My Uncle George (George E. Murphy)

I suspect George(1) was a classic victim of “smother love.” Grandmother Murphy‘s(2) first born son, Sam, like many babies of the time, did not survive his first year. George did and he was always “the favorite.” In his mother’s eyes he did no wrong. She defended and excused him and was deaf to all criticisms. However, a different personality might have been less damaged. He was volatile, emotional, hyperactive, sentimental and perhaps unstable. He learned no self control. He had a fine wit and turned many a clever phase and repartee was one of his gifts. No Irishman ever had better mastery of the art of Blarney. He used this talent lavishly with no regard for truth, whenever it served his immediate purpose or just to make someone happy. Most of his victims were so charmed they forgave him and swallowed the next dose.

He was a beautiful child as his four year old portrait, in curls and dress, proves. He was a handsome man, black hair (he never lost it and it only grayed slightly) and hazel eyes. He was small boned and well coordinated. Someone, it seems to have been a family conclusion, said the reason he never grew, he was the proud possessor of a high wheeled bicycle. He would ride it furiously until he fell off from exhaustion. He would lie and pant a while and then take off again. I think it more likely he inherited his stature. His uncle George Murphy(3) was a small man. If the wedding coat(4) belonged to Thomas Vaughn(5) , as I have been told, then he and George were the same size. I can remember George trying it on and it was tailor perfect. At any rate, the rest of his family were taller, broader, ever his sister(6). Maybe this too developed compensating behavior.

George took great pride in his appearance and was known as a snappy dresser. He liked jewelry and lotions and would have loved the colors of today’s men’s fashions. When he had a date, he always “quit early” and spent several hours getting dressed. Before starting on himself he groomed his car, whatever he was driving, it was waxed, polished and swept. His neat little shoes always had a mirror shine.

School for George seems to have been a continuing exercise in outwitting the teacher. I think he usually won these skirmishes. Since school, Toner’s Chapel(7), in sight of his home, one of his tactics was to run home and tell mother his side of the story before teacher got there. Teacher never had a chance. I don’t think he went farther than 6th grade. However, he did learn Spencerian script and wrote a beautiful hand, embellished with fancy capitals. It was a slow careful process, even signing his name. One of the few things he did slowly. He liked to read pulp magazines, especially the westerns. Admitting they were “coffin nails,” he was a heavy cigarette smoker. I can see his beautifully shaped fingers carefully “rolling his own.” Sometimes he used a holder, a la Franklin Roosevelt. He could play the Jew’s harp and the violin and loved to dance.

To George, money was for spending. As Dad(8) once said, “He would work like hell all week, go out on Saturday night, be broke on Sunday and have no idea what he had done with it.” He enjoyed all the usual expensive short term joys, liquor, women, gambling; he liked to play the “big shot”, “The drinks are on me, boys!” (And girls). He was never able to make any long term plans or keep any lengthy commitments though he made many fervent promises. When the urge was on him, he would sell or pawn anything he could lay hands on for cash. There went Grandmother Murphy’s(9) jewelry and other items.

He drove a car with reckless abandon. He once drove a big touring car off the North Harrison Street bridge (Shelbyville, Indiana), landing in Blue River. As a memento this accident he had a slightly crippled right hand. On the back was an oval scar covering most of the tendons. There was much talk about the wonderful surgery that had been done and he spent several weeks with the back of the hand strapped against his thigh so that a skin graft could take effect.

Children loved George and he them. If he ever sincerely loved anyone deeply it was my sister, Kate(10). She adored him. He could relate to rather than down to kids. He would make all kinds of promises that he had no intention of keeping. If they came back to him, he had a ready excuse and convincing explanation and new promises that made everything right. He liked company and would invite kids to go with him on errands or joy rides or on the farm tools when he was working in the fields. When Kate was five she wanted a pony and an Indian suit. He scoured the county to find the right pony, a pretty Shetland, named Bill, plus a spring wagon, a two wheeled sulky and new saddle. There were harness for the wagon and sulky. George got the credit, but I suspect Dad paid. It was a mild winter and Christmas was balmy. The saddle was under the tree and pony in the barn. There was an Indian suit too. It was a memorable Christmas.

