Br. Brendan was born as Patrick George Murphy on January 18, 1926, in Brooklyn, New York. His father died in an industrial accident, and his mother moved to California, where she later remarried, and eventually set up a practice as a pediatrician.

Patrick was not treated well by his stepfather, so he returned to Brooklyn to live with his maternal grandparents and completed his elementary education there. Later, he moved to Los Angeles where he went to High School, and eventually went on to complete two years of college.

He was in the Navy during World War Two, serving both in the Pacific and in the European Theater. While in England he married his first wife, Ann Marie Kelly of Portsmouth England. Her parents had died during the bombing of London, and Ann Marie died of cancer in 1951. He was unable to father children due to a war injury.

After her death, Patrick took to drinking; he finally joined AA in 1965 and regained sobriety at that time. Sometime later he remarried, and lived in Washington State. His second wife died in February of 1986, and Patrick took to the road again. His car stopped running in Missoula Montana, and he hitchhiked as far as Richardton. Here he settled down, and applied for admission to the monastery.

During much of his life, Patrick worked in the restaurant business, owning different restaurants from time to time, and eventually ran a restaurant consulting business engaged in the design of kitchens, dining rooms, and menus.

At the funeral mass for Fr. Florian, Abbot Patrick spoke of the hyphen, the span of time that separates birth from death, and of how we have filled the time described by that hyphen. If you count up the years, it would seem that the life of Patrick George Murphy contains a few incongruities. Sort of a wavy circular shaped hyphen doubling back on itself and twisted into knots. Sometimes it is difficult to pick up the threads of his life to see where one started, and another left off. It was for this reason, together with his age, that Patrick Murphy was admitted to the monastery as an oblate member and was given the name Br. Brendan.

But if we could not see clearly the time before Br. Brendan's arrival at the Abbey, at least we knew well the quality of life that Br. Brendan lived here

Known affectionately by some as Br. Grouch for his gruff voice, Brendan answered our telephones and greeted visitors to the Abbey with sincere friendship and welcome for many years. He offered his friendship readily, and with one, he engaged in a continuing correspondence that only his increasing infirmity brought to an end only a few days before his death.

I had frequently been asked by friends, "Who was that grouchy old man who answered the phone," for he would say "Assumption Abbey" with such a gravelly brusque voice that gave people wonder that this really was an Abbey.

But I would tell those fiends, that that was Br. Brendan, and that if they would say hi to him, he would engage them in a friendly conversation.

Would that many of us could be so easily reached!

Brendan also served as chauffeur and as card partner. He played Bridge, Chess, and Pinochle, and when infirmity confined him to his bed, he watched TV. I saw many episodes of Matlock while helping Brendan with his bath. And even when in obvious physical pain, he still thought of others first, and was frequently embarrassed by any kindness that was shown to him.

Br. Brendan used to smoke cigarettes.

Lots of cigarettes. Not so much in the monastery, but one medical history put that number near five packs a day. That must have been when they were cheaper. But they had a price that had to be paid in the end. Even when we were playing chess together, I would look at the clubbing of his fingernails and wonder how much he really did smoke. Emphysema was the disease that brought his activities to an end. And for the last several months, he was connected to three oxygen concentrators, all working together to give him adequate ventilation. And so his last years were defined by his room at the Abbey, and by those confreres and visitors who came in to see him. He was undemanding, and always had a cheerful word to give.

Ever the wanderer, Br. Brendan begins now a new journey, a journey not limited by oxygen, or cars that do not run. A journey not subject to the restraints of time or of imagination, but a journey home... To a real home... with a Loving Father who is waiting for him.