One of the early arrivals was a fifteen-year-old white girl named Nannie Atchison. Prior to Murphy's death, Nannie had visited the home on numerous occasions to buy milk, butter, and eggs from Lucy's sister, Susan Osborne. In 1893 Nannie's father, William Atchison, had moved the family to their new home—a one-story wood-frame house at 398 Third Street, not far from the Murphys. Nannie had been raised around horses and horse racing. Her father worked for Murphy at the Lexington racetrack that backed up to the Murphys' ten-acre lot, and she sometimes went along to watch. She knew of Isaac's importance as a jockey and had listened to her father and other men defend him when he was accused of being drunk in 1890 at Monmouth Park. She had heard the rumor that he had been drugged because of his unwillingness to throw races and the speculation that he had become a target of powerful white men in the East.
Isaac's success on the oval track had been the pride of Lexington. He would say: “I am as proud of my calling as I am of my record, and I believe my life will be recorded a success, though the reputation I enjoy was earned in the stable and in the saddle. It is a great honor to be classed as one of America's greatest jockeys.”1 His three Kentucky Derby victories (in 1884, 1890, and 1891) and hundreds of wins in Nashville, Louisville, St. Louis, Chicago, Saratoga, and New York made fans and enthusiasts of the turf rich and brought positive attention to the thriving horse industry, which employed thousands from central Kentucky. Like royalty, the Murphys moved in and out of various social circles, befriending influential black and white doctors, lawyers, and business owners from one coast to the other. Many recalled the Murphys' home in Lexington as the scene of lively parties and joyous celebrations. As a popular hero to many, Isaac Murphy worked to balance his responsibilities as a community leader, a husband, and the most successful jockey of his generation. He was a conduit between the black community and the powerful white elite of Lexington.
Nannie entered the Murphy home, where the air was thick with the perfume of the floral arrangements, wreaths, and bouquets of exotic flowers sent by Murphy's friends and contemporaries. In the parlor, next to the casket, was a large display of lilies of the valley, sent by three of the owners Murphy had ridden for: Ed Corrigan, L. P. Tarleton, and Ed Brown. These gestures of condolence, remembrance, and appreciation were touching, to say the least.
Also in attendance were the great black jockeys Anthony Hamilton and James “Soup” Perkins, who had benefited greatly from their friendship with Murphy. Hamilton was a personal friend, and Perkins, the winner of two Kentucky Derbies, had learned how to judge the pace of a horse from Murphy. Isaac frequently discussed his racing philosophy with anyone who showed an interest in his approach to riding and to life. To Nannie Atchison and the hundreds of mourners lining up in the cold to pay their respects, Murphy was a paragon of virtue. She ventured into the parlor to view Murphy's small, lifeless body dressed in black and the traditional white gloves and apron of a Mason. He was resting in a beautiful copper casket covered in purple crushed velvet with silver trimmings, a replica of President Ulysses S. Grant's coffin. Nannie would remember Isaac as a “nice, neatly dressed, very clean and very pleasant person” with a gentle disposition.2
The mood throughout Lexington was heavy with sorrow, reminiscent of the passing of a great leader. Very early that Sunday morning, the Murphy residence came alive with activity. In the early afternoon, after wading through the thick crowd of mourners, Reverend Young greeted those invited to attend the private ceremony. A member of the Prince Hall Masons, Young had counseled Isaac and Lucy on matters of faith and virtue and had officiated when they renewed their wedding vows in 1893 in front of family and friends. On this day, however, those gathered in the densely packed rooms adjoining the parlor listened as Young eulogized the man who had risen from slavery to become a beacon of light among the colored and white peoples of Lexington. He reminded the mourners of Murphy's early life as the son of slaves, the death of his father while serving as a Union soldier during the Civil War, and his determined mother, who worked as a washerwoman, laundress, and housekeeper to ensure her son's future. Those gathered in the Murphy home recalled the oppression of slavery and the stories handed down and across generations about Africa and about black men like Samuel Oldham, who had claimed his freedom and thrived as a businessman in Lexington. They remembered the human trains leaving the slave market at Cheapside, heading south to Mississippi and Louisiana, a death sentence for most. They recalled children being traded for plows and livestock, families being separated without remorse, and the failed attempts to claim freedom by running away.
