Born to Lose

by James G. Hollock

  “To hear these things,” said Mastros, “cut deep.”

  As for Stanley’s considerations of blame,

  Dear Diane,

  I want you to know that nigger at Western fell on a bar of soap and killed himself so they should have charged Lifebouy soap with murder instead of me. Ha Ha.

  I hope everyone had a nice Christmas. I was going to send the kids something but this bullshit came along. Diane, you surely don’t believe I do the things I do just to hurt you and the kids. I do what I do because people keep f _ _ _ _ _ _ with me. They won’t leave me alone so the only thing I can tell them is I hope their [sic] ready to pay the total price. I am. Changing the kids’ name was only a waste of time. You know I’m never going to change my ways so you have to know the Hoss name will never be forgotten. I know what the TV, radio and papers did to cover the story. I’m sorry the kids have to suffer. I can’t help it they try to make me out as Public Enemy Number One. I try to be cool but they keep putting my name in the news. They transferred me even further away now to Huntingdon. You heard they want to send a death penalty bill to the governor to sign? I’m thinking of something slick to say, you know, for my last words.

  I’ve grown a beard. It’s called a Jesus beard. Once a week a guard trims it up real nice. I can’t tell you how I look because I’m not allowed to have a mirror. I don’t know the last time I saw myself.

  I guess I’ll go to trial on the nigger case in the spring. Will you come? I send my love to you and the kids.

  Stan

  . . .

  “Day after Peterson’s murder I talked to McGrogan in the infirmary,” remembered Edward Fagan. “He told an interesting story, exculpatory or self-serving I was never sure. His history painted him as despicable, but you take your witnesses as you find them. McGrogan was scared, of two minds about whose team to be on. ‘Bob,’ I said, ‘Show me your friends and I’ll show you your future.’ Serving a long stretch, his future was bleak, but he must have figured, better than the ‘actual killers’,’ as he put it. Eventually, he’d turn state’s evidence—save his ass.”

  Working with his boss, Bob Duggan, Fagan spent the next several months building the prosecution’s case. Then, come March, “Bam!” said Fagan, “everything changed.”

  A body found in the woods, dead. It was District Attorney Bob Duggan.

  “There was always a little talk about Duggan, his lifestyle and all,” said Fagan “but what came out shocked everyone.”

  An heiress to the Mellon fortune, Cordelia Scaife was worth $800 million, hefty portions of which she donated to good causes, usually anonymously. After her first marriage lasted less than a year, her family banished Cordelia to Palm Beach, Florida, for several years, seeking to avoid embarrassment from the divorce. When she finally returned to Pittsburgh, Cordelia renewed her acquaintance with Bob Duggan, a friend since childhood. Although her family accepted the friendship, they discouraged any closer relationship, given Duggan’s Catholicism and lower social status.

  “Now here’s where it gets interesting,” said Fagan.

  By this time, Duggan’s in his third term as DA and, it comes out, the target of a grand jury investigation. Ties to organized crime, slush funds. Tax evasion, too.

  Cordelia and Duggan were, say, an item, and all the while, despite the allegations, she stuck by Duggan. Guess this didn’t sit well with the Mellons or Scaifes, but a few days after Cordelia was notified by the irs that she’d be called to answer questions about Duggan, the two flew to Vegas, got married. It was calculated, so speculation went, because by law a wife cannot be compelled to testify against a husband.

  Richard Thornburgh, thick in the first Hoss murder case, was still U.S. attorney for western Pennsylvania. Along with the IRS, he tracked Duggan’s sources of income to see if he was hiding ill-gotten gains inside his wife’s fortune.

  “Never [being] invited for tea at those Ligonier estates, we weren’t privy to all,” said Fagan, “but we understood Cordelia’s brother, Richard Mellon Scaife, publicly rallied around Duggan, even lobbied the Nixon administration to call Thornburgh off.” At the same time though, Scaife privately cooled toward his new brother-in-law. When a named gangster finally agreed to testify that payoffs had been made to Duggan, Scaife’s waning support for Duggan finally ran out.

  “It was March 4, I remember, and I was about to head home,” said Fagan.

  A few of us were in the office … Duggan, Danny Dunn of the FBI, Mike Fisher … and Dunn’s poking fun because I had a bone spur and walked with a hitch—“like Chester on Gunsmoke,” he said.

