Fred’s
Surprise Going Strong At Seventy
I didn’t pay a lot of attention
to the return address on the envelope that certainly appeared to contain
a card of some sort. About all I noticed, initially, was the name Fred Allen
Murphree, Jr. Inside the envelope was indeed a card, the front of which bore
the likeness of a Zorro-styled mask and the words "Surprise Party." The note
inside was an invitation to a surprise birthday party for my dentist and
friend, Dr. Fred Murphree, and was penned by his daughter-in-law, Chanis
Murphree.
Somehow, I had forgotten that my dentist and my son shared July 16 as their
date of birth. On seeing the invitation on our refrigerator door, Jason remarked
that he and Vickey, Dr. Murphree’s wife, had the same birthday. I am
happy to report that memory loss is not limited to the aged.
Barbara, my wife, took the responsibility to RSVP to the invitation prior
to the deadline but failed to ask about appropriate attire for what the
invitation stated was an evening of dining and dancing at the Hilton Garden
Inn in Tupelo.
Thus, when I was dressing for the surprise party in casual attire, my wife
quizzed, "Is that what you’re planning to wear?"
Somewhat irritated by the tone of her remark, I glanced at her outfit and
responded, "You’re not going to wear that are you?"
It came as no surprise when she retorted, "Well, I don’t have anything
to wear, and this is what I wore to the rehearsal dinner for Felicia’s
wedding."
Personally, I thought my casual pants and Ole Miss shirt would be fine, though
I had worn a suit to the rehearsal dinner. Anyway, I had asked my wife to
contact either Vickey Murphree or her daughter-in-law three or four days
earlier to find out the dress code, something she failed to do.
I didn’t want to bother Vickey on Saturday afternoon a couple of hours
before the party, and I didn’t want to give her husband a reason to
suspect anything just before his surprise, so I asked Barbara if we still
had Chanis’ phone number. I learned she had left it at her office, so
I phoned my sister, Sarah, to see if she had kept her invitation. Thankfully,
Sarah had hers nearby and gave me the numbers I needed. However, I got
voice-messaging systems when I tried to contact Chanis.
I suppose it’s a good thing that God made women; otherwise we men would
show up looking like slobs regardless of the occasion. Plus, women have such
a diplomatic way of expressing themselves.
"Look at it this way," Barbara offered, "If you wear a suit and no one else
does, you can take off your coat and your tie, and you’ll be okay."
I knew she was right, but I didn’t feel any better about having to change
into a different set of clothes.
We picked up Sarah shortly after 4:00 p.m. to leave for the party. She was
complaining about her shoes and how with a hurting foot she wouldn’t
be able to walk very far. I let pass the opportunity to comment that the
dictates of fashionable footwear for women are responsible for a host of
orthopedic concerns.
Having never been to the new Hilton in Tupelo, we asked directions to the
room where the party was being held.
"Take a right at the end of this hall, and it’s the first door to your
left," a desk clerk stated.
As we proceeded, we met a man with a cane and a woman who asked if we were
also trying to find the party room, as they, too, had found the "first door
to your left" was an exit door. The exit led to another building with several
entrance doors. I walked over to see if any of the doors were unlocked and
saw a bride waiting to "walk the aisle." I returned to the main building
and volunteered to walk back to the front desk to get better directions.
This time the "helpful" clerk told me the party was indeed in the next building
beyond the exit door. I returned to relay the information to the others and
to inform them the party was in the Poplar Elm room. My party of five was
now emboldened, and we proceeded to the adjacent building and met a couple
of guys leaving who were wearing baker/ chef outfits. We asked about the
party room and one of them said it was down the hallway.
"Are y’all employees," I asked, and they affirmed that they were but
looked oddly at me as if to say, "Why do you ask?"
We walked past one room crowded with wedding guests and a bride at the altar.
Actually, "altar" is used figuratively, here; I didn’t see an altar.
