Ruth Molloy struggled to explain a murder that happened just east of where her old house was, across Locust Street from the house of the University chaplain. She recounted how she came home from a vacation and her quiet peaceful street was shaken to its core by murder. She speaks of the coed who was killed and how the Philadelphia newspapers reported it. The paper described the killing as very violent, yet Ruth Molloy seemed almost unaffected and disinterested: "And murder…/ Accompanied by screaming, it said in the papers / We decided to have dinner out. Italian would be good / But first we’d sit on the porch a while." She is highlighting the distance that one can have from a situation when one is not personally affected. Her mind is consumed with thoughts of wine and manicotti, and Masterpiece Theater, but the murdered girl does not seem to be an issue at all. When the father of the murdered girl cries out in front of the house where the crime took place for his lost daughter, it was only then that Ruth Molloy asked herself why she had never noticed the Penn student before: "He cried out, ‘My daughter! Oh! My daughter!’ / We asked ourselves why we had never noticed her." When asked by a reporter if the neighborhood had become unsafe and undesirable, she said no. But the poem followed her reply with these lines: "You get used to murder and so on, unless it’s your daughter." Ruth recognizes that crime happens all the time and you are not really affected unless it’s your own family. Ruth may be commenting as well on the dynamics of her own family life.
"Life and Death in University City"
At the end of our holiday, we came home to our quiet street
And murder…
Accompanied by screaming, it said in the papers.
We decided to have dinner out. Italian would be good,
But first we’d sit on the porch a while.
That’s one of the best things about our neighborhood-
There are still porches.
A nineteen-year-old coed (they always say coed even if its only one course)
Had been killed. The knife made 12 gashes, cuts, nicks.
It must have been while we were driving home from the shore.
As, sitting on the porch we heard absolutely nothing…
Will we ever know exactly when it happened?
Not that it matters.
We got washed up a bit and went out for wine and manicotti.
We did notice the police at the corner, looking undecided.
When we got home, the police were still there, bored a bit.
One neighbor said to us, "Murder…she was just nineteen."
The retarded man who sold papers on Spruce Street left his post
To come to Locust Street. "I’m going to stay here till they bring down her body!!!"
HE was happy and excited.
One neighbor said, "I’ll wait until its time to go home for Masterpiece Theater."
We went back to sit on our porch and wait for whatever.
Whatever was a man’s voice. He got out of his car in front of the murder house.
He cried out, "My daughter! Oh! My daughter!
We asked ourselves why we had never noticed her.
We learned she was a part-time B-minus student at Penn,
She loved everybody, another student said. "She was a Virgo."
A reporter talked to us. "Do you think the neighborhood has gone down?"
"Not at all," we announced proudly. "We’ve always had crime."
It’s true, too. This tree-lined West Philadelphia block is a violent tree-lined block.
It is very quiet, very friendly, rich in history.
Bad things are bound to happen, but you never know till later.
You get used to murder and so on, unless it’s your daughter.
Exhibit by University of Pennsylvania students and faculty, 2009