Is Divorce Worse Than Murder?: American Dream of Boston Immigrant Irish Undercut by Kinky Sex Murder.

By Richard Murphy

Inspired by a true case, this is a titillating story about a murder of one’s husband resulting from deviant sexual abuse so horrible that it tests the imagination. Domestic abuse and the role of the enabler is examined through the prism of the Catholic church’s stand against divorce. Divorce is a family embarrassment and a sign of failure to these triple-decker dwelling Boston Irish Catholics who identify themselves not by their neighborhood but by their parish.

The murderer’s values and fear of divorce was developed by a strict Catholic upbringing and parochial education reinforced by the enduring relationships of her Irish immigrant parents and role models

This novel traces the complexities of life in the 1920’s of Boston, capturing the arduous journey of the immigrant Irish from Brahmin discrimination to prominence. The trek from “Sand Hog” toiling under Boston’s streets and harbor (a filthy and dangerous one) to surviving the economic depression and World War ll and emerging as leaders in modern day Boston is demonstrated. The sense of community, parental respect, devotion to siblings and friends and political networking formed the foundation for the immigrants’ survival and success.

The world of grand juries, indictments, plea negotiations, sentencing guidelines and court processes are illustrated under the threat of a long prison sentence for the mother of two pre-school children.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Jul 24, 2020
• ISBN: 9781728365695

Richard Murphy

Richard Murphy is a retired Boston attorney who had served as an Assistant Attorney General (Criminal Division) and First Assistant District Attorney (Norfolk County) in addition to serving as a partner in a private law firm. He is a graduate of Boston College High School,Univ. of Notre Dame & Boston Univ. School of Law. He served aboard ship in the U.S.Navy between college and law school and retired as a Commander in the Naval Reserves.As a champion boxer at Notre Dame he went on to become a NationalPresident of the ND Alumni Association. The father of nine children, he wrote a weekly column “Murphy’s Law” for several Massachusetts papers in the 80’s & 90’s. He was featured in the Law section of Time magazine(1/7/66) for winning a landmark civil liberty case. With Parkinson’s disease and a reverse shoulder replacement ruining his mediocre golf game he decided to try authoring and having received encouraging feedback he is now attempting to write entertaining books connected to interesting court cases.

Book preview

PROLOGUE

One Thrust—1971

T hey’d just sat down for dinner when the phone rang. Honey, don’t answer it, the attorney’s wife commanded, but he said, I better take it. It could be one of the kids needing a ride home from the game.

You’re kidding! Stop crying! Is he dead? Get a hold of yourself. Don’t do, say, or touch anything. I’ll be right over.

Attorney Sam Palumbo banged down the phone, grabbed his coat, and was gone in a flash, yelling back to his wife, It’s an emergency. I’ll tell you later.

Moira Carney Pierce sobbed intermittently between sips of wine in solitary silence awaiting the arrival of her attorney who also happened to be her boss. Her two children were at her parents’ house on this rainy, Friday, November evening in 1971.

Across from her lay her dead husband, Jim Pierce, age 31, on their blood-soaked new tile floor. Her mind was in total confusion. She knew she was a woman with an acute conscience, but she felt no remorse.

The butcher knife she used was on the floor next to Jim — a powerful reminder that her life at age 29 was about to take a dramatic and possibly tragic turn, and yet she felt relief.

She was amazed at herself that all it took was one strong swoop of the knife to his jugular to kill him.

While waiting, she reflected on how she ended up in this situation. Her priest, her parents, no one, it seemed, could help her. She would need to share her whole background, including her parents’ background and the history of her own marriage, for anyone to understand.

Even then, she expected that society’s mores would not condone the murderous act she’d just committed.

Her mind wandered off to the story of her family.

Chapter 1

Irish Dance Halls—1929

D ermot Carney took a seat next to two well-coifed women on the Boston El subway train. The ladies, glaring at him with disdain, immediately moved away and repositioned themselves across and further down the aisle. On his way home from work, Dermot knew he was sweaty and dirty but didn’t think he emitted an odious scent.

