Born to Lose

by James G. Hollock

  “Just before Lt. Peterson went downstairs,” said inmate John Keen, “I was in the shower with Sistrunk, who was head of the Black Muslims. I could see the desk area and saw Peterson on the phone, then he say somethin’ to a guard, then goes outside. Almost right away we hear all this noise. Somethin’s’ goin’ down. There’s only the blacks left upstairs an’ I ran to get two knives I had, then get in front of Fred Burton’s cell. See, after Burton killed two at Holmesburg Prison an’ stabbed a captain in the back, he almost got beat to death by the guards. He was still real weak so I stood in front to protect him. Then I see Sistrunk come from the shower still all soaped up. He ran into his cell and I think if he coulda’ burrowed through the brick, that’s where he’da gone.”

  “When I hit that alarm again,” said Cameron, “I hear Reilly in the intercom shouting loud, in a panic, “Help! Help! They got Pete! They’re killin’ him! They’re killin’ him!’ I didn’t have time to lose but now we got trouble upstairs. Sistrunk’s running around buck naked an’ I see Johnny Keen tearing down a range—with a fuckin’ knife! Keen looked scared shitless, scared to death, and when Keen is scared there’s something to be scared about. Mike Stangler and Frank Salvay were on duty so I yelled for Frankie to lock those sons-a-bitches up. Lock it all down. We got problems.”

  Right at this time the first contingent of officers rushed into the Home Block, led by Kozak. They all knew there was trouble, but none knew what the trouble was about.

  Cameron looked at Kozak, the ranking officer. “They got Pete downstairs.”

  Winded from his two-hundred-yard run, Kozak asked, “Who got Pete?”

  “Hoss an’ them. I think they’re killing him. That’s what Bus is yelling.”

  Not understanding that Cameron had been to the basement door, failed to get it opened, and had just hustled back upstairs, Kozak exclaimed, “Well, what the hell we up here for?! Let’s go, bust in there! Get in there! Get in there!”

  After having thrust free of the initial pounding, Peterson, dizzy and unsteady, shuffled toward Reilly, shouting, “Help, Bus, help!” Pressed up against the front of his bars, Reilly yelled, “I called, Pete, I called! Hold on! They’re comin’! They’re comin’!” Then before he could think of its uselessness, Reilly grabbed the whistle clipped to his shirt and blew it, over and over, like he could signal the end of a match.

  Halfway to Reilly, Peterson was intercepted by Butler, who hit the struggling man over the head with a folding chair. Stunned but remaining upright, the lieutenant lurched toward a wall for support. Having slipped down a moment before, Hoss caught up with Butler, took the chair from him and with all his might collapsed it over the back of Peterson’s head. Peterson slid down the wall to one knee. Hoss, with Delker, kicked down Peterson. Then the razors came out.

  “I don’t know how many of us were at that door all at once,” said Kozak, “but the landing down there is not too big so we had to watch against getting in everyone’s way. We’re pounding, pulling, but that door wasn’t moving. When I looked in, I couldn’t see anyone except McGrogan, who wouldn’t respond to us.”

  Wielding his night stick, Kozak bashed at the thick glass of the door’s small window but, “that club bounced off like I was hitting an iron beam.”

  CO Jimmy Weaver stood by the railing, eight feet above the landing.

  A lot of us weren’t sure what was going on, except that we had to get in there. Some of us heard Reilly yelling about Pete, some didn’t. Guys are whacking away at that door and window … looked fruitless. Everyone’s yelling and at the same time the boiler house whistle blew, loud short blasts, meaning the whole prison was going into lock down. Kozak’s the lieutenant but he’s in the middle of everything, so I ran over toward no. 6 tower. Thad Moore was up there with his 30.30 rifle. I didn’t have authority for this but I shouted to shoot the window open, shoot it out! Thad yelled back, “‘I don’t have orders to shoot.” But now Sgt. Vargo is beside me and he yells up, “Christ! Pete’s trapped! I’ll clear everyone away. I’m givin’ you a direct order … Fire!” But Thad Moore would not fire.

  Unaware of Weaver’s and Vargo’s pleadings, in the same minute Kozak ran up the steps to order Thad Moore to throw a rifle down. “Thad was just preparing to lower the rifle by rope,” said Kozak, “but now the boiler house whistle is blowing like hell and I didn’t know if we had a general riot starting up. Now I’m thinking a rifle inside is too dangerous, so I countermanded my order.”