We walked past an empty room (doors open) and another room before coming
to the last room, which displayed a plaque with the name, Poplar. There were
a few people there already, some with young children playing in the hallway,
but fortunately there was also a printed page thumb tacked or taped to the
wall that read, Murphree Party.
After a minute of indecision, Barbara and Sarah entered the room. I waited
outside and chatted with the man whom we’d first met in the hallway
of the other building. After I introduced myself to him, he told me his name
was Rutland.
"Call me Rut," he stated.
I wasn’t sure if he was kidding or not. This was the same man who, as
we walked between the two buildings, pointed eastward and asked if I could
see the water tank in the distance. I couldn’t see it, but I could see
he was referring to the water tank on the hill near Elvis’ birthplace.
He mentioned how, as a younger man, he’d put his mark on the top of
the water tank. I didn’t understand what he meant at the time, but he
later explained. For now, let me leave it at that and say that Rut’s
a character.
Barbara or Sarah, perhaps both, came to check on me and to remind me it was
almost time for the arrival of Dr. Murphree. By this time, the wedding was
over and the hallway was full of people.
"Oh, here he comes," I heard someone say, "Let’s get inside so we can
surprise him."
It was about the time I got inside the room and stood waiting to "surprise"
the good Doctor, that I realized I’d forgotten my camera. I had little
time to beat myself up before Vickey and Fred walked into the room. Others
were snapping pictures, but I wasn’t, as a delighted Fred Murphree greeted
guest after guest.
Several guests arrived after the Murphrees and some even arrived an hour
or so later. I didn’t know a single soul there, save the Murphrees,
Barbara, and Sarah, but that didn’t hinder my having an enjoyable evening.
In fact I started a conversation by telling another guest that I didn’t
know anybody at the party and introduced my family to his family. I learned
he had somewhat recently retired from his dental practice, leaving Dr. Murphree
as the oldest of the Tupelo dentists.
Barbara told me the woman we’d met in the hallway was Dr. Rebecca McDougald,
Dr. Murphree’s dentist. We also met Fred and Vickey’s two sons
and their spouses. When Dr. Murphree shook my hand, I asked if Vickey had
pulled off the surprise.
"I didn’t suspect a thing," he shared, though I doubt he was entirely
truthful, because Vickey had similarly surprised him on his fiftieth and
sixtieth birthdays.
Sara Sue’s theory is, "He’s a good liar. He enjoys the parties
and the attention, so if he lies and tells his family he was surprised,
they’ll do it again for him."
We had only begun to enjoy the garden salad, when the entertainment started.
Except for the fake black hair and sideburns, he might have passed for a
taller version of Elvis Presley. He certainly sounded a lot like Elvis as
he sang songs mostly from the era of the young Elvis, though none of the
women screamed or threw underwear in his direction. Barbara was one of the
lucky women to whom Elvis gave one of his scarves.
Barbara, Sarah and I met the folks at our table: Gene Sloan and his wife,
Dr. McDougald and husband Charles, Charles Flynn and his daughter who sat
to my right but I didn’t catch her name during introductions and was
embarrassed to ask afterwards. Our tablemates were all cordial.
Upwards of seventy people were fed in a mostly orderly fashion in a relatively
short period of time. Our meal consisted of grilled, whole, boneless chicken
breasts on a bed of crunchy green beans with a baked sweet potato on the
side. It was tasty enough for convention-style food and vanilla ice cream
that followed was a hit. But, from my point of view, the chocolate birthday
cake took the prize for best tasting food at the birthday party.
Though tables were moved to provide room for dancing, few folks took advantage
of the opportunity.
Before leaving, I stopped by Dr. Murphree’s table to tease him.
"You sure do know a lot of old people," I stated.
He erupted in laughter and introduced me to an elderly gentleman behind him
with, "And, here’s a really old one."
With the party winding down, Sarah, Barbara and I left the room and walked
toward the building’s entrance, where I asked them to wait until I brought
the car around. Five minutes later, I picked them up at curbside and we were
back home before nine o’clock. It had been an interesting and enjoyable
evening that we’ll long remember.
