I Touched History

  I'm not one to obsess over my profession in an unhealthy fashion. I try and turn it off completely when I leave the office. Sometimes I'm forced to leave it in Standby Mode, as I am on-call regularly. Summing up, it is not a part of my person beyond its role as a bacon-bringing enterprise.

Every now and again though, I have an experience that relates to my profession in an interesting way. I've visited the Texas State Cemetery in Austin and have seen the grave of Fred Gipson, author of "Old Yeller" and "Savage Sam", the literature of my Texas youth. I've recently seen the graves of Samuel Adams, John Hancock, Paul Revere and Benjamin Franklin's parents. I've also visited the infamous, such as Lee Harvey Oswald. I see these as incedental to my profession, as I would have been interested in them as a non-funeral director.

A co-worker and I took a loved one to her final rest at the Old Palestine Cemetery in Alto, Texas the other day. In preparing for the trip, I discovered that a gentleman named Holloway Daniel Murphy was buried there. H. D. Murphy's claim to fame was one of misfortune and was a textbook example of being in the wrong place at the wrong time.

On April 1, 1934, Easter Sunday, Mr. Murphy had been in the employ of the State of Texas as a Highway Patrolman for about 6 months (his career with DPS began on September 18, 1933). He and his partner, Edward Bryan Wheeler, a 4-year veteran, were on their motorcycles patrolling Highway 114 in Grapevine, TX, at that time a simple dirt road. They happened upon a black Ford parked on the side of the road. Thinking it to be a motorist in need of assistance, they turned around to render aid.

One account I found online told the story of what happened next.

Clyde [Barrow] grabbed a sawed-off shotgun and hid behind the car, while Henry Methvin [another member of their gang] grabbed a Browning automatic rifle. Meaning to kidnap the officers and take them for a "joyride", Clyde said to Methvin,"Let's take 'em". Methvin, took this to mean "kill 'em".

Not knowing of the impending danger and with guns still holstered, Wheeler who was in front, approached the car, Clyde prepared to jump him and was surprised when Methvin fired his weapon, striking Wheeler in the chest.

Murphy attempted to grab his shotgun from his motorcycle.  Clyde, now faced with a different situation, fired three blasts at patrolman Murphy.

While all this happened, Bonnie Parker reportedly slept in the Ford's back seat. A farmer who supposedly saw the exchange take place said that Bonnie, awakened in the back seat, exited the car and shot both troopers again in the head with her 20-gauge shotgun. This part of the story, however,  is deemed as unreliable and probably never happened. "Reportedly" and "supposedly" are words frequently used in the retelling of this story, as different versions abound. This multiplicity of versions and the sands of time have muddled the actual details of the event.

On May 23 of the same year, not two months after this event, Bonnie and Clyde were ambushed by lawmen outside of Sailes, Louisiana. They were both killed, reportedly having been shot at least 25 times apiece. Sympathy was in short supply with the lawmen, as the outlaws had killed numerous law-enforcement officials at every level. Sympathy and sorrow was found instead in the undiscerning eyes of the public. Charmed by Bonnie and Clyde's "glamourous" exploits, they protested the "cruel" way in which the couple met their end.

I visited Officer Murphy's grave while I was there at Old Palestine. For some reason, I also honored the Jewish tradition by placing a small rock on the marker. This is apparently a symbolic act, symbolizing that the person is still remembered by those who visit the marker today. I plan on making it a personal practice. My favorite person, after all, was a full-blooded Jew.

Requescat in pace, Officer Murphy. For the outlaws, Bonnie and Clyde, I offer nothing.