Born to Lose (7 page)

Maybe a year later, the state police came down from Butler. They were after a car stolen that they traced to Indiana Township, and they found it in Lakewood Cemetery. They asked if they could put the stolen car in our police garage till the matter was straightened out. Well, the same thing happened a half dozen times over the next few months; these cars kept appearing in the cemetery. We knew Stanley Hoss worked there, so you'll know of our suspicions. We went to see the man who owned Lakewood but got no cooperation from him; in fact, he was belligerent to us all the time. I didn't know then why he was like that but he was either afraid of those boys or had some other tie-in. The state police arrested Stanley and Harry more than once over these cars, but they never really served any time for it.

Now, these two Hoss boys were working at Lakewood, and their job was to take a body out and bury it. I've often wondered … can you imagine guys like that
not
opening the casket to see if there were jewels to be had? The Hosses were always committing crimes but, of course, you had to catch them. Still, any time I talked to Stanley he was nice and polite.

For nightlife, Hoss was no stranger to nearby New Kensington. Of course he found trouble or vice versa, and New Kensington was undoubtedly where Hoss came to know mob figures. These mobsters and Hoss
found they could use each other. For the several years their crooked handshake lasted, everyone profited. Hoss provided stolen cars, both randomly and by special order. Even cigar-chomping Detective Bill Jennings called Hoss an accomplished car thief: “He had a gift. He could steal an auto at the bat of an eyelash.”

Here again, Hoss's rep as a car thief prevailed in law enforcement minds, and Hoss never pretended to be other than the criminal he was. Between the law and Hoss, the game was “Catch me if you can.” The general police mind-set was that Hoss would steal your wheels and throw in an occasional good ol' boy tussle, but was unlikely to do serious harm beyond that. This mind-set was reinforced by ignorance. Not all the area's police departments knew of the voice ID by Nancy Falconer, and if word spread about the rape of young Kathy Defino, it was followed by doubting whispers.

Wherein lay the truth? In a 1970 letter to his wife, Hoss wrote,

As far as my criminal life goes, that was just born in me. I was so good at it that I could never stop. I must have stole hundreds of cars. You know how good I was with cars. Then I went to burglarys. I was an expert in that line of business. I remember one time I had pulled so many burglarys that all the police and detectives in the county joined together to break the ring up. As you know they never did. I seen they would never catch me so I went into armed robberys. I set up and pulled so many of them, and, there again, I was an expert. I could go on for hours about all the things I did. I would tell you all the crimes I have done just to show the cops how dum they are but there was so many guys that was in with me.

Braggadocio, to be sure, but the words nevertheless rang true.

Had Patrolman Burt Parrett of Harmar Township read Hoss's letter, he would have believed every line. He'd had his own encounters with Hoss and held a certain opinion. “A lot of people know Stanley Hoss as just a car thief, but he was violent, certainly sure could be. He was in a lot of fights. Bigger guys in bars would take him on, but he was very strong and good enough a street fighter to beat the hell out of most anybody. He was kinda like a loner. You could talk to him but not know what was going on in his mind. Stanley Hoss was one guy when you looked at him you knew anything was possible. Sooner or later he was gonna blow up.”

At his arraignment for the rape of Kathy Defino, bail was set at $10,000, which Hoss could not post. On the evening of April 7, 1969, Hoss was duly delivered to Pittsburgh's Allegheny County Jail, an architectural masterpiece that served as a “symbol of law and a warning to lawbreakers.” Naturally the jail's human contents were blind to its beauty and had little appreciation for their housing arrangements.

When Stanley Hoss was deposited at the jail, he was in a foul mood. He'd done time before, but only in small doses, little more than an occupational hazard. True, he got to lie around, rest up, eat well, and lounge with cronies, but he wouldn't care to do too much time, certainly no long stretches.

