GONE BUT NOT FORGOTTEN
Jimmy Murphy, US winner of European races
JUST THE QUICKEST glance at any of the standard reference works will tell you that Jimmy Murphy was the first of my fellow Americans to win a thoroughbred Olde World Grand Prix – the hallowed French Grand Prix at that – in 1921. Some will also mention his remarkable Indy record, or his US National Championships. Few will say anything at all about how much better off he might have been had he never even left the States.
But James Anthony Murphy was a professional racing driver, when such a thing was only freshly possible, and he did what the job required. Born in 1894 to immigrant shopkeeper parents in San Francisco’s Irish ghetto and orphaned by the 1906 earthquake, he learned mechanical skills from a motorcycle gifted by the uncle who gave him a home near Los Angeles. Jimmy then left high school early to partner with a friend in their own garage business, embracing the burgeoning SoCal car culture head-on.
In 1915, on his 21st birthday as the story goes, he was in the right place at the right moment to take over for the indisposed riding mechanic of a Duesenberg racer, followed by a full-time position with the Duesenberg team, and, late in 1919, a shot at the driver’s seat. Murphy crashed-out mightily on both his initial events, but won the 1920 season opener, along with an impressive fourth-place in his rookie Indy 500 and third in the championship.
By the time Duesenberg decided to contest the ’21 French Grand Prix at Le Mans, the first running held in the wake of the Great War, Murphy was lead driver. Having paid his dues on the fast, brutal board-track ovals then dominating American pro motor sport, he was assuredly battle-hardened. A crash prior to sailing for France left his right hand severely burned; a practice shunt hospitalised him with broken ribs right up until race morning; his crew reportedly had to hoist him into the car. He nonetheless beat the Fiat of ItalianAmerican Ralph DePalma by 15 minutes, while nursing a flat tyre and bone-dry radiator through the closing miles.
Historians often cite this as the only 100% ‘All-American’ GP victory, too, as though Dan Gurney’s achievements were somehow tainted
‘NO DRIVER HAS YET DEVISED A WAY OF DOING JUSTICE TO SIMULTANEOUS TRANSATLANTIC RACING CAREERS’
by his British engine-builder. The Duesenberg team was All-American in the finest tradition: Murphy’s parents were Irish, the Duesenberg brothers emigrated from Germany as children, and financial backer Albert Champion, US spark plug tycoon, was born in Paris…
Maybe, though, Jimmy should have declared his European ambitions resolved after that. He was a rising superstar at home, winning the national title in 1922 by almost double the runner-up’s point score, and in five Indianapolis starts took a win and two poles, finishing below fourth just once, and only because the rules didn’t recognise his shared-fourth placing in 1921. He was well-connected, technically savvy, and never wanted for opportunities.
He also earned good money; America was the place to be for non-gentleman racers, those who actually drove for their living. Adoring fans loved his easy-going public manner, calling him Gentle Jimmy, and named a dance step for him; movie studios gave him walk-on parts, just like Barney Oldfield. And if his on-track attitudes were occasionally tougher than his off-track image (nearly a century on, the jury still ponders whether he replaced former team leader and selfless mentor Tommy Milton atop Duesenberg by a wanton backstab, or merely a coincidental one), the truth remains that winners do want to win, and all the time.
So when the chance came to race the 1923 Italian GP, Jimmy went, placing a commendable third in an unsuitable Miller oval-track car. Unfortunately, no driver has yet devised a way of doing equal justice to simultaneous transatlantic racing careers; Murphy’s Italian diversion likely cost him a second US championship. Determined in 1924 to set that right, he took the battle to the last round, defending his points lead at the type of track he would have normally avoided: the only dirt oval on the schedule.
Some say suspension failure caused the accident as he made his move for the front; perhaps, though, he simply lost the car on the treacherous, unfamiliar surface. Whatever the cause, the fragment of shattered wooden fence that entered his chest left him dead in minutes. Jimmy Murphy won that second national championship in 1924. Posthumously.