On this early June day in 1929, Dermot was headed home to his triple-decker apartment in a section of Dorchester, Massachusetts, called Fields Corner. He shared the apartment with his brother, Seamus Carney, who worked for the same Boston Company (Gaelic Excavating Co.) but on a different shift. The Carney brothers had immigrated from County Cork, Ireland, in 1925 and were blessed to have an uncle, Danny, who sponsored them for U.S. citizenship as well as membership in the Sandhog Union, Local # 22.

Danny Kiley with his wife and children had arrived in the United States in 1920. He worked hard and kept his nose clean thus earning within eight years the position of assistant business agent in the Sandhog Union.

Sandhog workers were those laborers who worked underground and underwater, excavating and building tunnels for subways, vehicular traffic, sewers, and water systems. It was a dirty, toxic, and dangerous occupation, but the money was excellent. Preliminary plans were underway to dig and build the Sumner Tunnel in Boston to accommodate vehicles going back and forth to East Boston and Logan Airport, and the Carney brothers were assigned to that project.

Dermot, age 24, was in a rush on this Friday afternoon because he had plans to go to Hibernian Hall that evening for a merry night of Irish music and dancing with an outside chance of meeting a sweet Irish lass. He needed to get home, climb in the tub, and wash away the crud and dirt from working underground for eight hours, make himself dinner, and then again take the El clear across town to Dudley Station, Roxbury where Hibernian Hall and all the other Irish dance halls were just steps away.

The dance hall craze in urban America was in full stride, and it was especially flourishing in Boston, famed for its Irish immigrant population. The Irish dance halls in Boston were significant social institutions for the immigrant Irish. They presented an opportunity to new immigrants like the Carney brothers to belong to a community where they could make friendships, establish networks with other immigrants and with native-born people of Irish descent, and pursue a social life and perhaps a romance with the opposite sex.

On this June evening, Dermot was looking forward to dancing to his favorite band, Billy Galvin’s Irish Minstrels. Dermott alternated between venues, depending on what band was playing. Other Dudley Street dance halls he visited were Winslow Hall, the Intercolonial, the Rose Croix, and the Dudley Street Opera House. On different nights, dance halls would specialize in hosting immigrants from specific areas in Ireland. For example, on Wednesdays, the Opera House may host immigrants from County Clare and on Thursdays, the Intercolonial may host immigrants from County Tipperary.

Dermot’s brother Seamus usually visited the dance halls on Saturday evenings, and sometimes Dermot accompanied him. But ordinarily Dermot played poker on Saturday evening in Dorchester with some fellow sandhogs.

On Sundays, the Carney brothers faithfully attended Mass at their parish church, St. Ambrose, a promise they made to their mother, Rose, before they left Ireland.

The Dorchester section of Boston was a working-class community of eighty-eight thousand people, mostly of Irish descent usually housed in triple-deckers. People identified their specific neighborhood in Dorchester by the parish in which they lived. In Dorchester alone, there were thirteen Catholic parishes.

Dermot’s card playing buddies were Mark (Knocko) from St. Peter’s parish, Johnny (Jambo) from St. Mark’s parish, and Connor (Coco) from St. Margaret’s parish. In Boston, it was unofficially required that all Irish lads have nicknames, and it didn’t take long after Dermot’s arrival in the U.S. for him to get the nickname Digger. Dermot never learned who was responsible for bequeathing him with Digger, but he liked it better than his brother’s nickname, Hog. Most of these parishes were within walking distance of one another.

Dermot all cleaned up, with Brylcreem in his hair and clad in his best pale green silk shirt, recently purchased at Filene’s Basement was back on the El at 7 p.m., and after transferring trains at Washington Station arrived at Dudley Street Station by 7:50 p.m.

After paying his fifty-cent admission fee, Dermot entered the crowded Hibernian Hall, which was almost filled to its one-thousand-person capacity. Anxious dancers were patiently waiting for the nine-piece band to finish setting up their equipment.

Dermot spotted his friend from work, Jim (Tappy) O’Brien who lived on Mission Hill in Roxbury and never missed a Friday night dance, although he danced infrequently as he was quite shy and lacked confidence. The men were bunched in small groups on one side of the dance hall, and the lassies sat on long benches along the other side of the hall.

