God Help Me, I’m Shot
The Sherrill, New York Incident - A special "APB Behind the Badge" feature
A message from podcast host, Mark Spawn
This story centers around a tragic chain of events that occurred on September 8, 1969. It is a story that I remember from my childhood. As a 9-year-old, it was the first sense of loss that I had ever felt. And while I didn’t actually know the people involved at the time, the ripples of shock and mourning resonated throughout the community, and even as a child, it was palpable. I had no idea that decades later, I would have the privilege to speak with many of the people who were directly affected by these events.
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This story begins in Central New York State and touches on the counties of Madison, Oneida, and Onondaga. On Monday, September 8, 1969 at about 7:00 PM, 33-year-old Martin Fitzpatrick, said to have been a security guard at Syracuse University, a cub master and an employee of the aluminum plant in Oswego, left an apartment in Syracuse believed to be that of his girlfriend. He reaches Canastota and at 9:30 PM arrives at Finn’s Gulf Station at the intersection of Route 5 and Peterboro Street That particular evening Paul DiGeorge, a friend of the owner of Finn’s Gulf Station in Canastota, covered the station as the attendant while the owner stepped away for a brief time. Fitzpatrick got gas and left the station. But he returned moments later to dispute the change he received, insinuating he was shorted, an apparent ruse to begin an armed robbery. He produced a gun and threatened DiGeorge who handed over $400-500 cash from the station’s receipts. Fitzpatrick ordered DiGeorge to open the safe as he held the gun to his head. He then forced DiGeorge to go outside around the back of the station and demanded, “hand over your wallet!” DiGeorge, fearing for his life, complied. At that same moment, a car pulled into the gas station, occupied by two females.[1] Did Fitzpatrick see the car’s headlights? Was it the drive-over bell that announced a customer at the pumps? Whatever it was, Fitzpatrick fled, but not before telling DiGeorge to give false information to police: that the robber was a short, black man. As soon as Fitzpatrick, a tall, white man, was gone, DiGeorge called Canastota Police who promptly responded and also notified the Oneida Police Department which dispatched cars for some of the surrounding agencies including Canastota and Sherrill PD. An alert went over the radio to all police agencies in the region, giving a description of the robber and his car. “Armed robbery just occurred at Finn’s Station, Route 5, in Canastota. Suspect is a white male, about 6’ 2” last seen headed East on Route 5 in a green Ford convertible. Weapon is described as a pistol.”
Just over the Madison County line where Canastota is located, is Oneida County, which is where Officer Robert A. Mumford, Sr. was on patrol in the city of Sherrill. It was not Mumford’s regular tour of duty. That night he was covering for another officer who needed the night off. At about 9:48 PM, having heard the radio call about the Canastota robbery, Officer Mumford radioed in that he was stopping a suspect vehicle on Route 5 in Sherrill which was about 9 miles from the gas station that had just been robbed. Chief Thomas Reilly heard the radio call and joined Mumford on the stop. Both officers talked with Fitzpatrick who was cooperative, and was providing a convincing account of why he was mistaken for someone else. Chief Reilly seemed somewhat convinced of the story and radioed to the dispatcher that he thought they had the wrong guy, but he recorded Fitzpatrick’s name and license plate number in his notebook anyway. Nonetheless, a Canastota PD car was already enroute to Sherrill with Mr. DiGeorge, the gas station victim, for a show-up. While lineups are sometimes conducted using 6 similarly-looking subjects, show-ups are a permissible practice in the field when it is conducted soon after the commission of an offense (close in time, close to the crime). Fitzpatrick likely knew that he was about to face his robbery victim soon, whether being informed by the officers or hearing the police radio transmissions. At about 9:58 PM, while Chief Reilly, Officer Mumford and Martin Fitzpatrick were all awaiting the Canastota police car, Fitzpatrick suddenly drew his gun and shot Officer Mumford. Mumford turned away from the gunfire, and Fitzpatrick shot at him again. Fitzpatrick then shot a stunned Chief Reilly who drew his own gun, but never had the chance to fire. The Chief was reeling after the first shot, when Fitzpatrick mercilessly shot him again while he was on the ground. Fitzpatrick got in his car and tore away from the bloody scene. Lying in the street were two badly wounded police officers, along with the car registration and vehicle warranty cards from Fitzpatrick’s car.
