Vincent Murphy
If you were lucky enough to know Vincent Murphy, you probably knew him as a man with deep Massachusetts roots and also as a man with more than a few stories to tell.
As he liked to say, he was Medford born and bred, adding that true Medford residents pronounce it “Meffud.” Vincent’s career took him far from Massachusetts in his work as a geophysicist, a profession which he would simply explain as “if you wanted to know what’s under the ground, you called me.”
He traveled throughout the United States, Latin America, the Philippines, China, Egypt, Israel, and Iraq among other countries, locating everything from fault lines to oil deposits to antiquities in the Middle East, and weapons of mass destruction in Iraq.
With an undergraduate degree in physics and a graduate degree in geophysics, both from his beloved Boston College, he became one of the owners of Weston Geophysical Engineers and head of its international division. One project was in Egypt’s Valley of the Kings.
“Blocks near a tomb indicated the possibility of another tomb nearby. We did find one of them—pinpointed it literally. We also located the general area of the tomb of one of Rameses’ sons.”
His work in the Middle East brought him to the attention of the United National Special Commission after the First Gulf War. His company was hired to search for Iraqi weapons of mass destruction. Over 12 different missions, he and his team visited over 100 sites.
“We mostly found destroyed weapons and junk, but I knew for their nuclear programs, they’d need huge cooper coils. If we found those, we’d know their nuclear program was probably at an end.”
Sure enough, after surveying a vast area in the desert, he detected an underground anomaly. The Iraqis dug and found buried copper coils.”
In a project much closer to home, Vincent was involved in a groundwater investigation in Woburn made famous by a book and later movie entitled A Civil Action. Although some of Vincent’s recommendations went unheeded, there was an eventual chemical clean up costing 68 million dollars.
While in semi-retirement, Vincent lent his considerable editing skills to a PhD program at Boston College for foreign Jesuit students from countries including Mexico, China, India, Slovenia, Congo, and Burundi. Each dissertation had six chapters, each chapter 100 to 150 pages long. As he said, “All the work was done pro bono and it’s been worth it.”
Vincent credited some of his energy and determination to his hitch with the Marines. When he turned seventeen in 1946, he learned the Marines were still accepting two-year enlistments, which offered the full GI Bill benefits Vincent used to pay for his college education.
Put in charge of a gym while in the Marines, he continued going to the gym four days a week well into his nineties. He also explored meditation and a few years ago, started taking classes in tai chi.
Vincent Murphy: father, husband, grandfather, mentor, geophysicist, lifetime scholar and author, grammarian, Marine, citizen of the world, and gardener. Every summer, he enjoyed planting, nurturing, and showing off his array of enormous calla lilies and sunflowers on his patio.
Vincent was the beloved husband of the late Marjorie (Knowlton) Murphy; cherished father of Charles and his wife Luanne Murphy; the late James Murphy; the late Judith Murphy, Eric and his wife Jess Murphy; Carol Ann Murphy and her partner Mike Muniz; and lovingly proud grandfather of Jana Murphy. He is also survived by several dear nieces and nephews.
Vincent was born in Boston to the late Joseph W. and Louise C. (Schlichte) Murphy. Vincent is also predeceased by his loving brother James A. Murphy and his dear sister Eleanor Casey.
A Mass of Christian burial will be celebrated on Friday, November 6, 2026 at Noon at St. Raphael Church, 512 High Street, Medford. Relatives and friends are respectfully invited to attend. Visitation will be held in the church, prior to the mass from 11 AM to Noon. Interment, with military honors, will follow at Oak Grove Cemetery in Medford. In lieu of flowers, donations in Vincent's memory may be made to the Vincent J. Murphy Scholarship, class of '52, MS '57, at Boston College, 140 Commonwealth Ave., Chestnut Hill, MA 02467, or to Malden Catholic, 99 Crystal, Street, Malden, MA 02148 or to St. Raphael Church, 518 High Street, Medford, MA 02155. For additional information, please visit, www.magliozzifuneralhome.com.