  After twice being hit over the head with a chair, Peterson went to one knee, then slumped down altogether, onto his back. If he could hear anything anymore, it was his attackers screaming racial epithets.

  Butler’s long, stringy hair was wet with blood. Straddling Peterson’s knees, he held the victim’s head back. At this, Hoss and Delker pounced. Kneeling on either side, the killers used razor blades on Peterson’s throat.

  In a blood lust, both hacked away. Referring to the jugular, Hoss said, “Are you gettin’ it?” Delker laughed, “Yeah, I’m gettin’ it.”

  Reilly thought Peterson—supine and still, white shirt crimson—had died. Bludgeoned as he was for … how long now? And the slashing … the horrific cutting … no man could … But no sooner had Reilly thought this than Peterson showed movement.

  “I walked over to the door,” said McGrogan, “thinking of untying it and getting out of there, but I’d be trapped in the yard behind a wall with barbed wire. I looked to where Peterson was and seen he somehow got Butler off his legs and was getting up. Hoss hit him again but he’s up, on his feet.”

  Peterson stumbled toward Reilly—“They’re at the door! Pete, they’re coming!”—but Pete was sluggish, uncoordinated. He turned to Reilly, extended his hands in a gesture of helplessness, then dropped to the floor, his arm and leg twitching. Delker bent over the lieutenant and spit in his face.

  After more whips with a razor, a corduroy coat was thrown over Peterson’s face. Hoss, Delker, and Butler, all the while shouting, “The nigger’s dead! The nigger’s dead!” stomped the lieutenant before each picked up a folding chair to take turns slamming, over and again, Peterson’s body and head. Finally, exhausted, they urinated on the man.

  “Then they just went crazy,” said McGrogan, “like they were in some kind of madhouse. Hoss yelled at Reilly, ‘Pete’s dead, fuckin’ dead! And we’re gonna kill you, too!’”

  A couple of the folding chairs had splintered. All three got pieces, like clubs, and hit Pete further, then swung away at the florescent lights on the ceiling, busting everything up. They went back to Pete and stabbed him with the shards.

  With a large force of guards on the other side of the door, the desperate McGrogan blurted to Hoss, “That door’s not gonna last forever. Open it or they’re gonna come in here an’ kill us.”

  Hoss, all wild, whirled around to McGrogan, and screamed, “We’re all dead anyway!” Delker yelled the same, “We’re dead, yeah, all dead!”

  Using the coat covering Peterson’s head, Hoss wiped blood from his hands, then looked Reilly’s way.

  “Hoss came up to me, right to the bars,” remembered Reilly, “and said— he didn’t yell, but said, like giving a weather report—‘The nigger’s dead, and that’s what’s going to happen to all of you. You better tell your friends to bring their guns.’”

  Quiet for once, Hoss, Delker, and Butler drifted to the body, hovering over it like lions after a kill.

  . . .

  Mission accomplished, Hoss untied the door. When it was finally pulled open, Hoss and Delker stood with their arms to their sides, Butler just behind with his hands up. Head down, McGrogan stood separately, ten feet away.

  “We grabbed them to take up to the little yard,” said Cameron. “Because I didn’t go in, I didn’t know what all happened inside.”

  As soon as the doorway cleared, Kozak stepped in, thinking Peterson must have taken a good beat-up, but instead “he’s lying there, and it was awful. I told someone to get our medics and call an ambulance.”
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  Don Madera and Steve Dutkowski came in with Kozak. “You have to know that Pete was so respected, so well liked,” said Madera. “I remembered when we’d have yard duty, we’d stand out there with billy clubs. Every few minutes Pete would come out and look to see us. He’d say, ‘Are you all right?’ We’d say, ‘Yeah Pete, we’re okay.’ Then he’d go back in, and if it was chilly, door closed, we could still see him in the window looking out. He was always concerned for us. That was Pete.

  “But now we run in and kneel beside him. Steam was coming out of his head and his face was twice the normal size. Steve checked for pulse and I put a small mirror under his nose to detect any breathing, but Pete was dead. Lengths of splintered wood were stuck in his chest, stomach, all over, and florescent lights were stabbed in his body and face. Couldn’t see his eyes, only two slits. He wasn’t decapitated as some later said, but his throat was so ripped apart, gouged … His teeth were knocked out and his mouth was caved in. His head was crushed, split open, and on the left side brain matter was hanging out … We got so damn mad we went out there and kicked the shit out of those bastards.”

