Patricia A Bourke (Pollinger)
Date of Birth
Saturday, February 12th, 1927
Date of Death
Tuesday, September 10th, 2013
Obituary for Patricia Bourke (Pollinger)
Patricia A. (Pollinger) Bourke, 86, of Auburn, died on Tuesday, September 10, 2013. She was predeceased by her husband, Robert M. Bourke, who died in 2012. Patricia was born in Worcester on February 12, 1927, the fourth of six children of George and Etta (O’Leary) Pollinger.
She grew up in a large family on May and Wyman Streets until her grandmother helped finance a house for them on Beaver Brook Parkway. In the urban climate of the 30s and 40s, Worcester still had streets like Beaver Brook, unpaved and deeply rutted. At that time there was an actual brook, and a meadow beyond. Growing up in this house during the Depression and throughout the war, the Pollingers didn’t have luxuries, but her father, a firefighter, was never out of work. As Patricia described it, “We never knew we were poor.” Her mother was a housewife who played piano at home, and sang at services in local Catholic churches for a little extra money. Her mother is remembered to this day for her versions of “O Holy Night” and especially the “Ave Maria.” Patricia was one of five girls, all sharing a single bedroom. According to family legend, the last one in at night had to sleep with one foot on the floor.
Her memories of childhood gave one the impression that it was spent in almost unrestricted freedom, due in part to the fact that her family did not have a car, and she had to walk all over the city to get where she needed to go. She also simply liked to wander and explore. It was apparently a time and a place where children could do that safely. Many of her childhood stories ended with: “I don’t know what I was doing all by myself all the way over there...”
She grew up surrounded by a large number of mostly Irish uncles and aunts and cousins, and knew both sets of grandparents. Worcester was a city of familiar faces. There was a favorite uncle who drank and never amounted to much but had wonderful stories. There was her beloved grandfather, who married somewhat above his station in life and wasn’t allowed to forget it; a grandmother used to throw money out the window to pay for things rather than go down to the ground floor. There was her other grandmother, whom she used to take to the movies, where they would get free dishes. She remembered times alone with her father, walking from May Street over to Elm Park to feed the ducks, and getting an entire candy bar to herself. He taught her how to swim at Coes Pond. (He himself would swim across it regularly, throughout his life.) There was the time she woke up early for a week and collected the money the neighbors had left outside for milk delivery; she thought it had been left out for her, and she volunteered it to her mother to help with the household budget. There was the time she thought she could do a lot of good if she burned every single votive candle they had at Blessed Sacrament Church. Her mother had to pay that one back as well.
She attended St. Peter’s High School on Main Street, an experience she recalled as a particularly happy time. She was part of a little band of high-spirited teenagers who referred to each other by their last names. Her best friend was one “MacKenna.” The nuns at St. Peter’s directed her away from the business track her friends were on to the college track, a change she enjoyed immensely. She knew all manner of poems and songs and recitations that she could recall in full sixty years later. Ultimately St. Peter’s offered her a scholarship to continue her education, but it was 1944 and she knew she wanted to get married instead. She opted to take a quick secretarial course in order to help out her family with a job.
Those were wonderful years in Worcester for a young person, and Patricia described it as a time when she went out dancing nearly every night, at popular places like Johnny Heinz’s Ballroom. Perhaps not unrelated, in 1946 she received a commendation from the USO for her war efforts. Photographs of her during the 40s and 50s show her to be something of a clotheshorse, with a taste for bright designs in an era that was frequently drab: of particular notoreity was an ocelot coat, still well-preserved in a cedar-lined closet.
In 1946 she married Robert M. Bourke of Worcester, whom she had known since the seventh grade. It was a marriage that would last for more than 65 years. With some assistance from her parents and the GI Bill, in 1951 the couple bought a Cape Cod house in a new development in Auburn, Mass., where they would spend the rest of their lives. This was the beginning of what Patricia considered to be the second phase of her life. The neighborhood was almost a case study in suburban planning, made up of young married couples and their children. It had a marked feeling security and openness, where you could leave your children at home at night and from time to time send someone round from a local party to check on them. The neighborhood had a lively social atmosphere. The Bourkes were members of the Mavericks, a square dance club that also enjoyed Latin dances. According to social column reports in the local newspapers, Patricia had an award-winning “Contemporary Rhumba” and was one year named “Mrs. Winegold.” No doubt these titles were also elaborate in-jokes.
