Fingy Conners & The New Century

by Richard Sullivan

  “I believe that Edwin’s door was open to Mrs. Pennell anytime day or night,” she stated.

  “There was an occasion about two years ago when you and Mr. Burdick had quite an altercation at your house?” Coatsworth asked.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “And after that it was necessary for him to wear a piece with Cotolia court plaster on his head?”

  “No, sir.”

  “Did you not at that time strike him over the head with a chair?”

  “I did not.”

  “You received a letter from your husband from Indianapolis in January of last year?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “I will read it:

  ‘Received a letter to-day from A.R.P. of the contents of which you are familiar. I shall decline to have an interview with him. I do not intend to return home again.’

  You wrote a letter in reply, Mrs. Burdick, in which you pleaded with Mr. Burdick not to move forward with his plan to sue for divorce, stating that the divorce proceeding would crush the children, especially little Marion. I quote you here, ‘My God, Ed, this must not be. You cannot be so cruel to us. You have been generous; continue to be so.’”

  Mrs. Burdick admitted she had written it.

  “That letter was sufficient to induce him home?”

  “I had an interview with him afterward. I asked him to come home and he said he intended to.”

  “And after that, you continued to meet Pennell?”

  “I do not remember.”

  “Well, allow me to refresh your memory, then. It was right after that you held your clandestine meetings with Pennell in the houses on Seventh Street.”

  “Not right after, no.”

  “On what date was it that you jumped out the window on Seventh Street?

  “December 2nd.”

  What church did you run to?”

  “The Church of The Ascension.”

  “And what did your husband say to you when you returned home to your family that night?”

  “He told me I would have to leave the house and advised me to communicate with Pennell. I went down to his office and Mr. Burdick went with me. I remained away for several days and then went home. I had another talk with Mr. Burdick and he told me that I could stay the night.”

  “He was very kind to you even after all that had happened?”

  “He was.”

  Alice Burdick testified that she was served with divorce papers the following day. She packed her things for good and was taken by Pennell to The Prospect House at Niagara Falls. She claimed Pennell did not stay with her at the hotel nor that they had dined together despite the fact that he remained in Niagara Falls that night. She returned to Buffalo to meet with her mother at the tea room at Adam Meldrum & Anderson department store. There her mother told her that Mr. Burdick had informed her that he had expelled his unfaithful wife from the home.

  Afterward she left on a train for New York where she met Mr. Pennell. Interestingly, Mrs. Pennell accompanied him, but Mrs. Burdick claims that despite their all being there for a week, and meeting with Mr. Pennell daily, that she never met or spoke with Mrs. Pennell. Mrs. Pennell wrote at least two letters to Mr. Burdick in Buffalo from New York pleading with him to take back Mrs. Burdick for the sake of the children, citing their “need for a mother’s love and care,”—something the children had experienced precious little of in the years that their mother had been wantonly carrying on with Pennell.

  Alice Burdick then returned to Buffalo yet again, this time to claim the contents of the safety deposit vault. While there she telephoned her husband and asked him to meet her at the Genesee Hotel, which he did. She had not retained an attorney. She said she allowed Pennell to make any and all decisions concerning the divorce. She wrote a letter on December 12 in which she said that returning home would make no difference for the reason that Pennell said she had no defense and that the divorce would be granted by mutual agreement.

  Ed Burdick had told his wife that if she made no defense that he would agree to her having custody of the children half the time. For that reason she decided not to make a defense.

  “Afterward I changed my mind and decided I would make a defense and save my honor.”

  “Save your honor?” exclaimed Coatsworth with raised eyebrows and mock incredulity.

  “Yes. My honor.”

  “Isn’t it true that you decided to make a defense not to defend your so-called honor, but because Pennell told you in no uncertain terms that Carrie Pennell refused to grant him a divorce?

  “No, Mr. Pennell decided I should make a defense. He decided that himself, without me.”

