Leon Scovern, the Love-Crazed Killer of Shamokin

Northumberland County Prison photo of Leon Scovern

The Coal Region has always been a rough and tumble sort of place, but the Roaring Twenties were a particularly rowdy time in the history of Northumberland County. The year 1925 saw 108 unnatural deaths in the county; 8 were the result of murder, and 13 were the result of suicide. Alcohol poisoning claimed another 8, while 16 were struck by trains. Auto accidents claimed another 21, and 14 perished in the mines. Others died in fires, storms and freak accidents, while an additional 7 bodies were fished from the Susquehanna and Northumberland County streams.

But if the residents of Northumberland County were looking forward to a safe and quiet 1926, their hopes would be shattered just three days into the new year, at the hands of a 20-year-old love-crazed killer by the name of Leon Scovern.

At 7 o'clock on the morning of January 3, parishioners braved the chilly weather and flocked to Sunday mass at St. Stanislaus Church. As usual, it was a packed house; as the oldest Polish church in Pennsylvania (the parish can trace its roots back to 1854, when services were held in a wooden building), the church was more than just a place of worship-- it was the focal point of the community, a gathering place for hundreds of Poles, Lithuanians, Ukrainians and Slovaks who came to America in search of a brighter future in the inky blackness of the coal mines.

Shortly after Father Topolinskie began his sermon the doors of the sacred sanctuary burst open, revealing a bitter young man quaking with a combination of cold, fear and unbridled jealousy. He had come to the church in search of his former lover, Mary Baranoskie, the 17-year-old daughter of prominent Coal Township resident John Baranoskie. She was not there, and the angry young man stormed away. Although the stunned churchgoers did not know it at the time, one of the most brutal crimes in the history of Shamokin would take place less than an hour later, culminating in a triple shooting on the front porch of the Baranoskie home.

St. Stanislaus school, with church in background

The twisted love story began four years earlier, when Mary was just thirteen years of age. Leon, at the time, was a boy of sixteen, the son of Mr. and Mrs. Peter Scovern, who lived in a tiny house on West Spruce Street. He had met Mary at a party and was completely smitten, and the two maintained a secret relationship for a year, the young girl keeping the romance hidden from her parents. With eleven brothers and sisters sharing the cramped quarters of their home at 1278 Oneida Street, this was not a difficult task.

Mothers, however, have a way of finding things out, and Mrs. Baranoskie eventually learned of the secret romance. She invited the teenage boy to their home, and Leon became a frequent visitor for over a year, earning the trust and respect of both Mr. and Mrs. Baranoskie and their brood of children. He seemed like such a polite boy, a nice young man with a bright future. Leon's sister worked at the Eagle Silk Mill with Mary, and the two girls became close friends.

Eventually Mary and Leon ended their relationship, but soon patched things up. They appeared to be a happy couple for about four more months, until a bitter quarrel ensued. As usual, Leon's sister used her influence to restore harmony, and the pair reconciled once again. However, by this time, Leon had lost the esteem of Mary's parents and was no longer permitted inside the Baranoskie home. Adding insult to injury was the fact that some of the Baranoskies, perhaps concerned about Leon's erratic behavior, had spread a rumor that Leon had turned into a dope addict (a charge Leon fiercely denied, at least until he was on trial; his attorney attempted to use Leon's dope addiction as a defense).

The final breakup occurred shortly after the Christmas of 1925, with Mary terminating the romance. On December 29th, a Tuesday evening, she spotted Leon driving his automobile through the streets of Shamokin and attempted to get his attention, but Leon wanted nothing to do with her. He kept on driving, but a few days later the pangs of remorse made him change his mind, and on New Year's Eve he visited the Baranoskie home on Oneida Street to talk to Mary, only to discover that she was not in. He demanded to know her whereabouts, but Mrs. Baranoskie pretended not to know. He continued to press the issue, and when Leon was finally informed that Mary was out with another boy, Leon shuddered with the bitter tremors of jealousy.

As he sped away from the house he tried to make sense of his feelings. Hadn't Mary desperately tried to attract his attention just two days earlier? And wasn't he the one who turned his back? He had expected to find Mary sitting alone at home, brooding over the rejection, not dancing the night away on New Year's Eve, laughing at the jokes of another young man!

The sudden, unexpected turn of events made Leon seethe with rage. He returned to his home on West Spruce Street, staying just long enough to retrieve his father's automatic pistol. But he wasn't quite sure what he was going to do with it, and so he spent a few hours mindlessly cruising the streets of Shamokin, feeling hopelessly lost in a town he knew like the sound of his mother's voice.

In those days nearly every block had a church, and nearly every church was holding a social event to ring in the new year. Surely Mary would be at one of these parties and, sure enough, Leon spotted Mary at around 7:30 in front of St. Edward's. She was alone, but he was certain that she would be meeting another boy before long. He wasn't sure what he should do, but he felt that he had to do something, and so he pulled out his pistol and delivered an ultimatum, threatening to kill Mary Baranoskie is she failed to keep the promises he forced her to make.

The frightened teenager hastily agreed to these demands, which included a promise to avoid the company of other men, and then ran away in tears. Leon returned home and told his parents that he intended to have a word with Mr. and Mrs. Baranoskie the following day. They vigorously attempted to talk him out of it. The rage in his eyes was evident, and they knew that nothing good could come of this meeting. The next day, New Year's Day, while Leon was still in bed asleep, Mrs. Scovern sent her daughter to the Baranoskie house to warn the family of Leon's plan.

Leon brooded all morning and afternoon, and said a word to no one until supper time, when Constable Walter Derk stopped by and warned the young man to stay away from the Baranoskies. Adam Hancock, the local magistrate, had issued a legal warning at the request of Mary's father. This only infuriated Leon further, and as soon as the constable left the house, he drove to Oneida Street to demand a word with Mary. He was told that she was not home.