  An indictment was due to be presented any day against Duggan. If that happened, there would be a trial, and who knows what juicy tidbits would come out? None of this was brought up, of course. Fisher’s talking about a meeting he has with Duggan in the morning and, really, the atmosphere that night was relaxed—you know, “See you tomorrow.” Next morning we got the news.

  The police investigation concluded either that Duggan, out hunting on his estate, had tripped, causing the rifle to discharge, or that he’d committed suicide. These explanations raised more than one eyebrow. The rifle was found eight feet from the body and, said one cop, “with that long barrel, you don’t shoot yourself in the chest with your boots on. Only a big toe can pull that trigger.”

  “But it went in the books as accident or suicide,” said Fagan. “Duggan’s wife insisted it was murder. Maybe a mob hit to keep him quiet. Maybe arranged, some said, by the well-fixed to keep dirty laundry in the hamper. For me, I’ve never believed accident or suicide, never have, never will.” Whatever it was, the incident rocked Pittsburgh’s political and social world.

  Duggan’s demise brought a lesser, but still humiliating, demise for Ed Fagan. A board of judges had appointed Jack Hickton to succeed Duggan as the new district attorney. “By now in my career, I’m second assistant DA,” said Fagan, “but the day Hickton took office, he said, ‘You, get out of that office, and give me the Hoss file.’ I had to pack up and go back with the herd of assistant DAs. I was demoted on the spot, pay scale and everything. But that’s the political game.” Fagan, knight of the first Hoss trial, was out.

  The next day, Hickton, with a flair for the dramatic, called a press conference to inform them that he personally would prosecute the “tragic case of Captain Peterson.” Given Hickton’s heavy responsibilities as a big-city district attorney, this was nearly unheard of, but insiders felt that Hickton, fearing his appointment would last only until the next election, wanted on the boards, to make a name for himself, and at the time there was no better resume-builder than to humble Stanley Hoss.

  Working in the Public Defenders Office, Gary Zimmerman was picked to represent Hoss in the Peterson trial. If he’d ever seen a hopeless case to defend, he thought, this was it: eyewitnesses right in the room, the victim’s blood drenching his client …

  Yet at his first meeting with Hoss, Zimmerman never got the chance to recommend that Hoss beg the court for mercy. “I barely pulled up a chair,” remembered Zimmerman, “when Hoss said, ‘I’m pleading not guilty.’ Hoss then asked, ‘Are you up for a good fight?’ I said, ‘Yeah, I’m up for that.’” After an hour’s talk, Hoss came to believe that Zimmerman would try hard to help him. “After that,” said the young public defender, “we got along well.”

  Hoss was entitled to a separate trial, “and that’s what he wanted,” said Zimmerman. “We, the defense, thought we could be more successful on our own anyway, so that’s the path we took.” The prosecution was quite happy to try Hoss separately. Further, Hoss was to be tried first. That’s what DA Hickton wanted.

  Of many important details in the process, the prosecution addressed one early and thoroughly. Remembering Maryland’s fiasco with the Peugeot case, it was made abundantly certain Hoss would be tried within 180 days.

  This is not to say that Zimmerman didn’t try for a delay. The trial was scheduled for the first week of June, but Zimmerman threw everything he could at the court. “All t
he usual stuff,” said Hoss’s defender. “You see, a trial starts in the womb, has its own infancy, puberty, adulthood and so forth. In pre-womb, I’m already thinking at the appellate level. I tried to get Stanley sent off to Farview, a place for the criminally insane, for a sixty-day eval, but Loran Lewis, the judge sitting the case, wasn’t buying it. Then I wanted a change of venue. This was denied. I appealed, and we had a big hearing on this one, and wow, the fireworks!”

  In harness with Zimmerman, the other defense attorneys, John Dean for Delker and Gary Gentile for Butler, likewise wanted a change of venue. “We’re all in this one room, attorneys, defendants, everyone,” said Zimmerman. “We were simply saying that our clients could not possibly get a fair trial in Allegheny County. DA Hickton of course disagreed, so I really pissed him off by calling him as a defense witness. I reminded the court it was Mr. Hickton—right after the lamentable death of his predecessor— who trumpeted his intent to personally try Hoss. This, I implied, showed he lacked objectivity, was out for blood. This wasn’t the case, really, but I nonetheless forced him to admit he made the statement.”