  “And you just agreed to everything he said?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  She said Pennell told her he would leave his wife and go out West and get a divorce from Mrs. Pennell there and then marry her.

  “Did Mr. Pennell have any means of his own?”

  “I do not know. He was a silent man, and told his business to no one.”

  Even though Alice Burdick had known him for seven years and had traveled extensively with him alone as well as with him and his wife she claimed to know nothing at all of his personal finances.

  “When did you first hear that Mrs. Pennell had inherited a small fortune?”

  “I did not know that about her.”

  “Pennell never told you his wife was a wealthy woman?”

  “No.”

  “He never spoke of a plan to separate his wife from her money?”

  “No sir.”

  “You claim, Mrs. Burdick, that you did not engage Mr. Thayer, Mr. Pennell’s law partner, as your attorney in this divorce matter.”

  “That is correct.”

  “Yet you went to his office to secure something?”

  “Yes, but I did not see him or speak to him.”

  “What papers did you receive at his offices?”

  “I don’t know. I never looked at them. They were legal papers of some kind, which I placed in my safe deposit box.”

  ”Without even looking to see what they were?”

  “Yes sir.”

  “Is it not true that these papers were a bond?”

  “No.”

  “Did not Mr. Pennell give you his bond?”

  “No, sir.”

  “Do you mean to say that he did not give you his bond to secure the payment of $25,000?”

  “Not that I know of.”

  Do you mean to say he did not agree to support you in the event that your husband secured a divorce?”

  “No, sir.”

  “And didn’t he agree to give you a bond for $25,000 to support you through life?”

  “No, sir, not that I know of.”

  “Didn’t Pennell give you a letter of introduction to Attorney Thayer?”

  “No, sir.”

  Mr. Coatsworth then produced a copy of said letter of introduction, made in Pennell’s handwriting, to Mr. Thayer.

  “Your husband somehow got the key to your secure box in the safe deposit vault, didn’t he?”

  “Yes.”

  “And this is a copy of a letter he found in your box!”

  “I do not know. I never saw it.”

  Coatsworth next produced a copy for the witness to identify of a bond for $50,000 given by Pennell to secure the payment to her of $25,000.

  “That came from your safe deposit vault also, didn’t it?

  “I do not know.”

  Don’t you know that such a bond was in that box?”

  “I do not.”

  “Isn’t it strange that your husband could find that bond in your locked safe deposit box but you could not?”

  “I do not know anything about that.”

  She claimed she didn’t know that a provision had been made by Arthur Pennell to make a payment of $25,000 to her and that he never paid her that sum. She claimed she didn’t know if he had signed any of his insurance policies over to her.

  Around and around they went, with Alice Burdick
recalling so many meetings with Alfred Pennell in New York and Atlantic City as to confuse even the most rapt listener.

  While they were together in New York City, she said, Pennell never gave her any money, but he did pay her expenses. She met him in the parlor at The Fifth Avenue Hotel one day to sign papers. She claimed she had no idea what these papers were, that she always signed whatever Pennell asked her to. He accompanied her to the train station on February 23 to send her off to Atlantic City. He then returned to Buffalo.

  Mrs. Burdick swore she never heard from him after that. The night of the murder she claimed she was tired and went to bed early and slept until 8 o’clock the next morning.

  ...

  Hannah and Annie discussed the inquest proceedings all the way home on the streetcar. They agreed there was something amiss; the dazed and detached aura about all the females, especially the grandmother and the daughters. Others around them had been especially noticing of this as well and were vocal about what they believed it signified.

  Outside the court, a sanctimonious woman was heard to say, “How is it that such a horrible thing could happen in that house and yet not a tear is shed for that man in court! Those snippy daughters are as cold as ice!”

  Another man was loudly proclaiming that all of the females in the Burdick home were obviously involved in a conspiracy, judging by their unemotional testimony.