Meanwhile, the couple built up and improved their house over the years to accommodate their increasing family. The Bourkes raised three girls and two boys and a number of pets. One week every summer was spent at Hampton Beach, where for many years they rented the cottage Rosemary. Hampton Beach had been a tradition since her own childhood. Patricia loved the ocean. Especially in the cold water of the North Atlantic, her philosophy, borrowed from her mother, was: “You won’t feel good if you don’t go in.”
After her fifth child started grade school, Patricia went back to work, this time in the transit department at Mechanics Bank. The next twenty years made up what she characterized as the third phrase of her life. Through her job at Mechanics she met and made friends with a number of types of people from different countries and economic situations, from Greek immigrants to self-styled punks. In one case that she remembered with satisfaction, Patricia stood up for a colleague, a woman from Scotland, and her husband, in their naturalization process. Several of the people she worked with became close friends.
When she retired from the bank in 1990 Patricia, beginning the fourth phase of her life, volunteered as an ombudsman for several nursing homes in the Worcester area; and the couple spent their winters in a daughter’s condominium in Port Charlotte, Florida.
The Bourkes were by that time experienced travelers, with a special fondness for New England. For their 25th anniversary, they celebrated in Hawaii: it was the first time Patricia had ever flown in an airplane. In the following years they explored much of rest of the country, often on bus tours, and took trips to Acapulco, Bermuda, Quebec, and England. As late as the 1990s they were still mobile in spite of several health problems that had begun to make travel difficult; one of their last trips found them in a hot-air balloon floating over a glacier in Alaska.
Patricia will be remembered for so many aspects of a cheerful, entertaining personality: as someone who delighted in wordplay, rhymes, and jokes; who could recite from songs and poems at the drop of a hat; who insisted on good grammar; who went to great lengths to prepare surprises for birthdays and special occasions; who had a love for reading novels, loved American history, loved autumns in New England (for the weather as much as the foliage); loved dogs. She was also known for a remarkable resilience in all manner of personal trial, as a matter of a lifelong moral philosophy—you did not want to be known as a complainer.
It was because of this moral philosophy that Patricia remained a woman with vitality in spite of declining health. After Robert died, she was still able to look forward to car rides, making a daily pilgrimage to the Bob Cousy statue at Holy Cross, visiting her beloved Hampton Beach on a couple of occasions, or singing hapa-haole songs to ukulele accompaniment, or hanging out at golf-course pubs for the view of the greens. In the month before she passed she took her first-ever ride in a golf cart. She took pleasure in her food: A grilled cheese sandwich provided by a niece remained the unmatchable standard for grilled cheese sandwiches ever after. And if you wanted an example of finding happiness in the humblest of acts, you could have witnessed her ritual of preparing a pickle spear. When she recently had to spend a few nights in the hospital, she could be heard entertaining the staff with a rendition of “When Irish Eyes Are Smiling.”
Patricia is survived by her children Patricia Hertzfeld of Putnam, Conn., Sharon Deffely and her husband James Deffely of Auburn, Mass., Linda Bourke of Gloucester, Mass., Robert Bourke and his wife Kara Leistyna of Heath, Mass., and Kevin Bourke of Astoria, Queens; grandchildren Mary King and her husband James, Elon Hertzfeld and his wife Melanie, Sean Deffely and his wife Kathryn, Brion Deffely, Daniel Bourke, Maura Bourke, Dylan Merrill, and Katherine Merrill; and great-grandchildren Haley and Hanna King, Barry and Drew Hertzfeld, James and Erin Deffely her niece Susan VanBusKirk—of grilled-cheese fame—among many other nieces and nephews; and a granddog, Derby. Memorial donations in Patricia's name can be made to Central MA Hospice, 191 Pakachaog St, Auburn, MA 01501.
