Book Review: J.B. (Murphy)

Title: J.B. (Murphy, Stormy Petrel of Surgery)

Author: Loyal Davis

Date: 1938

Publisher: Van Rees

ISBN: none

Length: 306 pages plus index

Illustration: portrait of the subject

Quote: “John Murphy...was given no middle name. This omission troubled him...[H]e asked his girl cousins for suggestions...Margaret Grimes...suggested Benjamin.”

Some time after the publication of this book, with J.B. on the front cover, Archibald MacLeish published a more successful verse drama called J.B., based on the biblical book of Job. It's possible that recent readers of Loyal Davis' book may have thought they were getting a verse drama. They're not. This is a biography of a controversial celebrity surgeon who was easily cast as both the best and the worst of the popular stereotype of Irish-Americans.

When J.B. Murphy was born (in 1857) and even when he was a medical student, a few heroic doctors had tried to correct damage to the intestines, but they always failed. Murphy invented a gadget that gave patients some chance of surviving an intestinal operation. It was called a “Murphy button” and was used to bond severed intestinal tissue back together. By 1938 the “Murphy button” had already been surpassed by newer medical technology, but it saved enough lives to make Dr. Murphy's name and fortune.

Loyal Davis (father of Nancy Davis Reagan), who worked with Murphy, traces two dominant themes through Murphy's whole biography: what was likely to be considered “good” by his fellow Catholics, and what was likely to be considered “bad.”

On the good side, Murphy showed a genuine passion for advancing medical knowledge, and if his patients didn't recover he'd jollywell know the reason why. He cured several patients who would undoubtedly have died if any other surgeon of his day had operated on them. So far as was known, he was always faithful to his sweet old Irish-born mother and to her Catholic teachings, and when his reputation was challenged he tried to “kill his enemies with kindness.”

On the bad side, there was no denying his selfish interest in worldly gain and fame. Davis presents Murphy as indisputably “on the make, on the take,” and probably also “hard to shake”--although there seems to be some evidence that the woman Murphy married for her looks and money had chosen and, to some extent, pursued him. (A woman pursuing a man was considered bizarre and comical in the 1930s.) Murphy was constantly accused of self-advertising in what were then considered unethical ways and aggressively pursuing rich celebrity patients. (He seems really to have regretted not being able to operate on President Taft; he did remove a bullet from President Roosevelt.) He was blunt, tactless, overbearing, mean-mouthed, and...is “arrogant” the word for someone who has no living equal in his field of expertise, and knows it?

As a surgeon Murphy seems to have been his generation's counterpart to Ben Carson, only with none of Carson's soothing, self-effacing manner. Davis describes him as habitually humiliating underprepared students, in the classroom and in front of patients, but the students waited for chances to be in his classes just the same. At one point his professional colleagues formally told Murphy that, in spite of their personal dislike and professional jealousy, they couldn't think of anyone else who deserved to be president of their association as much as he did.

His was that generation of shameless White men who called themselves “lords of creation,” affirmed that domineering over the rest of the world was “the White man's burden,” were proud of fighting for the title of “boss bully of the town” when they were young, used “bully” as a term of praise even after they were full-grown, believed in Capitalism and Imperialism and Social Darwinism, and seriously believed they were both meant to build Heaven on Earth and likely to do so. Humility was not a virtue of Murphy's time, and it certainly wasn't one of his own. Apparently Murphy displayed less modesty than Muhammad Ali.

But he did save lives; he taught other doctors how to save lives; and toward the end of his life, Davis tells us, Murphy knew he was dying, suspected he was dying of an infectious disease as yet unidentified by medical science, and was primarily concerned with enabling other doctors to identify and study whatever it was that was killing him. 

Medical science is not usually concerned with its own history and biography, but if you prefer biographies to novels, J.B. (Murphy, Stormy Petrel of Surgery) will probably appeal to you. Apart from a few poetic references (in 1938 everyone seems to have recognized that “Rosaleen,” cited on page one, was to Ireland as “Uncle Sam” was to the United States) Davis' style should be clear and “modern” enough for even young readers, starting from about age ten. (And, yes, although this book is Sunday-school-standard free from sex and violence, it's about surgeons; readers can expect a few healthy gross-outs.) I found it a quick, pleasant read.

What you see above is an Amazon copy of J.B. certified to be fungus-free. What I physically have is the same edition, similarly battered, not fungus-free. Real-life lurkers who are accustomed to coping with the abundant fungi of Scott County, Virginia, may buy the moldy copy for much less. Online customers will get a clean copy from Amazon, and it'll cost them, as of today, $10 per book plus $5 per package and $1 per online payment. (Two books of this size will ship in one $5 package.)