Reverend Young described how blessed Murphy had been to be brought up in a Negro community that valued education, religion, and moral uprightness. And Murphy had demonstrated his appreciation by staying close to home, contributing to the growth of his community, and by being an example to the colored children and adults of Lexington. In addition to Isaac's mother and father, he spoke of Eli Jordan, the outstanding trainer who had been like a father to Isaac when he needed guidance and direction. He then turned and looked at each of the jockeys in the room, noting how Murphy had influenced their careers and encouraged them to maintain their integrity in a sport where money and vice threatened to destroy the fiber of the soul.
Reverend Young recognized the fellowship and brotherhood Murphy had enjoyed as a member of the Lincoln Lodge Masons, as well as the support and friendship of men like John C. Jackson, H. A. Tandy, Dr. Perry Robinson, Dr. John Hunter, and Dudley Allen, to name but a few. Finally, Young turned to Lucy Murphy, the widow of the great black jockey, consoling her with the knowledge that she had been a good and faithful wife and that her nurturing of her husband's soul had benefited all who loved and cherished him. She need not worry about him, for he was now with his maker and with his mother and father, and together they were rejoicing among the angels in heaven.
At the conclusion of the eulogy, the Lexington Choral Club, led by Henry Tandy, solidified the mood with selections that reminded those in attendance of their religious faith and their shared past. Even in this late Victorian age, Negro spirituals uplifted those who had grown up in slavery and then flourished in freedom. Singing a familiar Negro spiritual, Dr. Robinson's deep baritone invoked memories of the past, and the words could be heard by those waiting patiently on the frozen lawn in front of the Murphy residence:
Wade in the water
Wade in the water, children,
Wade in the water
God's a-going to trouble the water
See that host all dressed in white
God's a-going to trouble the water
The leader looks like the Israelite
God's a-going to trouble the water
See that band all dressed in red
God's a-going to trouble the water
Looks like the band that Moses led
God's a-going to trouble the water
Look over yonder, what do you see?
God's a-going to trouble the water
The Holy Ghost a-coming on me
God's a-going to trouble the water
If you don't believe I've been redeemed
God's a-going to trouble the water
Just follow me down to the Jordan's stream
God's a-going to trouble the water
After Robinson's moving rendition, the entire chorus sang “Down by the Riverside,” which brought the gathering to their feet, rocking and swaying, serving as a temporary elixir to ease their collective unhappiness. Even so, Lucy felt the hurt and emptiness of the loss of her best friend and lover.
Throughout their thirteen years of marriage, Lucy and Isaac had rarely been apart. Lucy had married Isaac for love and security; Isaac had married Lucy for love and companionship. He had protected her from the vulnerabilities and abuses other black women experienced in the marketplace; he had secured her future as a middle-class woman. She had helped him build his professional career as a jockey and a businessman, encouraging him to shed his introverted nature and pushing him to
enjoy the benefits of his hard work. Isaac's marriage to Lucy was the key to his consistency as an athlete. He found comfort and purpose in their collaboration. Suffice it to say, Lucy's destiny was inextricably linked to Isaac's: if he was hurt, she too suffered.
The Murphys were upper middle class, respectable, and religious, and with Isaac's death, Lucy felt a responsibility to properly honor and memorialize his good name and noble character. Moreover, there was a certain etiquette that Lucy had to adhere to, paying particular attention to her appearance and her performance at the funeral. To ensure that her husband retained his dignity, even in death, she employed the services of Porter and Jackson Undertakers, owned and operated by William Jackson and John C. Jackson, two prominent leaders of Lexington's black community. The undertakers made arrangements for the embalming of Murphy's body, ordered the replica of President Grant's casket, and helped coordinate the day's program with Reverend Young. Lucy's sister Susan helped draft the funeral announcement and answered many of the inquiries directed at Lucy. She too was aware of the need to keep up appearances and ensured that Lucy was properly attired in a stylish black mourning dress and black gloves.