Date of Birth
Saturday, February 12th, 1927
Date of Death
Tuesday, September 10th, 2013
Obituary for Patricia Bourke (Pollinger)
Patricia A. (Pollinger) Bourke, 86, of Auburn, died on Tuesday, September 10, 2013. She was predeceased by her husband, Robert M. Bourke, who died in 2012. Patricia was born in Worcester on February 12, 1927, the fourth of six children of George and Etta (O’Leary) Pollinger.
She grew up in a large family on May and Wyman Streets until her grandmother helped finance a house for them on Beaver Brook Parkway. In the urban climate of the 30s and 40s, Worcester still had streets like Beaver Brook, unpaved and deeply rutted. At that time there was an actual brook, and a meadow beyond. Growing up in this house during the Depression and throughout the war, the Pollingers didn’t have luxuries, but her father, a firefighter, was never out of work. As Patricia described it, “We never knew we were poor.” Her mother was a housewife who played piano at home, and sang at services in local Catholic churches for a little extra money. Her mother is remembered to this day for her versions of “O Holy Night” and especially the “Ave Maria.” Patricia was one of five girls, all sharing a single bedroom. According to family legend, the last one in at night had to sleep with one foot on the floor.
Her memories of childhood gave one the impression that it was spent in almost unrestricted freedom, due in part to the fact that her family did not have a car, and she had to walk all over the city to get where she needed to go. She also simply liked to wander and explore. It was apparently a time and a place where children could do that safely. Many of her childhood stories ended with: “I don’t know what I was doing all by myself all the way over there...”
She grew up surrounded by a large number of mostly Irish uncles and aunts and cousins, and knew both sets of grandparents. Worcester was a city of familiar faces. There was a favorite uncle who drank and never amounted to much but had wonderful stories. There was her beloved grandfather, who married somewhat above his station in life and wasn’t allowed to forget it; a grandmother used to throw money out the window to pay for things rather than go down to the ground floor. There was her other grandmother, whom she used to take to the movies, where they would get free dishes. She remembered times alone with her father, walking from May Street over to Elm Park to feed the ducks, and getting an entire candy bar to herself. He taught her how to swim at Coes Pond. (He himself would swim across it regularly, throughout his life.) There was the time she woke up early for a week and collected the money the neighbors had left outside for milk delivery; she thought it had been left out for her, and she volunteered it to her mother to help with the household budget. There was the time she thought she could do a lot of good if she burned every single votive candle they had at Blessed Sacrament Church. Her mother had to pay that one back as well.
She attended St. Peter’s High School on Main Street, an experience she recalled as a particularly happy time. She was part of a little band of high-spirited teenagers who referred to each other by their last names. Her best friend was one “MacKenna.” The nuns at St. Peter’s directed her away from the business track her friends were on to the college track, a change she enjoyed immensely. She knew all manner of poems and songs and recitations that she could recall in full sixty years later. Ultimately St. Peter’s offered her a scholarship to continue her education, but it was 1944 and she knew she wanted to get married instead. She opted to take a quick secretarial course in order to help out her family with a job.
Those were wonderful years in Worcester for a young person, and Patricia described it as a time when she went out dancing nearly every night, at popular places like Johnny Heinz’s Ballroom. Perhaps not unrelated, in 1946 she received a commendation from the USO for her war efforts. Photographs of her during the 40s and 50s show her to be something of a clotheshorse, with a taste for bright designs in an era that was frequently drab: of particular notoreity was an ocelot coat, still well-preserved in a cedar-lined closet.
In 1946 she married Robert M. Bourke of Worcester, whom she had known since the seventh grade. It was a marriage that would last for more than 65 years. With some assistance from her parents and the GI Bill, in 1951 the couple bought a Cape Cod house in a new development in Auburn, Mass., where they would spend the rest of their lives. This was the beginning of what Patricia considered to be the second phase of her life. The neighborhood was almost a case study in suburban planning, made up of young married couples and their children. It had a marked feeling security and openness, where you could leave your children at home at night and from time to time send someone round from a local party to check on them. The neighborhood had a lively social atmosphere. The Bourkes were members of the Mavericks, a square dance club that also enjoyed Latin dances. According to social column reports in the local newspapers, Patricia had an award-winning “Contemporary Rhumba” and was one year named “Mrs. Winegold.” No doubt these titles were also elaborate in-jokes.