But behind bars this time, Hoss was less carefree. He was in much bigger trouble, which could see him tucked away for years. He tried to anticipate the extent of the evidence the police could have collected against him. As he told a fellow jailbird,

The pregnant broad never saw my face. All that stuff that was stole, they didn't find nothin' except that damn coat, but see, I bought it from some nigger in Pittsburgh, right? And get this, the cops say they got me 'cause the broad recognized my voice. Isn't that illegal or something? Now the rape crap … I'll tell you what I shoulda' done with her. Well, never mind, live and learn. Anyway, I'll call her the lyin' bitch she is. She wanted sex to get back at her boyfriend. Rich didn't do nothin' to her and I didn't either, so she gets pissed and says I raped her. No one's gonna believe her.

Inmates usually side with other inmates. Only the quite stupid, of which there are many, actually believe the story, but most will commiserate for form's sake. After all, since it's the criminal against the whole state government, soon enough each listener will want his own incredible fibs taken as gospel.

Hoss's buddy took a last drag from his cigarette, then flicked it over the third-tier rail to the rotunda floor below. He looked Hoss square in the eye
and lamented, “Man, if you get time for that shit, Stan, you're right, they're railroadin' you.”

As things stood, Hoss could only bide his time and wait for his shot at trial. He fell into the easy routine of chow time, exercise, and drinking loads of coffee, to which he was partial.

After two months in the county jail, Hoss learned from his appointed defense attorney, Barney Phillips, that a grand jury would be scheduled regarding the rape of Kathy Defino. Phillips explained to Hoss that the alleged victim would sit before twenty grand jurors, an assistant district attorney (DA), and other officials to answer questions about her alleged abduction and assault. It boiled down to whether the grand jury believed Miss Defino, whose testimony would be augmented by whatever evidence the prosecution wished to present. A confident Phillips told Hoss he felt the whole matter would die on the vine. Taking no chances, Hoss had already put out the word to a select friend or two.

Thus began the terrorizing of the Defino family: a cherry bomb set off beside bedroom windows at 4:00 A.M.; frightening phone calls suggesting Kathy would be wise to keep her mouth shut; the front door of their home vandalized. The Shaler Police Department could not guard her house around the clock. No one was ever apprehended for the torment.

For Kathy, the harassment compounded stress that was already nearly intolerable. How could Kathy forget the doctor's visit right after the rape? In the waiting room, her father had said, “I guess now we'll find out who's telling the truth!” The words cut deep, but she'd hoped her father—Italian, patriarchal, conservative—would come to support her. Instead, his woeful attitude kept Kathy's mother from fully supporting her either. At St. Francis Hospital during the doctor's exam, she felt treated as a leper. The doctor removed a tampon and held it off to the side before dropping it with disdain into a wastebasket. He barely spoke to Kathy and at the end said he couldn't tell much of anything and would not be making a report. Because of the stress of the rape and her treatment afterward, Kathy had been hospitalized for a week after the rape to stave off a complete nervous breakdown.

The persistent harassment that followed took its toll on the household. If Kathy was an emotional wreck, her parents and siblings were no better. Squabbles broke out. Rather than coming together in crisis, the Definos were falling apart. As the persecution continued, Kathy's father began sleeping with a shotgun beside his bed. To get away, Kathy moved in with an aunt but came back after only a few days. At one point, Kathy was told that her grandfather would take her in. As she left, Kathy heard behind
her back, “Well, now when someone breaks in to harm us, she won't even be here.” To add to her pain, Kathy felt unwanted, an embarrassing intrusion, at her grandfather's house. Her grandfather, a widower, railed at his grandaughter, “What have you brought down on your house?” Tense and miserable, Kathy returned home again.

Kathy's troubles at home were compounded by rumor. Word had spread at her school about the rape. Although her name should have been withheld from the press, it had slipped into several articles. People kept their distance.

Kathy knew intuitively that her community should be a greater ally but its members didn't seem to know how to support her. Other girls had been raped. Surely some of these victims were embraced, held tight, told everything would be all right. Shouldn't a victim be lovingly placed in a protective circle made strong with the arms of friends, church, and, most of all, family? It wasn't so for Kathy. Maybe her assailant had hurt her loved ones too. Yes, of course he had. His attack on Kathy had wracked their imaginations, assaulted their honor, undermined their judgments, and removed their sense of safety. They weren't like this before … only after.

