Murt Shaughnessy Jr. and little brother Michael. (Courtesy Eileen Connelly) Finches hopping on a cracked sidewalk in Duquesne’s devastated business district took flight one morning last week, the birds flapping upward as a cluster toward Grant Avenue, several narrowly avoiding a fast-moving sedan. Then the cluster disappeared behind a storefront building that stood defiant and alone, a middle finger to departure.
Duquesne these days is a monument to a thousand goodbyes. So many vacant lots, vibrant green in the morning sun. Library Place minus its library. The pharmacy empty, spiderweb cracks across its storefront windows.
Truth is, folks here have been saying painful goodbyes for decades, long before the steel mill stopped shooting its vibrations through town, long before endless fluorescent isles of inexpensive goods and easy parking in the suburbs drained the business district of people and prosperity.
Farewell stories flutter from this battered community’s history. They offer glimpses of perseverance, compassion and hope in the face of overwhelming sadness.
Rosemary Terza (now Fuga) grew up in Duquesne. One of seven children brought into the world by Sylvester and Elizabeth Terza, she remembers the day in January 1941 when her sister Jean bathed 3-year-old brother Johnny and noticed a boil on the boy’s leg. Jean, 13 years old, knew the boil was trouble. She immediately told her mother, who summoned a doctor.
The open boil oozed liquid. Blood poisoning, said the doctor. Don’t move the boy or the poison will spread.
Alarmed family members pushed two chairs together and created a small bed in the living room of the family’s home on a hillside above the rumbling mill. There Johnny would stay, watched over, fed and bathed by his parents and siblings.
The doctor visited every day for two weeks and treated Johnny with sulfa drugs. But the boy couldn’t be saved. He died in his makeshift bed shortly after 7 p.m. on Feb. 6, 1941.
The loss devastated Sylvester and Elizabeth. For months they grieved. Rosemary was 12 at the time, and to her the sadness seemed unbearable. Guilt and depression wracked Elizabeth. Rosemary wondered, would happiness ever return to the family’s Overland Avenue home?
Family friend Murt Shaughnessy noticed the the gloom enveloping the Terza family. Murt owned and operated a funeral home on North Duquesne Avenue. He embalmed, restored and dressed the bodies of those whose days were ended by disease, old age, auto crashes, industrial mishaps or suicide. Grief to him was unavoidable in the way sawdust is unavoidable to a carpenter.
But something about the Terza family’s sadness moved him. One day early in the summer of ‘41, Murt stopped by the Duquesne post office, where Sylvester worked as a mail carrier.
“Have your family ready on Friday afternoon,” Murt told Sylvester. “I’m going to take you up to the mountains to our cabin.” Murt owned a small cabin in Stahlstown, about 50 miles from Pittsburgh.
The prospect of a vacation shot a bolt of excitement through the Terza house. The family had little money, no car and no phone. Vacation was a dream.
On Friday, Murt arrived at the Terza home in a big funeral car. The Terzas piled in and, after a drive that seemed to last forever, Murt dropped off the family at his small cabin. “I’ll be back in two weeks to take you home,” he said.
The mountains buoyed the family’s spirits. The kids played in a creek, splashed in a swimming hole, the parents walked among pine trees, attended square dances. Sylvester was a skilled carpenter and, as a gesture of gratitude, made a few repairs on the cabin.
“It was a complete change for all of us,” recalls Rosemary. Her family eventually acquired land near Stahlstown and built its own cabin. “Murt was so wonderful to have that insight.”
In addition to running a funeral business, Murt and his wife Margaret were raising three children of their own — daughter Eileen and two sons, Murt Jr. and Michael. On a snowy Friday, Jan. 25, 1946, Murt Sr. drove past a section of Mifflin Street where 10-year-old Murt Jr. and several of his friends were sledding.
The day was a special one — students had been dismissed from school early after completing exams, and a blanket of snow covered the Mon Valley. Murt Sr. stopped his car and spoke briefly to his son, who said he was having a great time. Then the father continued on his way.
A few hours later, around 5 p.m., Murt and Margaret received a phone call. It was from McKeesport Hospital. Murt Jr. had lost control of his sled and plowed into a fire hydrant. The impact fractured the boy’s skull. The parents were urged to come quickly to the boy’s side.
Murt and Margaret kept a vigil, waited for their son to regain consciousness after surgery. Friday night passed, then came Saturday. Priests visited, anointed the boy and gave him Holy Communion. The next day, Sunday, daughter Eileen, 12, saw her father break down and cry. At 8:40 p.m., Murt Jr. died.
The parents found rosary beads in the boy’s coat pocket. Murt laid out his son, a devoted altar-boy, in a white casket. The child was dressed in a cassock and surplice.
Murt Jr.’s death shocked Duquesne. Over a three day period, hundreds of friends and residents arrived to say goodbye to the boy and offer comfort and condolences to the family.
Thursday, Jan. 31, arrived bright and clear, the sky blue. By 9 a.m. Holy Trinity church was packed with mourners and students who’d been dismissed from school to say goodbye to a classmate. Six altar boys served as pallbearers.