Meanwhile, the couple built up and improved their house over the years to accommodate their increasing family. The Bourkes raised three girls and two boys and a number of pets. One week every summer was spent at Hampton Beach, where for many years they rented the cottage Rosemary. Hampton Beach had been a tradition since her own childhood. Patricia loved the ocean. Especially in the cold water of the North Atlantic, her philosophy, borrowed from her mother, was: “You won’t feel good if you don’t go in.”
After her fifth child started grade school, Patricia went back to work, this time in the transit department at Mechanics Bank. The next twenty years made up what she characterized as the third phrase of her life. Through her job at Mechanics she met and made friends with a number of types of people from different countries and economic situations, from Greek immigrants to self-styled punks. In one case that she remembered with satisfaction, Patricia stood up for a colleague, a woman from Scotland, and her husband, in their naturalization process. Several of the people she worked with became close friends.
When she retired from the bank in 1990 Patricia, beginning the fourth phase of her life, volunteered as an ombudsman for several nursing homes in the Worcester area; and the couple spent their winters in a daughter’s condominium in Port Charlotte, Florida.
The Bourkes were by that time experienced travelers, with a special fondness for New England. For their 25th anniversary, they celebrated in Hawaii: it was the first time Patricia had ever flown in an airplane. In the following years they explored much of rest of the country, often on bus tours, and took trips to Acapulco, Bermuda, Quebec, and England. As late as the 1990s they were still mobile in spite of several health problems that had begun to make travel difficult; one of their last trips found them in a hot-air balloon floating over a glacier in Alaska.
Patricia will be remembered for so many aspects of a cheerful, entertaining personality: as someone who delighted in wordplay, rhymes, and jokes; who could recite from songs and poems at the drop of a hat; who insisted on good grammar; who went to great lengths to prepare surprises for birthdays and special occasions; who had a love for reading novels, loved American history, loved autumns in New England (for the weather as much as the foliage); loved dogs. She was also known for a remarkable resilience in all manner of personal trial, as a matter of a lifelong moral philosophy—you did not want to be known as a complainer.
It was because of this moral philosophy that Patricia remained a woman with vitality in spite of declining health. After Robert died, she was still able to look forward to car rides, making a daily pilgrimage to the Bob Cousy statue at Holy Cross, visiting her beloved Hampton Beach on a couple of occasions, or singing hapa-haole songs to ukulele accompaniment, or hanging out at golf-course pubs for the view of the greens. In the month before she passed she took her first-ever ride in a golf cart. She took pleasure in her food: A grilled cheese sandwich provided by a niece remained the unmatchable standard for grilled cheese sandwiches ever after. And if you wanted an example of finding happiness in the humblest of acts, you could have witnessed her ritual of preparing a pickle spear. When she recently had to spend a few nights in the hospital, she could be heard entertaining the staff with a rendition of “When Irish Eyes Are Smiling.”
Patricia is survived by her children Patricia Hertzfeld of Putnam, Conn., Sharon Deffely and her husband James Deffely of Auburn, Mass., Linda Bourke of Gloucester, Mass., Robert Bourke and his wife Kara Leistyna of Heath, Mass., and Kevin Bourke of Astoria, Queens; grandchildren Mary King and her husband James, Elon Hertzfeld and his wife Melanie, Sean Deffely and his wife Kathryn, Brion Deffely, Daniel Bourke, Maura Bourke, Dylan Merrill, and Katherine Merrill; and great-grandchildren Haley and Hanna King, Barry and Drew Hertzfeld, James and Erin Deffely her niece Susan VanBusKirk—of grilled-cheese fame—among many other nieces and nephews; and a granddog, Derby. Memorial donations in Patricia's name can be made to Central MA Hospice, 191 Pakachaog St, Auburn, MA 01501.
