People in the News for April 20, 1998

Monday, April 20, 1998 | 9:30 a.m.

Freedom has many manifestations. To Nelson Mandela it meant emerging from decades of racist imprisonment into a country where suddenly a black man could be president. For Gandhi, it meant throwing off the tea-and-crumpet-stained yoke of British colonialism. And for Robert Downey Jr., free after 113 days in the L.A. County jail, freedom's just another word for being able to shampoo his hair with both eyes closed. "I can't tell you what a pleasure it is just to take a nice shower," he says, talking publicly for the first time since his release earlier this month. "It's so cool -- using a hair dryer again, good towels, and I can lock the door if I want." Yes, life in the gulag can be inhuman, harrowing -- did you know that because of a curfew, Downey's captors turned off the Oscars before he could learn if "Titanic" won Best Picture! Where a lesser man might have been on the phone to Amnesty International, Downey turned the incident into meaningful self-reflection. "Watching the Oscars from jail was a trip, a real trip," he says. "I wasn't thinking about my own tragic situation. I was just another schmuck watching it." Rarely is self-reflection so meaningful; yes, life in the gulag puts a man through some changes. "I'm a lot more ready," he says, "to listen to folks who have been through this as opposed to thinking, 'I'm more complex, I'm an artist."' Beyond that, well, he simply can't talk much about it. "It doesn't do me much benefit to go into all the details of what this horrible experience was like for me."

No place like home

Life on the streets puts a late-night talk-show host through some changes. It's an object lesson of sorts: One minute, Conan O'Brien was subletting in a swanky Manhattan co-op, the next he's forced to hit the pavement -- his lease expired. He had to move on. Now, forced to rely on his meager resources -- he makes just $2 million a year -- he's facing the meat-grinder of the Manhattan real-estate market. "I'm a salaried employee," he says, "I'm not Jay or Dave." O'Brien has taken temporary shelter in the building where Cindy Lauper lives, but one hopes this forces a certain fresh perspective on O'Brien -- how do the poor stockbrokers, ad men and public relations consultants make it on a paltry six figures? It must be tough on O'Brien. From a fancy co-op to sharing a building with Cindy Lauper -- well, it just wouldn't benefit him to go into the details of what this horrible experience has been like for him.

Waving the banana

Being imprisoned in celebrity notoriety, with nothing but golf and the search for the real killers to fall back on, puts a man through some changes. For instance, it imparts a deeper understanding of the intertwined nature of human comedy and human tragedy. Witness O.J. Simpson. As a recent interview with BBC interviewer Ruby Wax wrapped up, Simpson invited her into an adjoining room. When she entered, he lunged at her, making slashing motions with a banana. Then he leered into the camera. Thus does human tragedy yield human comedy, or at least really disturbing banana antics. Perhaps only someone who's lived in the crosshairs of massive public hatred can understand. O.J. Simpson: He's complex, he's an artist, but maybe he needs a nice shower.

Compiled by Scott Dickensheets