier – maybe a bit of that. Afraid to be seen to be gay. But pop stars are the same, like Elton John, George Michael – do you remember? They’re all worried about their fan base. Luckily today, we can now be more open about our sexuality. Look, what does it matter really? If I’m interested in rolling hardboiled eggs down a hall at my lover, or I can’t have sex unless I’m wearing a pair of boots, you know, fine. That’s what gets me off – and that’s okay. It’s nobody else’s business (laughs).

Hot Press readers will be wondering now: what are Michael Murphy’s kinks?

(Laughs) What way do I express myself? From the psychoanalytic practice, believe me, nothing surprises me anymore – nothing (laughs).

What turns you on?

I responded to somebody who cares about me. What turns most people on is desire in the face of their partners – that’s actually what gets people off. I suppose that’s why they watch porn. If the model is good enough that’s what they’re going to mirror back.

Have you ever enjoyed watching porn yourself?

I think most people have seen porn. The problem is when it starts to become addictive – that’s a real problem. Again, whatever aid helps you to express your sexuality has to be good. It has to be good, as long as you don’t become addicted. Human sexuality is very interesting. You seek something extra to the partner, as it were, when you’re making love. And you know that standard joke, ‘You tell me who you were thinking about, and I’ll tell you who I was thinking about?’ It’s something extra. And just because you have a man’s body doesn’t mean you actually express your sexuality in a masculine way: it might even be a feminine way. And similarly for women. So, when you see the simplified notions being expressed by various Churches, when they actually haven’t studied sexuality, it’s really depressing.

You trained for the priesthood yourself. Were you trying to escape from everything?

No. It was an expression of my idealism at that time. That was in 1965. And the priesthood was something that we looked up to in those years. And then I left and I continued the preaching in RTÉ, where I preached the news (laughs).

The Primate of All Ireland, Archbishop Eamon Martin, last year told Hot Press that homosexuality was not a sin, but that the act of homosexuality itself was a sin. Isn’t that a load of medieval nonsense?

Look, it’s alright for you to be a journalist – although if you practise journalism it’s a sin! But how can you be a journalist unless you can show me some of the books you’ve done, or some of the articles you’ve written – it’s complete nonsense. The Vatican said that we’re intrinsically disordered with a tendency towards evil? That’s the direct quote of the teaching, which is a very heavy burden to bear. Can you imagine: you get out of bed in the morning and you realise you’re intrinsically disordered with a tendency towards evil! And I go up then and practise as a psychoanalyst – so, it’s a very hard pill to try and swallow. Obviously, it’s complete nonsense. Human sexuality doesn’t respond to those type of edicts.

Do you feel young men studying to be priests should be allowed to have sexual relationships before they take their vow of celibacy?

Well, of course. When young people get to a certain age, they will eventually move in together before marriage – that is accepted by the vox populi, the voice of the people. And, of course, you would expect that people who have gone for the priesthood should have some experience, you know? That they’re not plucked at 17 years-of-age, as I was with absolutely no experience, and then let loose at 24 years-of-age to tell people what they should do in their marriage. It’s nobody’s business what happens between a man and a woman.

You must’ve come across drugs in RTÉ.

No. I wasn’t aware of it. I’ve steered clear of drugs sall my life, and I’ve never seen anybody ‘out of it’ in RTÉ. Let me correct that. I remember one evening I was presenting the Nine O’Clock News: we all sat down for the meeting at half-past seven and the chief sub-editor hadn’t come back from the pub, nor did he come back. The deputy head of news had to step in and bring the bulletin together. I was reading news live on air without an autocue and the pieces of paper were being shoved under the studio door and handed to me. I had to do the whole bulletin sight unseen. It was the most terrifying experience I’ve ever known, but nobody at home realised what was going on.

Have you seen a presenter go on air drunk?

(Laughs) There’s a great story told: somebody on Christmas Eve was drinking in the newsroom. He arrived in to do the three o’clock headlines on radio and sat down in the studio – and the first thing was he got sick into the wastepaper basket! And then the beeps went for three o’clock and, ‘Here’s XYZ with the news’. And he suddenly looked at it and focused on it: ‘There are 250,000 coming into Dublin Airport and there are 450,000 coming across the Irish Sea,’ and all of this sort of thing. And he saw all of these figures and he said, ‘There are people coming home for Christmas and that is the end of this news bulletin’. That’s famous in there.

Out of the blue, you stopped reading the Nuacht bulletins. Why?

My next brother to me was dying of cancer, down at the Blackrock Clinic. I was about to go out the door when I got word that my brother had died and I was slated to read the Nuacht bulletin. I went into the station in a state of shock and I read the Nuacht. It was the best bulletin I ever did in Irish. It was absolutely flawless. And at the end of that I was absolutely bereft and I went home – and I never read another Nuacht bulletin again. I couldn’t actually do it. It was a grief reaction. The death of a sibling affects a person much more deeply than even the death of a parent, because it’s somehow completely unnatural. The death of my brother really had a profound effect on me. He’s the father, by the way, of Paul Murphy, the TD.