Patricia A Bourke (Pollinger)
Date of Birth
Saturday, February 12th, 1927
Date of Death
Tuesday, September 10th, 2013
Obituary for Patricia Bourke (Pollinger)
Patricia A. (Pollinger) Bourke, 86, of Auburn, died on Tuesday, September 10, 2013. She was predeceased by her husband, Robert M. Bourke, who died in 2012. Patricia was born in Worcester on February 12, 1927, the fourth of six children of George and Etta (O’Leary) Pollinger.
She grew up in a large family on May and Wyman Streets until her grandmother helped finance a house for them on Beaver Brook Parkway. In the urban climate of the 30s and 40s, Worcester still had streets like Beaver Brook, unpaved and deeply rutted. At that time there was an actual brook, and a meadow beyond. Growing up in this house during the Depression and throughout the war, the Pollingers didn’t have luxuries, but her father, a firefighter, was never out of work. As Patricia described it, “We never knew we were poor.” Her mother was a housewife who played piano at home, and sang at services in local Catholic churches for a little extra money. Her mother is remembered to this day for her versions of “O Holy Night” and especially the “Ave Maria.” Patricia was one of five girls, all sharing a single bedroom. According to family legend, the last one in at night had to sleep with one foot on the floor.
Her memories of childhood gave one the impression that it was spent in almost unrestricted freedom, due in part to the fact that her family did not have a car, and she had to walk all over the city to get where she needed to go. She also simply liked to wander and explore. It was apparently a time and a place where children could do that safely. Many of her childhood stories ended with: “I don’t know what I was doing all by myself all the way over there...”
She grew up surrounded by a large number of mostly Irish uncles and aunts and cousins, and knew both sets of grandparents. Worcester was a city of familiar faces. There was a favorite uncle who drank and never amounted to much but had wonderful stories. There was her beloved grandfather, who married somewhat above his station in life and wasn’t allowed to forget it; a grandmother used to throw money out the window to pay for things rather than go down to the ground floor. There was her other grandmother, whom she used to take to the movies, where they would get free dishes. She remembered times alone with her father, walking from May Street over to Elm Park to feed the ducks, and getting an entire candy bar to herself. He taught her how to swim at Coes Pond. (He himself would swim across it regularly, throughout his life.) There was the time she woke up early for a week and collected the money the neighbors had left outside for milk delivery; she thought it had been left out for her, and she volunteered it to her mother to help with the household budget. There was the time she thought she could do a lot of good if she burned every single votive candle they had at Blessed Sacrament Church. Her mother had to pay that one back as well.
She attended St. Peter’s High School on Main Street, an experience she recalled as a particularly happy time. She was part of a little band of high-spirited teenagers who referred to each other by their last names. Her best friend was one “MacKenna.” The nuns at St. Peter’s directed her away from the business track her friends were on to the college track, a change she enjoyed immensely. She knew all manner of poems and songs and recitations that she could recall in full sixty years later. Ultimately St. Peter’s offered her a scholarship to continue her education, but it was 1944 and she knew she wanted to get married instead. She opted to take a quick secretarial course in order to help out her family with a job.
Those were wonderful years in Worcester for a young person, and Patricia described it as a time when she went out dancing nearly every night, at popular places like Johnny Heinz’s Ballroom. Perhaps not unrelated, in 1946 she received a commendation from the USO for her war efforts. Photographs of her during the 40s and 50s show her to be something of a clotheshorse, with a taste for bright designs in an era that was frequently drab: of particular notoreity was an ocelot coat, still well-preserved in a cedar-lined closet.
In 1946 she married Robert M. Bourke of Worcester, whom she had known since the seventh grade. It was a marriage that would last for more than 65 years. With some assistance from her parents and the GI Bill, in 1951 the couple bought a Cape Cod house in a new development in Auburn, Mass., where they would spend the rest of their lives. This was the beginning of what Patricia considered to be the second phase of her life. The neighborhood was almost a case study in suburban planning, made up of young married couples and their children. It had a marked feeling security and openness, where you could leave your children at home at night and from time to time send someone round from a local party to check on them. The neighborhood had a lively social atmosphere. The Bourkes were members of the Mavericks, a square dance club that also enjoyed Latin dances. According to social column reports in the local newspapers, Patricia had an award-winning “Contemporary Rhumba” and was one year named “Mrs. Winegold.” No doubt these titles were also elaborate in-jokes.
