Murphy Parties

“Don’t forget to include the parties your parent’s had in their basement,” came in an email from my cousin Sharon after reading one of  my blogs.

Ah yes, the parties in my parent’s basement.  They were legendary . . . . .

First off, our basement was just a basement…. no plastered ceiling, no knotty pine walls (as was popular for finished basements in the 50’s).  The old coal-burning furnace once took up a large chunk of the south wall (it was replaced sometime in the 50s by smaller but still pretty big gas furnace)  and the laundry tubs, washer and dryer occupied the southeast corner.   Poured concrete walls were whitewashed, the concrete floor was painted green, and water, heating, electrical and disposal pipes hung from the ceiling or ran down the side walls.  But when my parents fixed it up for a party it was transformed into something magical.

Christmas lights and gayly colored paper lanterns were strung from the pipes, card tables were set up and covered in old mismatched table cloths my mother had accumulated over the years, and candles pushed into old Chianti bottles adored each table.  A sheet, hung on a clothesline, hid the furnace and the laundry tubs overflowed with pop and beer covered in ice.  More old table cloths covered the washer and dryer which served as the bar cluttered with bottles of whiskey, wine, ginger ale, and more.

But as transformed  as our basement became under my mother’s watchful eye, it wasn’t the bright lights or the flickering candles that made the parties so memorable nor was it the cast of characters who came down the basement stairs at the appointed time.  It was my father’s special drink ( he called it “punch”) coupled with my mother’s ability to get everyone to drink it early and often

Art’s punch – – –  and I strongly recommend no one try this – – – was composed of 1 bottle of southern comfort, 2 bottles of cheap champagne, and 2 bottles of ginger ale.  It was lethal.  It tasted like fruit punch, which of course made it more lethal.

Did I say the cast of characters did not add to the memorability of the parties?  Not entirely true.  What was true, perhaps, is that the punch enhanced each of their particularities even more than usual.  Take George Mair for example.  George lived across the street from us on Marshfield.  Married to Bernice, they had 12 children.  That alone could make a man a little crazy.  Give a father of 12 children my dad’s punch and see him dance.  I exaggerate . . . George never danced that I recall.  But his already booming voice tended to get louder and louder and louder . . .  until the entire basement, and maybe the people in the next parish over, knew exactly what was on his mind.

George may not have danced but plenty of the others did.  Occasionally my mother even hired square dance callers.  That was fun to watch!   Most of the couples were Irish and had learned to dance the Irish way . . .  standing ram-rod straight, arms stuck to their side.  I would watch them with amazement as they attempted the “dosie-doe” and “allemande left” or “circle to the right” or “promenade around.”  Lots of bodies bouncing up and down, many hitting the overhead pipes, and crashing into each other as they promenaded around their circle.  It was the 50s when most men wore white dress shirts and after a while the top buttons became undone, the sleeves were rolled up while sweat poured down their faces.

Surprisingly, many became quite good at it and the last few times my mother had the callers many of the men came with plaid scarves around their necks and the women came with full skirts good for swinging during the promenade.

As the night wore on, the party would move upstairs to where the old piano was located and my Uncle Ed, who never took a lesson in his life and only played on the black keys, would belt out any song requested.  As Edward’s fingers hit the keys  you could swear the piano could get up and dance.  And dance they did… dance and sing.  We lived in a Chicago bungalow so the rooms were small, but that didn’t stop the partiers, especially my aunts and uncles.  Uncle Steve would grap Aunt Vera  and Uncle Turk might grab Aunt Virginia and off they’d go swinging and swaying around the dining room.  My mother would start singing (badly) and eventually the entire party was singing with her.  My dad would stand back laughing and cracking jokes with his little sister, my Aunt Doris.

Did I mention my brothers, sister and cousins?  We were always there too.  Cousins were never left at home with a sitter.  (By the time I was nine years old, my five older siblings had all gone off and joined the seminary or convent so it was my two little brothers, Jackie and Tommy, who ran around outside with me and our cousins.  (If the older ones were home, they were ususally out with friends or in the basement with the adults).

As the adults talked, sang, ate, and laughed, we ran around the neighborhood playing.  It was safe in those days, even after dark.  We’d play softball in the middle of the street (using the four corners of the intersection as home-plate and first, second and third base), climb one of the large trees in our backyard, swing in the hammock or, after dark, we’d play a mean game of hide and seek.  Hide and seek was easier in those days before high voltage street lights; we didn’t have to go far to hide.  The lights on our street were far apart and so dim that we could lay anywhere on the ground and not be seen.

Steve, Vera, Jimmy, Virgina, Edward, Turk and Doris

As the night wore on we would graviate back inside.  Usually, if the adults weren’t dancing and singing, they’d be telling stories and laughing.  I guess what I remember the most about those parties was the laughter.  My dad’s family seemed to have an innate sense of humor and ability to laugh.  They could find humor not only in the obvious, but often in that which might have otherwise been painful.  They were hard-working, easy-going and, for the most part, always tried to look on the bright side of a situation.

Ninety-four year old Aunt Doris, the youngest, is the only one left today.  Doris embodies all that was good about the Murphy’s: great humor, good nature, accepting, quick to forgive (well, maybe not forget but then no one is perfect). I cling to Doris and don’t want to lose her as we have the others.  But even as I value the time we have with Doris, I know it’s not possible to have her here forever.  So my hope is that those of us in my generation have learned from those that have gone before us and that we take that good-natured determination and humor and try our best to leave those characteristics  – – and happy memories – –  for our children, as our parents did for us.

And hope that our children play it forward.

© pending Eileen Murphy Donnersberger