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“Growing Up with Audie Murphy”
By J.P. Sloane
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ooking back with warm-hearted memories of a time when I was growing up at our home
on Stern Avenue in Sherman Oaks, California, I cannot help but think of all the wonderful
times my family and I shared with the Murphy family. Uncle Audie and my folks had a lot
in common. My father and mother, who were pioneers of radio and television, were entertainers
like Audie. They hosted their own show called "Memory Lane" where they sang the standard
hits of their generation. To their fans they were known as “Television's Singing Troubadour”
Jimmie Jackson and "Television's Hollywood Hostess," Anita Coleman. My earliest memory of
the Murphy's was when Uncle Audie and Aunt Pam lived in Van Nuys. Their home backed up to
another good friend of my family, race car driver Johnny Parsons who went on to becoming
winner of the 1952 world famous "Indy 500." The Murphy's later relocated a few miles away to
a lovely home in Toluca Lake on a picturesque golf course only minutes away from Universal
International Studios where Uncle Audie made films. I understand that it was only recently that
the family sold that warm and beautiful home.
As a young boy, there were many times I would “run away from home.” What prompted me to
do so is now veiled in the mists of time, but one thing is clear—I would set off straight away to
the Murphy’s home where Aunt Pam would bring me into the kitchen and feed me something
good while Uncle Audie, unbeknown to me, would be in another part of the house calling my
folks reassuring them not to worry, that I was safe and okay. After a few days had passed Aunt
Pam, who always spoiled me, would take me shopping and buy me something nice before taking
me back to my home.
Uncle Audie and Aunt Pam had two wonderful boys, Terry and Skipper. I was ten years old in
1952 when Terry was born; two years later Skipper was born. Skipper was formally named
James Shannon Murphy a name of which my dad heartily approved, since his name was James
too. Incidentally, my daughter’s name is Shannon. Although there was a large gap in age
between the Murphy lads and me, I do have fond memories of them both. When I was over at
their house, I would sometimes see them playing with Uncle Audie’s war medals which they
would have scattered all over the house! One day my dad got a call from the Murphy’s asking if
my mom could come over to their home. Little Skipper (the youngest) had fallen down while
playing on the stairs, hurting himself very badly. Mom rushed over and stayed with Terry while
Uncle Audie and Aunt Pam took Skipper to the doctor. Our families were very close and always
there for each other.
Years later when I was a teenager, Uncle Audie had been in Japan filming “Joe Butterfly.”
There he met a young Japanese girl whose father was an RAF fighter pilot in WWII who had
died and left Caroline and her mother orphaned and widowed. Uncle Audie and Aunt Pam sent
for Caroline to be their ward and live with them. Caroline helped with the boys and was a very
lovely and gentle young girl. We were about the same age and became close friends and even
dated a few times, although not anything serious. Years later, Caroline’s mother, who was very
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As a child, J.P. Sloane appeared as “Billy Kettle” in the “Ma and Pa Kettle” film series and on many
of Lash LaRue comic book covers. For more information on J.P. Sloane, go to http://jpsloane.com
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petit and demure, came to the United States, and they were able to get a lovely apartment
together in Los Angeles. Caroline did several movies, two of which were “The Nun and the
Sergeant” and “Confessions of an Opium Eater.” Some of the numerous television series she
appeared in were “77 Sunset Strip,” “My Three Sons,” “I Spy,” “Gidget” and many others from
the 50s through the 70s. Sadly, I lost contact with her in my early 20s. She was truly a very dear
friend.
Whenever Uncle Audie was visiting our home, he would usually be very quiet and just sit in the
kitchen booth and watch mom cook or talk with dad. He always seemed a little shy, yet Uncle
Audie had a wonderful sense of humor. When I was around eight years old, I had just learned
how to talk like Donald Duck by allowing air to pass over my back teeth. With a twinkle in his
eye Uncle Audie asked me, “Can you say frustrated duck?” Of course, that was almost
impossible to do but I tried real hard! I remember he had the biggest grin on his face as he
watched me struggle trying to say “frustrated” in duck talk! Even though Uncle Audie was
quiet, he wasn’t a party-pooper either. He knew how to be a good sport. There was the time at
Universal Pictures when they were having a studio party complete with a stage and musicians.
Everybody kept teasing Uncle Audie to “come on up and sing.” Finally, he said, “Okay, I will if
Anita comes up and sings with me.” My mom agreed, and they did a little duet to everyone’s
delight!