Meanwhile, the couple built up and improved their house over the years to accommodate their increasing family. The Bourkes raised three girls and two boys and a number of pets. One week every summer was spent at Hampton Beach, where for many years they rented the cottage Rosemary. Hampton Beach had been a tradition since her own childhood. Patricia loved the ocean. Especially in the cold water of the North Atlantic, her philosophy, borrowed from her mother, was: “You won’t feel good if you don’t go in.”
After her fifth child started grade school, Patricia went back to work, this time in the transit department at Mechanics Bank. The next twenty years made up what she characterized as the third phrase of her life. Through her job at Mechanics she met and made friends with a number of types of people from different countries and economic situations, from Greek immigrants to self-styled punks. In one case that she remembered with satisfaction, Patricia stood up for a colleague, a woman from Scotland, and her husband, in their naturalization process. Several of the people she worked with became close friends.
When she retired from the bank in 1990 Patricia, beginning the fourth phase of her life, volunteered as an ombudsman for several nursing homes in the Worcester area; and the couple spent their winters in a daughter’s condominium in Port Charlotte, Florida.
The Bourkes were by that time experienced travelers, with a special fondness for New England. For their 25th anniversary, they celebrated in Hawaii: it was the first time Patricia had ever flown in an airplane. In the following years they explored much of rest of the country, often on bus tours, and took trips to Acapulco, Bermuda, Quebec, and England. As late as the 1990s they were still mobile in spite of several health problems that had begun to make travel difficult; one of their last trips found them in a hot-air balloon floating over a glacier in Alaska.
Patricia will be remembered for so many aspects of a cheerful, entertaining personality: as someone who delighted in wordplay, rhymes, and jokes; who could recite from songs and poems at the drop of a hat; who insisted on good grammar; who went to great lengths to prepare surprises for birthdays and special occasions; who had a love for reading novels, loved American history, loved autumns in New England (for the weather as much as the foliage); loved dogs. She was also known for a remarkable resilience in all manner of personal trial, as a matter of a lifelong moral philosophy—you did not want to be known as a complainer.
It was because of this moral philosophy that Patricia remained a woman with vitality in spite of declining health. After Robert died, she was still able to look forward to car rides, making a daily pilgrimage to the Bob Cousy statue at Holy Cross, visiting her beloved Hampton Beach on a couple of occasions, or singing hapa-haole songs to ukulele accompaniment, or hanging out at golf-course pubs for the view of the greens. In the month before she passed she took her first-ever ride in a golf cart. She took pleasure in her food: A grilled cheese sandwich provided by a niece remained the unmatchable standard for grilled cheese sandwiches ever after. And if you wanted an example of finding happiness in the humblest of acts, you could have witnessed her ritual of preparing a pickle spear. When she recently had to spend a few nights in the hospital, she could be heard entertaining the staff with a rendition of “When Irish Eyes Are Smiling.”
Patricia is survived by her children Patricia Hertzfeld of Putnam, Conn., Sharon Deffely and her husband James Deffely of Auburn, Mass., Linda Bourke of Gloucester, Mass., Robert Bourke and his wife Kara Leistyna of Heath, Mass., and Kevin Bourke of Astoria, Queens; grandchildren Mary King and her husband James, Elon Hertzfeld and his wife Melanie, Sean Deffely and his wife Kathryn, Brion Deffely, Daniel Bourke, Maura Bourke, Dylan Merrill, and Katherine Merrill; and great-grandchildren Haley and Hanna King, Barry and Drew Hertzfeld, James and Erin Deffely her niece Susan VanBusKirk—of grilled-cheese fame—among many other nieces and nephews; and a granddog, Derby. Memorial donations in Patricia's name can be made to Central MA Hospice, 191 Pakachaog St, Auburn, MA 01501.
