My Favorite Uncle, Francis “Murph” Murphy

[CTIMS]

I enjoyed Rob Allen's story very much and I have another tale of a bold-faced liar from Philadelphia ...

Down in Grays Ferry in South Philly my mother’s sister Anna is 86 and still hanging in there. She’s the only one left of seven kids - five girls and two boys who all had red hair but one (don’t ask) and who grew up at 22nd & Morris. She and my Mom always swore that the old row-house was haunted but that’s another story. There’s a lot of family lore that I only half know and at this point Aunt Anna is the only one who could fill in some history for me, if I’d get off my butt and talk to her about it. That’s always been the plan, but you know how it is sometimes.

One story I finally got straight recently was about my uncle, Aunt Anna’s husband for about 50 years, a guy we called “Murph” all our lives, even after we knew that it wasn’t his name at all. They were young and in love and even “Murph” knew that the folks at home would think it was a good thing that he was Irish, too - except that he wasn’t. He looked like Danny Thomas from the 50s sitcom ‘Make Room for Daddy’. The story I’d had for years was that he took the fine Irish moniker of Francis Murphy to please my grandparents and win Anna’s hand. Of course, when the truth came out love conquered all and Anna and “Murph” were married.

At Christmas I was visiting my aunt, something I don’t do often enough, and she fleshed out the story a bit. It seems that Uncle “Murph” had been successful at keeping up this pretense for quite a while – and not just to her parents, but to my aunt as well ... until his good pal Frank Dalton (Sr.), who was courting Anna’s younger sister, spilled the beans about his friend and fellow ne’er-do-well Vince Legner (a German name) - maybe the two couples were double-dating; I’m not sure. But “Murph” didn’t get to my Dad in time because he blurted out something like “You mean Vince? H*** - his name ain’t Francis Murphy, Anna!” Real swift, huh? I don’t know if they all had a good laugh, or a blazing battle, or if “Murph” kicked Frank’s butt, or if Anna got mad, or what happened. My aunt didn’t really say. It’s a good story though, and I’m sorry I never got to hear “Murph’s” side of it! He was a terrific uncle who used to play the harmonica in the car on the way down to Wildwood every summer, while Anna sang old songs like “Moonlight and Roses”. He was always asking me to pull his finger for a surprise or performing other feats that were equally impressive to a 10 year old like myself.