Kathy was alone, and would remain so for the immediate future and for years to come. Save for a very few, her family, friends, and school fellows ostracized her. After the night on the mountaintop with Stanley Hoss, nothing was ever the same. Were it not for the counsel of her priest and the support of her friend, Sharon Boehm, who'd not forsaken her, Kathy Defino might well have given up on herself. Certainly she'd have dropped the charges against Hoss, or, failing that, refused to testify. She could hardly take more vandalism, threats, recriminations, or isolation. Someone had caused all these bad things to happen and it wasn't her. She had enough spirit left to know that she was upright, moral, and good. She wished those around her would accept her as always, and love her unconditionally as before, but if they didn't it wasn't her fault. It was the fault of Stanley Hoss, and she would face him, no matter what.

. . .

The grand jury convened on a Wednesday in the third week of May. Kathy was there by herself. No matter how much she steeled herself for the occasion, she later said it was like getting raped again. Grand jurors and other court functionaries asked her countless questions, more than a few embarrassing and humiliating for the young girl seated before this gallery of strangers, most of them men. When one asked if she was a virgin, Kathy answered seriously, “Not anymore,” which brought several muffled laughs.

“Did you willingly remove your undergarments?”

“Were you laughing and joking with your alleged attackers?”

“Who suggested sex with the second man?”

At times Kathy was reduced to tears, yet her bearing remained dignified, her replies simple and true.

After several hours, Kathy received the news: “They believed me! In my life I never felt so relieved and vindicated.” The matter was bound over for court. Stanley Hoss would stand trial.

At the close of the grand jury session, with everyone filing out, Kathy found herself standing beside Detective Sergeant Bill Jennings who said, “Congratulations, Kathy. You put on a good show up there. You're quite the little actress.”

. . .

The scheduling of the trial was determined by the machinations of Hoss's public defender, Barney Phillips, always chomping on his Marsh-Wheeling. According to the prosecution and the cops, Phillips was “judge pickin',” using postponements to get the judge he wanted. The trial was again postponed as the criminal court was logjammed. Hoss had asked for a jury trial but there was no judge available.

In the meantime, Hoss's occasional partner in crime, Richard Zurka, had also been apprehended and charged in the Defino affair and in the armed robbery of Nancy Falconer. Zurka would be tried separately at a later date. A few days after the rape trial's second postponement, Hoss and Zurka were taken from the county jail for a hearing on the Falconer case. Both registered pleas of not guilty and bonds of $10,000 each were continued. Hoss's typical trickle of troubles was turning into a stream.

Finally, on the morning of July 8, Kathy Defino trudged up the imposing steps of the courthouse—alone. Her family didn't attend any of the proceedings.

Before the trial's 10:00 A.M. start, Kathy met again with the assistant DA handling her case. Daniel Lapansky was a middle-aged legal journeyman who, in Kathy's eyes, appeared only mildly sympathetic to her cause. She had learned that her trial was to be heard not by a jury but by a sole arbiter, visiting judge George C. Eppinger of Franklin County, who'd been brought in to take on some of the case overload in Allegheny County.

When Kathy entered the office of the assistant DA, Lapansky noticed how she was dressed and was not pleased. Her hair, parted in the middle and hanging to her shoulders, was moderately curled and adorned by a headband that matched the color of a simple cotton blouse. Her dark nylons
complemented a navy blue skirt. But in Lapansky's view, the skirt was too short. He went so far as to suggest that she quickly have some other outfit brought to her or even run into a store a block or two away to pick out more conservative attire. Lapansky was reaching for his wallet, saying he'd pay for it, when Kathy, with all the nerve the seventeen-year-old could muster, stated flatly, “I'm not changing. You always told me to act naturally, be myself. Well, I am.” Pointing to herself, Kathy's voice cracked and tears showed. “This is how all my friends dress. I look like any one of them!”

“I know, I know,” Lapansky soothed her. “It's just that we don't want you to appear sexy or womanly or, uh … provocative, yes, provocative.”