Tappy greeted Digger with a thumbs up stating loudly, Easy pickings tonight! The lassies outnumber us by a large margin.

Dermot responded, What difference does it make to you? You never dance no matter what the size or make-up of the crowd. Tonight, I’m getting you off your ass even if I have to push you out there.

Tappy quipped, I’m just fussy, Digger. But I’m raring to go tonight because the place tonight is loaded with attractive broads.

Don’t let these ladies hear you call them ‘broads,’ even if they spend their day cleaning toilets. They like to be treated as refined ladies, lectured Digger.

As soon as the band struck up its first dance number, Digger strolled across the hall and approached a tall brunette, and together they waltzed to The Snowy Breasted Pearl. Billy Galvin’s band included a drummer, a saxophone player, two fiddlers, a pianist, two pipe and flute players, a banjo player, and an accordion player. Most of the band members had day-time jobs as utility workers, cooks, machinists, police, and firemen.

After the song was over, Digger thanked the young lady and returned to the spot where he’d left Tappy but, no Tappy. While looking for Tappy, he noticed a striking blonde across the hall who was engaged in an animated conversation with a redheaded girl friend who was facing away from Digger. Suddenly Tappy appeared with two cups of Jameson, which he’d purchased at the downstairs bar.

Thank you for the libation, Tappy. I owe you one. My next move is to dance with that blonde over there.

Tappy‘s expression immediately became hostile. You’re kidding me! While you were dancing with the brunette, I noticed that same blonde and intended to ask her to dance as soon as I finished this drink for some fortification. Some thanks I get for buying you a drink.

Dermot could sense that the situation was rapidly deteriorating, and he had heard stories about Tappy’s temper and fighting skills. He knew he had to take remedial action right away.

Dermot said, I’ll tell you what, Tappy. I’ll go over there and ask the redhead to dance leaving the blonde feeling left out giving you a better chance to secure a dance. I have no idea what the redhead looks like since her back has faced us all night. She’s probably chunky and riddled with freckles, but I’ll do it for my buddy, and thanks again for the drink.

At the next tune, Digger crossed the Hall and tapped the redhead on the back. While he was asking her to dance, he could barely get the words out as she was much prettier than he expected. In the dim light he did not see any freckles, and when she stood up, he realized she had a tall, lean body. Dermot thought the song The Band Played On was apropos for the moment because in the dim light she looked like a strawberry blonde.

Out of the corner of his eye, Digger noticed Tappy had asked the blonde to dance, and she agreed.

Where are you from? asked Digger as he took the redhead into his arms. Brookline, she replied. And you?

I’m from Dorchester, answered Digger as he twirled his dance partner. But I really wanted to know where in Ireland do you come from and how long have you been in this country? Digger continued, I’ve been here four years having left County Cork in 1925.

She smiled broadly, and with a thick brogue stated, I’m from Kerry, and I’ve been here for two years but now that I know where you’re from, I don’t even know your name. My name is Mary Ann Dempsey.

The couple stopped dancing momentarily as Digger extended his hand to shake Mary Ann’s hand while stating, I’m Dermot Carney, and I’m a proud sand-hog.

What in the world is a sandhog? She chuckled as he pulled her in closer to his body.

Mary Ann reacted by slightly pulling back as she coyly whispered, Now, Dermot, we must leave some room between us for the Holy Ghost.

Digger’s face reddened as he said, I’m sorry about that. You know a sandhog spends the whole day underground digging in dirt and mud, so we are lacking in some of the social graces. Mary Ann without hesitation, replied, You are doing just fine.

As the dance was wrapping up, they both quietly sang together, Casey would waltz with a strawberry blonde and the band played on.

When the dance ended, Digger immediately said, Thanks for dancing with me, Mary Ann, would you like to dance to this next number?

I’d be delighted to dance with the gentleman from Cork.

Digger noticed his buddy Tapper was in a deep conversation with the blonde, so the tension between them seemed to be resolved.

