Born to Lose (59 page)

To the board, Hickton elicited what compassion he could by pointing out that, at age eight, McGrogan had witnessed his mother's murder, that his father had been poisoned to death when the boy was twelve, and that since the age of fourteen, McGrogan had been out of prison only twice, never for more than six months. Hickton knew, though, that he was not playing to a sympathetic audience. Broaching the meat of the matter,
Hickton stated that it was McGrogan's eyewitness testimony that had led to the important convictions in the Peterson case. “He did a hell of a job under frightening circumstances, and I was sure his testimony would lead to his death in the prison system. Since that testimony, it is my belief Mr. McGrogan has had a reawakening of consciousness.”

Not everyone felt the same. Hickton's successor, Robert Colville, opposed any cut in McGrogan's sentence, and although he didn't testify before the board, Officer Bus Reilly—the other eyewitness—said privately, “McGrogan's as guilty as the rest of them.”

. . .

“Locked up so tight, I don't know how Hoss could still cause so much trouble. He needed executed. It's the only thing that would stop him.” These words came not from prosecutor, cop, or guard, but from a murderer.

John Gergel had been a “marine, four years,” but after his discharge somehow things went south, and Gergel ended up in jail on suspicion of burglary. “It was a forty-eight-hour hold, that's what they told me,” said Gergel, “but I decided to escape.” During the attempt, Gergel was confronted by Officer Sam VanAucker. “We fought, and I got his night stick,” said Gergel. “When I hit him over the head, it killed him. I didn't mean to do that.” Gergel got a life sentence and wound up in Graterford's Behavior Adjustment Unit (BAU).

“One day this guy is by my cell,” remembered Gergel, “and he stared in at me. Not knowing Hoss, I said, ‘What the hell you lookin' at?' Hoss liked someone like that, from a white guy that is. I later learned he asked that I be permitted to yard with him, but this was in the months to come. At the time Hoss got yard by himself. This was a couple years after he killed that guard at Western, but Hoss had it worse than any of us. His restrictions approached that of Hannibal Lecter. These procedures were put in place for Hoss alone. I could see why.”

So could Graterford's first black superintendent, Julius Kyler. “There was that time Hoss climbed up top of the BAU roof so now we have a kind of standoff. I'm on the phone with Commissioner Robinson, who knew Hoss from a teen. ‘Tell Hoss he got five minutes to get down—or shoot the bastard.'” Kyler laughed in the retelling. “Yeah, that's what Robby said. Hearing this, and who gave the order, Hoss yelled back, ‘Robby said that? Well, I know that sunnuvabitch wants me dead.' Hoss climbed down. But, yeah, Hoss was always a risk.”

“Hoss was not allowed in pop for any reason,” said inmate Gergel.

He had to be exercised—that's the law, I think—but he was put out in a dog run by himself. If someone was given yard with Hoss, he'd complain and the guy was removed. There was a special setup when Hoss had a visit. He went out cuffed and shackled at count time or after hours with no other visitors present. That's the way it was for him.

In this time, '75 and '76, I knew Hoss as well as anyone. He didn't speak to many and few talked to him. No black officer dealt with Hoss. They weren't allowed. But after a while Hoss and me would yard together. It was okay at first. We'd swap home stories and he'd go on about girls, cars, or crime, and he told me about Betty. He'd get amped up for these visits. He never said anything about sexual matters with her but he was
very
close. I'd see pictures he got taken in the visiting room. You'd think Betty was a girlfriend, the way they posed and hugged together. Stanley told me he believed the state police drugged Betty, causing the crash that killed her. He was inconsolable. That was the end of any lucidity he may have had. He became even more dangerous after Betty's death. Exercising constantly, he was a beast. He made a brine out of beet and pickle juice, and this would toughen his skin to a hide, on his hands. He'd punch the walls. He requested free weights. Denied. So he went off, broke his sink and toilet. They put him all by himself for a couple weeks. He calmed down after that but he was always so dangerous.