  “Them girls know a lot more ’n what they’re lettin’ on, by golly! You mark my words! They’re all in it together.”

  That kind of talk made Hannah very uncomfortable, knowing what she did about the Burdick home invasion. When Jim had first revealed to her about the midnight raid she was sent into a rage over it, but so far the incident was still virtually unknown by the general public. No newspaper had yet printed any account of the incident, which for certain must have left a chilling deficit in these women.

  “Why should they trust anybody at all now, after that, Annie? Especially since the whole thing has been kept quiet. They must be wondering why no one has learned about it. I would imagine they’d all be on pins and needles permanently over there at that house, wondering what next?”

  Annie said, “I know…like that Canadian Hutchison girl too who they dragged in and stripped naked. If all these busybodies at the courthouse knew what really had happened to these women, they might not be so convinced they’re the ones qualified to judge. These poor Burdick daughters are still in shock, I think, it appears to me. Frozen with fear and grief.

  Hannah and Annie were back again the next day, Hannah beginning to feel a wee bit dowdy compared to all the other finely turned-out murder enthusiasts.

  A letter dated December 22, 1902 was read that Mrs. Carrie Pennell wrote in which she asked Mr. Burdick whether he was absolutely crazy in taking the burden of pressing the divorce proceedings, pointing out to him that her husband did not value life too highly.

  She wrote that Pennell intimated to her that he might commit suicide and take Mrs. Burdick with him.

  Mrs. Burdick herself hinted at suicide in a letter written six days later to her husband.

  She now claimed she never discussed suicide, neither hers nor Pennell’s, to Pennell or anyone.

  In one of Pennell’s letters to “Dearest Allie” that was written from Portland Maine he said, “This trip has not been a happy one for me. None are, or can be, without you. I shall go on despairingly, but calmly, for I am not afraid of a fate which only your coming to me can avert. I shall see you Saturday. If only I could meet you alone again as I used to, then I should be willing to die. For an hour with you is worth death or life.”

  The testimony by the disgusting Dr. Marcy, the physician who tried his utmost to cover up the crime, was an eventful day for Hannah.

  “He’s obstructing justice!” she fumed to Annie and others sitting around them on the streetcar on their way home. “Marcy tried to mislead a police investigation. Who does he think he is, deciding that the “good name” of a adulteress should be protected at the cost of capturing a good man’s murderer? And what would have been the end result if poor Mr. Burdick was believed to have committed suicide? What would that have done to his children? That Marcy cretin should have his medical license taken away permanently.”

  Hannah had became polarized by the actions of Dr. Marcy for whom she was now oozing with contempt. She vowed at one point to make it her life’s work to discredit and shame Dr. Marcy for the rest of his days.

  No one else however seemed to wish to hold Marcy responsible for his outrage. The police did not arrest him or charge him with conspiracy, fraud, interference in a murder investigation, obstruction of justice, collusion, or anything else he so richly deserved.

  Jim told her, “Let it rest, Hannah.”

  Hannah decided it was up to her to make this monster pay. She would make it her mission. What if it were her, or her own child who’d been murdered, then shamed in death by an accusation of suicide by some entitled imposter?

  “How would you feel Annie, if someone like Fingy Conners murdered JP and a jackass like Marcy tried to cover it up by claiming your husband killed himself? What would that do your poor children? What would Burdick’s daughters be thinking every day if they were led to believe along with the rest of the world that their poor loving, forgiving, generous father had committed suicide? ‘My father killed himself,’ they would all be saying to themselves every day. ‘Did I do something wrong? Was I not a good daughter? Was he so disappointed in me that he’d rather to die?’

  “Children always blame themselves, Annie. How is it that they will not punish that man for what he has done, conspiring to stand in the path of justice and scar Burdick’s girls for the rest of their days, and a physician no less who in his oath pledged to do no harm? I am hoping to read his obituary soon.”

  “Hannah…” Annie attempted to calm her.