When Kate was very ill, a delayed reaction to measles, George was the one who could soothe her and get her to take her medicine without fussing. He was plowing corn but carried an alarm clock where he could see it and faithfully appeared at medicine time.

When he was living with his mother, he nursed her with skill and tenderness. He could and did cook, wash dishes and tidy up the house. When dad was working in La Porte (Indiana), George did the farming, but it wasn’t his “thing.” One year he plowed corn when it was under water and another year he got no crops out at all.

George kept company for 17 years with Lulu Porterfield. My mother(11) was of the opinion his mother prevented the marriage, perhaps because, possibly subconsciously, she didn’t want him married at all. Maybe it was considered undesirable to for cousins to marry. Nellie Rachel Murphy(12), daughter of Samuel Murphy(13), (George’s grandfather) married a Porterfield so the cousin ship wasn’t very close.

“They” say Lulu was a wonderful person, as a talented artist, a fine seamstress, a business woman, and she was city clerk for more than one term. I remember George had some beautiful handmade white silk shirts that were probably were her work. I mean every seam hand stitched. She took care of her parents and her ner-do-well brother’s children.

George would turn up at her house drunk and she would put him to bed and not let him go home until sober. One time, when I was in high school or later, he was involved in an automobile accident and it wasn’t his fault! It was Lulu’s nephew who did the damage, driving Lulu’s car. She wanted to take care of the repairs and wrote him letters about it and asked Dad to intercede, but he would not accept payment.

One night someone came pounding on the front door and windows yelling “Tom, Tom, George is in jail.” Dad was sleeping in the back bedroom so everyone was awake before he got the message. Dad dressed and went to town, but came back to report that there was nothing he could do until morning. The charges, driving under the influence and leaving the scene of the accident; the other car--a city police car. It was a very subdued and embarrassed George who came home and he didn’t speak to or look at anybody for several days.

One morning en route to do the milking he suffered a stroke. The doctor said he should exercise and would regain most of his lost movement of hand and leg. He found this too painful or perhaps felt no urge to do it. He was an invalid several years, walking uncertainly with a cane. He used heat liniment on his hand and arm. He thought it helped, but he spilled most of it, taking the finish off the floor. He died of another stroke.

1 George E. Murphy (1880-1947)
2 Emma B. O’Neal Murphy (1856-1920)
3 George Samuel Murphy (1855- 1918)
4 A handmade gentleman’s tail coat that passed down in the family; donated to the Grover Museum, Shelbyville, Indiana in 1983. It is around a size 38-40 in today’s sizes.
5 Thomas Vaughn (1790-1856) George’s great grandfather and George’s Uncle George’s grandfather
6  Mildred Murphy (1885- 1919)
7 Shelby County, Indiana
8 John T. Murphy  (1888-1983) My father, George’s younger brother, usually a noticeably taciturn individual
9 Emma Belle O’Neal Murphy (1856-1820)
10 Katherine Murphy Gullion (1921-1983)
11 Hilma Katherine Gustafson Murphy (1890-1861)
12 Nellie Rachel Murphy (1866-1908)
13 Samuel Anderson Murphy (1823-1880)

Cousin Bertha Bryan

Cousin Bertha Bryan Whitlow (1874-1961)

She was always referred to as, “Bertha Bryan” by Dad[1] and George[2]. She was the only child of their Aunt Mary Murphy Bryan and George W. Bryan. Mr. Bryan was “older,” “educated” and had a grocery store in Franklin (Indiana). They lived in a modest frame house that Mary inherited from her father;[3] I believe it is still standing (1970s).

Mr. Bryan fancied himself a writer and produced a book that he had printed at his own expense. There’s a copy some place (donated to the Shelby County Library). I found it unreadable and nonsensical. I heard Dad and George talk about Bertha coming to family get togethers elaborately dressed and with long curls. They said they were only allowed to look at her; she never played. Bertha was considered too delicate to attend school, but tutors came to her home. Her lessons included voice and piano. She ultimately attended Franklin College – driving there in a buggy. They remembered see her go by – reading a book. (Class of 1902, M.B.)

