MURPHY'S  EMERALD  IDYLL

FAMILY

Background

    I grew up in the area of Boston, Mass. during the 1930's and 1940's.  At this writing, I am 71 years old and retired from work as a public school guidance counselor. Since I was a high school dropout, and I could have used a lot of counseling, this field appealed to me. I was an English major as an undergraduate and enjoy writing, although I don't write for publication. I am working on a joke book from my collection which will focus on styles of jokes and their elements of construction. Its outline is under development now.
    My parents were John J. Murphy and Anna L. McGlinchey.  They lived in the Cambridge, Somerville and Arlington area before settling in the Dorchester section of Boston.  My father was a Boston policeman who had applied to the city of Cambridge as well.  Boston accepted him first and required residency, hence the move to Dorchester.  From age two until I was twenty-two I lived in the same rented house at 16 Milton Avenue, near the corner of Norfolk St., about eight blocks from Codman Square.
    It was two blocks from St. Matthew's Catholic church, which we attended.  In those days I was not as regular a churchgoer as my mother thought.  Mom was a faithful Catholic and actively participated in church as much as raising six children would allow.  She was active in the Catholic Daughters group and queried me regularly about what went on at mass.  I would pump my sisters for information like: what priest said the mass, what color the vestments were, and what the sermon was about.  She had me signed up as an altar boy.  Remembering all that Latin was tough. I did my share of mumbling in my responses.
    I was the oldest of six.  The others were all girls: Mary, Pat, Anna, Jane and Claire, in that order.  Needless to say, my mother favored her darling only son, "Jackie."  It seemed like whenever she was serving food she would always hand me the first piece. It worked fine when I was a boy, but  it got embarrassing as an adult.  My youngest sister, Claire, always called me, "The King."   As each girl got older and worked outside the home, their board money replaced household chores.  This left Claire in the unenviable position of being our Cinderella, an absolute drudge to her way of thinking.  For my part, when chores were to be done, I had a knack of slipping out the door when my mother wasn't looking.  I would hide behind the bushes next door while she called after me, and after she went inside, leave to join my friends.
    There was very little money available while we were growing up, but we never went hungry.  My father always worked a second job driving limousines for  a service which catered to undertakers.  As soon as we were somewhat able to care for each other,  mom worked outside the home, also.  First, she worked in a candy factory in Cambridge, and later she did domestic work.  They used to have to take loans from a finance company to pay bills.  I remember more than once going across the street to the Victory Market for groceries and being told they couldn't give us any more until some money was paid on the bill.
    Our parents worked hard.  They never gave up.  They even tried to give me the same high school education my father had received, at Boston College High School.  When my father went there it cost $25 per year.  During the ninth grade I attended there it cost them $125 for the year.  Inadvertently, I saved them  money by my non achievement.  At the end of the  year the school sent me a letter saying, "Dear John, These are your final marks for the year.  We wish you luck in your new school."  Boston English High school wasn't so fussy, apparently. At least they kept me almost two years--until April of my junior year-- until we had a parting of the ways.
    It was not until years later that I realized that a man there was trying to help me.  A man named Kane was involved in discipline.  Naturally, he was known as "Killer Kane."  I was late a lot and was a skipper of classes.  He was also in charge of the English High School Honor Patrol.  The patrol wore armbands with the Blue E on them.  They would be stationed at desks in corridors during their study periods for the purpose of checking corridor passes. I was the only failing student in the school on the honor patrol.  He had me in the school yard guarding the gate during recess to prevent kids from sneaking out for a smoke or to run to the corner store for a soda.  I guess he thought the responsibility might help me.  I couldn't even do that right.  If no teachers were visible in the windows,  I would let kids go in and out. Thanks for trying, Mr. Kane. 
    One of my favorite memories of those days was playing  a sort of handball game with my friends against the wall of Dorchester High School.  We had a more colorful name for the game, but in polite society it would best be described as "Fannies Up."  We would each hit the ball against the wall in turn.  You had to strike  the ball after only one bounce or have a point scored against you.  When you had accumulated ten points you had "had it."  The victim would have to go near the wall, bend over,  and each of us would have three shots at his rear end, steaming them in as fast as we could.  It was a great source of merriment.
    St. Mathew's was a beautiful church.  It reminded me a a small cathedral. It had classical architectural design, many stained glass windows and angels painted on a ceiling adorned with much gold trim.  The altar had a lot of white marble.  Mom had a nice singing voice and would sing in St. Matthew's choir.  She was active in other church affairs, too.  The parish had movies for the children on Wednesday afternoons in the basement hall of the old school.  The inevitable school plays were held there as well.  Teenagers enjoyed Friday night dances.  
    The grounds out back were the site of an annual carnival the church sponsored.  I came in second in a costume contest there one year.  I was inspired by the famous Revolutionary War painting, "The Spirit of 76."  I wore red, white and blue clothing.  I had a "bloody" bandage around my head, drummed ivory handled kitchen knives on a coffee canister, wore a sign, limped, and whistled "Yankee Doodle."  It was not until I got home and took my sign off that I discovered I had spelled it it, "The Sprit of 76."
    Ah, the Dorchester days. So Many memories.