After they discovered that some of the victims were still alive, the officers focused on getting medical attention for them. They sent for two Vineland physicians, as well as ambulances from the surrounding towns. They were surprised to see that Pearl Mazzoli was still alive. Despite the extent of her wounds, she had survived the brutal attack.
Radioing back to the barracks about the carnage they had found, the two officers quickly searched the house while they waited for help to arrive. Even off-duty troopers were called in to assist those who were already at the site. While Yeager's fellow officers continued to search the Pioppi home and the grounds, Armando gestured for Yeager to walk across the street. There, the trooper found Mike's body and then Tessie and her oldest son huddled on the floor, with the baby still crying in his crib.
Many of the neighbors had barricaded themselves inside their homes when the shooting started, waiting fearfully for the police. One man, so exhausted by his day's work, slept unaware through the whole incident. Although he never heard the gunfire or the sirens, he went out and bought a lock for the front door when he found out the next day what had happened.
Jino, who had watched from outside of his sister's house while the troopers arrived, quickly informed them who was responsible for the shootings. Under the direction of Sgt. George DeWinne, a twenty-four-year veteran of the New Jersey State Police, the officers fanned out across the Pioppi and Mazzoli farms to make sure that Ernie wasn't hiding nearby. As they searched for him, the troopers also gathered spent cartridges and any other evidence that they could find at each scene. Shells were dug out of walls and floorboards and swept up from the carpets. Although their search was hampered by the thick darkness, the troopers found their way around the outbuildings and fields of the two properties with their flashlights and by the glow of the Pioppis' yard light.
DeWinne had been off-duty that night but reported for work as soon as he heard about the shootings. As supervisor of the Malaga barracks for the past two years, he knew his offi cers would need all the help they could get in this crisis. He arrived at the Pioppi home at around ten o'clock. After deploying his men, he walked across the street to the Mazzoli home. When he tried to use the phone there, the sergeant discovered the wire had been pulled out of the box on the wall. Glancing down, he followed a trail of spent 9mm shells leading from the floor by the phone to the dining room and small parlor, ending next to Mike's body in the living room. After detailing their findings in his initial report, DeWinne noted: "Shortly after the place was jammed with relatives and reporters," but their presence did not deter the state police investigation. Under "Probable Motive," he typed, "Revenge."
What no one realized then was that Ernie was not yet finished with his mission.
At almost the same time that the state troopers and frightened family members and friends gathered on Piney Hollow Road, Ernie was arriving at the Jonas Avenue home of Hilda and Frank Mazzoli in nearby Minotola. Frank Mazzoli, one of Mike's younger brothers, had married Hilda Patella in 1936. The couple had three children: thirteen-year-old Nola, tenyear-old Barbara, and three-year-old Frank Jr. Frank worked as a milkman for Rainear's dairy in Bridgeton, while Hilda was a full-time homemaker.
After Nola and a friend had gone off to a dance at Cleary Middle School around the corner from their house, the rest of the family went to Baltimore Market in Vineland, where they finished the week's food shopping. When they returned home, the Mazzolis sat for a while in the car listening to the end of a radio program before they went inside to unpack the groceries. Since the family didn't own a television, radio shows were a staple of household entertainment.
The grocery bags were still half full when Ernie arrived at their back door. Frank worked an early shift at the dairy and often helped Ernie make deliveries for D'Augustine's in the afternoon. As a result, Ernie was a frequent visitor to their house and sometimes ate dinner with them. Since he had a habit of popping in unannounced, young Barbara didn't think anything was out of the ordinary as she opened the kitchen door and let him in.
Almost sixty years later, the details of that night remained vivid in Barbara's mind. During an interview in 2008, she recalled that her father had carried little Frank into the living room while she stayed in the kitchen to help her mother. When she heard a knock at the kitchen door, Barbara looked out and saw Ernie standing on the step. Her voice grew quiet as she related, "I thought nothing of it when I saw him. It was just Ernie. He came in and shut the door. After he came in, he pulled out the guns he had hidden under his coat."
