The death of William E. Burke

This is the follow-up to last week’s cliffhanger: What happened to William E. Burke on October 19, 1935? Could it have been murder?

My paternal grandmother, Catherine Fitzpatrick Burke Fagan, the subject of last week’s column, married my grandfather, William E. Burke, on April 8, 1923. While he had the fecundity of a rabbit, he was less of a dedicated family man than one would hope in an ancestor. He did have employment as a sanitation worker and would decide who worked on his truck route every workday. During the Depression, he would alternate the routes daily between men, depending on their family situation. A partial week paycheck put food on the table, after all.

The Irish have a predilection to drink. I’ve always heard it’s “in the genes” or maybe it’s environmental, that is, it’s just part of the culture, but the Irish have managed to imbibe everywhere they set foot. My grandfather was no different than many Irishmen: he drank in copious amounts. He would invite friends over and make bathtub gin, then go off on drunken sprees for days. The family would move often, eluding the rent collector, and impose on other family members to take them in. It was this disgraceful behavior that instilled in my father the belief that he would always put his family first. As a child of the Great Depression, he knew hunger. His kids never would.

On the afternoon of October 19, 1935, my grandfather and a fellow named Frank Fischetti, a coworker, got into a drunken argument. One thing led to another and ol’ Granddad ended up on the losing end of the fight. The newspaper article is brief, but the true cause of death is the big family secret.

The secret? We kids were always told that our grandfather was accidentally killed when his garbage truck backed over him or that he fell off the truck and hit his head. My cousins (and there are lots of us) all heard the same general story. We operated under that story for 85 years.

Searching for my grandfather’s obituary, I found, instead, a newspaper story that details the incident and clearly calls it a street fight. It names Frank Fischetti as the other fighter. It talks about his arrest and arraignment hearing. However, the article notes that Burke fell and hit his head, so that part of the family story is technically true, although incomplete. I’ve had a tough time searching the New York criminal court records for the 1930s. I’d like to find out what, if anything, became of the homicide case against Fischetti. 

My parents, and all of my aunts, uncles and grandparents with direct knowledge of these events have passed, so I can’t inquire about the reason for the kids being told about the fake cause of death. Maybe they were protecting his reputation because the newspaper clippings mention the drunken brawl. It’s entirely possible that my father, who was the oldest at 12 years old, told the “hit his head” story to his seven younger siblings who then told their kids. 

The result remains the same. My dad helped his mother raise seven children in Depression-era New York. My dad cared for his siblings when school was out for the day until his mother got home from as many as three jobs she worked at a time so the family could survive. As far as I know, nothing happened to Fischetti, and maybe he shouldn’t have had charges anyway. Being involved in a fight, even with fatal results, isn’t always criminal. The curious thing is why the family secret? I can say that this branch of the Burke family tree has been a very civil, peaceful, law-abiding bunch ever since.

Kelly Burke, retired attorney, former district attorney and magistrate judge, writes about the law, rock ’n’ roll, and politics or anything that strikes him. These articles are not designed to give legal advice, but are designed to inform the public about how the law affects their daily lives. Contact Kelly at dakellyburke@gmail.com to comment on this article or suggest articles that you’d like to see, and visit his website at www.kellyrburke.com to view prior columns and contact Kelly.

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