  If nothing else, Zimmerman was zealous. Hoss joked he sure was getting the taxpayer’s money’s worth. Hammering on the venue issue, Zimmerman called a dozen news directors from radio and TV stations to speak of the publicity. Typical coverage characterized Hoss as a convicted “cop killer” who was also “implicated in the kidnap and apparent murder of a Maryland woman and her child.” Ian MacLennan, who’d recently retired from the FBI, called a talk show as a private citizen, saying the death penalty should be restored for men like Hoss, “who are animals.” A tape was played of Mike Levine, a popular radio host on KDKA, saying, “I used to think everybody had some redeeming feature. I’m changing my mind about Stanley Hoss.” Noting that KDKA’s powerful radio signal reached at least halfway across the United States, Zimmerman concluded sadly that it had a listening audience of “untold millions”—as if Levine had singlehandedly tainted prospective jurors practically nationwide.

  The defense’s attempt to show another video of TV coverage surrounding Peterson’s death encountered a glitch, however: the video had picture but no sound. Ralph Cappy of the Public Defenders Office said if the defendants agreed, Judge Lewis could view the tape in private when the right projector was found. Hoss objected, saying, “No, I want to hear everything.” Putting on like a spoiled child, Delker yelled, “I wanna see the movies!” then leaped from his chair and struck Cappy across the face, knocking him backward. As six deputies grabbed Delker, Hoss rose from his chair but was quickly pinned down by others, all this with his sister Betty screaming, “He’s done nothing! Don’t hurt him!” Order was restored with handcuffs and leg irons.

  At the end of it all, Judge Lewis denied the venue motion. He also clamped a gag rule on the public defenders, forbidding any talk of the case outside the courtroom.

  During the first days of June, a jury of seven men and five women was seated, to be sequestered in the landmark William Penn Hotel. “At voir dire,” said Zimmerman, “it was a big issue for me that none of the jurors knew of the Peugeots. I made damn sure of it.”

  It later made for interesting conversation when a prospective juror was heard to mutter something about “fingering” Hoss in the past. Then he was recognized by Sammy Strauss, the presiding judge in the Zanella trial, as the man who had notified the FBI after Hoss called Jodine’s sister from Jackson, Minnesota, during the nationwide manhunt after Zanella’s death. The guy—Walter “Pookie” Penn—easily succeeded where most others fail. He got out of jury duty.

  A month before the Peterson trial, Hoss was brought to Pittsburgh on an unrelated matter, to testify for a friend of his over a prison assault. He later wrote to Diane:

  They held me in the Co. Jail in the female section. Girl prisoners would crowd around my cell till shooed away by the matron. All the girls told me when they have a baby they’re naming it Stanley. Can you dig it?

  26

  As the trial began, long lines formed along Grant Street and around the corner. Deputies walked the crowd, saying, “Can’t get in, best go home.”

  Inside, Hoss looked sharp—brown suit with fashionably wide lapels, beige shirt, and red tie. Although no one could fathom why, he showed every sign of confidence, smiling, shaking a few hands.

  “I will prove Stanley Hoss and other inmates trapped Walter Peterson in a room and beat him to death.” So opened DA Jack Hickton. An accomplished thespian before his lawyering days, Hickton’s delivery was Shakespearean, the courtroom his theater. Waving his arms, Hickton also favored “using fifty-cent words when nickel ones would do,” noted Zimmerman, who thought the trait could chafe a jury.

  “A whodunit it is not,” continued Hickton, “provability aplenty.” To the sobs of Asaline Peterson, Hickton reconstructed the abominable murder, then swung around to point: “That man, Stanley Hoss, is killer certain.”

  Holding a losing hand, Zimmerman attacked, calling Hickton’s account “a fable,” and asking the jury to withhold judgment until all the evidence had been heard.