Date of Birth
Saturday, February 12th, 1927
Date of Death
Tuesday, September 10th, 2013
Obituary for Patricia Bourke (Pollinger)
Patricia A. (Pollinger) Bourke, 86, of Auburn, died on Tuesday, September 10, 2013. She was predeceased by her husband, Robert M. Bourke, who died in 2012. Patricia was born in Worcester on February 12, 1927, the fourth of six children of George and Etta (O’Leary) Pollinger.
She grew up in a large family on May and Wyman Streets until her grandmother helped finance a house for them on Beaver Brook Parkway. In the urban climate of the 30s and 40s, Worcester still had streets like Beaver Brook, unpaved and deeply rutted. At that time there was an actual brook, and a meadow beyond. Growing up in this house during the Depression and throughout the war, the Pollingers didn’t have luxuries, but her father, a firefighter, was never out of work. As Patricia described it, “We never knew we were poor.” Her mother was a housewife who played piano at home, and sang at services in local Catholic churches for a little extra money. Her mother is remembered to this day for her versions of “O Holy Night” and especially the “Ave Maria.” Patricia was one of five girls, all sharing a single bedroom. According to family legend, the last one in at night had to sleep with one foot on the floor.
Her memories of childhood gave one the impression that it was spent in almost unrestricted freedom, due in part to the fact that her family did not have a car, and she had to walk all over the city to get where she needed to go. She also simply liked to wander and explore. It was apparently a time and a place where children could do that safely. Many of her childhood stories ended with: “I don’t know what I was doing all by myself all the way over there...”
She grew up surrounded by a large number of mostly Irish uncles and aunts and cousins, and knew both sets of grandparents. Worcester was a city of familiar faces. There was a favorite uncle who drank and never amounted to much but had wonderful stories. There was her beloved grandfather, who married somewhat above his station in life and wasn’t allowed to forget it; a grandmother used to throw money out the window to pay for things rather than go down to the ground floor. There was her other grandmother, whom she used to take to the movies, where they would get free dishes. She remembered times alone with her father, walking from May Street over to Elm Park to feed the ducks, and getting an entire candy bar to herself. He taught her how to swim at Coes Pond. (He himself would swim across it regularly, throughout his life.) There was the time she woke up early for a week and collected the money the neighbors had left outside for milk delivery; she thought it had been left out for her, and she volunteered it to her mother to help with the household budget. There was the time she thought she could do a lot of good if she burned every single votive candle they had at Blessed Sacrament Church. Her mother had to pay that one back as well.
She attended St. Peter’s High School on Main Street, an experience she recalled as a particularly happy time. She was part of a little band of high-spirited teenagers who referred to each other by their last names. Her best friend was one “MacKenna.” The nuns at St. Peter’s directed her away from the business track her friends were on to the college track, a change she enjoyed immensely. She knew all manner of poems and songs and recitations that she could recall in full sixty years later. Ultimately St. Peter’s offered her a scholarship to continue her education, but it was 1944 and she knew she wanted to get married instead. She opted to take a quick secretarial course in order to help out her family with a job.
Those were wonderful years in Worcester for a young person, and Patricia described it as a time when she went out dancing nearly every night, at popular places like Johnny Heinz’s Ballroom. Perhaps not unrelated, in 1946 she received a commendation from the USO for her war efforts. Photographs of her during the 40s and 50s show her to be something of a clotheshorse, with a taste for bright designs in an era that was frequently drab: of particular notoreity was an ocelot coat, still well-preserved in a cedar-lined closet.
In 1946 she married Robert M. Bourke of Worcester, whom she had known since the seventh grade. It was a marriage that would last for more than 65 years. With some assistance from her parents and the GI Bill, in 1951 the couple bought a Cape Cod house in a new development in Auburn, Mass., where they would spend the rest of their lives. This was the beginning of what Patricia considered to be the second phase of her life. The neighborhood was almost a case study in suburban planning, made up of young married couples and their children. It had a marked feeling security and openness, where you could leave your children at home at night and from time to time send someone round from a local party to check on them. The neighborhood had a lively social atmosphere. The Bourkes were members of the Mavericks, a square dance club that also enjoyed Latin dances. According to social column reports in the local newspapers, Patricia had an award-winning “Contemporary Rhumba” and was one year named “Mrs. Winegold.” No doubt these titles were also elaborate in-jokes.
