Tribute to the Wellesley Man

I met Bill on an October Sunday some 15 years ago when he and Lorraine showed up at Evangelical Baptist Church of Newton. They kept returning to the gatherings, and weeks turned into years of the Murphys sitting in the same place every Sunday: looking from the pulpit, left side toward the back. They never joined the EBC membership though.

By the time the Murphys reached us, Bill had retired from a career in advertising and management at Hill Holiday, a big Boston firm. When I met him he didn’t have any of the corporate air hovering about him…if he ever had. But one trait of his that I always connected to his years in a high-pressured environment: he could be surprisingly demanding of people’s performance.

A few months after we met at 23 Chapel Street we were drinking coffee together, and he observed to me that I wasn’t exactly smooth in the more unscripted parts of the service: welcoming people, making announcements. Criticizing my speaking, eh? Well, I knew how to throw people off that: “Yeah, my stuttering makes these more casual utterances pretty rough.” Take that Bill! I figured he’d back down when I hauled out my official handicap as an excuse. Nope. Though I can’t recall his actual reply, it came down to “You need to get better.” Whoosh! my respect for him shot up.

He wasn’t just going to sit there and critique me though. He brought me to his local Toastmasters – an international organization of clubs intended to improve public speaking – that met Thursday nights in the Microsoft building in Waltham. After visiting the club a few times I ended up joining. I’m still friends with people I met there: Lei, Dave, Sam(ta). I’ll always be grateful that Bill introduced me to the program and people of Toastmasters.

I recall a few speeches that Bill gave to Toastmasters over the years. One was an account of a French tightrope artist who’d sneak onto the roofs of skyscrapers then walk from one building to the next through the ether while the police helplessly looked on. Another speech relayed a funny story of one of Bill’s advertising shoots in which one of the props, a horse, got spooked and bolted off the set. The most memorable to me was personal: a company (maybe a restaurant?) intended to open a store next to Bill’s house, and that encroachment would inevitably disrupt the neighborhood feel. In describing how the possibility of that “invasion” kept him up at night, Bill conveyed how much he loved his house and the town in which it was situated.

Indeed, Bill loved his whole life. He thought that growing up and working in the western hemisphere during the second half of the twentieth century was, in this veil of tears, about as good as anyone could have it. He shared this perspective with my father-in-law, Klaus; they enjoyed a couple cups of coffee together reminiscing about building a career and raising a family in the Post WWII boom.

Of course, it takes a certain positive disposition even to recognize that one has it good, and Bill had this positivity in spades. When I asked Tonia last night what she thought of when she thought of Bill, she said “cheerful.” He was the opposite of a complainer. I don’t recall him ever griping about anything. Rather he was often and easily pleased. How many times he expressed to me his enjoyment of life’s variety: from grand-parenting to jogging to reading to volunteering at Newton Wellesley hospital. When a big stroke a few years ago landed him in the hospital, he surprised even himself by enjoying the vivid hallucinations that accompanied it. Yes, Bill Murphy was a man of striking optimism.

“Bill Murphy.” Though I think some close friends called him “Murph”.? I never got close enough to try. Then again, my impression was that Bill was gregarious and kind to everyone – and I mean everyone from the doorman to the executive – but also he held almost everyone at some distance. I remember E.B. White said somewhere that he “wasn’t a joiner.” And thus I understood Bill – interested in everyone, warm toward everyone… yet to him being “in the inner circle” held no appeal.

I said “almost.” Though Bill related to most people with some reserve, exceptions were (I think) his family – Lorraine, Laura, Kevin, and the grandsons – and (I know) Jesus Christ. Regarding his family, I’ll simply observe that Bill constantly raved about them. Just in one conversation a couple of weeks ago (which turned out to be our last), he expressed pride in how Lorraine had mentored a woman, in Laura’s work success, in one of the grandsons’ accomplishment (I forgot which one and what!). And that was just one conversation!

And how enthusiastic about Jesus Christ Bill was! Talking about Him, he lost any reserve. I know (because he often told me) that Bill never considered himself a great, knowledgeable Christian. And I don’t know if he – or anyone for that matter – was/is a great Christian. But he wanted to be faithful to his Lord. He loved that line from Philippians: That I may know Christ Bill read books, he journaled, he listened to sermons, he attended Bible studies – greedy to learn, learn, learn of Christ. Yes, when Bill spoke of the Lord, his reserve went away: he earnestly and enthusiastically loved Him and wanted to love Him better.

And for Bill it was much more than knowing facts about Jesus Christ. Bill wanted to serve Him, and he found ways to do just that through helping people. Ultimately, Christ is who motivated Bill’s volunteer efforts in the hospital. Even though he wasn’t allowed to openly evangelize the patients, He regularly skated very close to that line! Speaking of helping people, over the years at EBC, Bill became one of my biggest encouragers. “That was the best sermon I’ve ever heard” he told me a few times. Both of us knew he was exaggerating, perhaps even fibbing, but I still allowed myself to swell a little bit under his praise. Loving people for the sake of Christ: In our last conversation, Bill expressed that his biggest goal in life currently was to point his grandsons to Jesus Christ (not his exact words but the sentiment). In loving Jesus he loved many people.

I’ve so much more to say about this interesting, funny, godly man. I didn’t even mention that Bill and my son Ben were prayer partners for many years, and I’m a grateful dad. That every Sunday morning Bill and 2-3 other men would meet in my office to pray over the morning service. That we spent hours upon hours in Wellesley’s Cafe Nero talking about everything from football to faith. That we shared a dark humor that had us laughing at things like [I’m not going to tell you!]. But here’s what I want to leave you with: In the power of the Spirit of Jesus Christ, Bill’s life was productive. Wherever he was, things improved. He wasn’t a perfect man, not even close, but he was a good man. Like his Lord, he connected with people and connected people together by his talkative warmth.

I’ll close with an example of that talent in connecting people and moving their lives forward: Here’s how I received the news of Bill’s passing. I got a text from Sam(ta) Mercurio, himself no churchgoer, but a longtime friend of mine through Bill:
“Hey Colin, I just heard from Bill Murphy’s daughter Laura that Bill passed away last night…Sorry to have to share such sad news, but if not for Bill, you and I would have never met. I’ll announce this tonight at the Sales & Marketing meeting.”

We’ll miss you, Bill. Rest in peace through the redemption of Christ Jesus your Lord.