Born to Lose (16 page)

Fred Blank got home just minutes before the news on TV. He turned on KDKA to see the familiar face of venerable anchorman Bill Burns, who appeared more serious than usual when opening with the lead story. Burns, in a tan sports coat, beige shirt, and snappy necktie, gravely stated,

We have just learned of a tragic event occurring late this afternoon in Oakmont. Joseph Zanella of the Verona Police Department was making a routine traffic stop when the occupant of the car fired shots, one of the bullets striking Patrolman Zanella. He was rushed to Pittsburgh Hospital where it has been reported just minutes ago that Joseph Zanella has been pronounced dead. The suspect in the shooting is Stanley Barton Hoss of Tarentum. KDKA viewers will remember it was Stanley Hoss who, along with fellow inmate Thomas Lubresky, succeeded in a rooftop escape from the County Workhouse on September 11, Hoss further making news by eluding a one hundred–man search party after being sighted on September 14 in Fawn Township. At this hour, hundreds of police from all area departments are seeking the apprehension of the alleged shooter.

Bill Burns, a conservative law-and-order man, allowed a trace of wryness into his tone with the qualifier “alleged.”

Then a picture of Hoss came into every living room. A mug shot from two years earlier, it showed a sullen face framed by greased-back hair with sideburns, à la Elvis Presley. His eyes were not cruel or defiant, as later pictures would show, but almost resigned, as if being booked and photographed was a natural occurrence in his life.

Watching the TV report with interest, particularly because of the crime's proximity to his work and home, Fred Blank sat bolt upright when he saw the culprit's face on the screen. My God, Blank thought, that's the guy I picked up! The face had matured a little, the hair was shorter, but the similarity was too strong to dismiss. It was the ears, though, that nailed it down for Blank, the way they seemed larger than average and stuck out.

Bill Burns concluded his report. “Stanley Hoss is considered armed and dangerous. If you see this man, do not approach but call your local police department.” Fred Blank did just that.

Until the hunt shifted with the receipt of Fred Blank's information, a command post of sorts was set up near the fruit stand along 909. Blackie DeLellis, along with numerous other chiefs and even politicians, figured Hoss “had to be down on that hillside somewhere.” The trouble was, even though Hoss was on foot, he still had a considerable lead, and the target area could be as large as five square miles, much of it heavily wooded.

Radio: We just heard shots by that smokestack in the woods. Is someone chasin' someone up there?

Base to DeLellis: Inspector DeRoy called and said the copter is down for the night. They can't locate the man to operate it.

DeLellis to Base: Herm, see if that WTAE copter is available.

Chief: Get some men on the river. Get citizen boats or anything you can find and look into the riverbank and up the hills.

To Control: We're down here at Hulton Bridge with East Deer people. Await further instructions.

Chief: Brody, how about getting your men 100 yards apart so we can cover a large area.

To Control: Would you please put the Gold and Blue units in the van and send them to the scene? We understand the officer is deceased now. He's dead.

As time slipped by with Hoss unsighted, Blackie DeLellis and other commanders began to worry that Hoss had managed to get farther away than
they had thought possible. The intensity had to be maintained all along River Hill, but now those in charge felt manpower had to be sent further afield.

Chief: The WTAE man is here with his helicopter.

Anon.: We're at the bridge at the turnpike. We're starting to work our way into the woods. Be sure you know who and what you're shooting at.

To Chief: The WTAE copter … we're trying to set this up with the state police.

Car 50: We need all the walkie-talkies we can get and we don't have any more cars here.

Chief: Everyone can use their personal cars if they got 'em. Put down information in a coordinated time effort so we have everything to put together.

After watching the news report, miner Fred Blank called the New Kensington Police Department and within minutes was interviewed at length, the cops wrenching every detail they could from the cooperative but shaken man. From what they now knew, Hoss was still on foot somewhere in the Parnassus or New Kensington area. If he grabbed a car, though …

Chief to Control: Get a verification we have all the men that we brought out here so we can get ready to pull back.

It was getting dark, which would circumscribe operations, not to mention the heightened risk of thousands of guns held by the increasingly tired and nervous hands of police, volunteers, and homeowners. TV and radio newscasts cautioned residents to lock all doors, including those of garages, sheds, and cars.

