Paul William McMurray

Awwww Paula Lynne Flinchbaugh I am so sorry, he was such a sweet man, and I know how close you were as a family and how happy he was when you brought Jackson into this world. You, your mom and the rest of the family have my very deepest sympathy .??

Paul was a great man! I am blessed to have known him as well as Dotty. My deepest condolences and prayers to the family and Dotty.

My deepest sympathy dorthy and Paula sorry for ur loss Paul was such a kind man I always enjoyed his company he was always good to me I wish u find strength in this time of need. Tss

Throughout high school, I wanted to be an auto mechanic. Paul hired me as a gas station attendant at McKissick Garage in January 1962. It was my first real job, and in retrospect, his decision changed my life forever. I learned a lot from just watching and listening to him—how he dealt with cantankerous customers, his patience and determination in diagnosing and solving engine and transmission problems, his sense of humor, and the range of skills and know-how he had even then (he was only 33). When his young sons came to the garage, he always called the equipment by its proper name. He seemed to want them to know what it was, even at their age (“Come on, boys, get off the front-end machine” instead of saying, “that thing”). When I wanted to buy a decent car, Paul called around town and located a factory-built special-order 1959 Chevy Impala convertible on a dealer’s used car lot. It was extremely rare for the time—all stock with a 348 tri-power engine, 4-speed transmission, cruiser skirts, and a black top with snow crest white over crown sapphire blue paint. It had about 26,000 pampered miles and was owned by a family man who traded it in on a ’62 Pontiac Grand Prix. Paul suggested that I look at it. The price was $1,600; my grandfather loaned me the money. I’ll never forget seeing Paul adjust the factory vacuum linkage on the tri-power carburetors to factory specs. His skill and knowledge were amazing. When floored on the highway, those two end carburetors would snap open with a jolt like an automatic transmission kicking into passing gear. The 4-speed transmission whispered like silk drawn through oil as it ran through the gears. In August of 1962, thanks to a miraculous chain of events, I moved to Clearwater, Florida. On the day we left, my mother and I stopped to fill up the tank. She met Paul and paid him the $300 balance for gas and tires that I’d charged to my account. Soon afterward I went to college, married my college sweetheart, and became—of all things—a college professor and freelance writer (now retired). While surfing the web several years ago, I bought a cigarette lighter on e-bay with a Sunoco logo that’s stamped, “Compliments of McKissick Garage, Paul W. McMurray, Prop.” It’s a special keepsake. My life was just one of many that Paul undoubtedly touched. My heartfelt condolences to all his family. J.T.S., Orlando, Florida