Chief Reilly staggered to his car radio and broadcast, “We’re shot”, and repeated, “I’m shot, I’m, shot, God help me, I’m shot”. The dispatcher, Sgt. Wayne Coston from the City of Oneida, scrambled other police cars from the region along with State Police. The closest Oneida County Sheriff’s car was just a few miles away in Vernon, assigned that night to Deputy Fran Broski, himself a resident of Sherrill.
When Officer Mumford had first stopped Fitzpatrick’s car, a couple of teenage boys were watching the activity from across the street. One was Dennis Fogg, then 18 years old and working the late shift at one of the two gas stations at the intersection. The other was Bruce Rochester who was working at his stepfather’s, John Orr’s, gas station. When the shots rang out, they all reacted. Bruce Rochester saw the car peel away and he ran over to the officers. Rochester saw that Officer Mumford was ashen, leaning against the police car. Then he went to Chief Reilly and saw that he was bloodied. Rochester was with Chief Reilly when he saw him grab the microphone of the police radio. Reilly knew that his friend and colleague, neighboring police Chief George Murphy from Oneida would be listening on the other end of that radio. He pled with George, “Hurry, we’re both shot!”
After Fitzpatrick sped off, and just before Bruce Rochester went to check on the officers, Rochester’s stepfather, John Orr, hopped into his Chevrolet Blazer and tore off after the shooter. Bruce described his father as a “hard charger”, a former military man, race car driver, and justice of the peace. But as Rochester said, “you can’t chase too well in a Blazer.” Unfortunately, Orr lost sight of the shooter. When asked whether his stepfather might have actually felt relief that he did not catch up with the desperate, armed man, Rochester said, “No, he was actually disappointed”. Orr was unarmed, but his stepson was certain that Orr wanted to get “in the mix”. After all, “he was an adrenaline junkie”, said Rochester.
Deputy Fran Broski arrived on the scene of the shooting having responded from Vernon where, ironically, he had been speaking with Officer Mumford’s son, Richard Mumford. The Canastota police car had also arrived on the scene with the robbery victim, Paul DiGeorge. Larry Baker, a 17-year-old high school student who was at the Shell gas station across the street when the shooting occurred, took off his belt which was used as a tourniquet on Chief Reilly’s left arm. Broski said that additional police cars and an ambulance began to arrive, and he took off to go look for the shooter. When another Sherrill police officer arrived on the scene, Reilly made sure to pass him his notebook containing the suspect’s name and license plate number. Reilly and Mumford were then rushed to Oneida Hospital, both in critical condition.
Radio alerts and police teletype messages were being sent to police agencies throughout central New York and beyond – APB for Martin Fitzpatrick – armed and dangerous – wanted for shooting two police officers in Sherrill - last seen operating a green Ford convertible with New York plates OD9604. As hard as they were searching, there was no sign of Fitzpatrick. Deputy Broski said the search efforts were focused toward the east, Fitzpatrick’s last known direction of travel. To the east is Utica, a larger city in upstate New York about 20 miles from Sherrill. But as it turned out, Fitzpatrick travelled just 7 miles south– to the remote darkened trailer home of a young mother, Marie Dilapi, 26, and her two daughters ages 4 and 6. Marie was on the telephone talking with her sister who lived just down the road in the countryside farm community. Her sister told her that she and her husband had been listening to the police scanner and that ‘something big was happening’ in Sherrill. Marie’s brother-in-law hopped in his truck and headed into Sherrill to see what the commotion was. That was when there was a knock at Marie’s door, and she told her sister she had to go.