As the front door of the Murphy residence opened, the 500 or so people still gathered outside cleared a path to the hearse waiting to take the prince of jockeys to his final resting place. In full regalia, members of the Bethany Commandery Knights Templar, directed by Marshall T. Clay, formed two columns leading from the interior of the home to the hearse parked on the street. Pallbearers Scott Williams, John T. Clay, Henry Mack, Lee Christy, Howard Williams, Ed Brown, William Walker, and Henry S. Walker carried Murphy's remains to the waiting vehicle. Gently they placed the copper casket through the rear opening and slowly pushed it forward until it rolled to a stop; the undertakers then secured the casket inside the vehicle. Members of the Lincoln and Sardis Lodges and Bethany Commandery then moved into position in front of the hearse driven by David Samuels, a neighbor of the Murphys. After Lucy was inside her carriage and everyone was in place, Commander Clay signaled the beginning of the procession. Hundreds of people dressed in black funeral wear settled in the carriages lined up side by side, and they slowly moved westward on Third Street in a familiar “pageantry of woe.” As a final show of respect, Lexington's citizens lined the streets to watch. Black and white families stood in awe at the spectacle of Murphy's funeral procession. Most recognized the significance of the moment and paused to mark the occasion.3
As the carriages neared Limestone Street, the hearse driver saw hundreds of people waiting at the intersection—the curious wanting to know what was happening, and the reverent wanting one final look at the famous jockey. The various classes and races present in the crowd were a clear indicator of Murphy's impact on the larger Lexington community. Moving up Limestone, crossing Fourth, Fifth, and Sixth Streets, then finally making a right turn onto Seventh Street, the procession edged closer to the cemetery. As the first part of the procession reached the gates of the black burial grounds, snow began to fall. With military precision, the Masons and Bethany Commandery formed two lines on either side of the casket as it was carried to the rectangular hollow that would receive Murphy's remains. After all were gathered around, the Masonic rites were bestowed on the deceased, and Reverend Young offered the benediction, perhaps from Genesis 3:16: “And the Lord said, ‘In the sweat of thy face shalt thou eat bread, till thou return unto the ground; for out of it wast thou taken: for dust thou art, and unto dust shalt thou return.’” Amid the sobs and tears of the mourners, the casket was lowered into the cold, hard ground. The final ritual was left to the men handling the shovels, still clumped with dirt from their morning chore of preparing the ground. The grief-stricken masses watched as the men spilled earth down over the casket and filled in the void. As the snow began to cover the cemetery in a blanket of white, the final shovel of dirt was passed over the mound, and the wooden marker was hammered into the ground, indicating the final resting place of the prince of jockeys.
Epilogue
Putting a life into perspective in a way that is not only meaningful but also revealing of the choices and decisions made in the context of events, intended or otherwise, can be a difficult proposition. This is especially true when there are no personal papers or archives to consult. In this case, gathering the threads, shards, and jagged pieces of a life can be a painstaking task. Biography involves the exploration and clarification of the past in ways that may not fit traditional means of writing historical narratives. Revealing the world into which a person is born, lives, and eventually dies requires an interdisciplinary approach that utilizes various sources and analytical methods to draw conclusions. Invariably, the intent is to explore and understand the multitude of factors responsible for shaping the individual the biographer has deemed captivating and worthy of a commitment of time, resources, and energy. The biographer's mandate is to leave little doubt in the minds of readers.
