West End Gang associate Steve Murphy found dead in sad circumstances

Steve Murphy, a colourful misfit who moved in and out of the shadows cast by Montreal’s West End Gang, has died. He was found earlier this month living in a tent along the Verdun boardwalk not far from where he grew up and first got tangled in the life.

Murphy was Verdun born and bred, and from a young age ran with a hard crowd, including Jackie McLaughlin, Martin Rowland, George Harris, all killers. He had a rough start, including a stint at the Douglas Hospital, where, as he once told me, “we caused as much ruckus as we could just to stay alive.” He told me that he never learned to read or write.

He became a runner for Dunie Ryan and remembered his first big job,  picking up a load of cash on Jackie McLaughlin’s motorcycle. On the way back, he stopped at a Dairy Queen in St-Michel to show off to a girl. Back at the Cavalier bar, Dunie lit into him: “Why’d you stop at the fuckin’ Dairy Queen? Are you followin’ me? Cops were followin’ you.” Dunie didn’t miss much. “He had two guys in wheelchairs upstairs listening to police scanners all day,” Murphy told me. “That’s how on top of it he was.”

Murphy had a reckless streak but wasn't stupid. He once declined a job with George Harris, whose wild behaviour eventually landed him in prison for murder. But Murphy was deeply loyal, especially to Marty Rowland, Jackie’s old sidekick. 

The two were together on September 7, 1984, outside Cheers bar on Mackay Street when Rowland got into a deadly confrontation with a group of Iranian men. Rowland stabbed three; one died. Murphy later admitted he had one of the victims by the shoulders as Rowland delivered the fatal blows. “Marty only had the knife because his wife got it free with a magazine subscription,” Murphy said.

Murphy went to Dunie for $15,000 to pay defence lawyer Sidney Leithman to help out Rowland. He also tried to disrupt the trial by intimidating witnesses. The plan: stir chaos in court. “My friend Derek had an Iranian guy in a headlock, and Bobby Chou, the biker, stabbed his keys into the guy’s head,” Murphy said. “The guy started running down the street and Chou was chasing him because he needed to get his keys back.”

Rowland ended up pleading guilty to manslaughter and was sentenced to nine and a half years. He died in 2009. Murphy never turned his back on him. “I called him my father,” he said.

In later years, Murphy lived on Evangeline Street. He’d invite me over sometimes. I never ended up meeting him in person. He still talked like the guy with one foot in the underworld. His stepson didn’t follow a better path, he shot up the Haraiki Bar in LaSalle and landed in prison.

We eventually lost touch. Some say his wife kicked him out. He drifted. And then, years later, he was found dead in a tent, beside the water in Verdun.

Steve Murphy was no saint. But he was a storyteller, a survivor, and he didn’t abandon his friends even when things got bloody.