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Murray Bruce: The Art of Dying
Published: Jan 28, 2019
Category:
Beyond Classification
UPDATE: Murray Bruce died on Tortola on February 3, 2019.
A quarter of a century ago — so long ago it seems like the Pleistocene, so clear in memory it seems like this morning — Rochelle Udell introduced me to Murray Bruce.
Rochelle was then the Associate Editorial Director of Conde Nast. She had infallible taste. And, for all her power, she had no visible ego. In the treacherous corridors of Conde Nast, her office was a refuge. When we traded ideas, we talked as friends.
So when Rochelle asked me to make some films with Murray Bruce, I was eager to meet him.
A minute in, I thought: why? Murray Bruce was an advertising legend — he’d scored a huge contract to make commercials with OJ Simpson running through airports. He could not possibly be the bearded guy who sat across from me at lunch, who smiled for no reason, who talked slowly. I found him immensely irritating.
Murray turned out to be a nonstop growth experience for me. He had great ideas and a deep knowledge of filmmaking and an ability to translate my ideas into films that were just a bit better than anything anybody else was doing.
We made some films for Rochelle and then we made some for Carol Fitzgerald, who was then the Marketing Services Director of Mademoiselle. And then she wasn’t, and I had an idea for a book site on AOL, and Carol and Murray and I got what seemed like a fortune to start it but was really just enough money to keep us in business for 6 months. I left to go to AOL in five. Murray moved on. And Carol made bookreporter.com into a success.
And now Murray is dying.
His daughter Dakota asked friends to send letters and pictures.
Carol shared some memories – “You have a strength and a power to bring people together and make them feel good about themselves, better than they thought they were” — and these Paul Simon lyrics:
There may come a time
When I will lose you
Lose you as I lose my light
Days falling backward into velvet night
The open palm of desire
Wants everything
It wants everything
It wants soil as soft as summer
And the strength to push like spring
A broken laugh a broken fever
Take it up with the great deceiver
Who looks you in the eye
And says baby don’t cry
Further to fly
There may come a time
When I will lose you
Lose you as I lose my sight
Days falling backward into velvet night
The open palm of desire
The Rose of Jericho
Soil as soft as summer
The strength to let you go
Rochelle wrote Murray a note that began “Dear Braveheart…”
Gail Bruce, Murray’s wife, sends updates on his condition. It’s because of those updates that I’m writing this, for they are a model of clarity, honesty and love — three words rarely used in the same sentence. This is the latest dispatch, just arrived:
My wonderful husband endured testing, probing, pain, surgery, treatment and disappointment. His two distinct cancers — one in his lungs, one in his back – had grown so rapidly by the first week of January that further treatment would only cause him more pain and suffering. After consulting with our excellent oncology team at Weill Cornell, the entire Bruce Family decided to forgo further treatment. We asked would it be days, weeks, months or years. They said a few weeks.
After dragging ourselves off the floor, we asked Murray where he wanted to spend his final days. Tortola was his first choice. Four days later we were there. It was rough going, but he made it. His face lit up like a child discovering Christmas.
It has been two weeks. This is the best thing we could have ever done. The peace, beauty, love and serenity he received has helped us all to adjust to this incredible journey.
Murray is getting weaker and weaker every day. Angus, Lauralee, Dakota and I have shared so much together in and around our love for Murray. We are truly blessed to be able to help him to the other side in this amazing paradise.
Thank you to each and every of you for being on this life walk with us.
Gail put a headline on this dispatch: “Murray’s New Adventure.” I cannot imagine the depth of spirit required to put the last weeks of my life partner that way — I’m just in awe at Gail’s dispatch, a master class in the art of dying.
