Descendants hold tight to Beara connection in Butte

Mar. 14—NOTE — Fair warning folks! It has been said that the Irish are incapable of making a long story short. This feature is proof positive that there is some validity to those words. While Butte residents will once again not have their traditional St. Patrick's Day parade and many will not be heading to their favorite tavern, there is still much to celebrate and more importantly, to honor and be thankful for. Our Irish ancestors took a chance and left their homeland and opened a new chapter in the mining town that lay below the Continental Divide. The story below focuses on the immigrants of the Beara Peninsula and highlights their innocence, courage, perseverance, devilry, and sometimes pure stubbornness. More than 100 years have passed, but the Beara connection remains steadfast. Their descendants hold tight to their stories, their traditions. It may seem somewhat redundant to state, but it doesn't make it any less true — "If it weren't for them, we would not be here."

Just look at those faces — anyone look familiar?

No, probably not. They are the men, women and children of the Beara Peninsula. You may not have known them nor met any of them, but their presence mattered — to their descendants and to Butte.

Collectively, they helped the Mining City become the "richest hill on earth."

Located on the southwest coast of Ireland, the Beara Peninsula was the birthplace for many of Butte's Irish immigrants.

In the early years, the newly arrived Irish were not clamoring to come to this mining town. Instead, they were headed for the bustling cities of New York and Boston, or the growing towns of Fall River, Massachusetts and Calumet, Michigan.

Certainly, there were some brave Irish souls coming to Butte looking for adventure, but it wasn't until the 1880s that those numbers really began to grow.

Mines were multiplying as well, and thanks to fellow Irish immigrant Copper King Marcus Daly, Irishmen were almost assured of jobs. The majority of these newly employed Irish miners came from the Beara Peninsula, the one-time home of the Mountain Mine and the Castletown-Bearhaven Copper Mines.

Not only did these men bring a strong work ethic, many had the experience to do the job and do it well.

It was not easy "sailing" even when they landed. Once they were firmly planted on solid ground, not everyone was happy to see such an influx and they faced prejudice and ridicule. "No Irish served here" was noted at some Butte establishments.

With tempers flaring, it was not surprising that a riot ensued on America's Independence Day 1894, thanks to members of the American Protective Association, an anti-Catholic group. Once the dust settled, the Irish made it crystal clear — "we are here to stay."

The proof was in the 1900 census, with Butte's population listed at 30,470. Within that melting pot was a population of nearly 12,000 Irish immigrants.

Yes indeed, the Irish were here to stay, including the many who hailed from the Beara Peninsula. Their stories are at times heartbreaking, sometimes humorous, and other times inspirational. Some faltered, others just eked out a living, while many more prospered.

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Described as a "man of modest manners," Patrick M. Sullivan had only been in Butte for two years when he was killed May, 15, 1886, at the St. Lawrence Mine.

Still living in the Beara Peninsula was the 38-year-old miner's wife and six children. If there is a silver lining to this story, Sullivan, the year prior, had the fortitude to join the Ancient Order of United Workmen, a fraternal organization men joined mainly for its insurance.

Did Sullivan have a premonition? Who knows, but because of that membership, upon his death his widow received $2,000.

Two grand was nothing to sneeze at 135 years ago and was sorely needed. In 2021, that amount would be $55,655.74.

There is no headstone for the young miner. In 1886, St. Patrick's Cemetery did not exist, so more than likely, Sullivan, who was Catholic, was buried at the Stephen's Cemetery. Located near St. James Healthcare, the cemetery has since virtually disappeared.

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One success story was Peter Harrington, who started out life in Butte as a miner at the Alice Mine. But, he had other aspirations.

Harrington left life underground to open his own saloon on North Main Street. Later, he was a neighborhood grocery store proprietor who also dabbled in real estate.

His popularity was such that he served on the city council and was also elected Butte's mayor, a position he held from 1897 to 1899.

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If television had been around at the turn of the last century, Paddy "The Bogie" Harrington would have given fictional sitcom character Otis Campbell from "The Andy Griffith Show" a run for his money.

Apparently Paddy had a habit of having a few too many. But, when he decided he had drunk more than his fair share, he saved arresting officers some time and headed toward the jail on his own.