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October 30, 2026
In Loving Memory of Vincent Murphy A Father, a Friend, a Mentor, and a Gift of God's Providence “There are people who enter our lives and leave footprints on our hearts. And then there are those whose love changes the very course of our lives.” There are people we meet along life's journey who become far more than acquaintances or friends. They become instruments of God's providence, living reminders that love can cross generations, cultures, continents, and circumstances. They enter our lives quietly, but their presence changes us forever. Vincent Murphy was one such person in my life. He did not simply touch my life; he helped shape its direction. He became a father to me, a mentor, a generous benefactor, and, above all, a beautiful witness to the transforming power of love. I first met Vincent at Saint Raphael Parish in Medford, Massachusetts, where I occasionally celebrated Sunday Mass while pursuing my doctoral studies at Boston College. I remember our first encounter as though it happened yesterday. After Mass, an elderly gentleman waited patiently to greet me. When I approached him, he welcomed me with an enormous hug. I noticed that he was limping, that his steps were not as steady as they once had been. His feet may have struggled to carry him, but his heart was leaping with love. There was something extraordinary about the warmth of that embrace. Little did I know that this simple encounter would mark the beginning of one of the most beautiful friendships of my life. Vincent asked me where I was staying and what I was doing in Boston. When I told him that I was pursuing doctoral studies at Boston College, his face lit up with excitement. He shared with me that he had worked for several years at the Observatory in Weston, Massachusetts, and warmly invited me to visit. That invitation opened the door to a friendship that grew steadily into something much deeper. From then on, Vincent always looked forward to the Sundays when I would celebrate Mass at Saint Raphael. He often told me how much my homilies touched his heart. Yet, looking back, I realize that while he believed my words were nourishing his faith, his friendship was nourishing my very life. He gave me something that no university could ever confer: the assurance that I was loved, valued, and accompanied. One day, he asked me about my doctoral research. I explained what I was working on and eventually shared with him the first chapter of my dissertation. He read it carefully, corrected it, and offered thoughtful observations. Then he continued reading. Chapter after chapter, he accompanied me intellectually and personally until he had read the entire dissertation. His comments were insightful, his encouragement constant, and his interest genuine. He took my academic journey seriously, not because he had anything to gain from it, but because he believed in me. That was Vincent. He did not merely wish people well; he invested himself in their becoming. He understood that encouragement is a form of generosity, that listening is an expression of love, and that helping another person succeed is one of life's noblest accomplishments. One of my most cherished memories is the celebration of his 90th birthday. I had the privilege of being invited to that beautiful occasion. There, I met his sons, who welcomed me with extraordinary warmth and affection. The dinner was wonderful, the conversations delightful, and the atmosphere filled with love. I remember looking at Vincent and thinking how blessed I was to share in such a moment. In my heart, I began looking forward to an even greater celebration: his 100th birthday. I imagined that we would gather again, share stories, laugh, give thanks to God, and celebrate a century of a life so generously lived. Alas, that celebration was not to be. When the COVID-19 pandemic came, I eventually left Boston to take up a new mission in Nairobi, Kenya. Leaving Boston was difficult for many reasons, but one of the most painful was leaving behind the man I had come to love as a father. By then, Vincent was no longer simply a parishioner I had met after Sunday Mass. He had become family. I had come to call him affectionately Baba Vincent—Father Vincent. That name expressed what he had become to me. Yet, geographical distance never diminished his affection. Even from across the Atlantic, Baba Vincent continued to follow my journey with paternal interest. He wanted to know how I was doing, how my responsibilities were unfolding, and what more I hoped to accomplish. When I arrived in Nairobi for my new mission, he asked whether I might consider pursuing further studies in leadership. I told him that I believed a Master of Business Administration would equip me better for the responsibilities entrusted to me. Without hesitation, he volunteered to pay half the cost of my studies. I told my Regional Superior about this and he gave his approval. I eventually pursued and completed my MBA at York St John University in the United Kingdom. I dedicated that achievement to him, for without his generosity, it would not have been possible. That degree carries my name, but it also carries his love, his sacrifice, and his confidence in my future. And this is perhaps one of the greatest lessons Baba Vincent leaves me: true generosity does not merely respond to someone's present needs; it helps make possible a future that the person might otherwise never reach. Vincent knew my story. He knew that I had survived the terrible genocide against the Tutsi in Rwanda, during which I lost my parents and siblings. He understood that behind my academic pursuits, my priesthood, and my responsibilities stood a wounded history, a history of devastating loss and extraordinary grace. He never allowed that history to define the limits of my future. Instead, he reminded me that I was among those fortunate enough to survive and that my survival carried a responsibility. I had to live meaningfully. I had to do well. I had to use the opportunities entrusted to me to transform the lives of others. What made his encouragement so powerful was that he was not asking me to do something he had not done himself. He was asking me to become for others what he had already become for me. He had changed my life. Now he wanted me to help change the lives of others.