She married Mr. W. K. Whitlow who had children older than she. I do not know his business, but it took him to Los Angeles where they moved. She continued her musical lessons and once auditioned for a Chautauqua troupe. She said she was accepted along with a later-to-become-famous musical star whose name I cannot remember (Irene Dunn). She said she had more talent and might have become equally rich and famous, but….  Mr. Whitlow was agreeable to her going on tour. Said he could not travel with her, but would meet her at intervals. She said she was afraid her other relatives might not approve – that in those days women on the stage were considered loose and not nice. So she did not do it, all this she told me when Weldon[4] and I visited in 1960.

Mr. Whitlow left Bertha property including an apartment house in Los Angeles. When Van[5], Snow[6] and George made their western tour in 1924, she gave them an apartment to live in while they were there. Bertha was no business woman – given to generous, impulsive acts and impractical enthusiasms. She once invested heavily in a health food store that failed – for example – because the people starting it were so nice and needed help. One time she started east, by train, with a small trunk. A doctor on the train had a suitcase she admired, so they traded. The trunk held more than the suitcase would accommodate, so she gave the excess to other passengers.

She, as far back as I can remember, made trips back to visit her cousins, her paternal relatives in Cincinnati and us. Usually we would get a card from Cincinnati saying she would arrive by a certain train and Dad would meet her. Once she started east, met a lady on the train who was en route to Europe and joined her; we did get a visit after her return.

Bertha always insisted she be allowed to wash the dishes because that was the only “useful thing I know how to do.” She washed them very nicely and the kitchen looked lovely when she was through, however she put things away in the most illogical places and finding them after her departure was always a challenge. Once I was allowed to help her with the dishes and splashed her – she shed her wet skirt and had a dress underneath. Said she learned such tricky dressing from the lady she went to Europe with. It was a good way to allow for changing temperatures and less to carry.

She usually was bubbling over with her latest enthusiasm. Once she arrived with a brief case and typewriter and was writing a play. It had an esoteric theme which I don’t remember. She let me read her script – it was mostly stage directions and probably was never finished. There was something about “such a nice young man” who was “helping” her. Once she had been doing exercises and got into bed by doing s flip flop over the foot board, a startling performance.

Always she wanted to visit Molly Terry[7] and Ted Evans at Gwynneville. This seems to have been a sort of lord of the manor responsibility; Dad always took her, but said they didn’t want to see her. Molly had been her mother’s hired girl and Ted Evans her grandfather’s[8] protégé.

As time went on and her resources dwindled, she did the most sensible thing to her credit. She entered a retirement home for $3000; on our 1960 visit she said how lucky she was. She lived there for more than 20 years. She organized and sang in a choir, played the organ in the chapel, gave lessons on the piano, spent time answering the office phone, etc.

The day before her peaceful death, she had played for church services. She is one of the pleasantest memories I have – her optimism, vivacity, enthusiasm; whatever came along she enjoyed and she never bemoaned things that didn’t.

From California Death Records: Born 7 April 1874; Died 10 February 1961 in Los Angeles
Not listed in the SSN death index
Information from 1920 Federal Census: Her father was born in Kentucky; her mother Indiana
Franklin Colege Alumni Register for 1910: Class of 1902 with an M.B. degree; the 1912 Register shows her as a homemaker in Los Angeles; the 1918 Register shows her residing in Oklahoma City and provides the initials of her husband's name, W. K.

[1] John Thomas Murphy (1844-1906)
[2] George Murphy (1880-1947
[3] Samuel Anderson Murphy (1813-1880) and Sophia Emaline Vaughn (1821-1891)
[4] Weldon P. Kemper (1914-1992)
[5] Van Pelt Murphy (1895-1976) and [6}Snow Frost Murphy (1894and1978);George, supra
[7] Mrs. Henry Terry
[8] Thomas Vaughn (1790-1859)