In the hours since the shooting, traffic had become snarled because of the many roadblocks. Travelers may have understood the delays, but frustrations were bubbling up everywhere, a situation exacerbated by an earlier decision to allow the area's Friday night football games to proceed, which poured thousands more cars into the mix.

At 9:00 P.M., some hard information came from mechanic John Fontaine, whose shop was in Harwick, a town several miles from New Kensington but on the
north
side of the Allegheny River.

Fontaine had been standing near a frozen custard stand when he was approached by a man he described as “definitely Stanley Hoss.” Like miner Fred Blank, Fontaine recognized Hoss from the photograph shown on TV and by reports of the clothes Hoss was wearing. Fontaine said Hoss asked if he was a mechanic (Fontaine was wearing his work overalls), then offered
him fifty dollars to repair what Hoss described as a bad transmission in his car. Fontaine turned this down and rushed to the police department as soon as Hoss drove off. When officers took Fontaine to the Oakmont Station to give his statement, he described the car Hoss was driving—stolen earlier in Parnassus—as a mid-fifties Pontiac, with a green body and white top.

Fontaine's fresh lead was given priority broadcast. Radio and television stations interrupted regular programming to give the public the new details. The new lead revitalized the police, whose commanders refocused the search by directing scores of men to Harwick. Surely Hoss would now find it impossible to show himself in the old Pontiac without getting nabbed. At the same time, the commanders were perplexed by the new sighting: just how the hell had Hoss got across the river? And was the Pontiac's transmission shot or would it hold out another hundred miles? Harwick was invaded and surrounded by policemen convinced they had Hoss bottled up at last. However, the Harwick sighting was to be the last bit of encouraging news for some time.

All through the long, dark night the hunt continued: past sunset, past midnight and, for many, into the wee hours, local, city, county, and state police, firemen, local officials of many types, and civilian volunteers played their parts in a coordinated effort to find the killer of Joe Zanella. Burn barrels were brought to many locations, filled with wood, then set afire to give searchers relief from the cold. Volunteers provided coffee, donuts, and, later, hot food for the searchers at the stationhouses, fire departments, and even in a few meadows or in spots along the Allegheny. This sustenance, brief and marginal as it was, did no end of good for the chilled, frazzled, and tired. Little by little, though, men were ordered to go home and get some rest.

Describing the great hunt of September 19, reporter Gloria Bradburn wrote of the tremendous activity—the bloodhounds and German shepherds, the helicopters, the hordes of uniformed men with heavy weaponry, the checkpoints and roadblocks. “It seemed impossible that Stanley Hoss could escape such a dragnet. But he did.”

So ended the twin boroughs' infamous, mournful, and sorely trying day of September 19, 1969.

It all began again in full force at dawn. New Kensington was chosen as the command post for operations. Pittsburgh brass and area chiefs came to plan and coordinate. Maps were spread out over tabletops, search leaders delegated, and target areas assigned. The old Pontiac with the bad transmission was finally discovered in Lower Burrell, just into Westmoreland County. Only the width of the Allegheny separated this location from the
river towns where Hoss's wife, Diane, and his mistress, Jodine Fawkes, lived, but if Hoss had tried to see either he would have been warded off by the police cars stationed for the duration outside their homes.

Since the last auto known to have been in Hoss's possession was found locally, the police believed he was still in the area, but no one had any idea what the killer's next move would be, other than the certainty that Hoss would continue to steal cars and commit other crimes for his purposes.

The murder and manhunt dominated Saturday's newspapers. Their front pages displayed photos of a grim-faced Hoss and a smiling Joe Zanella in uniform and cap, while headlines screamed variations on the
Pittsburgh Press
's “Cop-Slay Suspect Eludes Posse.” Several columns about Joe were rushed into print. In a style seemingly lifted from a Victorian novel, Gloria Bradburn wrote, “The name of the young officer was on everyone's lips. ‘Did you know him?' seemed to be the keynote of every conversation. And one heard words such as, ‘Such a nice boy—a good cop—nice young father—native son.' The praise was genuine, the sympathy sincere, but one had the awful feeling it was too late—too late for the ears of Joe Zanella—too late for the two babies who will never know him—too late for a young wife who kissed him goodbye only one hour before he fell—too late for his parents who watched him grow into a fine young man … Too late for everything but tears!”

