Rain of Bullets: The True Story of Ernest Ingenito's Bloody Family Massacre

by Patricia A. Martinelli

  Unlike other young men, Ernie did not view World War II through selfless eyes. He didn't see it as a chance to repay America for the opportunities provided to his family. At nineteen, he realized that he now had a chance to escape from married life, travel, and maybe even become a hero. After all, everyone knew America was going to save the day when it entered World War II. Unlike many young men who were motivated by patriotism during wartime, Ernie thought the Army would provide him with everything that he had missed in life so far, including the respect he felt he deserved. He soon learned that the military had other ideas. Inducted in Camden, New Jersey, on July 12, 1943, he was instructed to report for active duty on August 2 and was sent to Fort Dix for basic training. Although a part of him knew that he needed the discipline of military life, the thug in him was soon acting out against authority.

  Following eight weeks of basic training, Ernie was sent to Fort Belvoir in Virginia, a U.S. Army post situated on the Potomac River about an hour south of Washington, D.C. There, while attending Engineer Replacement School, he discovered he had a talent for boxing and was permitted to fight in matches against other soldiers. Ernie was good enough to participate in one of the undercard bouts that were staged the night boxing legend Joe Louis gave an exhibition fight at the camp. But barely two months after he arrived in Virginia, Ernie heard that his wife in Wildwood was cheating on him. When he was denied permission for a pass to go home, Ernie went AWOL on September 13, 1943. He hitchhiked home and discovered that his wife and daughter were in fact living with another man. His little girl was even calling the other man "daddy."

  Although family members urged Ernie to go back to the base, he had other plans. He hitchhiked to Florida, where he visited with his mother for more than a week before returning to Fort Belvoir at about 5:00 P.M. on October 6. Court-martialed the following day for violating the 61st Article of War, which prohibited unauthorized absence, Ernie was sent to the stockade for four months. He apparently decided by this point that he was no longer cut out for Army life, because his stay in the stockade did nothing to improve his behavior.

  On December 30, 1943, 1st Lt. Walter F. Berdal was appointed by Maj. H. B. Rumsey, the adjutant general, as trial judge advocate for a general court-martial that would be held at Fort Belvoir. The defendant was Pvt. Ernest Martin Ingenito, Serial Number 32953982, of Company D, Sixth Engineer Training Battalion of Fort Belvoir's Engineer Replacement Training Center.

  The trial started on January 18, 1944. This time, Ernie faced more serious charges than just being absent without leave. Already serving a four-month sentence for that crime, he was arraigned on two counts of violating the 64th Article of War. The charges dated from the preceding December 21, when he allegedly struck both 2nd Lt. William E. Marfuggi and 2nd Lt. William H. Ball in the face with his fist. Marfuggi and Ball served as assistant prison officers at the base's stockade. Ernie was also charged with a violation of the 65th Article of War, because during that same altercation, he allegedly struck Sgt. William H. Hicks, a military police officer, in the face with his fist. Ernie pled not guilty to all charges.

  The first witness called during the trial was Cpl. Leo J. Westrick, a military police officer and acting provost sergeant. Westrick told the court that he and Marfuggi had picked up Ernie around 4:00 P.M. at the base stables and brought him to a small supply room. Another prisoner, Carlton Bishop, and some supply room workers were present while Westrick and Marfuggi questioned Ernie. A "Class A" prisoner, Ernie had been allowed to perform his assignments without a guard, which was a reward for those prisoners who exhibited good conduct. But as seemed to be the pattern in his life, Ernie did not respond well when he was inevitably caught breaking the rules.

  In the midst of a room filled with pillows, dirty clothes in hampers, and a machine for sharpening knives, Ernie was ordered to undress so that he could be searched. Garbed in a cap, gloves, fatigues, shoes and socks, he reluctantly stripped off everything but his undershorts. As it turned out, he was holding six dollars and fifty cents in real money, a violation of base policy. When he was asked why he didn't turn in the money, Ernie reportedly replied in a surly tone, "It's mine." When Hicks ordered him to speak more respectfully in front of the officers, Ernie said: "You have nothing to do with this. I wasn't talking to you. If you want to make something out of it, come on." The two men cursed at each other, and then the sergeant made the mistake of moving closer and poking Ernie with his finger. Feeling threatened, Ernie started swinging. When Westrick tried to intervene, he told the court that Ernie knocked him down.