Uncle Audie was also a man of principle. He did not smoke and when a lucrative contract to
endorse cigarettes was offered to him, he turned it down. When asked why, he simply said that
smoking was bad and since kids looked up to him, he wouldn’t do anything to lead them into
something that wasn’t good for them. Don’t you wish we had heroes like that today?! It was not
always just about hanging out or joking with Uncle Audie; like all of us, he had his problems too.
I remember one particular New Year’s Eve. My family did not plan anything that evening; they
were planning on bringing in the New Year in a quiet reflective manner. It was very late, around
midnight, when the phone rang. It was Uncle Audie. He apologized, saying he knew we were
having a quiet evening at home this year and that it was late, and asked if they would mind if he
came over for a little while. He arrived a short time later, knowing he was always welcome in
our home. He never told my parents why he wanted to come over and they never asked … he
was family.
Audie co-wrote a song which may give a little insight into this man’s sou. It was a song entitled,
“Shutters and Boards,” and the tag line has stayed with me all these years. It says, “Shutters and
boards cover the windows of the house where we used to live.” I can relate to that song. I think
all of us may have some shutters and boards covering the windows of the little rooms hidden
deep inside our minds. Sometimes they are there to keep people from looking inside, and
sometimes they are there for us to hide behind; but sometimes the little rooms we have boarded
up are there to keep those painful memories at bay. I really loved Uncle Audie and Aunt Pam.
They met when Aunt Pam was a flight attendant and Uncle Audie was on one of her flights; they
fell in love and were married. Aunt Pam was part Cherokee and I always thought of her as a
beautiful Indian princess! The truth is, I think I had a schoolboy crush on her!
About 13 years before Aunt Pam died, my father came across her at the Veteran’s Hospital in
Sepulveda, California. He thought perhaps she may have had Alzheimer’s disease because she
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did not seem to recognize him or remember any of the good times our families had shared. How
sad! At the time, my father was beginning to show a rapidly developing major loss of mental
capacity which, in a very few years, lead to his not being able to remember anything either and
he passed away in 2002. I was glad to find out later, after Aunt Pam had passed away, that she
did not have Alzheimer’s disease and the reason for her being at the V.A. was because she was
working there caring for and fighting on behalf of the many veterans who needed her help. I am
quite bewildered, even to this day, why Aunt Pam did not, or would not, recall the wonderful
relationship between our two families, despite the passing of time.
The very same year my dad died, Aunt Pam was 79 years old. That was also the year the
Veterans Administration was trying to cut cost and considered, maybe because of her age, Aunt
Pam to be “excessive staff.” When the rumor about her pending termination got out, a massive
protest was triggered in front of the Sepulveda Veteran’s Hospital, which made news paper
headlines. Those protests resulted in this beloved lady being assured her job was safe and that
she would be allowed to carry on her mission for the heroic men and women she so dearly loved!
Aunt Pam continued full time at her post until 2007 when she retired at the formidable age of 87
after 35 years of service. In retrospect had I know my father was mistaken in his assessment of
Aunt Pam’s mental facility and why he saw her at the Veteran’s Hospital, things might have
been different and I could have seen that dear lady once again; regrettably it was never meant to
be.
My mother and father got a divorce around 1969 and because of that traumatic event, we lost our
beloved home on Stern Avenue in Sherman Oaks, CA. My dad designed and had that house
built when I was five years old, just after WWII; it is a loss that I can’t seem to shake and
strangely haunts me to this very day. The good thing for my mom surrounding all of these
painful events was that she eventually met a wonderful man who loved her and my kid brother
and happily remarried; yet Uncle Audie, who was like my mom’s younger brother, always kept
in touch.