  Subsequent reports stated, “Only the force necessary was used to subdue …” Some who were there stuck to this line but others, over time, spoke of what happened.

  “A bunch of us, including Kozak, ran up to the little yard,” said Dutkowski, “It was cold out, snowflakes coming down. Cameron had them all lined up against a wall. We told him and others about inside the basement. Ringed as they were, McGrogan’s yelling, ‘I didn’t do nothin’! I didn’t do nothin’!’ and with Butler it was, ‘Don’t hurt me, I’ll tell you anything,’ but Hoss and Delker were there braced, ready.”

  Kozak shouted up to Thad Moore on the tower, “If these guys make a move, shoot them.” They were standing there under threat of batons. Everyone was tense. Then, in a spontaneous utterance, Kozak ordered the four to take their clothes off. “I wanted them with naked skin,” Kozak later explained, “thinking a naked man is less likely to fight you.”

  The inmates made no motion to comply, so Kozak ordered his men to strip them. “We rushed them,” said Jimmy Weaver. “They wore those blue-and-white-striped jumpsuits, now all bloody. We tore into them, getting licks in while we’re tugging at the clothes. Hoss and Delker tried to put up a fight, McGrogan, too, till he got jacked up and just dropped down. Butler got doubled over with a night stick. But we got them stripped.”

  While this action took place in the yard, hospital staff had entered the basement and already an ambulance was pulling up. “People were bringing Bus Reilly out, and he was catatonic,” said Hagmaier, “and when I looked back to the yard our guys were still at it. Several were on Hoss, punching hard with their fists, same deal with the others. Delker scrambled up off the ground yelling his head hurt, then Kozak grabs him and smashes his head into a wall and says to him, ‘How’s that?’”

  The highest rank who’d now arrived was Deputy Bill Jennings. After viewing Peterson, it was said (but never attested to) that Jennings placed a .38 on a table, and then announced to the officers present, “This is your block. Do what you have to do.” In the next minute Jennings got to the yard and watched with everyone else while Pete was brought up on a stretcher. “The body had every eye,” said Weaver, “then someone said, ‘Look what they did to Pete!’ followed by—I swear—Deputy Jennings shouting out, ‘Kill them, kill them all!’”

  “Now we got a real situation,” said Kozak. “Other officers were arriving all spit and fire, and here we got our own people yelling for blood. I had to step in fast.”

  “It was Kozak and Captain Krall who stopped the assault on Hoss first, then Delker and Butler,” said Weaver, “but me, Kohut, and the rookie Kostalanski were still doing McGrogan. There was no calling us off. We were pulled off.”

  Hagmaier later reflected, “Yeah, we were stopped from killing those inmates, but evil is hard to kill. Evil is hard to hurt.”

  . . .

  The ambulance sped the two miles to Allegheny General Hospital where Lieutenant Walter Lee Peterson was pronounced dead at 2:55 P.M.

  As her husband worked police auxiliary in Clairton, it wasn’t so strange for Asaline to see a squad car in front of her house. She knew the officer, Bob Cantrell, but as he approached her door, Asaline had to wonder why his wife was with him.

  Twenty minutes later, dropped off from his school bus, eight-year-old Walter Jr. walked up Mitchell Avenue. Nearing home he noticed a police car in front of his house, then one that had just pulled up, parked at an angle. The boy broke into a trot.

  Brother-in-law William Coon was home from California for the weekend to attend a funeral. “When I flew back on Monday, the Red Cross was waiting for me at the airport with the news, so I flew right back to Pittsburgh.”

  Asaline’s sister Shirley returned home from work to find “the phone ringing. It was my mother and she said, ‘They’ve killed Walter.’”

  Radio and TV interrupted regular programming, and again the name, that name, as familiar to the region as Billy the Kid or Jack the Ripper, came out over the airwaves. After giving what facts were known, KDKA’s Bill Burns editorialized, “Stanley Hoss should have been executed a long time ago.”