Standing near a counter in the tiny kitchen, Barbara couldn't believe what she saw. With a gun in each hand, Ernie declared, "I got the rest, now I came to get you." Hilda, who thought he was pulling a practical joke, playfully tossed a head of lettuce at him. Without uttering another word, Ernie shot her.
When Frank heard the gunfire, he ran toward the kitchen, followed by his son. Ernie shot him three times when he reached the doorway. Although she had been wounded, Hilda began crawling toward her husband, fearful that he was already dead. But the intruder wasn't taking chances where she was concerned.
"Every time my mother moved to get to my dad, Ernie shot her," Barbara said. "Then, he just walked out the door."
A tall, tow-headed youngster at the time, Frank Mazzoli Jr. doesn't remember a lot of what happened afterward, but despite his age, he has retained very distinct memories of the events that unfolded at his house that night. In an interview in 2008, he confirmed that they had just returned from the grocery store when Ernie came knocking at their kitchen door.
"I remember Barbara saying, `It's Ernie,"' Frank Jr. recalled. "I remember him because he always used to stop and play around with me."
After the initial shots rang out, Frank Jr. was walking behind his father toward the kitchen. He saw Ernie standing there with a gun in each hand; his sister Barbara was next to him, too stunned to move. Since the little boy had never heard gunfire before, he had no idea what was happening.
"One of the shots went right through my father over my head into the wall," he said.
When Frank turned and stumbled back into the living room, his young son followed.
"I saw my father lying on the floor and I thought he was asleep," Frank Jr. said. "So, I went to get him a pillow so he would be more comfortable."
In the confusion that followed, Frank recalled Barbara screaming and his mother crawling into the hallway toward his father. Afterward, the house was filled with New Jersey state troopers and family members like his Uncle Bruno, who couldn't stop crying.
As word spread about the man with the gun, many neighbors raced inside to hide behind locked doors. Less than ten minutes after he arrived at the Mazzoli house, Ernie once again sped off into the night. Too terrified to cry, Barbara knew she had to get help. The ten-year-old ran to the telephone and dialed "0." When the operator came on the line, Barbara begged for assistance-the police, an ambulance, any grown-up who could come and take charge of the situation. At about 9:35 P.M., the telephone operator patched Barbara through to Trooper Smalley at the Malaga barracks.
After she learned that help was on the way, Barbara then called the Fabbris, family friends who lived in the house right behind the Mazzolis. When they arrived, the dam broke. Police, friends, and relatives were soon flooding in the door, asking her countless questions. After what seemed like for ever, Barbara was gathered up by her Aunt Lina and Uncle Sam Pustizzi, who took her, Nola, and Frank Jr. to their house for the night.
For the first few days after the shootings, Barbara recalled, "I couldn't stop throwing up. Everyone wanted to know what happened but I really didn't want to talk about it, not to anyone." When she found out that her parents were still alive, even that news did not chase away the nightmares. "I didn't want to go to school, I didn't want to do anything," she said. "I was just constantly sick; my nerves were just so bad."
Like any child who has endured a trauma, Barbara eventually turned her fear on herself. She began biting her nails a
nd even shaved off her eyebrows at one point. She was allowed to miss the funeral but was forced to testify when the time came for the trial. Fortunately, with her father sitting close by in the gallery for moral support, the little girl was able to relate what had happened that night. But telling her story in court still didn't erase the fear.
"For a long time, I couldn't even talk about this," Barbara said sadly. "Even now, I shake. Just thinking about it is too much."
Barbara's sister Nola, who later married Landisville resident Albert Siciliano, also retained vivid memories of that night. After her family dropped her off at school, she danced and talked with her friends for a while. The Mazzoli children enjoyed attending school dances and carnivals, because when they weren't in school or in church, they spent a lot of time at home. Nola said, "Mom always had chores for us to do, so we wouldn't get into any trouble or get too bored." Although the students could hear the shrill sound of sirens approaching, Nola didn't pay them much attention-at least, not until her Aunt Lina and Uncle Sam showed up at the door. When her relatives told her she had to leave with them, Nola silently climbed into the car for the short drive back to her house. The teenager grew worried when they were repeatedly stopped and questioned by state troopers, who were standing in the streets with guns.
