After he returned to prison, Ernie had some problems with fighting and had to be put in solitary confinement on at least one occasion.
Some telling evidence of who Ernest Martin Ingenito actually was can be found in his wills. The first, executed on November 30, 1984, stated that after all debts and funeral expenses had been paid, "I have deliberately made no provision herein for the benefit of my son Ernest Ingenito, my son Michael Ingenito, and my daughter Dorothy Ingenito, not because of any lack of love or affection, but because I have adequately provided for them during the course of my life, and because they have ample property of their own." While Ernie noted that he gave a lot of his personal property to his younger son, no record of any alleged financial support ever came to light for any of his children. Instead, he had named Sandra Price as his executrix and sole heir; the same woman who would eventually charge him with molesting her daughter.
In prison, Ernie's health grew worse. On December 15, 1993, Ernie had given power of attorney to a person who will here be called Liz Wilson. On January 5, 1995, he contacted Trenton attorney Antonio Martinez and executed a second will, naming Wilson as his sole heir. A friend of Sandra Price, Wilson had treated him kindly in the past. In 2008, Wilson still retained fond memories of the man, describing him as "quiet and easy-going." The Trenton native said she had first met Ernie through Sandra and did not know his history until a few years later. Then, he told her that "the Mazzolis had jerked him around and were bastards to him." Although he never spoke regretfully about the night of November 17, 1950, he did mention that he was sorry Jeannie Pioppi was wounded that night.
Wilson found it difficult to believe that Ernie had sexually assaulted Molly. The girl was "boy crazy," she recalled, and was sexually active by the time she became a teenager. Despite frequent gifts and dinners out, Wilson said: "Molly treated him like shit." But that wasn't surprising, she noted, because Sandra Price behaved the same way toward him. Wilson thought the Prices had concocted the charges against Ernie, because Sandra feared the Division of Youth and Family Services would determine that she was an unfit mother and take away her child if they didn't prosecute. In her opinion, the prosecutor's office pressured Sandra into pursuing the charges. Since Molly was physically larger that Ernie, Wilson found it laughable that he could intimidate the girl. She said, "To me, he was not a villain. I never felt threatened by him."
Although Ernie left all of his possessions to Wilson, there wasn't much to leave by that point. According to Wilson, Obler received Ernie's whole savings of $27,000 for his legal services.
With his legal affairs in order and his health failing, Ernie was transferred on March 9, 1995, from the county jail back to the state prison. The inmate began taking medication to help him through many sleepless nights. On June 19, 1995, prison authorities noted that a spoon was missing from his belongings. Did Ernie plan to use it as a weapon against someone else-or perhaps himself? Once again, he began writing letters to anyone he felt would take an interest in his case. In August, Ernie was corresponding with attorney Thomas Belfatto of Mount Holly, who was prepared to argue an appeal on his behalf. Apparently, they never moved forward because the inmate's health grew progressively worse. On August 30, he was admitted to the St. Francis Medical Center, where he had previously received treatment. No information was available on whether he was returned to prison before he died on October 7, 1995.
he tiny Catholic cemetery on the outskirts of Landisville hasn't changed much since the first Italian immigrants were buried there in the late 1800s. Most of the names on the tombstones and mausoleums are still Italian in origin. Many of them are carefully tended by family members, who arrive on a regular basis to weed and clean the stones and make sure the graves are dotted with flowers and flags to mark different holidays and special occasions. Clustered on the west side of the one-acre parcel of land are two large gray marble stones, standing back to back, marking the burial sites of the Pioppi and Mazzoli families. Before them is a line of smaller, individual stones for the graves of Michael Mazzoli, Pearl Mazzoli, Theresa Pioppi, John Pioppi, and Marion Pioppi.
Life changed dramatically for the survivors of Ernie's attack on the night of November 17, 1950. At a time before therapy was used as a recovery tool, the victims were often forced to deal alone with the trauma they had experienced. Other people might have gossiped about that night but those who were directly involved preferred for the most part to speak very little about it. Outwardly, many of them resumed normal lives. Even for those who successfully moved on, ripples of fear, doubt, anger, and anxiety continued to resonate internally in the years that followed. Like soldiers suffering from post-traumatic stress disorder, their lives had been indelibly stamped by one staccato burst of violence.