The life of Isaac Burns Murphy followed the contours of American history. He was born during slavery and died at the beginning of Jim Crow segregation, one of the many crossroads in America's social, economic, and political development. He was raised in a community that took seriously the promises of the Declaration of Independence, and Isaac's achievements were a testament to black Lexington's commitment to its future, as demonstrated by its commitment to its children. Through the efforts of teachers, ministers, and common folk, Isaac understood that his own achievement was a sign of the community's progress and advancement. Isaac knew that he represented the people he came from, and he honored his past by remaining a part of the Lexington community.
Lucy Murphy became an example of black womanhood that challenged many popular notions of who could claim to be a “lady.” Educated, beautiful, and a key component of Isaac's success, Lucy helped shape the man who would be identified as an elegant specimen of manhood. Both Isaac and Lucy were instrumental in elevating the black professional jockey to an occupation that was considered the equal of a doctor or lawyer. It is clear that they had a great impact on both their friends and outside observers who viewed Murphy as the quintessential jockey whose legendary status grew with every victory, every quote published, and every dignified likeness produced for public consumption.
After the death of her husband, Lucy still had her sister Susan and Lexington's black community for support. However, nothing could minimize the loss of her beloved Isaac. For a long time, she kept flowers on his grave. Records show that Lucy continued to live at the Third Street home until around 1903, when she sold the property and moved with Susan to 347 North Limestone Street. Lucy apparently exhausted her savings and the money left to her in Isaac's will,1 because at some point she began to work as a housekeeper in Lexington to support herself. On February 24, 1910, Lucy died of pneumonia at her home, shortly after the fourteenth anniversary of her husband's death. The lone photograph of Lucy is in the T. T. Wendell Collection at the Kentucky Historical Society. She was beautiful.
More than 100 years after Isaac's death, there is growing interest in the history of black jockeys and their impact on the sport of kings. Previously, depictions of black jockeys were limited to lawn statues, the caricatures used in advertisements for horse liniments, and the Sambo-like figures in the lithographs made popular by Currier and Ives. Clearly, these did not reflect the contributions of black jockeys to the greatness of the sport. Unfortunately for African Americans, the emphasis has not been on the totality of a life lived during the tumultuous period between the Civil War and the end of the nineteenth century, or on the achievements in all things among that first generation born at the end of slavery. For most, the success of black jockeys in the nineteenth century is seen as some form of racial superiority connected to their athleticism. The history of black jockeys is not understood as an extension of the institution of slavery, which evolved into a critical example of agency in the context of horse racing during Reconstruction and the decade that followed.
Initially, horse racing was pri
marily a leisure activity of the wealthy, upper-class elite, and participation as a horse owner required a certain birthright. For a brief time, black jockeys were lionized as “artists of the pigskin” and “heroes of the turf,” but then their significance dissolved into nothingness. Yet it always surprises me when people say with disbelief, “There were black jockeys?” The history of horse racing is directly linked to the South and gentlemen farmers, so I often respond by pointing out that someone had to clear the land, cultivate the fields, and raise the crops; someone had to build the barns and fences to maintain the livestock; and someone had to care for those animals, which required early-morning feedings as well as the grooming and training of horses. Presidents George Washington and Andrew Jackson and some of the wealthiest men in America had horses on their estates, and a majority of them owned slaves. Without a doubt, enslaved African Americans were responsible for taking care of these animals, so it was natural that they developed into outstanding jockeys. They were always there, in the background and foreground, both directly and indirectly, maintaining the façade of white supremacy.
Isaac Murphy's rise as the premier jockey of his day coincided with the many opportunities that opened up for blacks in the postbellum period, especially during Reconstruction. The fact that he was able to read and write from an early age, gain access to the wealthiest Americans (who paid him well for his services), and use his purchasing power as a capitalist made him a model for resistance to popular notions of black inferiority. He was a modern black man who would defend his integrity when challenged, using his words not only sparingly but also strategically. If the notion of black manhood was stained by past ideas related to polygenesis or a religious understanding of who had been made to serve whom, his success and public civility contributed to the unraveling of racist ideas with an eloquence that was both disarming and maddening to rabid white supremacists.
The Prince of Jockeys Page 46
