Everyone's life has a story. In "Lives," we tell some of the stories about North Shore people who have died recently. "Lives" runs Mondays in The Salem News.
DANVERS — Joke: So, do you know where they get dragon milk?
Punch line: From short-legged cows.
Go ahead, groan.
Corny? Sure, but comedy is as much about presence and timing as it is about the material. The only important thing is to always leave 'em laughing, and William "The Hummah" Murphy, the guy with the big red nose, did just that.
"When we were with him and other people, it was always nonstop laughing," son Brian Murphy said. "Everyone left with a smile on their face."
Murphy died of pancreatic cancer on Thursday, Feb. 25, in his Lindall Street home in Danvers. He was 86.
If there is a clown gene, Murphy was born with it. There wasn't a self-conscious bone in his body, and he'd put on any costume he thought would amuse people, the more ridiculous the better.
Just last Halloween, Murphy's youngest son, Tom Murphy, took him across the street to a neighbor's party. The neighbor was dressed in a fake mullet and black leather vest that soon became Murphy's get-up. Everyone got a kick out of The Hummah, all 135 pounds of him, making like Dog the Bounty Hunter.
For 40-some years, Murphy never left home without a red foam clown nose in his pocket. Wakes, restaurants, ball games, it didn't matter where he was headed, Murphy might decide to pull the nose out at any moment.
It was also a pretty good bet he was carrying a set of fake vampire teeth, or big glasses with no lenses, or an oversized rubber thumb.
"I slammed it in a car door," he'd say before uncovering it for a group of screaming kids.
On St. Patrick's Day, he would don a garish coat of many colors festooned with silly buttons.
"Kiss Me I'm Polish," "Member E.S.P. club: Exciting, Sexy and Polish" and "Shake Your Shamrocks," were guaranteed icebreakers.
There was never a prop Murphy could resist, and for years he bought them at Jake's Joke Shop in Boston.
"I think he kept him in business single-handedly," Brian said.
He was just as blissfully at ease ... out of costume.
Several years ago, he and Tom and Tom's kids were playing a heated game of basketball at their summer cabin. The score was close, and Murphy had the ball with the clock winding down for a final shot.
As he was about to take it, Tom pulled his pants down, leaving his dad in nothing but his BVDs.
He hit the three-point shot at the buzzer.
Murphy viewed his silliness as therapeutic. A devout Catholic, he and three fellow Knights of Columbus members and five of Murphy's colleagues from the Telephone Pioneers formed the Knights of Columbus Clown Club in the 1970s.
They entertained at local nursing homes and the Hogan Regional Center, singing and clowning to brighten people's days.
"I think he considered it a mission," Brian said. "He considered them society's forgotten individuals." He thinks his dad was the last living member of the troupe.
If Murphy couldn't find mirth, it seemed to find him. Several years ago, he and friend Pat Santin entertained the residents at Twin Oaks Nursing Home in Danvers with an afternoon of singalongs. It turned out they were older than many in their audience and had to convince the receptionist they didn't belong there before she let them out unattended.
And the laughs kept coming.
Why did the cow jump over the moon?
Cold hands.
If you didn't get it, Murphy promptly pantomimed milking a cow.
Ouch.
One prop he used for a while had to be retired. It seems a 4-foot-long fake boa constrictor wasn't everyone's cup of humor.
Murphy decided he had to "scale things back."
Murphy's family managed to locate 150 foam noses in California and got them shipped here in time for "mourners" to don at the patriarch's services. The family also passed out the lyrics to "Goodnight, Irene," Murphy's favorite song, so he could be serenaded out.
William Murphy, the guy with the big red nose who always had a line, gets the last one here. He was buried with a swollen rubber thumb that is surely a prop for a final, corny punch line.
"This thing is killing me."
¢¢¢
Staff writer Steve Landwehr can be reached at 978-338-2660 or by e-mail at slandwehr@salemnews.com.
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