  “I am so angry I could just spit, Annie.”

  “You know Hannah, they say that one way to get the anger out is just to write it down. You could write a letter to this Marcy idiot, and allow all your anger to flow out through the pen. You can call him every vile name that applies. Then, you burn the letter. I’ve done this very thing with JP a number of times when I was so mad at him I was afraid I’d haul off and slug him in front of the kids. It really does relieve a huge burden, Hannah. I can even help you write it if you’d like. It would be good for both of us, I think. It would be fun, in fact.”

  So together the following day they opened a couple bottles of Magnus Beck at the kitchen table, a peace offering that Hannah’s brother David Nugent delivered free from Fingy Conners’ brewery to their door every Saturday, and sat and composed a damning indictment of the Burdicks’ medicine man while Sophie kept an eye on the little ones next door.

  The essay was suitably vile and crude, addressing every aspect of the likely results of Marcy’s unforgivable attempt to subvert the truth of what really happened to poor Ed Burdick.

  “With friends like you, Dr. Marcy, neither the Burdicks, nor anyone else for that matter have any additional need of enemies,” Hannah wrote while both giggled like tipsy schoolgirls. It was an indictment so cruel that if he ever read it, it would make his skin crawl. Most damning of all was Hannah’s ending, the threat to bring him to justice “if it takes me the rest of my life!”

  It’s In The Mail

  A week later Hannah was sick again, having picked up a microbe of some sort, no less after haughtily lecturing everyone about how her superior health measures had virtually eliminated illness in their home. She was now humbled.

  “One of them awful people on the streetcar gave this to me, I’m certain of it,” she complained to her daughter. “It was that dirty man who had dog poo all over his shoe.”

  At hearing the word “dog” Zeke raised his head from his lying position at Hannah’s feet. He’d hardly left her side since she’d gotten sick, somehow holding his bladder for many long hours past his usual walk time until someone remembered to take the poor fellow
out.

  Nellie was feeling guilty about spending so much time with her girlfriends, ogling boys, while her mother was left to do all the work around the house. She was sure it was her being so overworked that caused her mother to be ill. She hated walking Zeke because he was too strong and pulled on the leash, and Hannah wouldn’t hear of her precious baby being allowed outside to roam unaccompanied or untethered.

  Hannah used to be quite a strict parent in her earlier days. But after suffering so much loss, she cherished those children who remained, and admittedly let them just about get away with murder.

  Having inherited a bit of her mother’s paranoia, Nellie began to fear perhaps that God might be testing her with this threat, and like a whirlwind set out to make up for lost time. She fetched the carpet sweeper as Zeke ran to find a safe place to hide from the devil contraption. The noise multiplied Hannah’s headache, but it was so rare that Nellie pitched in with housework voluntarily that she just covered her head with a pillow and bore it. Hannah was surprised to feel herself drifting off to sleep despite the racket. She felt awful.

  Tackling the roll top desk next, with papers and bills and newspapers spilling out all over, Nellie set to organizing the mess into proper piles before deciding what to do with it all. There was an unpaid Frontier Telephone bill due the next day, and a bill from Dr. Buswell too. In between she put a chicken in a pot along with potatoes and carrots for dinner, hoping it would be done on time for when her father got in from work.

  Hearing his slow heavy steps climbing the stairs finally, Nellie positioned herself in front of the pot, stirring it nonchalantly as if not aware of his being there.

  “Well, I never thought I’d live to see the day!”

  “Oh, hi Papa. You’re home. I was just cooking dinner.”

  “Surprisingly, it does smell a little bit like a dinner,” chuckled the Detective, “but knowing my daughter, I suspect it could just as well be a big pot of cold water.”

  “Very funny. I can cook some things, you know, Pa.”

  “Yeah, I heard that rumor somewhere out on the street, but—and I say this purely as a professional detective—I’ve yet to unearth any solid proof of it.”