▸ Column · Late 1980s New York City, the underground-adjacent neighborhood world of the Turtles
RAPHAEL replies.
The letter
For two years my husband Tony has had a bit: he becomes "Murray the Motorman," a gruff NYC transit man who narrates whatever he's doing in a full subway-intercom voice — "Next stop: the breadbasket, passengers please proceed in an orderly fashion." It was the funniest thing I'd ever heard the first hundred times. Somewhere past a thousand, he did Murray at my mother's wake, announcing the cold cuts table to a room full of crying relatives. My friends Soledad and Kenji text me the subway car emoji before they come over now as a heads-up. I've played Tony the recording, offered him Knicks tickets, begged — and each time he goes into character to "acknowledge" my concerns in the voice. I love this man with my whole heart. I just don't know anymore if there's a real one underneath Murray.
Raphael replies
That last line. "If there's a real one underneath Murray." That's not a complaint about a bit. That's a fear. And that's the thing you haven't actually said to him yet.
Here's what I know about people who use a thing — a joke, a voice, a tough guy routine — every time feelings get into the room: they're not oblivious. They're scared. Tony didn't do Murray at your mother's wake because he forgot where he was. He reached for the only tool he knows how to hold when something hurts too much to be in directly. Which is its own problem, but a different one than you think you have.
You've asked him to retire the bit. You've played him the tape. You've bribed him. Every one of those approaches lets him answer in character — because none of them said the real thing. "Murray showed up at my mother's wake and I felt completely alone in that room" is a different sentence than "you do this too much." One of those he can deflect. The other one lands somewhere that matters.
You're not scared of a bit, kid. You're scared he can't meet you in a real moment. So say that. Exactly that. And see who answers.
— Raphael
Leonardo weighs in
My brother's prescription — find the rawer sentence, say the harder thing — I understand the impulse. I've watched Raph trust a moment of pure honesty to do the work that follow-through should have done. It's not always wrong.
But you have said something real. You showed Tony the tape. He deflected. You moved on. That's the pattern that needs breaking, not the vocabulary.
The next time Murray shows up somewhere he shouldn't, what happens? If you don't know, and Tony doesn't know, no sentence in the world holds that line. That's not something Raph has a lot of practice with, so I'm not surprised he didn't mention it.
— Leonardo
▸ Read next