Harrington would walk in, point to a cell and was then allowed to sleep it off.

What became of "Bogie" is a mystery. Even more mysterious is how he acquired his nickname, which at present means four-wheeled cart. More than 100 years ago though, "bogie" was also a slang word for leprechaun or elf.

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For decades, nicknames were the norm, particularly if your surname was Sullivan, Harrington, Murphy, or Shea, and your first name was Jeremiah, John, Daniel, Cornelius, James, Dennis or Patrick.

The Anaconda Standard reported Aug. 5, 1900 that "Plain Pat" Murphy, 43, was killed in an explosion at the Bell Mine, leaving a wife and several children.

What was also the norm? Mining accidents were almost never the mining company's responsibility. In this case, no fault could be found. "From the evidence the jury fails to find that anyone was to blame in the matter" was the final decree.

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As the number of Beara immigrants grew, so did their families.

For Maggie and Timothy Murphy, they welcomed not just one, but three newborns, two girls and a boy, to the fold November 13, 1901. The Murphy three, Cecelia Loretta, Timothy William and Anna Marguerite were the third set of triplets to be born in Butte and the Mining City's first set of the 1900s.

The couple lived at 700 N. Wyoming St., and had two other children, Mary Kate, 7, and Daniel Francis, 4.

Triplets were so rare in Butte that the family was featured in all the local newspapers.

"The little ones are as pretty babies as one will ever see, and are as healthy and bright as any other baby of their age," wrote one reporter.

A miner, the father of five was described as a "steady-going fellow and a kind and providential husband." In a Butte Miner interview, he said, "As long as I can get work these little ones shall never want for anything."

On Aug. 20, 1905, Maggie and Timothy would mourn the death of Anna, who had recovered from scarlet fever only to succumb to pneumonia. The father of five would die of pneumonia as well, on Feb. 18, 1909. He was 46 years old.

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Miner's consumption was the cause of death for John L. Sullivan. He was 47 years old.

When he first came to Butte in the early 1880s, he co-owned a saloon. He then became a police officer and later a miner. His death was a "painful surprise to a wide-circle of friends."

Sullivan, a member of the Robert Emmet Literary Society, was also the financial secretary for the Butte Miners' Union. At his funeral at St. Lawrence O'Toole Church on July 27, 1903, the Miners' Union was well-represented, with dozens of members in attendance.

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Young women of Beara came looking for work as well, and many looking for a partner for life.

Maggie Harrington, 24, was not so lucky.

Ten people were killed Aug. 20, 1905, when a streetcar filled with people coming from the Columbia Gardens was hit by a freight train. She was among the victims.

A reporter from the Butte Miner was at the crash scene. He called the site "one of the most horrible in the history of Butte." He reported strong men weeping and the necessity of women being helped from the scene.

Harrington's funeral Mass was held at St. Mary's Church. The Butte Inter Mountain reported a cortege a mile-and-a-half long followed her casket to St. Patrick's Cemetery.

Her pallbearers, Harringtons one and all, were Daniel, Jerry, Peter, Daniel, Patrick and Jerry.

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"Hundreds attend funeral of much respected citizen" was the April 1, 1910 Butte Miner headline.

The citizen was Cain Holland, 31, who died in Arizona following an illness of one year. His remains were brought back to Butte.

Before becoming ill, the young man had been an accountant for Hennessy's Department Store and was a member of several Irish organizations. He was obviously well-liked. The Butte Inter Mountain reported the funeral was "one of the largest seen in this city for a long time."

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Romance traveled well, at least in the case of Tim Harrington and Catherine Downing who began their courtship long before both came to Butte.

A postman of three years, Tim wed Catherine on June 16, 1911.

According to an article in the Butte Inter Mountain, his fellow mail carriers wished him "tons of health and happiness with this "colleen from Erin."

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In 1911, Edward Harrington left his parents and five brothers, boarded a ship and headed to America. It would be the last time they would ever see their son and brother.

Harrington's story is not unique. Mining accidents may not have been an every-day occurrence, but were, nevertheless, frequent.

