'And that's fer damshur'

While I still earn a penny as a freelancer, I toiled in the regular newspaper trade for a great number of years as a staff reporter, columnist, editor, etc., and during those few decades I managed to earn a few awards for writing. I don’t mention this out of vainglory, but as a statement of fact. Albeit a fact I am rather proud of.

In some respects, the award that gives me the greatest pride is one called: “The ‘Ma Murray’ Community Service Award,” that I received in 1998. When I heard my name in connection with the award I sort of wanted to think that maybe old ‘Ma’ herself would have approved of my being the recipient. But, since she died in 1982 at the grand age of 94, her approval didn’t come into the equation.

Now, I am not about to go into the details of Ma Murray, but I will suggest that I felt honoured to get the award because she was a hugely colourful BC figure that I’d heard about since I was a kid. I’d heard about her because I was always a newspaper buff. And Margaret ‘Ma’ Murray had a rather amazing career that she persevered with until she was in her mid 80s. Most of all, she had guts. And even more than that, she was, as Sinatra once called certain women who had cojones, a ‘great broad.’

Born into an impoverished Catholic family in rural Kansas in 1888, Margaret Murray (who left school at 13) decided, when she was in her teens, to head ‘west’ to meet some real cowboys. Ultimately, arriving in Vancouver, via Seattle, she applied for a bookkeeping job at a small newspaper that was run by a guy named George Murray. The rest, as they say, is history.

Rarely has there been such an unlikely coupling. George was quiet, reserved, well educated, almost scholarly, and a devout Protestant. Margaret was fiery, a bit profane, ill schooled, and staunchly Catholic. Yet, this oil-and-water blend worked amazingly well. And, of course, there was one thing they shared – intelligence. George thoroughly respected Margaret, and that was all it took.

As I said, colourful. Once, with a group of dignitaries in Victoria in the 1940s, when George was running for the provincial Legislature, the two found themselves at a stuffy reception. At the time George and Margaret were running The Alaska Highway News, out of Fort St. John, in BC’s Peace River district. Truly the back-and-beyond in those days. It was suggested by somebody present that maybe the Murrays were, in effect, just a little too big for their britches. At which point, Margaret leapt to her feet, thrust her 44-Ds out in front of her, and noted “They grow them big in our part of the country.” Poor George slumped in mortification. At another, similar meeting, Margaret once opined that people in the hinterland are strong and resolute because “Under every man there is a good woman.”

Anyway, her career continued for many years, and her editorial columns served to tweak the sensibilities of politicians and other knaves, cant spewers and poltroons, because she never censored her thoughts. Nor used a dictionary, much to the chagrin of George, it might be added, since he had to ‘proof’ her rantings.

And, every column she ever offered always closed with this salutation: “And that’s fer damshur.”

So, thanks Ma, and that's fer damshur, too.