  Marfuggi and Ball then tried to subdue Ernie, who continued to throw punches, and at one point, hit Ball in the face. The ring he was wearing on his right hand cut the lieutenant above the eye. Then, Ernie allegedly picked up a steel bar used for sharpening knives and raised it over his head in a threatening manner. In response, one of the officers grabbed his arm and took the weapon away from him. By that time, Hicks had pulled out a night stick and struck Ernie until the prisoner admitted defeat. After the fight, Westrick testified that he saw paint stains on Ernie and Hicks but no one was sure if painting supplies stored in the room had been used as a weapon during the fight. Although he described Ernie as "redder than usual" after the five-minute scuffle, Westrick noted that he did not see any cuts or bruises on the defendant. While Ernie was checked over by the medical staff, Ball went to the infirmary and had the cut above his eye treated.

  Sergeant Hicks, who was the next witness, confirmed Westrick's testimony. Outweighing Ernie by about fifty pounds, Hicks initially told the court that to discipline the prisoner, "I swung at him with the club but did not hit him." But he later admitted, "It was finally necessary to rap him on the head with a billy club to subdue him and then he said, `I have enough,' and stopped fighting." Frank M. Little Jr., a military police captain at the base, testified that Ernie was so agitated by that point that he wouldn't listen to his superior officers when they ordered him to stop fighting. As a result, Hicks was forced to strike him several times with the nightstick.

  Although he was out of breath, Ernie began arguing again with Hicks a few minutes later. For a moment, Little expected the prisoner to start throwing punches. In the end, Ernie got dressed and was escorted to the guardhouse. When he complained a few days later about a pain in his jaw, Ernie was examined, but nothing was found to be wrong. During the trial, Little's testimony was followed by Lieutenant Ball, and then Private Bishop of Company C, 6th Battalion, who claimed that Hicks struck Ernie first and Ernie just swung in self-defense. When Ernie took the stand, he testified that Westrick had started an argument with him about a pen knife on the desk in the supply room. He told Hicks to "lay off" when the sergeant reprimanded him about his tone and alleged that he was simply defending himself from the sergeant and the two officers who had ganged up on him. At the same time, Ernie denied actually striking Hicks just as he would later claim that he couldn't remember pulling the trigger on the night of November 17, 1950. Admitting that he lost his temper easily, Ernie added that he believed he blacked out after he was struck by the sergeant. When the fight was over, Ernie told the court, "My nose was bleeding, my jaw was swollen, and I had paint on my hair." Ernie claimed that one of the reasons he was quick to defend himself was because the MPs had previously ganged up on him and other prisoners in the stockade and beaten them on different occasions.

  Ernie failed to sway the officers, who voted that he was guilty of all charges, except brandishing a weapon. They decreed that Ernie should be imprisoned for eight years, dishonorably discharged, and made to forfeit all pay. At that time, Ernie was receiving wages of $50 per month and sending $22 home to his young wife. He was sentenced to serve his time doing hard labor at the U.S. Army Disciplinary Barracks at Green Haven, New York, the military annex to Sing-Sing State Prison. The court adjourned at 5:05 P.M. on January 18 and a general court-martial was issued on February 18, 1944. Ernie was later released from Green Haven after serving two years of his sentence. He had apparently
been a model prisoner; his behavior persuaded authorities that he was rehabilitated and should be eligible for an early release. But on November 16, 1946, Ernie received a letter of warning from Capt. James W. Whatley of Green Haven, which stated:

  The Commandant directs me to inform you that you are barred from entrance to any military reservation. In this connection your attention is invited to Section 45 of the Criminal Code, which reads as follows: "Whoever shall go upon any military reservation, post, fort, or arsenal for any purpose prohibited by law, or military regulations made in pursuance of law, or whoever shall enter or be found within any reservation, post, fort, or arsenal, after having been removed therefrom or ordered not to reenter by any officer or person in command or charge therefore, shall be fined not more than five hundred dollars ($500.00) or imprisoned not more than six (6) months or both."