Paul was famously involved in the Jobstown protest.

I haven’t met Paul really since my brother died. We’d lost touch. What happened at that – from one perspective, these were women and men who were getting their degrees for the first time in Jobstown. And there was so many that they actually held the event in the Church. And it was Katherine Zappone and Ann Louise Gilligan who had coached them and brought them through. These were people who would never have thought of going to third level. And on that day there was the Jobstown protest against Minister Joan Burton who was there. It rained on their parade and, from that perspective, I think it was unforgivable. It was really unforgivable. Because their achievement was extraordinary and deserved to be honoured. Now, I realise that is one perspective; there is the other perspective where there was a protest against paying water bills. But I must say that my sympathies were with the people who had achieved their degrees.

You were pushed out of the door at RTÉ when you reached 66.

Yes – that’s arbitrary civil service retirement age, which is ridiculous. It should certainly be 70, if anything. My voice is still as good today as it was then. Farmers, and in any other profession, there isn’t a retirement age that they have to go at. Work is tremendous for human beings: it gives them structure, it gives them self-worth, and it shouldn’t be just taken away from them.

Jimmy Magee told me that ageism is rampant in Montrose.

Look, in the civil service you legally must go at 66 years of age, unless they make an exception. I went in with Pat Kenny, we were of the same batch, we trained together. So, he’d be about my age. And I remember they suddenly said, ‘We’re only giving you a year’s contract’. He was a huge broadcaster in RTÉ, so that is a colossal insult to somebody of his calibre.

What did you make of the gender pay gap controversy in RTÉ?

It was news to me. We don’t discuss salaries inside. But, of course, men and women should be paid the same. Put it this way: there are some people who are really good at what they do – you know the stars in there – and of course they should be paid above the odds. Frank Sinatra made millions because he was Frank Sinatra. There are people who are big fish and people who are minnows, and that is just the way life works. You have to pay talent accordingly.

Bryan Dobson was there a lot longer than Sharon Ní Bheoláin, yet people were complaining about him earning more money. Should experience come into it?

Experience but also star quality. Somebody like Ryan Tubridy should be paid more than a journalist working behind-the-scenes in a newsroom. They’re up on air and are liable to be lambasted – they are carrying the can for the programme. Similarly with newscasters. When something goes wrong on air, they blame the person on air, but it might be somebody behind-the-scenes who pressed the wrong button. So, you’re paying for that.

Half-a-million seems obscene.

Oh, well, yeah (laughs). Listen, I can ensure you that I never saw half-a-million (laughs). But, again, it never crossed my mind really. I didn’t know what anybody was getting.

Aren’t some of the figures – €400,000 or half-a-million – obscene?

Ah, I know! Is it more than the President of the United States? Well, look, yeah. But that is what management are paid for – to organise that.

Do you think there should be a pay cap?

I don’t think the general public should be horrified by what certain people are paid. And, you know, certainly in the public service there should be a pay cap. I do think that.

Immediately after reading your last bulletin in 2014, you dashed out to the car because you were worried you’d become a blubbering wreck in front of colleagues. Do you miss broadcasting?

I do. But I took my show on the road. This latest book is Michael Murphy’s Book Of Dreams. I was able to gather some of the dreams that I did on my weekly slot on the Today Show, and I also worked on the 2FM Chris And Ciara show, where I’d analyse dreams. And I have a show coming up out of the book, Speaking Of Dreams, and I’ll be doing some of my poems as well to give a little spice to the evening. Myself and Ciana Campbell will be going on the road, and if it goes well, we’ll do some more. In other words, I’m still broadcasting to the nation – in a different form (laughs).

Tell me about the new book…

The book is 65 dreams that came from various sources, mostly young people actually. The dream is there and I give a short analysis of what the dream means. It allows me to give the structure of the dream in non-psychoanalytic jargon. And often there is a funny twist, or a piece of wisdom distilled. It’s a very easy read. Gill have geared it at the main reading public, who are women essentially – it’s a format that can actually fit in a handbag. I was amazed at that – people actually think these things out (laughs). I got a great kick out of that.

What’s the most common dream you come across?

The most common dream for Irish people is doing the Leaving Cert again. Normally, you’re maybe 35 years of age and there you are back sitting in your old desk – and you can hardily squeeze into it – and all the people around you are young and they present you with the Maths paper and you haven’t a clue how to do it. That is really a warning dream, telling you that you’re using some of the skills that belong to an 18-year-old, whereas you should be using the skills of a 35-year-old and the wisdom you’ve gained in the intervening years. There is a lot in that Leaving Cert dream, terrifying though it is.

