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<\/a>The open boil oozed liquid. Blood poisoning,<\/em> said the doctor. Don\u2019t move the boy or the poison will spread.<\/em><\/p>\n Alarmed family members pushed two chairs together and created a small bed in the living room of the family\u2019s home on a hillside above the rumbling mill. There Johnny would stay, watched over, fed and bathed by his parents and siblings.<\/p>\n The doctor visited every day for two weeks and treated Johnny with sulfa drugs. But the boy couldn\u2019t be saved. He died in his makeshift bed shortly after 7 p.m. on Feb. 6, 1941.<\/p>\n 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\u2019s Overland Avenue home?<\/p>\n 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.<\/p>\n But something about the Terza family\u2019s sadness moved him. One day early in the summer of \u201841, Murt stopped by the Duquesne post office, where Sylvester worked as a mail carrier.<\/p>\n \u201cHave your family ready on Friday afternoon,\u201d Murt told Sylvester. \u201cI\u2019m going to take you up to the mountains to our cabin.\u201d Murt owned a small cabin in Stahlstown, about 50 miles from Pittsburgh.<\/p>\n 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.<\/p>\n 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. \u201cI\u2019ll be back in two weeks to take you home,\u201d he said.<\/p>\n The mountains buoyed the family\u2019s 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.<\/p>\n \u201cIt was a complete change for all of us,\u201d recalls Rosemary. Her family eventually acquired land near Stahlstown and built its own cabin. \u201cMurt was so wonderful to have that insight.\u201d<\/p>\n 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.<\/p>\n 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.<\/p>\n 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\u2019s skull. The parents were urged to come quickly to the boy\u2019s side.<\/p>\n 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.<\/p>\n The parents found rosary beads in the boy\u2019s coat pocket. Murt laid out his son, a devoted altar-boy, in a white casket. The child was dressed in a cassock and surplice.<\/p>\n Murt Jr.\u2019s 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.<\/p>\n Thursday, Jan. 31, arrived bright and clear, the sky blue. By 9 a.m. Holy Trinity church was packed with mourners and students who\u2019d been dismissed from school to say goodbye to a classmate. Six altar boys served as pallbearers.<\/p>\n Seven decades later, Eileen (now Connelly) remembers her attempts to ease her mother\u2019s 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.<\/p>\n Murt remained an active member of the community and in 1983 was named \u201cMan of the Year\u201d by the Duquesne\/West Mifflin Chamber of Commerce. He died in 1987, three years after the silencing of the town\u2019s famous mill.<\/p>\n<\/a><\/a>