  News of Peterson’s horrible death brought back into public consciousness patrolman Joe Zanella, gunned down in his hometown…. Wasn’t that the biggest manhunt ever? … The courts letting Hoss off death row … The young mother and child, never seen again, the monster never called to account … Hoss’s thuggery behind bars, the knife fights … his neverending appeals … and now Stanley Hoss had struck again. What’s wrong with him? And what about our courts? And what the hell’s wrong at that prison?

  To many, particularly the officer corps, many things were wrong at Western Penitentiary. Allegheny General Hospital confirmed what everyone already knew: Peterson was dead. Shock and profound grief soon were companioned by hostility, and by a certain acrimony toward the administration. Hadn’t it been cautioned, even forewarned? Of course no one could predict where, when, and who would be attacked, but over time, the guards on the ranges had had a presentiment, a foreboding … The result was succinctly stated by veteran Gus Mastros: “Well, when you let a place run amok …”

  What followed directly after Peterson’s murder was—depending on who you talked to—unrestrained, sad, over-the-top, necessary, uncalled-for, fair or unfair, accusatory … “but you have to understand,” said Mastros, “there was a breaking point, and it was reached.”

  Superintendent Gil Walters was at a meeting in the state office building, downtown, when he got word of Pete. “I started back right away. When I arrived, I was told he was dead. I went to my office. I didn’t go to the Home Block because the situation was over. Deputy Jennings had ordered a general lockdown. I did talk to him.”

  When Bus Reilly was brought up from the basement, a blanket was thrown over his shoulders and he was helped to the infirmary. According to Ron Hagmaier, he was “very shaken, in a kind of stupor. Bus was injected with a sedative. He sat slumped and staring.” Word spread. This was an image that stuck. But another image predominated for all the staff, present at the scene or not: the image of Peterson’s battered, mutilated body. “No one, even our ’Nam vets,” Kozak said, “had seen, or understood, such deliberate mutilation upon a single human being.”

  When the staccato of the boiler house whistle signaled an immediate lockdown, the prison’s 845 inmates were to drop everything, go to their cells. Hurried along by officers with clubs and leather-gloved fists, with rifles trained on them from atop the walls, most complied without a word, knowing something really bad had gone down. “But there’s always those few who are going to say something,” said range officer Pat Malloy. “A few got it pretty good for mouthing off at a time like this. I was still a new kid, really, and thought this place was no Sunday school.”

  “Around six o’clock several of us went into the employees’ cafeteria, and more kept coming in,” said Jimmy Weaver, who’d be
en at the basement and had seen as much as anyone. CO Weaver was also vice president of the prison’s fledgling union.

  Ron Horvat, our president, was off, but was on his way in, so while waiting we took a table to begin writing a statement to Superintendent Walters recommending the state police come in to man our posts, to relieve us for twenty-four or forty-eight hours because, if not, with emotions the way they were, if one inmate would have opened his mouth and said, “Fuck that man” or “Fuck that nigger,” that guy would have gotten himself jacked up bad or killed.

  “I hadn’t even seen the superintendent all day, but after not too long, in he walks. Remember, he was never much liked, at least by us rank and file, and now his very presence is the embodiment of blame and hate. Gil Walters asked for calm but I asked him who was responsible for turning the Home Block’s basement into a rec room, taking out the protective bars, and getting Peterson killed. Walters said he had to take partial responsibility for it. When he said that, Officer Eddie Lockhart, standing next to Walters, jumps up on a table and yells, “No, you’re taking full responsibility for it!” Lockhart’s holding an ebony night stick, swings it, misses Walters, but breaks the night stick on one of the large pillars Walters stood next to.

  Hearing the commotion, Gus Mastros ran from the deputy’s office to the cafeteria. “A bunch of white hats rushed in, grabbed up the superintendent, and got him to his office. But I never saw so much deterioration of our staff. Close to anarchy.”

  Soon after Walters had been whisked away, Ron Horvat got to the prison. He knew something had to be done, and quick.

  As union president I was vocal but not militant, but with Pete’s death I became militant. I felt the only way to deal with these people was to embarrass them. In order to do that you had to risk your job, but with Pete’s murder it gave us strength to realize, What’s worse than jail? Death. What’s worse than losing your job? Losing your life. So I promised myself I would never have to face another family knowing I didn’t do everything in my power to correct matters which surely put us all in harm’s way. If you sit idly by and allow this to happen, you have to carry the consequences the rest of your life … and for what? To say I was afraid to get fired?