Do you have nightmares yourself?

If anybody has nightmares it means that the dream is screaming at them to pay attention. It might be trouble with the bank or whatever. But you really need to deal with it.

What did you make of the George Hook controversy?

It was a very stupid remark to make. Look, nobody is asking to be raped – that’s the bottom line. Nobody is every asking to be raped. You really have to be very careful around issues of rape or abuse.

You were sexually abused as a child, which you wrote about in your memoir back in 2009.

I was, by different people in Castlebar. Interestingly enough, a friend of mine was at a wedding in Westport about three months ago. He was sitting opposite a person who introduced herself as being a neighbour of mine in Castlebar, and she said, ‘His first book wasn’t very well received in Castlebar, because it cast aspersions on the town’ – that there were abusers in the town! Look, there are abusers everywhere.

It’s bizarre when somebody sides with the rapist…

What I’m talking about is real: there are people who take the side of the abuser over the person who has been abused. It’s amazing. I don’t know why that is. From a psychoanalytic point of view, I recognise it. You stand with the person who has been abused, you believe them until they are proved otherwise. But you take your stance with the person who has been abused and against the abuser. That’s what has to be done, always.

Did you ever think of revenge?

No. Not at all. You leave it behind you and get away from that as quickly as possible. Leave it behind, don’t go back – that’s the way I dealt with it.

You were also beaten by your father.

That’s actually quite common. Certainly from my experience of working with clients, a father can become jealous of the first-born. Because suddenly his wife’s attention is totally drawn to this new baby, which is as it should be. But he can feel left out and jealous and he can sometimes take it out on the child.

How long did the beating go on for?

I can’t be sure because I was a child – 3/4/5 years. I always terrified of being beaten. I had a place of refuge to go to: my grandmother lived in the house next door and I went next door and I lived there – and they stopped after that.

How bad were the beatings?

One particular one, I thought I was going to die. I couldn’t breathe, I was sobbing so much and it just went on and on, and I just thought, ‘I’m going to die here’. I remember that.

Do you still carry it with you?

It leaves an imprint inside, that you are very vulnerable to being attacked. It’s the same with the sexual abuse. What happens is, if I can describe it this way: people normally go around with a wall around them, but if that wall has been breached when you’re a child, it can’t be repaired. It’s as if you have a broken leg – you’re very careful not to let people cross that boundary. But it can sometimes happen. And people unconsciously mark you out. They see that there is a gap in the wall and they go in and have a go, just because they can.

You must have suffered depression from the beatings and the abuse?

It was only in my late 30s, early 40s, at that midlife transition, that it began to come back up for me. I went into analysis at that time. I did about 15 to 20 years. I did a lot of work on myself.

It’s still taboo in Ireland to admit that you’re seeing a therapist.

It’s changing. Your mental hygiene is tremendously important. It can help you move forward after a bereavement or a breakdown in a relationship, or if somebody has died belonging to you. It is really helpful to sit before somebody who is independent and to cry it out of your system, if necessary, in a supportive environment. Certainly, it helped me enormously to deal with those earlier parts of my life.

Did you ever take medication?

Yes, I did. After the cancer I was very down and I went on medication I was on anti-depressants for a while. And it has its place. What it does is: medication holds both sides of the wound together, so that the wound can heal and then you can come off it, if necessary – if that’s what should be done. I believe in medication. In fact, I have recommended it to some of my clients and they have gone on medication for a while.

Did you ever contemplate suicide?

Yes. ‘What is the point of this?’ is actually one of the questions men ask themselves. What’s it all about? It’s a Hamlet question: To be or not to be? A lot of men are obsessional and that’s the obsessional question. It’s a very valid question. ‘Is my life worth living?’ And there are times when you can say that it is so bleak that maybe I’d be better off out of it altogether. So, yes, I have had bouts of very severe depression.

You wrote about suicide in a poem entitled Fear.

Yes. The poem talks about folding up your clothes at the end of the pier in Dun Laoghire and putting your car keys in the shoes and slipping slowly over the edge. It is such an easy thing to do. I think by writing about it, as an adult, you realise, ‘Look, if I sleep on it, it might be better in the morning’. And luckily for me, it was. But certainly, I do have those moments in the black night of the soul.

So, drowning would’ve been the way that you’d end it all?

Yeah. And drowning is a good metaphor – where you’re absolutely overwhelmed by whatever is going on.

How’s your mental health these days?

Fine. I am enjoying life. It’s great fun. When you get older, to my age, hopefully wisdom develops and you realise that, ‘Look, life is very good as long as you are healthy. There is always a possibility of change, or hope, or whatever brings you out of bed the next day’. So, here I am at 70 years of age having just got married! Life goes on.

Book Of Dreams is out now, published by Gill. For further information about Michael Murphy, check out his website michaelmurphyauthor.com