Note: Picture of Fred and Elvis – compliments of Gene Sloan
"Rut" Rutland
On Leaving His Mark
Conversing with the first person I met at the surprise party for Dr. Fred
Murphree netted me a wealth of information. Unfortunately, it was shared
in something less than a chronological order, and random might be a better
description. The only recorder I had running was my brain, so the reader
is warned not to hold this writer to 100%
accuracy.
I learned that Rut and Fred Murphree graduated from Tupelo high school in
1955. After graduation, Rut joined the U.S. Navy and spent a number of years
training Navy pilots. He must also have worked in maintenance of aircraft,
too, as his work following his retirement from the Navy involved maintenance
for the Tecumseh engine plant in Verona and later Cooper Tire of Tupelo.
It was his marking the water tank that captivated me. When I asked him what
he was talking about, he explained how he used an airplane’s rubber
tires to "mark" the top of the tower.
"I just dropped my landing gear on my approach and set my wheels down on
top of the water tank," he stated with a calmness that unnerved me.
"You have to be a bit of a daredevil to do something like that," I suggested.
He shrugged off my remark, "It’s not anything that any Navy pilot
couldn’t do. You have to consider those guys can routinely hit a twelve
foot section on a moving target like an aircraft carrier. Anyway, one of
my flying buddies put his mark on the same water tank."
Upon retirement from the Navy in 1975, Rut said nobody wanted to hire a retired
serviceman. (I remember the middle seventies were lean years for a lot of
us, when the economy was in recession and inflation was rampant.)
"Months later," Rut shared, "I was riding my motorcycle down the highway
one day and passed a big sign on the side of the road that read, ‘Now
Hiring – Maintenance Workers – All Departments.’ I turned
that motorcycle around and drove up to the front door of the plant to apply
for a job. They asked me about my experience and hired me on the spot. I
went home to change clothes and was back to start to work thirty minutes
later. I worked for them eleven years."
He might have retired from Tecumseh had a friend not told him about Cooper
Tire coming to Tupelo. Again, he applied for a job and was hired the same
day.
Our chance meeting and short conversation resulted in my being impressed
with a few brief facts that may or may not summarize an interesting life.
In retrospect, I wonder if Rut took away anything from our meeting that he
found interesting about my life.
Note: Picture of Rut – compliments of Gene Sloan.
Bodock Beau How
Dry Is It
Perhaps some will find a smile or two among the following submissions by
our readers.
How Dry Is It
Carl Wayne Hardeman shared an email about a week ago, back before we started
getting some decent rain showers, stating: It is so dry that:
-
The Baptists have started sprinkling.
-
The Methodists are using a wet wash cloth.
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The Presbyterians are giving rain checks and,
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The Catholics and Episcopalians are trying to turn wine back into water.
I responded, "That’s pretty dry."
Carl Wayne replied:
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My friend in Phoenix says it's so dry out there that during Noah's flood
they only got two inches.
-
And I hear the catfish in Pontotoc County have ticks.
Service
At one time in my life, I thought I had a handle on the meaning of the word
"service."
"It's the act of doing things for other people."
Then I heard these terms which reference the word SERVICE:
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Internal Revenue Service
-
Postal Service
-
Telephone Service
-
Civil Service
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City & County Public Service
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Customer Service
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Service Stations
Then I became confused about the word "service." This is not what I thought
"service" meant.
So today, I overheard two farmers talking, and one of them said he had hired
a bull to "service" a few of his cows.
BAM! It all came into perspective.
Now I understand what all those "service" agencies are doing to us.
I hope you now are as enlightened as I am.
Shared by Ed Dandridge who commented, "I think I will think of this every
time I hear [service] from now on.
Male Version of Maxine:
Today in History: July 21, 1909 - William Henry Carter, born Union
County, MS.
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