  So, there he was: Twenty-two, abruptly dismissed from the military in a way Ernie felt he didn't deserve, with still more black marks on his record. The inner rage and frustration, which should have been assuaged by the discipline of army life, continued to roil beneath the surface of his cool gaze.

  r. Nicholas Marchione was a respected Vineland physician whose patients included members of the Ingenito family. When the phone rang at his house late on the evening of November 17, 1950, he knew it had to be some kind of medical emergency. Marchione was used to being called out at all hours to treat everything from the flu to broken bones. He never expected, however, to be assisting the state police at the scene of grisly shootings. Without saying much more than goodbye to his family, Marchione collected his friend and colleague, Dr. Robert Levinson, and headed off to Piney Hollow Road. When they arrived at the site of the shootings, the two doctors were told what had happened by the state police. They asked Marchione not to drive into the yard, as they were afraid that Ernie was still lurking in the vicinity, waiting to assault other victims. According to Marchione's daughter, Connie Schuchard, her father was too dedicated to place his personal safety ahead of his patients. As Levinson crouched on the floor of the passenger's side, Marchione drove his big Chrysler right up to the door of the Mazzoli home and started to treat Tessie. When her wounds were bandaged, they hurried across the street to the Pioppi farm.

  After the doctors had done as much as they could to help at both houses, the state troopers loaded Ernie's victims into police cars and ambulances, which proceeded to tear through the night to Newcomb Hospital in Vineland. The three-story, red-brick facility on State Street near the downtown area had opened in 1924 and was expanded after World War II to accommodate the area's growing population. The hospital was considered an excellent facility, which utilized modern equipment such as the latest in X-ray technology. But that night, the medical staff was stunned by the sudden influx of patients into the emergency room. Never before had they handled so many gunshot victims at one time. While anxious family members and friends paced the halls and huddled together in silent prayer, waiting for word about their loved ones, an anonymous physician said, "This place must have some sort of jinx." In addition to that night's massacre, he was referring to the recent Howard Unruh case.

  Young Jeannie Pioppi might have agreed. The little girl had been shot in the right side of her chest and in the right forearm. Fortunately, both bullets exited cleanly, but that was small consolation to the child who had watched her mother and grandmother die in front of her. After the medical staff had attended to her wounds, Jeannie was left waiting for several hours before she was admitted to a semiprivate room. No one believed that children needed extra attention in those days, no matter how seriously they were hurt or how traumatized they might be. After she was tucked in, Jeannie screamed and cried for what seemed like hours, her roommate Annie Alvino (not her real name) later remembered.

  Although her condition was listed as good, Jeannie called constantly for her mother, which caused more than one adult to leave her room with tears in their eyes. Neither her father nor any other family members were permitted to spend the night to soothe the child's fears. Finally, Jeannie cried herself out and, without a word to the other little girl, drifted into a restless sleep. The nurses checked on Jeannie throughout the night, but Annie remained terrified-she had no idea what was wrong with her new roommate. It wasn't until the next day that the other little girl learned from her mother what had happened. Annie went home a few days later, but Jeannie was not discharged for another three weeks. On December 7, at about 12:45 P.M., she left with Jino and finished convalescing at home. Although Jeannie made a full recovery from the bullet wounds in her chest and arm, the hole in her heart-created by her mother's death-was a different matter entirely.

  Tessie's wounds had been treated immediately after she arrived at Newcomb, but she still carried the two bullets: one buried in her right shoulder and another that had struck her in the right rear buttock and lodged dangerously near her stomach. The doctors were concerned that an immediate operation might be too much for her, so they wanted to give her a few days to stabilize. The physical and emotional pain was still evident in Tessie's dark eyes the following day when she spoke to reporters from her hospital bed. She had only one thing to say about the fate of her estranged husband: "I wish they'd hang him."