I have often reflected on the mystery of God's providence. How does a young Rwandan Jesuit priest, who survived the horrors of genocide, come to find a father in an elderly American gentleman at a parish in Massachusetts? How does a brief encounter after Sunday Mass become a relationship that transcends age, nationality, distance, and time? I can only answer: grace. God has a remarkable way of placing people along our paths who restore what life has taken away. Vincent could never replace the father I lost in Rwanda. No one could. But through his affection, wisdom, encouragement, and extraordinary generosity, he helped me experience again something of a father's love. He reminded me that even after devastating loss, life can still surprise us with tenderness. And now, with his passing, I find myself mourning the loss of a father for the second time. It is a grief that words cannot adequately express. I had hoped to see him again when I returned to the United States next year. I had imagined another embrace, another conversation, another opportunity to tell him how much he meant to me. I wanted him to know that the seeds he had planted continued to bear fruit. I wanted to thank him once more, face to face. But Baba Vincent has now returned to the Lord. As a priest, I have often stood beside grieving families, proclaiming the Christian hope that death does not have the final word. Today, I must allow that same hope to console my own heart. I believe that the God who brought Vincent into my life has now welcomed him into the fullness of divine love. The hands that once embraced me after Mass are now, I pray, embraced by the eternal Father. To Charles Murphy, who kindly informed me of Baba Vincent's passing, I offer my heartfelt gratitude and deepest condolences. Dear Charles, I hold you especially in my prayers as the remaining brother. I pray also for Vincent's sons and the entire Murphy family, who have lost someone so precious. Thank you for sharing him with me. Thank you for welcoming me into the warmth of your family. I know that my grief is only one small part of the immense sorrow his departure has brought to those who loved him throughout his long and beautiful life. And now, allow me to speak directly to the man whose memory I will carry for the rest of my days. Dear Baba Vincent, you once waited for me after Mass to give me a hug. Today, I wish I could wait for you once more, if only to embrace you and say thank you. Thank you for seeing me when I was simply a young priest far from home. Thank you for believing in me when the future was still unfolding. Thank you for reading my dissertation, supporting my studies, celebrating my achievements, and reminding me that my life had a purpose beyond myself. Thank you for becoming a father to someone who had lost his own. You never asked me for anything in return. Your greatest joy was to see me grow, flourish, and serve. I hope that the life I continue to live will honor the love you so freely gave. Baba Vincent, please do not forget me. Please do not forget us. I now carry the immense responsibility of leading a university in Africa, where the needs are great, the challenges are many, and the hopes of countless young people rest upon our mission. You always believed that education could transform lives. You helped transform mine through education. I ask you now, in the communion of saints, to intercede for me and for Hekima University College. Pray that I may lead with wisdom, humility, courage, and compassion. Pray that the work entrusted to me may open doors for others, especially those whose dreams are threatened by poverty, suffering, or lack of opportunity. Above all, pray that I never forget the lesson you taught me: that the true measure of a life is not simply what we accomplish for ourselves, but what becomes possible for others because we have lived. And when my own earthly pilgrimage comes to an end, Baba Vincent, please pray that I, too, may find a place close to God in the halls of heaven. I hope that there, beyond the limitations of age, illness, distance, and death, we shall meet again. Perhaps you will be waiting for me, just as you waited after Mass at Saint Raphael Parish. And perhaps, with that same joyful heart, you will welcome me once more with a great embrace. Until then, I will carry you in my heart, in my prayers, in my ministry, and in every life I am privileged to touch. Rest now, dear Baba Vincent, in the peace of the Lord whom you loved and served. May the God of all mercy look kindly upon your life of generosity and welcome you into the joy of eternal life. You came into my life as a stranger. You became my friend. You became my father. And now, you have become one of the most beautiful memories I shall carry into eternity. Some people leave us an inheritance of possessions. Others leave us an inheritance of love. You, Baba Vincent, have left me something greater still: a life transformed and a responsibility to transform other lives. Until we meet again. Requiescat in pace.
With enduring love, profound gratitude, and the hope of the Resurrection,
Fr. Marcel Uwineza, SJ Nairobi, Kenya