Me and my Daddy, Dr. Bob Murphy
In 1966, Daddy visited me in NYC, my chosen residence after UNC. He was a protective father and had not approved of my move. Mama was excited and said, "Oh, you must live in the Village, go to Fulton's fish market in the wee hours and have oysters at the Oyster Bar at Grand Central Station."
I found a sparse and humble "basement" apartment uptown to share with a snobby Briarcliff girl on E. 67th street. It had little light and at eye level, you could watch people walking by outside. I was always imagining the "break in thief" lurking inches away just waiting for us to crack open a window without bars. (It was a hot fall).
Daddy was staying at the Algonquin Hotel, a sentimental place for him and Mom. We sipped Irish Coffee one evening and sat on old chairs in the dark wooden bar area. A resident cat found us, purred loudly and stayed to be rubbed.
The Algonquin today (source: http://www.algonquinhotel.com/); Irish coffee (source: Google Images)
Daddy kept looking at me and his gray-blue eyes grew misty. I thought he was going to do his "you are my first born" talk. (Actually, I was not the first born. There was an earlier baby named Allan, who was still born with the umbilical cord still wrapped around his neck. Even, "Iron in her blood" Mom rarely talked about this. Daddy, a pediatrician had a fetus who floated in a bottle on his desk. For years, I thought it was my brother, Allan.) No, this night, his concern was different. He simply asked if I was happy. When I replied that I was but struggling financially that "first semester" as a model, he paused...and, I will never forget what he said next: "Thank you for cutting the umbilical cord. I could not have done it myself."
Early the next morning we headed to Macy's. Daddy was going to buy me a card table and 4 chairs for the bare apartment. When he told the cab driver our destination, the cabbie replied, "That's a funny place to go on your honeymoon." Daddy just lit up that wonderful smile and said nothing. And I let him relish his moment.
Prices have changed at the Algonquin these past 46 years. There is a martini on the rocks for $10,000 now. (This includes a diamond “rock” under the olive.) The wooden bar is still there, but new chairs have replaced the old. There is a feline named Matilda, who has been the resident cat for 15 years. And I, now in Durham, still walk around with this invisible string attached from my tummy all the way to heaven and often get little tugs. You see, I never did cut mine.
Matilda, the current resident cat (source: http://www.algonquinhotel.com/)