In contrast to Friday's sterling weather, Saturday's sky was overcast and scattered showers continued through the day. While Friday's hunt had involved about three hundred policemen, many more were drafted that bleak Saturday. The communications would never be perfect, but by Saturday many more walkie-talkies had been obtained and dispensed and overall organization was much improved. Yet despite the tightening net, Stanley Hoss remained on the loose.

False information complicated the hunt. There were numerous sincere but erroneous sightings of Hoss, not to mention a number of unrelated car thefts or break-ins, all which were given high priority in case Hoss
was
the perpetrator. The police worked vigorously and unrelentingly, but the random nature of Hoss's movements stymied them. Hoss's actions seemed convoluted and nonsensical, with each episode taking up valuable time to unravel and track. Yet by late afternoon, Hoss had been trailed to the Leechburg area, whose residents, like those of Blawnox, Verona, Oakmont, New Kensington, and Harwick the day before, saw little but blue uniforms combing their town and barring the roads.

The effort turned up nothing though—plain nothing. Stanley Hoss was not to be found.

Hoss knew he had shot the cop, but he understood nothing further until he'd gotten out of the miner's car in Parnassus. Shortly after that, as he was driving the newly stolen '56 Pontiac, he learned from the radio that his bullet had been fatal. The cop was dead. Over and over, Hoss heard his name spoken by media personalities and broadcast to thousands, tens of thousands. To Hoss, this was ominous—but exciting. He'd made the big time.

By Saturday night, Hoss was exhausted. Since his escape from the workhouse nine days earlier, he'd been constantly on the move. Needing rest somewhere quiet and safe, Hoss, the former grave digger, drove his latest stolen car, a blue Chevy, into familiar territory: Greenwood Memorial Park, in Lower Burrel, Pennsylvania. He'd been to this particular cemetery several times when taking his wife to visit her father's grave.

Given his time spent working at Lakewood Cemetery, Hoss knew cemeteries, liked them. He understood the come-and-go of visitors and the habits of custodians. And the dead didn't bother him. At an isolated fringe of the pitch-black cemetery, Hoss hid his car within a clump of mountain laurel, slumped down in the seat with revolver in hand, and then, cops around or no, slept like a baby.

Sunday morning was overcast but dry. Hoss started up the car and drove slowly along the cemetery's narrow roads. Feeling safer than he had in days, he stayed within the property, driving or walking around and thinking. While Sundays were favored days for cemetery visitors, custodians or employees were less likely to appear. If Hoss did spot a worker, he'd merely kneel down at the nearest grave.

In late morning, while outside his car, Hoss noticed two men and a boy look his way. The men, standing at a grave, talked together and glanced at him again, then again. Had Hoss been recognized? He strode to his car and drove to another section of the cemetery called the Garden of Hope.

Karen Maxwell was pleased that her father's grave lay beneath the limbs of a crab apple tree, which flowered so prettily in the spring and shaded the grave through the summer. This Sunday morning, Karen decided to
stop at the cemetery before going to a car wash, and then on to her other weekend chores. It was 11:30 A.M. when she eased her car to a stop near the crab apple tree in the section called Garden of Hope. At the grave she pulled at some weeds around the headstone, then fished around in her purse for a written prayer she planned to say. Karen noticed a blue car drive by, traveling faster than usual cemetery traffic, but otherwise she gave the car no thought. Standing over her father's grave, she read the prayer in a soft voice, then got on her knees to pray in silence.

Stanley Hoss saw the young pretty brunette standing alone by a grave as he was driving toward the gates of the cemetery. He also noticed her car, a late model Dodge. Perfect. He parked by a turnaround then stealthily approached the girl from behind.

Karen was startled to hear a male voice call out. She looked up to see a man pointing a pistol at her. “You know who I am?” Karen recognized him from all the pictures in the newspapers and on TV. “Yeah,” Hoss said. “I'm the guy who killed that Verona cop. Where's your keys?” Karen handed them over, hoping the man would be satisfied at an easy theft. The gun scared her badly. She could see his finger on the trigger, but the gun was held steady. He was calm, in control, like he'd done this before.