When she was finally released from the hospital, Tessie found it impossible to go back to her parents' house on Piney Hollow Road. The sound of gunfire still echoed there; it was too easy to visualize her father's body crumpling to the floor and to remember her own pain and fear. Instead, she collected her sons from family members and moved across the street to the Pioppi homestead, where for the next five years she kept house for her grandfather Armando and her Uncle Jino and his three children. Jino became a surrogate father to his two great-nephews. Renting out the bungalow where she had been raised, Tessie worked the farm with her family and remained silent about the night her husband went on a rampage. She didn't articulate her pain, but the anger and fear still roiled inside of her. She tore up most of the family photographs from those years and registered her children in school as Michael and Bobby Mazzoli to erase the stain of their father's actions from their lives.
After Jino remarried, Tessie packed her bags and returned with her children to the little white house across the street, where she settled into life as a single parent. She moved into her parents' bedroom, and Michael and Ernest Jr. shared her old room. The Mazzoli bungalow even became a haven for Armando and Jeannie Pioppi, who remained close to Tessie in the years that followed. The Mazzoli farm remained operational with her family's help, but Tessie was forced to sell off some of the property she owned on Jackson Road, as well as some adjoining acres to stay financially afloat. To supplement her income, she sometimes worked in local sewing factories, but eventually she took a full-time job that lasted almost twenty years in the central supplies department of Newcomb Hospital. After a while, Tessie met someone new-a good man who treated her well and remained by her side for more than two decades.
But the fear never left. After what had happened with Ernie, Tessie could not commit to marriage a second time. In 2008, Tessie chose not to be interviewed for this book because she was still uncomfortable with the idea of discussing what happened on the night of November 17, 1950.
Michael Mazzoli, who chose to retain his paternal grandparents' name, chose not to be interviewed about that night.
Ernest Ingenito Jr. bears a striking resemblance to a man he barely knew. He is roughly the same height and build, with startling hazel eyes. Although he supplied documents related to his father's trial and subsequent events, he chose not to be interviewed about the shootings.
Following the shootings, Armando Pioppi traveled several times to Italy to visit friends and relations for a while. A part of him was probably tempted to remain in his homeland, where he did not have to see the sights that were a constant reminder of the tragedy that had destroyed his family. On November 2, 1951, Armando flew out of Milan back to New York. The following year, he returned to his homeland; in December 1953, he was a passenger in tourist class on the steamship Andrea Doria, bound for New York. The Andrea Doria, which sank after colliding with another vessel in 1956, is remembered primarily because it was the last of the major transatlantic passenger ships before air travel became popular with the general public. After that voyage, Armando returned to the house on Piney Hollow Road, where he lived with Jino and his growing family. At breakfast one morning in 1961, he silently slumped over his coffee and toast. He was later buried with his famil
y.
Jino Pioppi lived at the family farm until he died on June 20, 1988. Jeannie Pioppi chose not to be interviewed about that night. Armando Pioppi, who was seven when the incident occurred, chose not to be interviewed about the shootings.
Teresa Pioppi Sanford, Jino and Marion Pioppi's youngest daughter, is a petite, vivacious blonde, who was a Vineland homemaker in 2008. Cheerful and outgoing, her smile disappeared when she talked about that night. Although she has no actual memory of what happened when she fell from her mother's arms, Teresa said she might have damaged or broken her coccyx, a triangle of bone located at the bottom of the spinal column, when she hit the hard wooden floor. The area known as the tailbone has caused her pain throughout her life, making it impossible for her to exercise comfortably.
Teresa grew up in the Pioppi family homestead on Piney Hollow Road but her earliest memories date from the time when her father had already remarried. Ethel, his new wife, brought three children of her own to the marriage and she and Jino later had two more, Jino and Jeanette. Teresa recalled her stepmother as a nice woman, but admitted Ethel and Tessie Ingenito didn't get along.
"That's when Tessie moved out," Teresa said.
Remembering her father as a calm man who worked the fields from dawn until dark, she said he didn't spend much time with the children unless it was a special occasion.
Although her brother Armando and her sister Jeannie sorely missed their mother, none of them ever talked about the night Marion died. While Jeannie later had a strained relationship with her stepmother, Teresa said Ethel often took her swimming at McCarty's Lake or on day-trips to Ocean City and Wildwood. Life wasn't all play, however; in the summer, Teresa packed vegetables to earn money to buy her school clothes.
"I cleaned the house on Saturdays to earn an extra ten dollars a week," she said.
Although she was married twice, Teresa did not believe that the events of November 17, 1950, had any real impact on her relationships, because she was so young when the shootings occurred. She recalled that she was living in California when she heard that Ingenito was first eligible for parole.