The 24-year-old had only been a resident of Butte for seven months when he died from injuries sustained at the Steward Mine. He was crushed by fallen rock on the 1,100-foot level and the internal injuries were too substantial.

It was noted in his obituary that the young man did have family in Butte — three cousins, James Hurley, Jerry Hurley and John Lowney.

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"If our time come, let us die manfully."

Those words are engraved on the headstone of Cornelius O'Neill, one of the 167 victims of the 1917 Granite Mountain-Speculator disaster.

Known by most as "Big Con," he was the foreman at the Bell-Diamond, which adjoined the Speculator Mine.

The towering Irishman was not on shift the night of June 8, 1917, when fire broke out. It didn't matter — he ran to help.

O'Neill, 37, didn't get too far before he was overcome by the noxious gas. He never regained consciousness. In a blink of an eye, his wife Julia was now a widow and his four young children were left without a father.

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When reporting the death of Timothy Harrington Corby at the age of 52 on Nov. 26, 1925, The Anaconda Standard wrote that "Harrington was known to thousands in Butte and was a great favorite in the realm of sports."

And indeed he was. At one time, the Butte man was the world's champion Cornish wrestler.

On April 4, 1904, he took on professional wrestler Frank A. Gotch at the Broadway Theater. Gotch, at 188 pounds, took 160-pound Harrington in the two "catch-as-catch-can" bouts, but in the Cornish bout, which lasted six minutes, Harrington came out ahead. The Butte Miner wrote about Harrington — "he shows a wonderful physique and knowledge of the game."

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James J. Murphy was 55 years old when he died in 1938 and had accomplished much in his life.

Murphy worked his way up to management positions at Hennessy's and for a time, ran the Centerville branch. If he wasn't working, he was fully committed to the numerous Irish organizations, including the Ancient Order of Hibernians.

The one-time AOH president was not afraid to voice his opinion either. In a March 15, 1915 letter to Mayor C.A. Smith, who questioned the patriotism of Butte's Irish organization, Murphy did not mince words:

"I wish to state that you have been misinformed as to the purpose of the St. Patrick's Day parade. It is not intended as a Teutonic demonstration against the allies or anyone else," wrote Murphy.

He went on to say — "Your appeal to the men who contemplate taking part in the parade to refrain from disorderly or offensive conduct is altogether unnecessary ... Your instructions prohibiting the carrying of firearms in this parade comes as a surprise, from the fact that we carried arms last year and on numerous other occasions without known opposition from any quarter. Therefore, your action at this time seems to me to be influenced by a few underground bigots."

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It was said of Sister Mary Emerita Downing, mother superior at St. James Hospital, that "her gentle nature endowed her with a gift to make friends."

Those friends were all on hand to say their final goodbyes at her funeral Jan. 18, 1936.

The 57-year-old nun had made an impact on not only her friends and colleagues, but the residents of Butte. By all accounts, she felt an affinity for the downtrodden and was more at home working in the miners' ward.

Her death was front-page news.

"Sister Emerita had a tender heart for the sick, whose welfare was her first and last thought," a reporter wrote.

The love and respect she showed time and time again in life would lead to a posthumous honor.

The very men and women she had helped through the years gathered funds to have a shrine built in her memory.

Donations came quickly and the unveiling took place on Mother's Day 1936.

Father John A. Delane was the principal speaker. He told a large crowd ... "Today I may be allowed to couple the name of the saintly Bernadette with due reverence with that of one who for many years here among you in Butte devoted an unselfish life to the nursing of the sick poor. I speak of the late superior of this hospital, Sister Mary Emerita, to whose memory this grotto is dedicated."

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Daniel J. McCarthy wore many hats once he came to Butte. A miner and one-time deputy sheriff, he later got into the insurance business.

When he died in 1914, he was just 41, leaving behind a grieving widow, Johanna (Comba) Murphy and their eight children.

Of course, this was not a rare occurrence — a grieving widow who was now the sole provider for her growing sons and daughters.

What was unusual was her funeral more than 40 years later on May 4, 1955.

It was not unheard of to have several priests preside at a funeral, but in Johanna's case, there were 40 priests in attendance, including her son Charles, now a priest, and Bishop Joseph Gilmore of Helena.