  “What I saw, I could only hope the jury saw,” recalled Zimmerman. “There’s the prosecution over there at a big table: Hickton, John Tighe, Bob Eberhart, Trooper ‘Bull’ Manning, another cop, another lawyer—six or seven of them. Then there’s me and Stanley at our small table.” With little else going for him, Zimmerman set aside facts—any matters of guilt or innocence—to introduce “perception.” “In certain ways I’d suggest to the jury how unfair it all was. See me, David. See the prosecution, Goliath. Even in sports, you know, people like the scrappy underdog, so I wanted the jury to see me like this: ‘Root for me, the underdog.’”

  With the defense relying solely on this feeble stratagem, it looked grim for Zimmerman and his odious client, who, nerves finally jangling, steadily drummed his knee against the defense table. Evidence was displayed, early witnesses spoke. In all solemnity Hickton reviewed the autopsy: “Every bone in the captain’s head, jaw, and face was broken…. His hands, body, throat, and arms were sliced open by razors …” This unthinkable image brought tears to several in the room. Peterson’s widow, Asaline, sitting in the front row, murmured, “Oh my Lord, have mercy on him.”

  Zimmerman groped to say something, anything to get through the moment. Facing the jury, he said, “Yes, lamentable facts will be brought out, but in prison there is a separate society with its own customs and mores”— said as though the situation could now be understood.

  After opening statements, round one of the trial closed with Zimmerman bruised and Hickton without a scratch. The following morning, Tuesday, June 6, 1974, the prosecution rolled out its case in earnest.

  To Hickton, Hoss’s guilt was crystalline, so the goal was to secure a conviction for murder in the first degree by showing premeditation.

  When Robert McGrogan spoke too softly, Hickton asked him to keep his voice up. Knowing that on cross-examination Zimmerman would reveal the star witness for what he was, Hickton got the messy details out of the way. See, jury? We hide nothing. Pulling no punches, Hickton stated, “Mr. McGrogan, you in fact have been convicted of murder, have you not?” Appearing reserved but forthcoming McGrogan answered, “That is true.”

  Q. For your testimony you’ve not been offered personal benefit? Any promise of leniency?

  A. No.

  Q. Tell us why you are on the stand today.

  A. Mr. Peterson never done me harm. I felt sort of sad when he got killed. Wasn’t right.

  Q. Do you come here at risk?

  A. I think so.

  Q. Are you afraid of Stanley Hoss?

  A. Yeah.

  Q. But he is in a separate prison, away from you.

  A. He has friends.

  Q. All right. The early afternoon of December 10 …

  Hickton spent considerable time eliciting details of the hour prior to the assault. McGrogan said that over the preceding year, he’d been “okay with Stan and his crowd, but I wasn’t part of
’em. Kept my distance. But down the Home Block we was the only white guys so, you know, you stick together.”

  McGrogan then testified that on the day in question, he was told for the first time by Delker of the plan to kill Peterson. During questioning, Hickton made sure to emphasize words he wanted to sink into the jury’s collective head: plan, early knowledge. “I just knew—live in prison long enough, you can tell—I just knew they weren’t shittin’ me.” McGrogan brought his hand to his mouth, then apologized. “Sorry. I’ll watch my language.”

  McGrogan then went on to explain his position in the Home Block’s basement that day. He explained that he hadn’t committed himself when Delker asked if he “wanted in,” and then added, “but you have to understand who’s askin’. It ain’t always so easy to decline. Then they started gettin’ ready.” Preparing.

  “Who, Mr. McGrogan?”

  “Hoss, Delker, Butler. One did this, the other did that, like they knew what had to be done.” Assignments.

  Q. Did you participate?

  A. No. They asked me. I said no. Maybe it was enough for them I wouldn’t interfere.

  Q. Captain Peterson was upstairs, safe and sound …

  A. They was cookin’ things up, stories, to get him down. When I heard he was on the way down, I didn’t know what to do. I saw the razors, Hoss holdin’ a garrote. Lure. Make arrangements.

  When murder is planned, two considerations usually predominate in a criminal’s mind: Kill, and get away with it. Contemplating a man like Hoss, therefore, who’d kill with no hope or design of eluding the consequences, was chilling

  Patiently led by Hickton over the next hour, McGrogan related the details of the murder. The violence overwhelmed but Sheriff Gene Coon remembered one moment in particular that got to everybody: “when Peterson called out to his fellow officer, ‘Help, please help, Reilly. Help me.’ He knew no help could come in time. He knew his fate.”