‘Everybody knew him’
Storyteller and guide Thomas “Doc” Murray was simply a part of the Plaza
For many Santa Feans, the man known as Doc, the longbearded modern mountain man who dressed in furs and other finery, including hats with peacock feathers, was simply part of the Plaza, as much as the square’s centerpiece obelisk.
But his bench on the south side of the Plaza — not coincidentally right in front of the city’s promotional round-the-clock webcam — will now be empty a lot more often. Thomas “Doc” Murray, who also went by Thoade Murrah, died on Tuesday at age 77, just off the square where he fascinated, entertained and regaled tourists and locals alike for decades.
For the past few years, Doc had been part of the staff at Jeff Tabor’s Art Exchange gallery in The Arcade on East San Francisco, opening the business in the morning and minding the store until Tabor came in. “He would just hang out when I wasn’t here,” said Tabor.
Tuesday afternoon, Doc came into the gallery to warm up and helped make the sale of a wooden sculpture. Tabor found him in a downstairs room shortly afterward, crumpled over a painting.
“He died doing what he loved,” said Tabor, “selling art and meeting new people.”
Tabor said some of the police officers who responded to the emergency had tears in their eyes. “They knew him — everybody knew him,” said Tabor.
“He was a storyteller. He loved people so much and wanted to entertain them. In fact, he was sort of living a role, the role of a Santa Fe character. He was good enough that he would adapt the story to whoever was listening.”
Some of Doc’s tales were about stints in movies or commercials. He claimed to have been in dozens, although he was on the Plaza so regularly some of his friends are hard-pressed to figure out how he had time for that many film adventures.
But his rustic outfits, Old West look and outgoing personality made him something of an international star nonetheless as tourists posted numerous photos of Doc to the Internet. Some tourists came to Santa Fe looking for Doc — they’d seen him on the webcam or other sites.
Tabor said Doc didn’t ask for money for posing. “They gave him a couple of dollars if they wanted to,” he said.
Tabor recalled two women from Europe — Switzerland or Scandinavia — coming into his gallery. “They saw Doc and said, ‘Here you are, here you are! You’re Doc of Santa Fe!’” They pulled out a tourism magazine from home and had Doc autograph his photo that was the introduction to a New Mexico section.
Doc had started giving his own tours and someone gave him a jacket embroidered with “Doc’s Tours” on the lapel. “I think that people knew when they went on a tour with him that it was entertainment,” Tabor said. “They were probably going to get some information out of this, but it’s really entertainment.”
Stephen Fox, another downtown gallery owner, said, “He had kind of a mystery about him. He took the tourists around and told tales, most of which were true, but some of them you had to wonder.
“He wasn’t a mooch or a hustler,” said Fox. “People took him to lunch because they wanted to hear his stories.”
Personal history unclear
Doc’s personal history is murky. He had a New England accent and, in response to tourists’ questions, would aver that he came from just about any Northeastern state that the tourists came from, Tabor said. The most consistent answer was New Hampshire. Doc also told about running away from home as a young boy after taking on an abusive father with a baseball bat. “If that’s true, he was really a different person here,” said Tabor. “He was not a violent man. I didn’t see fits of rage.”
For about 40 years, Doc lived in a tent — he called it a teepee — on private property near 10,000 Waves spa off Hyde Park Road. He would walk into town, but also often got rides going either way from Tabor or others. For the past couple of years, he’d been living under a roof with an 80-year-old man, as a kind of caretaker.
“We were so happy he was out of the elements,” said Tabor of himself and other downtown friends of Doc. “He coped with heart problems. When he would get pneumonia or whatever, we would take him to our houses. He didn’t like that. He didn’t want to stay indoors.”
Tabor said Doc and another man used to stage Old West shoot-outs for the Plaza tourists. He also is said to have worked in a leather goods store off the Plaza and an old trading post on Canyon Road.
A Plaza news source
Veteran Journal photographer Eddie Moore was a friend of Doc’s and would sometimes give him a few dollars to help with a cell phone bill or other expense. “He never asked for money,” said Moore, who was also among those who gave Doc rides. “When I gave him something, he’d always say, ‘Are you sure?’”
Doc read the Journal every day and was well-versed on current events. “I just liked to go down there to sit and talk to him,” Moore said. “It’s funny, because I don’t have that many pictures of him. I never considered him a project. I really enjoyed talking to him ... . He was surprisingly sharp and up to date on things like politics.
“People used to ask about his clothes, his furs,” said Moore. Doc said “they were all road-kill ... . No animals died to dress Doc.”
Doc loved vintage cars, Santa Fe Bite green-chile cheeseburgers — “he said there was no other one that compared” — and Fiesta, according to Moore.
Doc also served as a news source, providing Moore with alerts about Plaza events. The last time the two spoke, Doc called about a recent Plaza gathering for the anniversary of the Sandy Hook school shootings in Connecticut. “He would call me pretty often with stuff. I gave him a camera one time. He wanted to take pictures of stuff for me, but he never followed through on it.”
A married man
Three years ago, Doc got married to Suzanne Ash. Tabor, who has been a Church of Christ minister, performed the ceremony at “the Rose Park,” officially Cornell Park, at Galisteo and Cordova. But the couple couldn’t live together because of rental restrictions at Ash’s place, Tabor said. Ash said when contacted by the Journal that she’d leave any comment about Doc to his Plaza-area friends.
Just last week, Tabor — a painter himself — finished his own portrait of Doc. “I didn’t have a premonition,” he said. “It’s almost like, ‘I should do this.’ I felt the urge to please him, really.”
He said Doc didn’t want any memorial services and his ashes will be scattered in the mountains. But those who want to help with arrangements can send donations to the Rivera Family Funeral Options, 417 E. Rodeo Road, Santa Fe, N.M. 87505.
I THINK THAT PEOPLE KNEW WHEN THEY WENT ON A TOUR WITH HIM THAT IT WAS ENTERTAINMENT. THEY WERE PROBABLY GOING TO GET SOME INFORMATION OUT OF THIS, BUT IT’S REALLY ENTERTAINMENT.
JEFF TABOR OWNER, ART EXCHANGE GALLERY AND DOC’S
EMPLOYER FOR THE PAST FEW YEARS