This is Part 2 of " The Unsolved Murder of Patrolman Michael Connolly, Portland Maine

Written by Suzan Norton© 2008

After writing the story of Patrolman Michael T. Connolly, I received some correspondence regarding the story. One letter suggested that Officer Connolly was clearly fighting a losing battle that he could not possibly win. “The battle clearly favored corruption.” The reader also stated that it was clear there were many cover-ups with many parties involved. “Patrolman Connolly died a hero upholding true Law and Justice. Fire from shame, he died with real honor and integrity. ”  Pondering those words, I also believe that as widespread as the thirst for alcohol was and still is, that he may have been against all odds. Who would dare rat out their neighbor because everyone liked a drink? Those were the times. When the potential to make good money is involved, sometimes the line between “good” and “evil” is not so clear. There were some prominent families who afforded their children college educations with the profits made from bootlegging. In the first story, there is mention of one officer receiving a bribe of five hundred dollars to allow the bootleggers to deliver their goods unbothered. In 1930, that was a large sum of money. So, there is more to Patrolman Connolly’s story that would seem to validate a cover-up.
                Michael T. Connolly, born 1881 in Ireland, was the son of Lawrence and Margaret Coyne Connolly. His siblings were Mary, John, Edward [came to Portland], Patrick, and James [came to Portland]. He was born in the Spiddal area which is in West Galway, sometimes referred to as Connemara Region. The maps of County Galway have an East and West Division. Within these small towns, lie town lands, which are usually only found on survey maps, which are very detailed. His family lived within the town lands of Furbough and Knocknagreny. Furbough [Furbach Garbh] translates to Rough Land. Knocknagreny [Cnoc na Greine], which has four spelling variations, translates to Hill of the Sun. These town lands are in the Parish of Rahoon. Michael Connolly married Mary Madden, who originally came from Kilkerrin, in a smaller area named Kylefalia in Connemara. One house Connolly lived in was on the main road to Spiddal. In 1991, when Connolly’s family visited their grandfather’s homeland, the house was boarded up, uninhabited. On this visit, Connolly’s relatives still wanted to know if Michael Connolly’s murder had been solved. Today, there is still a strong connection between Spiddal and Portland, as so many relocated, many familiar with neighbors who had moved to the same area. Patrolman Michael Connolly died at the age of 49.
                I believe life is full of connections, some ironic, some amazing. The following story was told to me by Connolly’s granddaughter, Kathleen. Sometime back in the seventies, she paid for her son to have piano lessons. A man named Jerry Cohen came to her house for the lessons. He taught jazz piano. One day after a lesson, Kathleen and Jerry were having light conversation. He asked Kathleen her maiden name. When she replied ‘Connolly’, she said his face suddenly turned ghost white. Then he asked her if she was perhaps related to the Portland Policeman who was murdered in 1930. She replied that, yes indeed, her grandfather was Michael Connolly.  The piano teacher told the story of when he was a young boy, of eleven years, that he had found Connolly’s body that morning at Fish Point. He became hysterical and ran home to inform his mother. She took him immediately to the police department to inform them. They heard nothing more. Kathleen said Jerry Cohen’s impression was that the police were not interested in his find that morning. When the newspapers ran the story about the suicide theory, once again, Jerry Cohen’s mother went to the police with the story about Connolly’s hands being cuffed behind his back. The suicide theory had to be false. The Cohen’s never heard anymore about the incident. 
                Connolly’s granddaughter, Mary Lou, told the story of the police notifying an Uncle Martin Madden, who was also at Peaks Island, regarding Connolly’s death. They asked him not to say anything to his sister at the time. Perhaps it was presented in this manner to ‘protect’ Mrs. Connolly until she reached the mainland with her children. However, a cab driver delivered the news to Mrs. Connolly concerning her husband’s murder.
Connolly’s children eventually grew up and some relocated to other parts of the country. His children must have been haunted by never knowing what happened to their father, and seeing their mother struggle to make ends meet. It was perhaps the single most important part of their existence, yet the pain was so great, they never spoke about it with each other. It was evident when speaking with his grandchildren that their grandfather meant a great deal to them. The family has integrity and the grandchildren with whom I have been in contact are very close. 
                Throughout the years, Connolly’s son, John, employed at the prison, was told that he might find the identity of his father’s murderer.  Someone offered the information to him. However, he felt it was too late and he refused any knowledge of the killer thinking he had a family to think about.  So the story is ongoing. 
                Connolly’s granddaughter, Kathleen, told of another story of a woman with whom she worked. The woman told her one day of a vivid dream she had about a grandfather of Kathleen’s. She said “Your grandfather said ‘Tell My Story’”. Kathleen had no recollection of telling her grandfather’s story to the woman, so she was struck by the woman’s dream.  Since, I first heard Connolly’s story, I have not let it out of my head. I felt an urgency to write since that day. Ironically, my husband was in the US Navy when I met him, as the Destroyer he was stationed on was named the USS Conolly DD979. Connections… they are within all of us. Maybe we need to listen more to those.
                The Portland Police Department named a boat for Michael T. Connolly. It was in service in the 1980’s. There was a large ceremony when it was commissioned. The boat took on water and ended up in a frantic attempt banking on East End Beach. This story was relayed by Connolly’s granddaughter. Again, it is ironic that the boat’s demise was at East End Beach, the same area the Patrolman’s body had been found many years ago. 
                My intention for putting pen to paper regarding Patrolman Michael T. Connolly was to put the story ‘out there’. In no way was the story intended to reflect upon the present Portland Police Department. It is a story of long ago that needed to be told. I am forever grateful to his family for allowing me the privilege of telling their grandfather’s story. Not only was he a man to honor, but his family is to be commended for all they endured. In the end, I don’t think his community forgot him at all.

The story was written with permission by Kathleen Alfiero and her sisters, Diane Connolly and Mary Lou Connolly.
Stories were taken from Interviews and Correspondence between the three sisters.
Thank you to Scott, the reader who responded in a personal e-mail to me.
places.galwaylibrary.ie/asp/fullresult – Website of Irish Place Names

Please read "The Unsolved Murder of Patrolman Michael Connolly, Portland Maine" also posted under 'Stories of Long Ago' on this blog.