"After we pulled in the yard, all I could hear was my sister screaming, and I remember seeing all the blood and the mess," Nola said.
Yeager and Kolodner had been among the first troopers dispatched to that location, finding two more seriously wounded gunshot victims and a pair of frightened children. Frank was lying on the living room floor, while Hilda lay in the doorway between the living room and the kitchen. Local newspapers later reported that so many shots were fired, the kitchen walls had been "cut up" by stray bullets. After the state police learned from Barbara who was responsible for the assault on her parents, their aunt and uncle were allowed to take the children away. The couple drove them about five miles to their isolated farmhouse set back in the woods on Maple Avenue. As Barbara lapsed from tears into shock and their little brother lay half-asleep in the car, Nola was trying hard to be brave. She could hear the adults discussing what to do with the children. Since both Frank and Hilda had been critically wounded, it was possible that they would not live very long. If that happened, somebody had to take responsibility for raising their kids.
"My aunt and uncle had four children of their own, so decisions had to be made," Nola said.
Unfortunately, the Pustizzis had no sooner gotten the children inside when they saw headlights flash down the long dirt driveway-lights that distinctly resembled those of the 1941 Ford coupe Ernie was driving. Since he was still on the loose, the family was understandably terrified. They didn't know if he had followed them home to finish the job. Fortunately, when the vehicle pulled up to the house, it proved to be a state police patrol car. The officers had decided to ask Barbara a few more questions, frightening the child all over again in the process. But the police were determined to investigate all possible leads to find the suspect, who had vanished into the region's endless network of wooded back roads.
While the authorities searched, Ernie was actually just a few miles away, driving aimlessly beneath the trees. He was quietly pleased with himself-more than a little impressed with the way he had coolly shot other members of his wife's family and left them for dead. That would teach them. As far as he was concerned, he had shown iron self-control by mercifully sparing the children this time. Was he finished? Had he managed to silence enough of the people who had talked about him? Ernie had to think. After all, there was still a lot of Tessie's family left alive.
ust as thousands of other Italians had done, the Mazzoli and Pioppi families chose to eventually leave the cities when they arrived in America in the late nineteenth century. They settled in South Jersey because its wide, open fields reminded them of their homeland. The idea that they would be able to own property was unbelievable. In Italy, they had grown up in an oppressive system that offered them little chance for a better way of life. But in America, things were different. In America, you could reap the rewards of your own hard work, instead of turning them over to a greedy, corrupt landlord.
Like many of their neighbors, the Mazzolis and Pioppis had been raised on farms and felt a certain kinship with the land. You would never be hungry if you grew your own food. After moving to South Jersey, the two families cultivated endless rows of fruits and vegetables on "truck farms" that supplied fresh produce to many markets along the East Coast. At the end of every summer, wooden bushels were filled and hauled by horse-and-wagon or truck to the auction in Landisville, where produce was sold to the highest bidder. Not every crop produced the same amount of profit, but that was all right. God put you in the world to work and raise your family, and go to church on Sunday. The children were taught those values.
Tessie Mazzoli, like most other young women of Italian descent growing up in the 1920s and '30s, absorbed all the wisdom her parents cared to share. She was, after all, a good girl in every sense of the word. Born on May 24, 1926, the only child of Pearl and Michael Mazzoli was cloistered from much of the outside world. Her life was structured around God, work, and her parents, but not necessarily in that order. As a girl, Tessie had attended the one-room school at the end of Piney Hollow Road with the other children who lived on her street. When her school work was done, she helped out on the farm, visited with family and friends, and attended mass at Our Lady of Victories Catholic Church in nearby Landisville every Sunday. Occasionally, there were school- or churchsponsored fairs that were considered acceptable entertainment for the whole family. The pretty, dark-haired girl attended school through the eighth grade, then decided she had enough formal education. Afterward, she spent her days working hard and her nights dreaming of marrying a man and starting her own family someday. That's what every good Italian girl wanted.