But Hoss was charismatic when he wanted to be. You could see at these times how he could influence men and how women could be drawn to him. But usually I was extremely uncomfortable around Stanley. He was forever coming up with plans to kill—which included me as a partner. One plan was to escape from the BAU then, “kill five or six blacks before we're stopped.” Jesus! You can see how I was always walking on eggshells. Another plan was to get into court by filing lawsuits, but his purpose was to kill a judge. I know Stanley wanted to kill this Judge Strauss he talked about. He said he'd leap over a railing or table then snap the guy's neck with his bare hands. Stanley lived to kill again.

But here's what happened to me … once staff thought you were too close to Hoss, you were transferred out. I got sent to Pittsburgh, too, and there, considered a “friend of Hoss,” I was given the rough treatment, put in the hole an' all for about eight months.

“Hoss put in more than one lawsuit on us,” said Bill Robinson, who over the years had gone from an assistant at the Allegheny County Workhouse to a jail warden and now to Pennsylvania commissioner of corrections.

Hoss said he wanted things like education and work therapy. Then Judge Ray Broderick got a Hoss lawsuit in his office. Hoss made his case for this or that, plus he wanted to learn Spanish. I'd decided to let Hoss learn Spanish on his own in his cell, and I considered allowing dry ceramics but Judge Broderick said he needed to have a hearing to get everything on record. I made tight arrangements for this court trip, even with helicopter security because this was Hoss's
last
time out. I'd also heard Hoss wouldn't mind killing another official so when in front of Broderick, Hoss was virtually strapped around, and I borrowed a trick from the Peterson trial when a detective, a marksman, was pointed out to Hoss along with a quiet message, “You try anything at all in court, Stanley, that man has orders to shoot you through the head.” I had my own man in Broderick's courtroom and Stanley was given the same cheerful warning. You might think this was going too far but let me tell you something interesting. In the months preceding this hearing, Graterford staff noticed a certain woman who'd gotten on Stanley's visiting list. She was one of those volunteers coming into the prison with a religious group to save souls. We checked her out. She was in her late twenties, married. She'd fallen for Stanley and left her home but not before cleaning out her husband's bank account. The plan was to meet Stanley when he went to federal court. He would escape. I don't know how, but she was ready with her part. She'd chartered a private plane for the two of them to fly to Mexico. Spanish!

We got Stanley to and from court without incident. A couple weeks later I was at Graterford and went to Hoss's cell. I told the officers to kick his door. They said, “You sure?” I said yeah, he won't bother me. So I went in, sat down on his bunk with him. I called him as I did since he was a kid, “Well, Stasiu, you've been out for the very last time.” I rapped my knuckles on the cell wall and said, “This is where you're going to spend the rest of your life.” He responded, “Let me tell you something. One of us is gonna die before all this is over.” I told Hoss he was right but it wasn't going to be me. He said, “We'll see about that.” Yeah, more spit and fire, but there was a distance in his eyes I'd never seen before. I think he knew.

Maybe less so, but Hoss kept writing his letters.

I am surprised you moved, Diane. Do you like your new place? I had a wonderful Christmas. Did you cut down a tree like we used to and decorate it with strings of popcorn? Two young guys locked near me killed themselves. One received a bad letter from his wife so he wrote her a note,
left it on his bed then hung himself with a bed sheet. I don't know why the other guy hung up. Did you get my card? Will you send me some pictures for my cell wall?

. . .

On a snowy day in early January, 1978, Steve Coble was hunting near Wisterman, Ohio. Approaching a small thicket, something caught his eye. Kneeling down, he saw what appeared to be a human skull frozen into the ground. He went home to call the Putnam County Sheriff 's Department. As it had grown dark, Coble met the following morning with Sheriff Bob Beutler and several deputies. More snow had fallen, and a broom was used to clear the area. Beside the skull was the bottom jaw with most of the teeth still intact. Small trees around the skull were cut down and a canvas was placed over the slender trunks. Two heaters were installed to blow hot air under the canvas to thaw the ground, but it was not until 1:00 A.M. that the men were able to carefully dig around the skull and, eventually, an entire skeleton. Bones were put in one box, cloth and other debris in another. Later, another piece of the skull, two white buttons, and three teeth were added to the find. All the evidence was sent for analysis to the Cuyahoga County Coroner's Office.

