The Quiet Man

By Marc-Yves Tumin

After soaking up some of the bustling street life, I hopped a bus to Whitestone and a cozy house on a tree-lined street of clipped hedges and tidy lawns.

This is a tranquil neighborhood. There's a seminary up the road. It's the perfect spot for someone who helps restore your faith in humanity.

He was already a legend when I met him at the Irish Echo, 24 years ago.

They said his generosity was incomparable, his hospitality unforgettable, and the people he'd helped over the years innumerable. They spoke the truth.

Waiting inside was the warmest, most genuine couple you could meet: Joe Murphy and his wife, Judy.

Their home was as neat as a pin, with a spacious backyard and tall trees.

As the afternoon trailed off into the sunset, we downed cups of tea, and wiled away the hours in pleasant conversation.

A delicious home-cooked Irish supper followed, then a baseball game and dessert.

I departed that little corner of Cork with keen regret and, as Joe drove me to the station, I reflected on the wonderful life he'd led.

His father was a farmer, and he was one of 13 children, born in Cullen, Co. Cork, the Texas of Ireland.

He was educated by the Christian Brothers and at University College Cork.

As a young man, he delighted in athletics and aspired to the working press.

He immigrated to America in the Eisenhower era and was employed in banking, before joining the Irish Echo in the 1960s, where he became a popular columnist, advertising manager, and editor Jack Thornton's right-hand man.

He was secretary of the New York Gaelic Athletic Association and president of the Co. Cork Benevolent, Patriotic and Protective Association, the only county association with its own building.

He relished traveling, running a dozen miles at a clip "for training," and donating his time and money to worthy causes.

He was a gregarious man with an independent cast of mind. "You must learn to paddle your own canoe," he'd say.

He was an avid student of history who retained his beautiful Irish brogue and conversed fluently in the Irish language.

He was patient and had a memory like an elephant's, and possessed a newsman's knowledge of human events. Above all, he had the common touch.

He counted Maureen O'Hara among his friends. And he was distraught when she narrowly missed becoming the first female grand marshal of the New York City St. Patrick's Day Parade.

He had a natural feel for politics. Like Jack Thornton, he was a solid conservative and a traditional Catholic.

When he suspected a friend was hanging his head, he'd hail him to church, saying: "'Tis important to get in touch with J.C."

In 1966, Thornton and he almost single-handedly thwarted a plan to move the St. Patrick's Parade to Central Park on Sundays.

And at a meeting of the Cork Association in 1987, he assisted in the birth of the Irish Immigration Reform Movement. The IIRM was one of his proudest achievements.

He was a gentleman of the old school, with perfect manners: firm and principled but not argumentative.

He was modest, well dressed, and an adept ballroom dancer.

At Irish functions, he'd invariably coax an aged grandmother from the wings and whisk her about the room.

He loved the outdoors and fulfilled the Boy Scout law and oath: He was trustworthy, loyal, helpful, friendly, courteous, kind, obedient, cheerful, thrifty, brave, clean, and reverent.

He was physically strong, mentally awake, and morally straight.

He was a friend (or an acquaintance) of an endless number of people from every strata and walk of life.

He was a bottomless well of information about the community. He was a full man.

We hit it off immediately and I learned what made him tick.

However, by 1987, I'd decided to move on, when he hinted that a new publication was on the horizon.

The Irish Voice was in the works. Michael Smurfit was backing it, and Joe was the ticket to instant recognition and credibility, not to mention paid adverts.

On lunch hours, he and I zigzagged across the city, sizing up offices.

Later, Voice staffers dubbed him "The Quiet Man" and "Joe Smurphy."

Because of Joe's friendship with Miss O'Hara and his City Hall connections, the legendary actress and Hizzoner, Mayor Koch, attended the launch of the Voice, assuring its success.

No one could believe our luck.

A few years later, mission accomplished, he retired to a life of writing, traveling, and corresponding with kindred spirits far from home.

Thank God I met him and that he's hale and hearty. Now I know what people mean when they speak of great men.