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John O Sullivan was first and foremost Irish. So much so, he was known by one and all as "Sean Irish."

Many Irish patriots, including Eamon de Valera and Countess Constance Markievicz, were guests in his home. His sons, who would later become priests, were named after de Valera and Patrick Sarsfield, a 16th century Irish freedom fighter.

For several years, O Sullivan taught the Irish language to young and old in the basement of the old St. Mary's Church. He was also an accomplished poet. Along the way, he managed to voice his opinion a time or two.

During World War I, he was still working for the Anaconda Company. A Union Jack flag was hanging from of one the headframes and O Sullivan took offense. So, he took it down which got him promptly fired. He never worked in the mines again.

Another time he argued with an Uptown Butte restaurant owner, who had a display of porcelain pigs in celebration of St. Patrick's Day. O Sullivan wanted the display gone, but the owner disagreed. Enter Officer Bart Riley to settle the dispute.

After hearing both sides of the story, Officer Riley sided with O Sullivan and ordered the display be taken down.

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Jeremiah J. Lynch had a long and successful life, and it was well-earned.

On May 18, 1890, the 19-year-old set sail from the port town of Cobh in County Cork aboard the SS City of Rome ocean liner.

His first job was working as a deck hand aboard an excursion boat traveling to and from New York City. This job was just a stepping stone.

After three months, the young traveler had saved enough money to head to Butte, where his four cousins, Patrick, John, Michael and Julia Harrington lived.

Working in the mines was another stepping stone for the young Irishman. His end game was law school.

To make that happen, not only did he work underground in Butte, he made his way to Utah where he found work and then returned to New York, where he heaved coal and was a longshoreman.

By 1897, he was back in Butte and had saved enough money to enter law school at the Kent College of Law in Chicago. He worked his last shift in the Butte mines and on July 4, boarded the train headed for the Windy City. His education was put on hold yet again a year later when he enlisted to fight in the Spanish American War. Finally, in June 1899, he graduated top of his class and headed back to Butte.

According to a June 20, 1948 article on Lynch, when he passed the Montana State Bar, he made such an impression with the Montana Supreme Court justices that "cum laude" was written after his name.

Lynch served as a district judge for most of his career. After a long and impressive career, he retired in 1949. Of his impending retirement, a Montana Standard reporter wrote "As he graduated from law school and as he was admitted to the bar, he retires from the bench "cum laude."

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Barry O'Leary also was elected mayor, and he, too, started his working career as a miner — at the St. Lawrence and Kelley Mines.

In total, O'Leary spent nearly 50 years of his life working for the Anaconda Co. He also managed to serve four terms as Butte's mayor (1941-49) and was an alderman for 32 years.

During his political career, O'Leary was instrumental in bringing ice skating rinks to the numerous Butte neighborhoods, as well as the newly built Girls Central High School. He never forgot his roots and was a member of the Ancient Order of Hibernians, the Friendly Sons of St. Patrick, and the Robert Emmet Literary Association.

O'Leary died Nov. 16, 1970 at the age of 93. It was noted in his obituary that while mayor, O'Leary introduced President Harry S. Truman to a crowd on June 8, 1948, at Naranche Stadium.

In 1945, then-Vice President Truman was elevated to the presidency when President Franklin D. Roosevelt died. Three years later, many political experts believed it would be an uphill battle for him to win the presidency. The Butte mayor would later receive a letter from the newly elected commander-in-chief crediting O'Leary and Butte "for his taking the lead and eventually winning the presidency."

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Two Beara immigrants lived in my Corktown neighborhood — Tim Dwyer and Gert (Shea) Sullivan.

As a child, I spent a good deal of time hanging out at their homes, to the point, I'm sure they each must have muttered more than a few times, "Oh hell, here she comes again."

Both left their homeland following the Irish Civil War and settled in Butte. They were wonderful people.

Gert and her husband Paddy had no children. Paddy, a Butte native, was a miner and if he wasn't working, he was fishing. Gert had been a waitress at the Chili King. I had a standing dinner invitation Friday nights at their home and the menu never wavered — trout with sliced fried potatoes.