Unfortunately, it was Martin Fitzpatrick who was knocking at Marie’s door; she spoke to him through the locked door. He asked for a glass of water and directions to Syracuse, the place from which he started earlier that evening. Fitzpatrick asked if her husband was home. Marie’s husband was not living at the home at the time of this incident, but she told him he was at work. Marie offered the lost stranger directions for the most direct route to Syracuse, but Fitzpatrick pressed for an alternative. Unknown to Marie, he wanted to avoid the more direct Route 5 path which encompassed his trail of terror, and more likely roadblocks and swarms of police. Fitzpatrick asked to come inside. Marie resisted, but then he forced his way in, showing her his gun. He told Marie that she was going to drive him in her car to Syracuse. Marie pleaded that she absolutely could not leave her daughters. The girls had been brokenhearted when their father had left the family and Marie worried that they would be traumatized if they woke up only to find that she, too, was gone from the home. So the girls were woken and put into the car, and the four of them began a terrifying car ride toward Syracuse. Marie drove, taking back roads to avoid detection. Fitzpatrick wanted to place one of the girls on his lap to present an image that they were a family, if spotted. But Marie, the protective mom, refused his suggestion, and Fitzpatrick didn’t push it. He knew that he needed her cooperation. During the first minutes of the trip from Munnsville to Syracuse, Fitzpatrick took a wallet out of his coat, pulled out the cash, and threw the wallet out the window. As Marie continued to drive on Route 20, taking back roads toward Syracuse, she passed through Morrisville, a small community with a state agricultural college and a substation for the New York State Police. As she drove near the police building, she gave thought to pulling in, but realized that Fitzpatrick could do something very bad before she could get the attention of the police. There was a chance that the substation may not have even been staffed at that hour as it was not unusual for rural stations to be locked at night while troopers patrolled. At this type of barracks there was usually a public call box outside where a caller could pick up a phone and be connected to headquarters – miles, and sometimes counties, away. As they neared Syracuse, Marie remembered driving through Jamesville, a small hamlet just a few miles outside of Syracuse. It was dark and desolate, home to a quarry and a large county jail. She feared that this was a spot where Fitzpatrick could kill them. But they continued on, into the urban streets of Syracuse. When Fitzpatrick got close to where he wanted to be, he ordered her to pull over and he got out, but not before threatening Marie much like he did Mr. DiGeorge from the gas station. Fitzpatrick told Marie not to go to police, that he would have people watching her, and demanded that she go home and bring his car back to Syracuse. Fitzpatrick told her to count to 100 before leaving. Then, Fitzpatrick left, and Marie escaped the area with her girls still tucked in the back seat. Breathing a huge sigh of relief, she was now frantically looking for a police car, but couldn’t find any at first. When she did spot a marked car, it was heading in the opposite direction and she was unable to get the officer’s attention. She finally saw a man in uniform who turned out to be a night watchman. She pulled over and told the man what had happened. He summoned police who quickly responded in force. Marie and her girls were taken to safety at Syracuse police headquarters.
It was at 2:20 AM that morning (September 9), about four hours after Sherrill Police stopped Fitzpatrick’s car when Officer Robert Mumford tragically passed away; Chief Reilly, unaware that Mumford had died, was still fighting for his life.
Investigators descended upon Syracuse police headquarters and questioned Marie DiLapi into the early morning hours about the details of her experience, the route travelled, the appearance of the kidnapper, his weapon, and any other details that would help them capture the dangerous and desperate fugitive. Marie said that police were at first doubtful of her story, at least to some extent. But she had told them about the wallet being thrown out of the car by Fitzpatrick in the first few miles of the trip. During the hours Marie spent at the station answering questions, a trooper was dispatched along the route Marie had described and located the wallet – it was Paul DiGeorge’s from the gas station robbery in Canastota. Any doubts about the authenticity of her story were erased.
