The Perfect Harry

My earliest memory of Harry Murphy is a party in the sticky late summer of 1999. My roommate was ready to bow out early, so Harry offered to walk her back to the dorm. During the next morning’s rehash of the night before, she admitted that Harry hadn’t tried anything, you know, funny. Cute, friendly and polite, I thought. The perfect escort.

Four years later, I spotted him taking orders at Harry’s Country Club in the River Market. He proudly announced that he had just opened the place with his dad — the other Harry Murphy, local legend and namesake of Harry’s Bar and Tables in Westport. My male co-workers were impressed with the younger Harry’s camaraderie — and his tattoo, I learned later. I was reminded that it was the same old Harry from college. Cute, friendly and now knows just how to make a gin and tonic, I thought. The perfect bartender.

My most recent sighting of Harry occurred a couple of Fridays ago at a DUI checkpoint near Ward Parkway and Shawnee Mission Parkway. As I drove carefully between the orange cones, there was Harry — in uniform. “You’re a cop now?” I shouted out the window. He nodded and laughed, then looked at the cars lined up behind mine. “Maybe we could talk about this some other time, Annie?” Cute, friendly and not going to give me a ticket tonight, I thought. The perfect police officer.

That’s why this week we love Harry Murphy.