When the Mazzolis weren't working, life on Piney Hollow Road revolved around the preparation of home-cooked meals, which included ravioli, gnocchi, and manicotti, all made by hand, in fresh tomato gravy spiced with herbs grown in the backyard. Fruits and vegetables were canned at the end of each summer and stored with an assortment of jams and jellies in a cold cellar beneath the house. Homemade meatballs and sausage were staples, but the men would occasionally bring down a deer or a few pheasant, providing a special treat for the table. When the dishes were done, the Mazzolis visited with family, like the Pioppis, Biagis, and Cassellis, who lived up the road. Mike's younger brother Frank and his family were frequent visitors. Frank and Hilda's children enjoyed going out to Piney Hollow Road, because they were often treated to waffles or popcorn, and both families would spend hours playing card games.
Once in a while, Tessie and her parents went into Landisville and enjoyed a movie at the Lyric Theater, located at the corner of Harding Highway and Railroad Boulevard just east of their church. There, twenty cents got you a ticket and a large bag of buttered popcorn. Almost every week, Tessie and her mother put on their good dresses, hats, and gloves. No respectable woman went anywhere without making sure she was properly attired. After making sure their stocking seams were straight, they tucked crisp white handkerchiefs into their purses and drove to Philadelphia. There, they spent the day shopping in department stores like Wanamaker's and Strawbridge & Clothier. It was a treat to wander from floor to floor, looking at the colorful displays and listening to the piped-in music. Tessie loved to lunch at Horn & Hardart's, the automat where you slipped a coin into different slots to assemble your meal. The food, wrapped in gleaming plastic, always seemed especially delicious.
But at some point, Tessie grew tired of her daily routine. Her relationship with Ernie started as a tiny act of defiance against what she saw as the restrictions of her life. He had, after all, been married once before and gotten into quite a bit of trouble over the years. Deep inside, Tessie knew that this was not the type of man her parents wanted for their only child. But she believed she could reform Ernie and tu
rn him into a hardworking model citizen. Tessie actually dared to visit Ernie in Cecil on several occasions and went on a date with him at least once without her parents' consent. Although she was occasionally chaperoned by the cousin who had introduced them, she sometimes spent time alone with Ernie.
When Pearl and Mike learned about the relationship, they drove to Cecil and demanded that Ernest Sr. keep his son away from their daughter. Ernie was still married. He had no business going out with Tessie. Although Ernie initially promised his father that he would break off the relationship, he apparently was too smitten to let her go. A short time after his father's conversation with the Mazzolis, Ernie began divorce proceedings. He was unaware that his wife Doris, who was involved with another man, had already initiated the steps needed for an annulment, a process that would allow her to erase their marriage from the records. When he discovered what Doris had set in motion, Ernie waited to receive his copy of the annulment. The fact that his marriage was annulled may actually have worked to his benefit. The Mazzolis, staunch Catholics, must have had serious doubts about allowing their daughter to wed someone who had already been married. Annulments were accepted by the church but his first marriage may have been the reason why his wedding to Tessie was not performed by a priest.
Tessie was surprised when Mike not only gave his blessing, but also talked Pearl into accepting the union. A handsome man with dark brown hair and a moustache, Mike's gray eyes often sparkled with good humor. As far as he was concerned, there wasn't anything he wouldn't do for his daughter. Born in Italy on November 22, 1899, Mike was the oldest child in a family that would eventually grow to include five girls and five boys. He arrived in America at age six. Mike's father, John Mazzoli, had left Italy the year before and sent passage money home for his wife Asunta (Sue) and their two children. The Mazzolis lived for a time in Pennsylvania but relocated in 1911 to Buena Vista Township. Mike applied for naturalization on September 22, 1919. Lean and strong from a lifetime of farm work, Mike never graduated from high school, but at some point, he developed a love of learning and continued to read extensively for the rest of his life.
Rain of Bullets: The True Story of Ernest Ingenito's Bloody Family Massacre Page 4