Police officers were now scouring Syracuse for Fitzpatrick – wanted for armed robbery, the murder of a police officer, aggravated assault on another police officer, and kidnapping. Police staked out Fitzpatrick’s address in Syracuse and while there, discovered a property tax bill showing that he owned another property nearby. Police went to an apartment on Midland Avenue at about 8:30 AM on September 9, 1969. They knocked at the door, but no one answered. Police observed that a small pane of glass on the front door was broken as if to allow someone to reach in and open the door. The door was unlocked, and police announced their presence. There was no response. The searched the first floor of the two-story home finding no one inside. Then, they went to the second floor. When officers checked a closed door near the bathroom on the second floor, a voice yelled out, “Don’t shoot, I’ve had it! I give up!” Inside the closet was Martin Fitzpatrick, cowering on the floor under a pile of clothes in an apparent attempt to hide from officers. Inside of the closet with Fitzpatrick was some of the cash from the gas station robbery, and the gun.[2]
The shooting of two local police officers dominated the headlines throughout Central New York. For the tight knit community of Sherrill, the impact was hard, and it was personal. The small city where people kept their doors unlocked at night, where kids played in the street and walked alone, where neighbors watched out for each other – their peace had been shattered. The news travelled fast – word of mouth reached most of the residents of this small town. But when day broke on September 9, the rest of Sherrill was waking to the gut-wrenching news of a shooting of two of its revered hometown cops. And while a gas station attendant was still reeling from having a gun pressed to his head during a stick-up robbery, and while a young mother with two young girls was feeling shocked and lucky to be alive, the world went on around them. Sharing the headlines on the national scene was a story about a meeting between President Richard Nixon and Mexican President Diaz Ordaz dedicating a dam project along the Rio Grande in Texas; a story praising the cooperation and rapport of the New York State Police during the Woodstock Music Festival the month before; and a report of the Apollo 12 astronauts preparing for an upcoming launch.
For the next few days, Chief Tom Reilly remained hospitalized in critical condition, and during that time he learned that his friend and colleague, Bob Mumford, had died. His daughter remembered tears in her father’s eyes after she broke the sad news that “Bob died.” Grievously wounded, Chief Reilly knew that he would be the only one to identify the shooter and give details of the incident. He felt that he owed that to his comrade and friend, Bob. He also owed it to his community – for justice. He refused any pain medication knowing that his state of mind could be questioned if he didn’t survive. Cops are trained to record dying declarations – statements by people who reasonably believe they are about to die, about the facts and circumstances of an incident which are connected with a mortal injury. Dying declarations are exceptions to the hearsay evidence rule, and they are cautiously reviewed by the courts because there can be no cross examination. When someone is facing death, the rules of evidence generally infer that the information provided is truthful. No one could blame the Chief if he was unable to think rationally during this tragic time – being shot twice, and losing a fellow officer and dear friend. But for Reilly, he was still on the job – still wearing the badge. He kept his composure and did his duty.
During the same time when the Chief was being visited by his daughter in the hospital, she asked him, “How are you feeling Dad?” to which the Chief quipped, “Well, I won’t hold water”. A couple days later, probably knowing that his condition was not improving and having been intubated to assist with his breathing, asked his daughter in a raspy voice, “take care of your mother.” The Chief’s wife had recently suffered a disabling stroke, and it was the Chief who was her caretaker. Five days after the shooting, on Saturday, September 13, 1969, Chief Tom Reilly died. It was the next morning when I was on the way to church with my family that I heard the news on the car radio that two officers had been killed just a few miles away. My grandfather had served as a State Trooper, and the news struck me to the point where I remember it vividly today.
For the people of Sherrill, New York, their world changed dramatically the night when two of their own were senselessly shot down. The death of a police officer in the line of duty garners special attention. But in this small community wherever everybody knows each other, everyone suffered the loss. Headlines and sentiments over the years included the words, “Stunned”, “Shattered the calm”, and “The Shootout That Broke a City’s Heart”. Officer Mumford’s granddaughter, Debbie Mumford Kemp, was only 12 years old at the time, but she remembers, “There was this safe place called Sherrill, New York, and that had been destroyed.”
Fitzpatrick was indicted for the murders of two police officers which, at the time, carried a possible death sentence. His trial began on November 9, 1970 and lasted for about 5 weeks. He was convicted of the murders on December 17, 1970 and was sentenced to death by the electric chair. His execution date was set as February 22, 1971. But during the appeals that followed, in 1973, the U.S. Supreme Court and the New York State Court of Appeals ruled that the death penalty was unconstitutional. In 1974, Fitzpatrick’s sentence was commuted to two sentences of 25 years to life, to run concurrently. The man who once faced the death penalty would be parole-eligible in 1994. However, a fierce letter-writing campaign to the New York State Parole Board was undertaken, with letters written by Sherrill City officials and residents, local and state legislators, the district attorney, police organizations, and concerned citizens. Fitzpatrick was never paroled and spent the rest of his life in a state prison. He died in 2007.