On summer nights, Gert, Paddy and I would sit on the front porch. I would watch as Gert unwound her gray hair from atop her head and brush it out until it fell beyond her waist. She was beautiful.

Dwyer, a widower and Anaconda Company retiree, lived right next door to Gert and Paddy, and was truly a kind and gentle man.

Not only would he fix the well-used Schwinn bike my sister Kim and I shared, he would, from time to time, paint it a new color. One year it was a bright red, the next royal blue. Another year he bought a basket and strapped it to the front. We were beyond thrilled.

Dwyer's life was much different back in his homeland. In fact, it was one for the Irish history books.

Born Aug. 5, 1899, Dwyer was one of 14 children born to Johnny and Ellen (Lynch) O'Dwyer. His older brother, Liam, was a prominent IRA leader in West Cork who would later be imprisoned by the British.

On March 19, 1921, young Tim was an Irish Republican Army volunteer assigned to the sixth battalion. He would fight in what would become one of the largest single military engagements in the war for independence, the Crossbury Ambush.

Getting ready to "pounce," more than 1,000 British troops circled the small village of Crossbury, located 10 miles west of Cork City. Commander Arthur Percival and his British reinforcements, the "Black and Tans" were preparing to ambush the West Cork Brigade, which was only around 100 strong.

In a 20th century David and Goliath story, the volunteers, led by Tom Barry, came out the victors. The battle was not without its repercussions. Later, the Black and Tans would burn Dwyer's family home to the ground.

A book chronicling the West Cork Brigade was published in 1973, titled "Towards Ireland Free: The West Cork Brigade in the War of Independence 1917-1921."

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Naturally, there are unsung heroes to every story. The men and women of Beara, who for the most part, lived their lives quietly, going to work each day and raising their growing broods. They would experience triumphs and tragedies in their lifetimes. At life's end, their obituaries were a just a few paragraphs on a newspaper page.

Just one paragraph summed up the life of Butte miner, Timothy Sullivan, who died in the 1918 Spanish flu pandemic. The 34-year-old left a wife, Bridget (Harrington) Sullivan and a daughter, Laura.

M.J. Duggan arrived in Butte around 1893 and remained here until his passing in 1923. From his obituary, you learn that his "host of friends" called him Mickey. He and his wife, Julia had six children, and at the time of his death he was working at the Star West Mine.

Men like John Connors, who was 24 when he made his way to Butte and was with the Butte Fire Department for more than 30 years. He married another Beara immigrant Margaret Holland on April 16, 1925, at St. Mary's Church. The Butte Miner shared with its readers that "many friends of the bride and groom filled the church during the ceremony."

Closer to home — three great-aunts of mine were the Sullivan sisters Josie, Annie and Nellie. All three came to Butte as children, along with their mother Kate and sisters, Katie and my grandmother, Julia.

Confined to a wheelchair later in life, Auntie Josie never complained and had the driest sense of humor. I kid you not, she was laugh-out-loud hilarious. Even as her body deteriorated, she never lost that twinkle in her eyes.

Auntie Annie may have been short in stature, but she was larger than life. She almost always had a smile on her face and was not afraid to laugh at herself. Although she truly could not carry a tune, that didn't stop her from belting out the Irish lullaby, Tura Lura Lural from time to time — much to my sister Jamie's dismay.

While Auntie Annie had a bubbly personality, Auntie Nellie was quiet, but never subdued. She, too, had an infectious smile and like her sister Josie, a noticeable twinkle in her eye. There was never a time she didn't ask — "How are you dear?" and waited patiently for you to answer. It was an endearing quality.

Whether they basked in the limelight or led "unassuming" lives, the descendants of these Beara brave would reap the benefits.

Some would continue the legacy and worked underground or sought a religious life. Others would hold positions that run the gamut — teachers, county employees, office assistants, professors, politicians, business owners, doctors, dentists, construction workers, accountants, lawyers, etc.

Starting more than 140 years ago, one by one, immigrants from the Beara Peninsula stepped onto a wooden platform and boarded ships headed into the unknown — final destination, Butte.

Your descendants thank you for making the journey.

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