The next tune was a polka, The Rakes of Mallow, which was not Digger’s forte as he struggled to keep up with Mary Ann’s natural flow to the music. He apologized several times for stepping on her toes, but she shrugged it off as no big deal.

Digger noticed that Tappy was dancing with the blonde and looked like he was a natural as a polka dancer.

After the polka, the two men retreated to the other side of the hall to finish off their Jamesons. Digger told Tappy that he was impressed with his dancing ability. Tappy replied, In the old country, years ago, my mother forced me to take Irish step and tap-dancing lessons and thus the nickname Tappy.

The next dance was the popular group dance called The Siege of Ennis. Couples in long lines would progress down the line, alternating with other couples, which allowed them to dance with almost everyone in the hall. This interactive fast swinging dance allowed each dancer to enjoy the company of several young, single dancing partners of various styles and skills. Dermot and Mary Ann started out as a couple, but at the end they were with different partners.

The next tune was a waltz, My Wild Irish Rose, but before Dermot could get near Mary Ann, she had been scooped up for the waltz by the last man she was coupled with in the group dance. Dermot was amazed at himself for being so jealous of the man dancing with her because he knew he had no right to think she belonged to him after just two dances. The interloping man clad in a gray three-piece suit was tall and handsome, and she seemed totally engrossed with him in conversation.

In the meantime, Tappy and the blonde were dancing cheek to cheek. The way they were huddled together, Dermot thought the Holy Ghost had to be suffocating.

When the waltz was over, Digger signaled Tappy to come over to the men’s side so he could get some feedback. Tappy joked, The shoe is now on the other foot. Now I’m dancing and you’re not. By the way, the blonde’s name is Maureen Toomey, and she’s going with me to MacPherson’s Pub after the dance for a cocktail. Maybe the redhead will go also.

That’s a good idea, Tappy, but I’m not sure she will go. She seems to be enthralled with that guy. Look over there. She’s eating up everything he has to say.

Don’t worry. I’ll go back over there and get the lay of the land and report back. He looks a little prissy to me.

Thanks, Tappy. I’ll stand by and await your report. I really feel like going over there and pushing the guy out of the way, but I know she would end up thinking I’m a big jerk.

Another waltz (I’ll Take You Home Again, Kathleen) began, and Mary Ann was out there again with the man in the three-piece suit, but she did look over toward Digger and beamed a wonderful smile at him. Digger noticed Tappy and Maureen were conversing back and forth, and they kept looking over at him. At the end of the dance, Maureen approached Mary Ann, whispered something to her, and then Mary Ann shook the hand of the man in the grey suit whereupon he walked away.

Tappy came skipping happily across the hall to Digger with a big smile as he announced, You’re in like Flynn. She likes you over that other guy who she said is too full of himself, and she would like to keep dancing with you so she can get to know you better — and, yes, she will go to MacPhersons for a nightcap.

Digger was thrilled to hear Mary Ann had an interest in him, and he spent the rest of the evening dancing with her. He learned she was age 22 and a live-in maid for a Brahmin couple named Wadsworth in Brookline, and like most Irish maids, she got Tuesday evenings off as well as all day Sunday. She had graduated from high school and kept in touch with her parents and siblings back in Ireland.

She liked the people she was working for but felt very confined in her job. Her friend Maureen, still out there dancing with Tappy, also worked for the Wadsworths as a cook. Her schedule was freer because she had every night off after serving the meal. It was the maid’s duty to clean up the dinner table and wash the dishes.

At MacPherson’s Pub, Dermot and Mary Ann exchanged phone numbers and while enjoying their cocktails began to slightly touch one another on the shoulder and arm. They made plans to meet in Boston on Sunday to take in a movie at the Metropolitan Theatre on Tremont Street. Neither of them had access to a car, which presented a hurdle to dating. Upon leaving the pub, Digger gave Mary a peck on the cheek and then waved goodnight as he walked to Dudley Station to take the EL home.

Chapter 2

Post-Dance

O n the ride home on the subway, Digger was on cloud nine. He had been frequenting the Roxbury dance halls for three years, and this was the first time he met someone with whom