Randall Murphy's Obituary
Randall K. Murphy Anyone who knew our father knows he was brilliant, charismatic beyond words, strong in an almost mythical sense, and generous even beyond his means. His presence was so large, his spirit so large, his personality so large, his love so large – much, much larger than the words themselves. He was also private – borderline secretive – and he loathed the idea of a person’s life amounting to an obituary, so this is hard. But we’ll do our best. There are a lot of interesting things about him that we knew only through stories: He was in the Army National Guard. He was a boxer and won every fight but one. He was a pacifist and that made it hard to love the boxing. He was a fashion designer in New York City. He was an All-American football star with offers to play at Harvard and Stanford. Instead he chose the University of Wyoming, where he was president of his fraternity, Alpha Tau Omega. He was drafted to play professionally for the Cowboys, Dolphins and Packers. While we weren’t there at the time, we know that when he first moved to Dallas, he ventured to start a business with virtually nothing. He spent his days cold-calling in an un-airconditioned car and a baggy suit; he spent his nights loading freight onto trucks for Roadway Express. And he was a member of the Teamsters Union, which is weird and cool. Like everything about him, his dreams were big. He would regularly sit in front of an estate on Preston Road visualizing and dreaming that one day he would own it; one day, he did. With his sister Terry’s help, he built Performance Associates, which later grew to become Acclivus Corporation. His wife Cindy helped with course development and project management. His brother Barry also joined the organization, along with many others, and for decades now Acclivus R3 Solutions has been among the top Performance Development companies on the planet working with and training leading organizations in 80 different countries. In fact, in spite of his illness, our dad found the strength, passion, and devotion to travel to Cluj, Romania and Dubai in order to be part of the implementation of R3 training this past year. Our father was a hero, mentor, teacher and leader to so many. Acclivus wasn’t just a part of his life, it was his life’s work. It was more than business to him; it was his mission: To co-create a more collaborative world; to inspire and enable people and companies all over the world to do better, to serve better, to co-create better. In fact, he invented the term and pioneered the concept of co-create. He identified the principles – the fundamental truths – for working together that transcend communities, countries, and cultures. He developed The Consultative Approach®, which has profoundly influenced the way that society views and values the building of relationships that work. Much more of his career and contributions are profiled in Who’s Who in America, Who’s Who in Finance and Business, Who’s Who in American Education, and Who’s Who in the World. It’s hard to say what’s more impressive – the ideas themselves or how well he executed them. But our dad had another life’s work: his family. He met the love of his life, our mom Cindy Hillhouse, on a blind date in Chapel Hill, NC, on Labor Day weekend of 1976. It was love at first sight – the pictures from that weekend still sit on the mantle above their fireplace. He loved Cindy. They loved each other. We were lucky enough to see with our own eyes how struck he was by her all the way up to the day he died. They took care of each other – and, now, even still. They were married in December of 1978. He sang “When Irish Eyes Are Smiling” to her as part of his vows. He loved their wedding. As we understand it, everyone did. The pictures show bagpipes and Irish jigs and joy and love. He loved his wife, his partner in this life. As anyone who knew him can imagine, he loved having twins. He loved having them on St. Patrick’s Day. And he loved Emily, born five and a half years later, and arguably his favorite. He loved us enough to encourage even the most far-fetched of our dreams. He loved us enough to let each of us find our own way in life. He loved teaching us something in nearly every conversation, and we loved learning from him. The most memorable part of a day was the part spent with him. He gave enough hugs and talks and “I love you’s” to last for the rest of our lives. He gave them every day. And living with him, here are other things you should know, things we saw for ourselves: He loved animals, particularly cats. They were his best friends and confidants and angels. Many have said that if they should die, they’d like to come back as a “Murphy cat”. He loved jellies and jams and exotic soft drinks and toast and sauces. He loved to travel. Our family vacations included annual tours designed primarily for history and geography teachers so that we could learn about the world. He loved to learn. And so he knew everything – about everything – from ancient cultures to world religions to politics to Nicki Minaj. He was a sponge. If something came up that he didn’t already know, one of us was assigned the task of looking it up. And it was constant. The last two things we looked up for our father were: the name of the basketball player that Kim Kardashian used to date (Kris Humphries), and whether or not the red-headed fellow that Princess Di used to date (who looks suspiciously like Prince Harry) was in fact an officer (He is.) He loved his children. He went to every game, concert, and performance. Every one. Every night. Every performance. On repeat. He remembered every name of every friend we ever had all the way down to pre-school. He remembered their parents’ names, their siblings, their role in the 8th grade musical. He remembered the names of our sports rivals and coaches. He loved musicals. For years, every time he took us somewhere we listened to Phantom of the Opera. He loved his green Buick. He had a Porsche once, but he loved his Buick more. He loved Westerns. And that was a solo love so we can’t really say anything more about it. He loved Helen Keller. He believed in God and angels and the power of prayer. He was spiritual in ways that were amazing and inspiring. He was metaphysical in ways that were mysterious and fascinating. He believed in the power of belief. And he lived his life accordingly. He made everything special. To him, everything was. He was infinitely thoughtful, considerate, and deliberate with every email, phone call, voicemail, text, tweet, and moment of banter with everyone. He loved his brother, Barry Murphy. And he loved his sisters. Kerry Murphy Colton, Terry Murphy, Wendy Murphy Harris, Lindy Murphy, Rebecca Murphy Griffith, Janis Murphy, and Melissa Murphy Zieres. He had eight siblings and he spoke frequently of the very special relationship he had with each of them. And he loved his many, many nieces and nephews. He loved his mother, Sally. He loved sitting at his mother’s breakfast table with her, getting a load on until 5 in the morning, talking. He loved his father, Robert, who died when Randall was just 21. He missed his father. Our dad kept every single penny he came across because he knew it was from his father. He actually lit up like a child at Christmas at the sight of a penny. Anywhere. Every time. Our parent’s house was littered with stacks of collected pennies. He was the most generous man on the planet. He was also the most sentimental. Over the past year, he and Cindy drove to Houston every other weekend for his treatment. They spent every holiday there – Thanksgiving, Christmas, Easter. And as much as he loved holidays with us, and as hard as the treatments were on him, he would say these weekend trips with his wife were the best days of his life. He wanted to live forever. He loved life beyond words. He loved the people in his life beyond words. And we loved him just as much. We will forever love him just as much. We are the luckiest people in the world. We got to be his children. Caroline, Scott, and Emily In lieu of flowers, memorial donations may be made to: MD Anderson Cancer Center P.O. Box 4486 Houston, TX 77210-4486 *Please include the name of Randall K. Murphy with your memorial gift. Or go to: www.mdanderson.org/gifts
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