Before the sun came up on the morning of February 9, 1971, my mother stood at the door saying
goodbye to her new husband of only a few years. As he was leaving, he paused and turned
partially around as if to say something, but because he was running late he appeared to change
his mind and perhaps thought they could talk that evening. A short time later, around 6:02 a.m.,
a 6.7 earthquake hit the San Fernando Valley where we lived. All of the telephones and power
were knocked out. The San Fernando Valley was devastated. Mom believed that her husband
was probably over in the next valley by now and because of the assumed devastation from the
earthquake, knew it would probably be a few days before she would hear from him. Later on
that day, after the power was restored, she (like millions of others) was glued to the television
set. The news was gruesome. The first deaths reported of that terrible earthquake happened to
one poor guy and a passenger who were driving in a small pickup truck that had the misfortune
of passing under the I-14 freeway in Los Angeles County when the quake hit. All you could see
was the cab condensed into about 14 inches with an arm hanging outside of the cab with a
wristwatch that had stopped at the exact time of the earthquake. My mom was a very loving
lady, and she prayed for several days for those men and their poor families. Several days later
she heard a knock at the door. She opened it to see a policeman standing there. He was sorry to
have to inform her that her husband was killed when the earthquake hit and he and his partner
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were passing under the I-14 overpass. Her husband was the man whose arm was sticking out of
the truck with the stopped wristwatch. My mother was devastated. A few months later, near my
mother’s twenty-first birthday,
Uncle Audie (concerned for her) called to let her know that he
was out-of-town on business, assuring her that he would check in with her as soon as he got
back. On May 28,
1971, only three and a half months after the tragic loss of her husband and just
one week after a lonely birthday, Uncle Audie too would be violently taken from us and to make
it all the more heart rendering. It was the Memorial Day Weekend, a time when our nation
mourns the loss of those we loved.
Regrettably, I was unable to attended Uncle Audie’s funeral. However, because of my good
friend Stan Smith, I was able to attend Aunt Pam’s funeral. When Stan heard about the passing
of Aunt Pam on April 8, 2010, he was kind enough to immediately let me know. It is because of
him that I am able to share with you the details of that sad, but beautiful service.
The funeral was held at “The Old North Church” at Forest Lawn Memorial-Park, Hollywood
Hills, California, on April 16, 2010. This remarkable reproduction of the fabled Boston Church
of Paul Revere fame was a fitting setting for friends and family to gather and give their last
respects to that genteel soul who, like Paul Revere, gave so much of herself for her country. Pam
Murphy invested over 35 years of her life to unselfishly serving our veterans at the VA hospital
in California’s San Fernando Valley.
The church seats 244 people; it appeared that all the seats were filled. Among those in the
Chapel ranged from pre-teen to octogenarians, and people from every ethnic and socioeconomic
background. One very special attendee was a precious little lady who I remembered as having
served over fifty years ago as the Murphy’s house-keeper at their Toluca Lake home. That’s
quite a testimony and shows the effect that Aunt Pam had on all who were privileged to know
her.
Pastor Thomas W. Wallace conducted the celebration of Aunt Pam’s life, pausing from time-to-
time to gather his composure in an emotional and loving tribute to his dearly deceased friend.
Several of the guests gave personal insights into the life of Aunt Pam as they shared her
influence in their lives. It seems that she left everyone she knew a little better for knowing her.
One very moving and undeniable tribute to Aunt Pam was all of the various veterans paying their
last respects on her passing and by their collective presence, showing their appreciation for all
that she had done on their behalf. Their attendance and tears spoke more magnificently than any
words.
The altar was strewn with beautiful sprays and baskets of flowers which the attendees walked
solemnly past at the conclusion of the service. As the guests proceeded respectfully by the
closed casket on their way out of the church, they were greeted by Pam’s two sons, Terry and
Skipper Murphy, who were most congenial, conducting themselves with grace and honor as they
stood near their beloved mother’s casket. Next to the Murphy’s were two lovely ladies from the
Archer family, who were representing Mrs. Murphy’s paternal family.
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It was really good to see Terry and Skipper again after all these years and briefly share a
moment with them. The last time I saw them, they were just kids. Time has been kind to them
both, as they have matured into the kind of gentlemen that are worthy of the extraordinary
legacies bequeathed to them from both their prodigious mother and their father.
I asked Skipper if he would prefer to be called James or Jim. He smiled at me and said that his
friends still call him Skipper. I also inquired if either of them had kept in touch with Caroline,
but they too had lost contact with her years ago. Thus a bitter sweet reunion came to an end.
The internment was a private family affair, also conducted by Pastor Wallace. A dignified and
simple headstone marks the place where Aunt Pam has been laid to rest it simply reads:
A great generation is slowly fading silently into the shadows of bygone days and we, who are left
longingly gazing after them at eternity’s edge, are left with a feeling of apprehension and a sense
of melancholy because of it. So it is, that those whom once we were blessed to hug, are now
embraced by history.
PAMELA OPAL LEE ARCHER MURPHY
OCT. 7, 1923 — APRIL. 8, 2010
BELOVED MOTHER
