With fiery red hair and a personality that contradicted her petite size, Marilyn Murray was a memorable figure in the Twin Cities theater community.

Murray worked around multiple theaters in the Twin Cities, such as Theater in the Round and Park Square Theater, for around 60 years, her daughter Tena May Gallivan said. To many, Murray was known as “The Grande Dame” of Twin Cities theater.

On of the many photographs of Marilyn Murray hung inside her house.

Murray passed away on Oct. 17, just a few weeks before her birthday on Nov. 19. She would have been 87.

As an actress, Murray was constantly working. As soon as she ended one show, she would jump right into rehearsals for the next.

Murray was on the board of directors for Theater in the Round from 1985-94, according to a Theater in the Round instagram post. Murray performed 35 productions between 1971 and 2006 just for Theater in the Round. She performed in around nine shows a year, Gallivan said.

“She was such a consummate, ‘the show must go on’ person,” Gallivan said.

During a production of “The Royal Family” in the 1981-82 season at Theater in the Round, Murray fell on stage. She continued the show even though her head was bleeding. Gallivan took her to the emergency room after.

Murray had a commanding presence on stage, Craig Johnson, a freelance actor and director in the Twin Cities who crossed paths with Murray frequently, said.

“She had a lot of charisma,” Johnson said. “She was a petite woman, but she had a really big voice.”

Murray’s voice was distinct. She was a smoker, Johnson said, but the habit assisted her big stage presence.

Murray had a knack for landing a laugh and knew exactly how to present a character, Johnson said.

She nearly always played a leading role, Gallivan said.

To prepare for her roles, Murray would wear the clothes the character would wear. Otherwise, acting came naturally to Murray. She did not do other things to prepare for a role, and she had a brain meant for memorizing lines.

Outside of working at a plethora of community theaters, additionally including Lakeshore Players Theater and Chimera Theater, Murray taught creative art classes at the Science Museum of Minnesota on weekends.

Murray was also a talented painter, Gallivan said. She painted many portraits of her children. Murray even painted the logo for the Chimera Theater, which opened in 1970 and ceased production in 1987, Gallivan said.

Having grown up near the stage, Gallivan started acting at age four, acting for shows at the Gutherie and Theater in the Round. Gallivan acted alongside her mother in many shows. She is now a voiceover actress.

Murray worked a lot, but she balanced motherhood. Murray’s mother was tough on her, and she wanted to be different for her own children.

“She was really focused on bringing us up with warmth and support,” Gallivan said.

Murray did not originally plan to be an actress. The young woman from Wyandotte County in Kansas got into Harvard in 1955. Murray wanted to pursue law. Even though Harvard began to let women enroll in 1920, the school told Murray women do not need to be lawyers. Murray was told to go to Tufts University to study speech and debate instead. She listened. At Tufts, Murray started acting, and she fell in love with it.

In the late 50s, Murray went back to Harvard to coach debate. That is when Murray met Gallivan’s father, who is originally from White Bear Lake. They moved back to the Twin Cities in 1969.

Murray was a loyal season ticket holder for the Twins. If a show and a Twins game were happening simultaneously, Murray would listen to the game on a radio between scenes.

Murray was even more known for the epic, never-ending cast parties she threw after shows, Gallivan said. Murray would cook elaborate gourmet meals for the parties. The entirety of the dining room table would be filled with dishes.

She also threw memorable New Year’s Eve parties and themed parties throughout the year. One consistent theme was the “alter ego party,” where people would dress up as their alter egos.

Walking into Murray’s house, there is a big curved staircase embellished with photos of her performing on stage, her children and framed show posters. Beyond that is the kitchen where she would spend hours cooking the day before a final show for the after-party. The wall in the kitchen is decorated with old newspaper clippings highlighting Murray’s work.

Framed photos of Marilyn Murray on the wall near the staircase in her home on Nov. 7, 2024.

“Actors always like to eat after a show, and she’d go to the oven with a cigarette hanging out of her mouth or in her hand,” Johnson said. “She’d take out a big roast turkey.”

As soon as a show finished, everyone involved in said show would head straight to Murray’s house. People would float in, hang out on the porch if it was warm enough and there was always a cluster of people in the kitchen.

There would be live music from local bands in the living room, Gallivan said. Murray’s children and other kids involved in the theater community would have their own party. In the 1970s, Murray would conduct an occasional seance. The parties were filled with fluttering bodies, chatter, boisterous laughter and show tunes. They often lasted until the following morning.

5 a.m. was the cut-off for the children and teenagers to leave and go to bed. Murray would start to sing Sondheim until the kids had enough and left or went to bed.

“Often I’d wake up for school or work the next morning, and there would be people crashed out like it had been a big bacchanal,” Gallivan said.

Other than Gallivan, two more of Murray’s children went into performance careers as well. Scott Murray is a stage lighter. Jason Murray, the youngest, is a musician. The three acted in shows together at the Guthrie as children. Brad Murray, the oldest, became an earth and ocean sciences tenured professor at Duke.

Murray had memorable hair and personality, Gallivan said. At the center of every room, she was dedicated, incomparable and larger than life. She suffered from dementia and peripheral artery disease, but that did not inhibit her humor.

“She had wicked comedic timing right up into the end,” Gallivan said.

One lesson she taught her children was to have no fear in being as big as their personalities permitted them.

Murray passed surrounded by family, and with her cat, Apollo, resting on her pillow. Gallivan plans to host a memorial New Year’s Eve party for family, friends and those in the Twin Cities theater community.

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