"I remember that my father was furious," she said. "Fortunately, they managed to keep him in for a while longer."
In January 1951, Frank and Hilda Mazzoli sent a letter to the editor of the Vineland Times Journal, thanking all of their family members and friends who had raised funds to help them out while they were hospitalized. Frank remained out of work for about six months after he returned home. Although he received $21 a month in disability payments, his oldest daughter Nola said the family survived thanks to the ongoing generosity of other family members and friends, who brought food and supplies to the house each week. After he retired, Frank worked as a groundskeeper for the Borough of Buena. He later developed a heart condition, not related to the shooting, which made it necessary for him to move into a nursing home. Although Hilda physically recovered from her wounds, she suffered terrible pain for the rest of her life, requiring medication and regular doctor's treatment. Frank died at age seventy-nine on December 26, 1994, while Hilda passed away at age seventy-one on December 10, 1987. The little house on Jonas Avenue went through several owners, but still looks almost the same as it did when the Mazzolis lived there.
Nola and Albert Siciliano lived in Landisville and raised their two sons in a home just up the street from the farm where her husband had been born. Nola said that Ernie continued to torment Tessie as well as other family members through the years. Apparently, he had a number of friends and female admirers who kept him apprised of local news. Long after she was married, Nola was disturbed to learn from her mother that they had received a wedding card from the inmate, bearing his best wishes. But more frightening than his written missives were the unexpected visits that continued to be reported over the years. Apparently, at some point during his prison term, Ernie had persuaded prison officials that he was a suitable candidate for work release. Instead of reporting to the job site, he often hitched a ride to South Jersey, turning up at the local bars and on the doorsteps of family members and friends. Although most of the Mazzolis were angered by his behavior, some were fearful that he would one day turn up with a gun.
In 1958, eighteen-year-old Barbara married Carlo "Duke" Trommello. They had three children together before he died at age fifty-eight on January 7, 1999, of a heart attack. Although the night of November 17, 1950, still haunts her from time to time, she never felt that it adversely affected the remainder of her life. She recalled, "People were stunned when Ernie was tried on just one count of murder; especially since he was never tried on assaults. Everyone was outraged when he was scheduled for release. When they let him out, we were nervous, the ones who had testified. I said, he could find me, if he really wanted to."
Frank Mazzoli Jr. currently lives with his family in the quiet historic town of Greenwich, on the southwest coast of Cumberland County. Looking back, Frank said the weeks that immediately followed the shootings were a blur to him. He was just happy to return home when his father was released from the hospital. While his mother suffered for years afterward, he did not feel that the events of that night had an adverse affect on his life.
"Of course," he noted, "If it had happened today, we probably would have been in therapy for a long time."
Few people mourned Ingenito when he died on October 7, 1995. The damage that he had inflicted all those years ago still affected the victims who had survived November 17, 1950, and the people he manipulated in later years. Although a few people remember him as a good friend and hardworking employee, many others recall him as a monster, having suffered so badly at his hands that in some cases they are still not free of the pain he caused even sixty years later.
Ingenito wanted the world to see him as a hard-working "regular guy," who supported his family, but it is difficult to overlook the fact that long before he shot and killed five people, and wounded four others, he had committed acts of violence with the same casual indifference that most people would show when they swat a fly. Sadly, some people were still of the mind that Ingenito's actions were justified even in 2008. That his mother-in-law, Pearl Mazzoli, had mistreated him to the point where he had no other choice. That his wife, Tessie, should have been a more obedient wife and moved out when Ingenito demanded they have a home of their own.
It's difficult to imagine that such violence could have occurred on Piney Hollow Road, where life remains pretty quiet these days. The traffic is a little heavier now. Tourists race from the cities to the shore, and there are a handful of newer homes sprinkled in between the old farmhouses that still stand. Kids ride their bikes and skateboards, or when the weather is right, find the nearest place to go fishing. The oneroom schoolhouses that dotted each end of the road have been gone for a long time; the children who live here are bused to bigger schools in nearby towns. Many of them are descendants of the same Italian-American families who settled there about a century ago. While some commute to work, a number of their parents, like their parents before them, still farm for a living. They understand that life isn't always easy and expect to work hard for anything they achieve.
Like most Americans, the people who live on Piney Hollow Road and in the neighboring towns of Minotola and Landisville have learned to be a little more wary about what's going on around them. The residents are still friendly enough, but they will always remember Ernest Ingenito as the man who first planted the seeds of fear in the area's fertile soil.
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