Sheriff Beutler had to search for the name but soon gave his assessment. “I'll betcha this is Linda Peugeot, kidnapped and murdered back in '69. The guy, Hoss, came through these parts. Said he buried her around here.” This led to a call to Investigator Bill Baker in Cumberland, Maryland, who mailed official reports and dental records.

The following day, the coroner's office estimated the skeleton's age at death at twenty years. The skeleton was missing both hands, the left foot, and a long bone from the right leg. Only bits of fabric remained. The entire area was searched again with small hand rakes, which yielded bones believed to be part of a foot and a long bone thought to be from the right leg. It would be days more before the final report, but Sheriff Beutler wasn't waiting. He and Detective Dave Roney left Ottawa, Ohio, on the long drive to Pennsylvania's Graterford Prison.

“After having spent the night nearby,” said Beutler, “we arrived at the prison Monday morning of January 9.” Deputy Superintendent Robert Mauer escorted the officers across part of the sixty-two acres inside the walls to the maximum-security ward, which stood alone in a courtyard. Beutler was struck that the only windows in the building were those of the kitchen.

“Hoss came out a few minutes later with four guards around him,” recalled Beutler. “Just going by what pictures I'd seen, I was surprised at his
appearance, 230 pounds or more, brawny, and very rough cast. He had longer than shoulder-length hair, a long mustache, and a goatee about a half-inch wide in the middle of his chin. We told him who we were and what our purpose was. Hoss said—with an attitude—that he knew nothing of the girl. ‘I haven't been charged with anything in connection with that girl,' he said, and that finding the girl was our job, not his. The bastard added, ‘Everything I know is going to Hell with me.'”

Days later the coroner's office called Beutler. The skeleton was not that of Linda Peugeot.

Three weeks after the skeleton's discovery in Ohio, Senator Edward Early spoke before the Pennsylvania State Judiciary Committee: “We here in Pennsylvania cannot escape thinking about Stanley Hoss when we consider the death penalty.”

Pennsylvania had abolished its death penalty in 1972. Two years later the law was resurrected but in December 1977, it was again declared unconstitutional by the state supreme court. Now Senator Early led the legislature to draft a new version, one that reflected the will of the people, and one that would stick. Among other facts and examples, Early brought up Hoss's criminal biography. “It's been nine years since Hoss has become known as something more than a small-town hoodlum. Look what he did! There can be no redemption here. He's in prison now, probably waiting to kill again.”

Early's strong appeal—“Are we so ineffectual we cannot protect our citizens?”—helped usher the bill to its passage (over Governor Shapp's veto) in September 1978. It has remained the law of Pennsylvania ever since.

In Maryland that same September, Edna Thompson may have read of Pennsylvania's resolve, but any emotions the loving woman had were long since gone. Her sole interest these days was to bury her daughter and granddaughter in the local cemetery. Then she'd be able to visit them all the time. Maybe that would relieve the nightmares, lift the crushing depression, lighten the blackness. Her husband, William, had helped her get through the years since Linda's and Lori Mae's disappearance, but he'd died in the summer. There had been moments of hope—the discovery of the skeleton in Ohio had buoyed her temporarily—but she knew Hoss would take his secrets to hell with him …

It was September 19, 1978. In three days, Edna would face another anniversary of Linda's kidnapping. Maybe a neighbor would bring over a pie, sit awhile. Toward evening, Edna ran a bath. Sitting in the warm water she slit her left wrist, then her right, and closed her eyes.

. . .

For Stanley, one month dripped into the next. In the grey of another cold autumn, he wrote to Diane the longest letter he'd ever written from prison. In part, he told Diane:

You have tremendous cause to feel I've wronged you. You can despise me, desire to torture me or crave to see me dead. But I demand that you do not mock me. Skin me alive, tear my body to shreds, shackle me naked to the ground and turn loose upon me a thousand starving King rats. But don't mock me. Yearn to see me dead, to see my obituary, “Mad Dog Hoss Dead.” But don't deny that we ever existed.

When you saw my picture you said I was looking old. Why did you say that? Because it's true. I look haggard and drawn. When you see my picture you are looking at a man who had been dead for years. I am dead.

Strange though, isn't it, how just a few years have destroyed my youth, killed my happiness, buried my spirit and converted me into a hatchet-eyed, world-hating, walking dead man.