Meanwhile, the couple built up and improved their house over the years to accommodate their increasing family. The Bourkes raised three girls and two boys and a number of pets. One week every summer was spent at Hampton Beach, where for many years they rented the cottage Rosemary. Hampton Beach had been a tradition since her own childhood. Patricia loved the ocean. Especially in the cold water of the North Atlantic, her philosophy, borrowed from her mother, was: “You won’t feel good if you don’t go in.”
After her fifth child started grade school, Patricia went back to work, this time in the transit department at Mechanics Bank. The next twenty years made up what she characterized as the third phrase of her life. Through her job at Mechanics she met and made friends with a number of types of people from different countries and economic situations, from Greek immigrants to self-styled punks. In one case that she remembered with satisfaction, Patricia stood up for a colleague, a woman from Scotland, and her husband, in their naturalization process. Several of the people she worked with became close friends.
When she retired from the bank in 1990 Patricia, beginning the fourth phase of her life, volunteered as an ombudsman for several nursing homes in the Worcester area; and the couple spent their winters in a daughter’s condominium in Port Charlotte, Florida.
The Bourkes were by that time experienced travelers, with a special fondness for New England. For their 25th anniversary, they celebrated in Hawaii: it was the first time Patricia had ever flown in an airplane. In the following years they explored much of rest of the country, often on bus tours, and took trips to Acapulco, Bermuda, Quebec, and England. As late as the 1990s they were still mobile in spite of several health problems that had begun to make travel difficult; one of their last trips found them in a hot-air balloon floating over a glacier in Alaska.
Patricia will be remembered for so many aspects of a cheerful, entertaining personality: as someone who delighted in wordplay, rhymes, and jokes; who could recite from songs and poems at the drop of a hat; who insisted on good grammar; who went to great lengths to prepare surprises for birthdays and special occasions; who had a love for reading novels, loved American history, loved autumns in New England (for the weather as much as the foliage); loved dogs. She was also known for a remarkable resilience in all manner of personal trial, as a matter of a lifelong moral philosophy—you did not want to be known as a complainer.
It was because of this moral philosophy that Patricia remained a woman with vitality in spite of declining health. After Robert died, she was still able to look forward to car rides, making a daily pilgrimage to the Bob Cousy statue at Holy Cross, visiting her beloved Hampton Beach on a couple of occasions, or singing hapa-haole songs to ukulele accompaniment, or hanging out at golf-course pubs for the view of the greens. In the month before she passed she took her first-ever ride in a golf cart. She took pleasure in her food: A grilled cheese sandwich provided by a niece remained the unmatchable standard for grilled cheese sandwiches ever after. And if you wanted an example of finding happiness in the humblest of acts, you could have witnessed her ritual of preparing a pickle spear. When she recently had to spend a few nights in the hospital, she could be heard entertaining the staff with a rendition of “When Irish Eyes Are Smiling.”
Patricia is survived by her children Patricia Hertzfeld of Putnam, Conn., Sharon Deffely and her husband James Deffely of Auburn, Mass., Linda Bourke of Gloucester, Mass., Robert Bourke and his wife Kara Leistyna of Heath, Mass., and Kevin Bourke of Astoria, Queens; grandchildren Mary King and her husband James, Elon Hertzfeld and his wife Melanie, Sean Deffely and his wife Kathryn, Brion Deffely, Daniel Bourke, Maura Bourke, Dylan Merrill, and Katherine Merrill; and great-grandchildren Haley and Hanna King, Barry and Drew Hertzfeld, James and Erin Deffely her niece Susan VanBusKirk—of grilled-cheese fame—among many other nieces and nephews; and a granddog, Derby. Memorial donations in Patricia's name can be made to Central MA Hospice, 191 Pakachaog St, Auburn, MA 01501.
Family Members
Spouse
Sponsored by Ancestry
Advertisement
Explore more
Sponsored by Ancestry
Advertisement