Seven decades later, Eileen (now Connelly) remembers her attempts to ease her mother’s grief by lying next to her in bed and telling silly jokes. Murt, Eileen says, made a number of changes to his life. He sold the building that housed his funeral home on North Duquesne Avenue and moved the business to Second Street, across from the police station. He sold the family cabin in Stahlstown, quit drinking and attended Mass every day.
Murt remained an active member of the community and in 1983 was named “Man of the Year” by the Duquesne/West Mifflin Chamber of Commerce. He died in 1987, three years after the silencing of the town’s famous mill.
— Steve Mellon
Again thank you so much for letting me revisit my hometown of the past. I know it’s not as it once was, but now only for the better. I was a product of the late 30s. and all my family and relatives lived in and around the Northside. No one left but me now (I don’t know how that happened) now turning 80yrs, and I still love my BURGH. Going back to a 60 yr. class reunion next week, and I am fortunate that I still am able to get around and visit the places I knew then (If still standing) and reminiscence of how it was, and look around for me to see and visit on the Northside, Spring garden, Cedar Ave, Pressley St., and many other homes that my aunts and uncles lived in. Will visit the old Gulf Building where my father worked as a Civil Engr. for Gulf Oil. So again, thank you so much, and God Bless.
Thank you for bringing back many memories. My husband and I were born and raised in the Crawford St. Section of Duquesne. Now in our 80’s we live in a small town in Texas which has the same community spirit of “Old Duquesne”. We try to visit Pa. each summer for family reunions. Your article was spot on!
Thank’s for the great old stories and pictures! I was born and raised in Castle Shannon. Keep up the good work!
Thank you for the great story. I always love to read about my hometown and surrounding areas. We had a chance to attend a family reunion this past July and it was wonderful being home and make more memories.
My father was a friend of Murt Shaughnessy. Murt was known as a truly wonderful, kind man known for helping others in their time of need. Anyone who knew him considered the man a saint as far as I knew. Although not of Slovak heritage as we Ragans are, Murt was as Slovak (and I’m sure Hungarian, Croatian, Lithuanian, Polish, Italian, German, Serbian, Rusyn … and many more ethnicities) as anyone could be without those ethnic roots. Thanks for sharing this moving story, which I had not heard before, yet falls in line with what we knew about Murt Shaughnessy. I still get to Duquesne now and then — we still have family there, and are proud to have grown up in a town known for its melting pot diversity and vibrancy.
It’s not every day that you open an article and finds out that it’s about your family! Sylvester and Elizabeth Terza are my grandparents. My memory of them was always cheerful. I knew about “Little Johnny” from my mother Nancy, who was 10 at the time of his death. I never really gave him much thought in my clueless childhood days, but this article really drove home the fact that he was a real person, and would have devastated my grandparents as the death of one of my own children would have to me.
I also knew that Mr. Shaughnessy was well respected, and that Grandpa and the family would work on his cabin in return for some carpentry and maintenance work. I did not know how this arrangement began. What a wonderful man.
To this day, the Terza clan meets annually for a reunion at Syl and Betty’s own cabin in the mountains near Ligonier. It’s a place that is very important to so many of us.
Readers, do acts of kindness for others. You have no idea how far they go. Thanks for a wonderful article.
Great story. Great writing. Well done.
Wow this is one one the most interesting articles I have ever read. I absolutely love stories about my family… Sylvester and Elizabeth Terza are my great grand parents. I am also a product of the Ragans aswell. So I’m sure I’m related to Dennis. These stories mean so much to me. I hope to be half as good of a person as my family before me. Thank you for a great article.
Wonderful story. Murt was a good friend of our family (Hricko). My Aunt Mary Siroki and my mom Olga Pupich visited their home often. When my uncle John Siroki was killed Murt was there for the funeral. I can still see him sitting on the steps of St Peter and Paul steps in the social hall crying
I was a duquesner from 1948 to 1965 when I joined the U S Navy. Really enjoy any news and histories of the old stomping grounds. Thanks for taking the time to share.
Greatly enjoy the history of the grand old town. Lived in Duquesne from 1948 to 1966. Still have many friends living there.
Really appreciate the blog.
Went to school with and played football with Norm and Ray Terza. DHS CLASS OF 69. LIVED IN Duquesne from 51 thru 73. Still have Family there.
Seeing this picture, I immediately knew Murt even before reading the article. His parents Murt & Margaret were very close friends with my parents. This brings back a lot of memories of Duquesne.
My first home in Duquesne was The Library Apts, right across the street from Shaughnessy’s Funeral Home. My mom and Margaret were friends and I spent time visiting with my mom. I was just a wee tot, but Michael and Eileen entertained me along with their dog Skippy. Murt would always call over to me if he saw me on our porch. Really missed the family after we moved, as we only saw them then at funerals. Still remember all their green Cadillacs.
My father died on January 30. 1980. Of course Must Shaughnessy took care of the funeral arrangements. I remember Mr. Shaughnessy saying that that week was the anniversary of his little boy’s death. My dad and Murt were childhood friends
Your articles always seem to bring me and my family back to the old neighborhood again. That flair for writing, along with the charm of the Northside, puts us back in the day with your article. We can hardly wait for each new release date, eagerly ready to read your report. Thanks a bunch from all of us.