Richard Murray, the Artist... is a talented man; and so is
"Ol' Dick" Murray...the man.

Photos and Story by Bob Misak

A Gentle Ol' Soul...

In our travels near and far as fishermen, the one thing we all have in common is that each of us has likely met an old veteran of the sands or sea...an old salt, if you will. I personally have met many. Much more than I could ever count. Yet each stand in my mind, in one way or another, as teachers of the trade. Each has taught me one or more things to add to the “knowledge list” and up my game. But more importantly, this mentor is a fixture, a sign of mental comfort when you walk over the hill in the spring and there he is, still there, still casting, or still sitting in that chair. These guys have heart which gives you heart...and when the time comes that they either can’t get up there anymore (or worse), a void is left that can never be filled. Though it seems that each day a new friendship is born, you certainly don’t forget the old ones. I know such a man, amongst the sea of old salts that have been nice enough to put up with me, and his name is Dick Murray.

The "Judge"

Richard Murray is a very talented canvas artist from South Jersey and was well known on Long Beach Island for his elaborate paintings that adorned the walls of not only his home, but many businesses in the area. Additionally, Dick loved stripers, and he fished every second he got. When I first met "Ol’ Dick", he was (as old guys sometimes tend to be) a bit standoffish. But growing up working and fishing on Long Beach Island, I knew the game...and to get in Dick’s head I’d need to practice some patience. He sat on a park bench in front of the lighthouse and threw bunker heads into the deep waters of the inlet on a regular basis. Heck, he lived in the condos not 50 feet from his bench. Folks called him “The Judge” because he was a retired court judge. Well, oddly enough, when he fished, he “sat on the bench”! He always carried a jar of bunker oil (sometimes I think he had it saved from the 1980’s) and he’d dunk the head and send it out. It never went too far, and then he'd sit in wait. I used to go over and sit with him, and he wouldn’t say much at first. Once he dunked the bunker and pulled back and plastered us and our vehicles with “residual stink oil”, but nobody had the guts to say anything. The next time we were there, he dunked that head and we all got up and ran! Dick laughed hysterically, and I believe this was the first time he began to cut loose with the chatter.

Smart and good lookin'...

Dick was a clever guy. He’d sit up on the walkway on some days where folks had to go by to get past him... and he’d sit on the bend and toss that head into a nice rip that was there. When he hooked up, he just sat in his chair and battled the fish, or stood up and walked a few feet, and then back towards his chair. He had no gaff or net, but alas, Dick had friends. There wasn’t an angler out there who wouldn’t come running up and go into the slippery abyss to retrieve Dick’s dinner. Once he got the fish up on the concrete, he’d stay and wait. He didn’t toss his line back in. I thought, what is he waiting for? A nice looking young lady would come by or a family of folks, and they’d stop and admire Dick’s fish. They’d chat for a bit, and the next group would come by and chat with the old workhorse, and he loved to tell his story for the day. After a half dozen little pow-wows, "Ol’ Dick" headed up to his lovely wife Joanne, who cooked up his fish for him.

A Piece of History

After Dick got used to seeing me around him all the time, he always gave me prints of many of his original paintings. He gave me a nice little piece, all framed, of the Pequest Trout Club back in the 50’s, and when I hung it on my wall, it was crooked. I looked at the photo and tried to straighten it to no avail. I took a little piece of tape and stuck it to the back and straightened it. Having stacks and stacks of Dick’s beautiful art, from Pequest trout club’s fishing shack from days of old to paintings of Barnegat Lighthouse, I decided to set and out and infiltrate Dick’s art collection. I was shooting for an original. How would I go about it? He’d certainly slather me with one last dose of bunker oil and send me packing, calling me ungrateful. I started my plea...I saw him on the bench. I sat up by him and said, “So, Dick, what are my chances of getting a real painting off you one day? Neither one of us are a spring chicken, ya' know”. He looked at me and very calmly said, “Slim”. I just casted out my greasy head and changed the subject. I was fishing at the tip of the jetty one warm day, a full mile from the lighthouse, and I saw an old figure come out stop, come out further, stop. He got closer and I could see it was Dick! He came out to the tip and I said, “Wow, you came all the way out here?” He said, “I came to see what it was you’re out here so much for.” I knew he’d been out there thousands of times before, but I dismissed it and we caught a few blackfish. It was the last time I saw Dick out at the tip of the jetty.

I'm in...

It was late spring, and I decided to go to the bench and toss a head. We had been catching nice fish in front of the park, and 38 pounds was now my biggest off this same spot that would soon be filled with tourists in a mere month. I heard the judge yell from his balcony and start down the stairs. He came over and said, “You aren’t tossing those heads away like you always do, are ya? Those things are like gold, ya' know”. I knew he had at least 50 heads in his freezer, and I just answered accordingly, “No...I’m savin’ them for you”. He reached into his vest and pulled out an original painting of the tip of the jetty, a nice little piece with a shot of the very rock I fished off of. He said, “Here’s your original, and don’t throw those heads away”. I looked at the signature on the piece. It said, “To Bob, Dick Murray.” But, I wondered how and when did he paint it? I was always here, and never saw him paint. I’m always there on that rock, and I never saw him painting out there. I never really did find out when or how he actually did that painting, but it is one my most cherished pieces in my collection of local art. I got home that evening and brought my cherished Richard Murray original into the house. Surely, I would hang it next to the trout shack picture. Just then, I looked up and the tape had cut loose. The painting hung there, crooked on my obsessive compulsive wall of otherwise perfectly straight artwork. It stills hangs there that way to this day, perhaps a cruel joke that my good old friend played, surely having the last laugh.

One Final Note...

This story is not a memoriam, for "Ol’ Dick" Murray is still around. Yep, he still goes up on the walkway and throws that bunker head. And, when he hooks up, someone is usually always there to get that bass for him. In fact, in all my days I’ve never seen him lose a fish. No gaff...no net. That Dick Murray is one smart Ol’ salt, I’ll tell ya'. Good luck and great fishing.