In 1987 a park on Sherrill Road in the city of Sherrill was dedicated in memory of Officer Mumford and Chief Reilly. It is a symbol that remembers two hometown heroes. But there is so much more that lives on – people touched by the life and service of Officer Bob Mumford and Chief Tom Reilly. Joanne Mumford remembered her father-in-law, saying, “I never had a father image in my life since my parents divorced when I was three years old. Bob treated me like a daughter. It was an amazing relationship. If I close my eyes right now I can still see him standing there.” Joanne remembered her father-in-law as a family man, who was extremely proud when the first grandchild came along. Joanne said, “He so loved my daughter, Debbie. He adored her.” And Debbie Mumford Kemp has very fond memories of her grandfather, too. “Grandpa would put me in the patrol car and we would make a quick stop at the store, probably to buy me candy. And then he’d take me home. I felt so proud – here I am in my grandfather’s patrol car!”, she remembered. Debbie was just 12 years old in 1969. “That night (September 8, 1969), Mom said ‘we need to go to the hospital, Grandpa’s been shot.’ I remember trembling. You couldn’t comprehend it. Nothing like that had ever happened in our community. And then Mom came out and said, ‘Grandpa has died.’ I could not understand it.”
In 1969 Doug Bailey was a 22-year-old manager trainee at National Auto Store in downtown Oneida, New York. His ambitions at the time were to get his own store and become manager. He fondly remembers Monday nights at the store which is when Tom Reilly would routinely come in. Bailey knew that Reilly was the police chief in nearby Sherrill, and remembers how genuine and gentlemanly he was, always saying hi and smiling. “He didn’t know me that well, I think, but he liked me, as I liked him. It was just a friendly encounter every time he came in. I made it a point, to when he came in, I’d approach him. It was just ‘hey how ya doing’…it was all small talk.” When Bailey learned that Chief Reilly and Officer Mumford had been shot, it shook him. Bailey said, “I took it personal… I considered him a friend even though our relationship was strictly customer-business. When he got shot I got angry, I got very angry. The sadness was there but it turned to anger.” Bailey focused his rage on doing something positive. In 1970 he took his first police officer entrance exam, and about one year later, he was a police officer in Oneida, New York. Bailey said he will always remember Chief Reilly and how he influenced his life. “It was such a loss from that gentlemen who I knew was Tom Reilly and how someone could do that, to this day, I can’t explain fully, how I ended up taking a police exam.” The young Bailey who never had a thought of becoming a police officer, made a life career of it. He proudly served in the Oneida Police Department spending many of his years investigating felony crimes. After completing 20 years of service, he was asked to become the Undersheriff for Madison County, spending another 20 years in that position. Bailey added, “He molded my career, he got me aimed in that direction and I have absolutely no regrets 40 years later. I would like to think, that he would be proud of me, even though he didn’t know me that well. He was a huge influence.”
Reilly’s daughter, MaryAnne Gardner, said, “Two very good men died that day, many other innocent lives were affected by their deaths. My older children still remember their grandfather and that deep respect for him has manifested itself in their beliefs today.”
Bob and Tom led by example. They were role models - men of impeccable character, loyal to their colleagues, their community, and especially their family. That is the legacy of Officer Robert Mumford, and Chief Thomas Reilly.
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For more information including photos and timeline, go to apbcoldcase.com. Special thanks to the families of Robert Mumford and Thomas Reilly, the DiLapi-Nordberg family, the DiGeorge family, the citizens of Sherrill, New York, Bruce Rochester and Dennis Fogg, Oneida Police, Canastota Police, Sherrill Police, Fran Broski, Wayne Coston, and Doug Bailey. Chief Paul Thompson, Chief Jim Zophy, Chief Rob Drake, Peter Finnochiarro, the family of Leo Rafte, and to our Field Production Assistant Laura Jaquays.
Source materials include: New York State Police archives; investigative reports, 1969, et al.
[1] Robbery Here on Monday Ends in Death of Policeman, Canastota Bee Journal, Sept. 11, 1969
[2] Two Officers Down; Daily News, The Justice Story; Joseph McNamara; p. C31 (undated)