Who was Mr. Murdock?

If my memory serves me correctly - his full name was Henry Murdock He was the manager
desk clerk and housekeeper at the now defunct Digby hotel once bordering Little Tokyo in Los Angeles, California. We, tenants, addressed him as Mr. Murdock. He comes to mind because he was an unforgettable character. One would think he never changed clothes because he wore the same attire every day: a black suit, white shirt, black tie and spit-shinned shoes. It wasn't until I saw the movie The Fly that made me realize that Mr. Murdock had at least ten suits, all the same and many white dress shirts. He had the second largest room at the hotel. Though paid well, his side hustle was to rent out the larger room to a gentleman who would bring in a different woman, sometimes twice a week. Mr. Murdock was a five foot four portly individual with a bald head; a man of few words. He was seriously friendly, but reserved. His sense of humor was manifested in his laconic quips or retorts, accompanied by a quick wiry smile and a glint in his eyes. The Digby was a three story building, the second and third floors consisting of living units, community bathrooms and showers; the first floor, a lobby and office where business was conducted: receiving and sorting mail into the mail boxes, collecting rent and checking in new tenants. The owner would come once a month, sometimes twice.
The Digby was owned by a black family. They were able to make the purchase due to the internment of the Japanese during the Second World War.
Mr. Murdock's assistant, I don't remember his name, was rarely around except for nights when he'd arrived from some other job or the racetrack. Otherwise, Mr. Murdock handled all the functions at the hotel. He was charged with changing linen in the rooms, keeping the showers and bathrooms clean, sweeping, mopping the lobby area and keeping all windows free of smudges. He had the habit of talking to himself. Rumors circulated that he was once a mortician in Cleveland, Ohio at the House of Wills, a prestigious funeral home. When asked, he would merely smile and mumble something indistinguishable. Mr. Murdock, as far as I know ate once a day, and that was at the Atomic Cafe, a block away, on first and Alameda streets, a punk venue where artists frequented after leaving the infamous Al's bar in the arts district. Atomic Nancy, once a member of the music group, Nirvana was the gracious host; the jukebox had a varied mix of oldies, jazz, blues and Japanese classics. Usually, opening during early day, the Atomic Cafe depended on its after hours business. However, Mr. Murdock would buy whatever and bring it back to the hotel. Now, the rest of the story: Under the guise of renovation, the owner of the Digby decided to get rid of as many of his tenants as possible to make rooms available
for visitors expected to need housing during the upcoming 1984 Olympic games. The hotel, mainly, depended on the Department of Public and Social Services vouchers to keep his units filled. The first order of the owner was to let the DPSS know that rooms were no longer available.

To be continued in my upcoming book. Within every story is another story!!!