  In a detached voice, Tessie told the press that after their marriage, she and Ernie had lived for a while near Lankenau Hospital in Philadelphia, where her husband had worked as a baker in the neighborhood of 46th and Market. This was Ernie's first bid for independence from Tessie's parents. He had already worked on the Mazzoli farm for about three months before they married, so by then he probably had an idea of what his future in-laws were like. Ernie may have had a darker motive, however, for leaving South Jersey. One of the classic signs of an abuser is cutting off the victim from contact with family and friends by moving away from any support network.

  Ernie enjoyed city life but his bride did not; before long, the newlyweds returned to South Jersey. They continued to disagree over the subject of living alone for almost the entire time they lived on Piney Hollow Road. During the interview, Tessie said, "The only argument we had was that he didn't want to live with them. He wanted to move to Vineland." When asked if she knew about the other family members who had been killed the night before, Tessie answered "yes," then repeated, "I wish they'd hang him." Although her wounds were at first considered to be the least severe of all the victims, Tessie was listed in only fair condition because of the emotional trauma she had suffered. Her physical progress was slow as a result, and she experienced several setbacks during her hospital stay; two were serious enough to prompt the family to send for a priest, who administered last rites each time.

  On December 9, Tessie was transported by Minotola ambulance to Hahnemann Hospital in Philadelphia, because her condition had worsened. Her doctor in Vineland told newspaper reporters that she required a blood transfusion because one bullet had injured her right kidney and caused a bladder hemorrhage. After a specialist in Philadelphia confirmed that diagnosis, Tessie was moved to Hahnemann so that she could be more easily treated by the doctor there. Following the transfusion, her condition was listed as satisfactory, but she remained a patient in Philadelphia until December 30, when she returned home to finish convalescing. She was the second shooting victim to be released.

  Although Pearl Mazzoli was still alive at the scene despite the extent of her wounds, she died shortly after reaching the hospital. She had been shot approximately twelve times, despite Ernie's later protests that he "didn't hate her." Dr. Oliver Edwin Owen, a Philadelphia pathologist who later conducted the autopsy on Pearl at a Vineland funeral home, found a bullet wound in her lower left thigh, her left knee, and a "creasing wound" on the left side above her hip. She had two sharp lacerations in her left hand, abrasions and contusions on her left breast, as well as two bullet wounds in her left arm. Local papers reported that other marks were probably caused when the gun sight of the carbine was pressed against her body. Pearl also sustained a gunshot wound to her right chest and a
massive wound on the left side of her lower jaw that, according to Owen, probably caused a contusion to her brain. She was forty-four years old when she died.

  Frank and Hilda Mazzoli were listed in critical condition when they were admitted to the hospital. Hilda, who had been shot five times, still carried a bullet in her back under her left arm and another in her right hip. Frank had been shot three times and was in grave danger, because one bullet had gone through the lower left area of his chest, dangerously close to his heart. The Mazzoli children were brought to the hospital the following day to visit their parents. The adults decided that since Frank and Hilda would remain hospitalized for some time, Barbara would stay with the Pustizzis, while Nola and Frank Jr. would live with Henry and Marie Coia. The Mazzoli children remained with their relatives for close to a month before their father was released and they were allowed to go home.

  The Mazzolis spent their fourteenth wedding anniversary as patients in separate rooms at Newcomb Hospital. They couldn't spend the day together, however, because Hilda was in constant pain from the bullet in her hip. Although she needed surgery to remove it, her doctors did not believe she was strong enough at that time to undergo the operation that would take at least four hours. Frank was removed from the critical list on November 22, but more than two weeks passed before he was able to roll a wheelchair down to his wife's room to sit with her for a while.

  The Mazzolis' friends and neighbors in Minotola were so moved by the family's situation that on December 5, the Minotola Fire Company announced it would sponsor a drive to raise financial support for them. At a time before hospital insurance and paid days off, local residents recognized that the couple needed help as their hospital stay continued. Donations soon rolled in to the Minotola Fire Company, as well as the Landisville Fire Department, Buzzie's Market, and Whitey's Amoco Service Station, and were received by Minotola Bank cashier Michael Capizola.