Leon roamed the vicinity in search of Mary, but when he couldn't find her he went to a local billiard hall, remaining there until midnight before returning home, where he played cards with his younger brother until sunrise. Leon refused to go bed and placed two rocking chairs near the kitchen stove so that, in the event that he fell asleep, he would be awakened by his mother when she came downstairs to make breakfast. Leon had just dozed off when his mother interrupted his slumber, and he immediately donned his coat and cap and ran out the door. Mrs. Scovern immediately sensed danger, but she was rendered helpless by her own emotions. She wanted to stop her son from making a terrible mistake, but couldn't. She fell to the floor and sobbed.

Meanwhile, Leon was en route to St. Stanislaus church. After bursting through the doors and scanning the pews for Mary, he went away. Incidentally, County Detective Charles Densavich was sitting just a few feet away in a rear pew when the young man barged in. He had no way of knowing that Leon Scovern had an automatic pistol tucked into his coat, and he had know way of knowing that Leon probably would have shot Mary Baranoskie dead inside the church if she had gone to the 7 o'clock mass that morning.

The young man lurked around the vicinity of the church, remembering that there would be another mass at 8 o'clock. He soon spotted four young women walking down Cherry Street, and immediately recognized one of them as Mary. With a cocky swagger he approached her and jammed the weapon into her ribs. "This is your last day," he sneered, before ordering Mary to go home.

A half block away Leon spotted Mary's brother and made a similar threat. Mary and her brother, followed closely by Leon, walked back to Oneida Street. When they reached the gate of the Baranoskie home, Leon ordered the boy to go inside for his parents. After Mary's brother disappeared inside the house, Leon turned to Mary and said, "If your dad and mother don't give me the right to talk to you, something bad is going to happen."
 
Here the story diverges, with Scovern and the Baranoskies offering conflicting accounts of what happened next.

According to Leon, one of the Baranoskie boys emerged from the house with a gun. This claim was denied by the other members of the family. At any rate, Mary's brother John was shot as he emerged from the doorway, Leon's bullet passing completely through his torso and coming to rest in the wood plank siding of the house. Another brother, Joseph, was shot as he ran to the side of his terrified sister, who was frantically struggling to free herself from Leon's grip.

"I held her in my arms, gave her hers and let her drop, then raised the gun to my forehead," said Leon Scovern later to the District Attorney. "But the bullet missed."

After Mary had been shot, Mr. Baranoskie rushed at the young man, giving no thought to his own personal safety. Leon struck the raging father in the nose with the butt of the pistol, before knocking him to the pavement with a stout blow from his fist. Neighbors, alarmed by the commotion, raced to the scene and attempted to subdue the maniacal youth, but Leon somehow managed to fight off the mob. It was if his madness had imbued him with superhuman strength, and after kicking and punching his way out of their grasp he fled in the direction of the Luke Fidler colliery and then up Bunker Hill, with the angry mob at his heels.

At the top of the hill Leon paused just long enough to turn the gun on himself for the second time, and, once again, his suicide attempt failed. With the mob closing in Leon took off running, eventually reaching the Graemar Hotel. Once inside the lobby he telephoned the police, pleading to be placed under arrest before the maddening mob took justice into its own hands.

Officer Robert Thomas soon arrived on his motorcycle at the hotel and Scovern surrendered without incident. After complying with the policeman's orders to sit in the sidecar, Scovern was whisked away to the police station and locked in a cell.

On Wednesday evening, January 20th, Joseph Baranoskie died from his injuries. Mary and John, who had both survived the ordeal, were recoving from their injuries at the Shamokin Hospital. Mary, who had been shot in the back of the skull, miraculously recovered, and it was later revealed that the bullet Leon had fired had been defective, and only because of this defect had the bullet stopped just short of penetrating her brain.

Leon Scovern was tried, convicted and sentenced to death for the murder of Mary's brother. On the morning of January  23, 1928, Leon was awakened shortly after sunrise and drank a single cup of black coffee-- his requested final meal-- before being marched to the electric chair at Rockview Penitentiary in Bellefonte. The State Executioner, Robert G. Elliott, pulled the lever at 7:02, and four minutes later Scovern was pronounced dead by the prison physician, Dr. C.J. Newcombs.

On the morning of January 25, hundreds flocked to St. Stanislaus Cemetery to observe the funeral of Leon Scovern, in spite of gusts of winds in excess of fifty miles per hour. On the periphery of the crowd was a 15-year-old girl, Josephine Baranoskie, who watched the spectacle in silence. It seemed only proper that one of Baranoskies should attend the affair, if for no other reason than to express sympathy for the grieving mother of the killer.

"It breaks a mother's heart," said Mrs. Baranoskie to reporters after the funeral. "We are all sorry for Mrs. Scovern. We are not glad for anybody's trouble. It wasn't us, it was the law. None of us are the same."

Mrs. Scovern put on a bold face, and seemed to maintain her composure as the casket was lowered into the ground, right up until the first shovelfuls of earth were thrown into the grave. At this point she came unglued, and requested that the casket be opened so she could have one final look at her son. Reverend Zablowskie, who was officiating the service, granted the request. As the lid of the casket was opened, the crowd heaved forward as one, eager to see if the corpse bore any marks from the electrocution. It didn't, and the lid was promptly closed. According to those in attendance who viewed the body, Scovern wore a peaceful expression of his face, and was attired in a black suit and four-in-hand tie.

There is an interesting side note in the murder trial of Leon Scovern. The proceedings were transcribed by Joseph Cummings, a veteran court stenographer from Sunbury, who set a world record in 1926 for having transcribed 63 murder trials over the course of his career. With each transcript totaling no less than one million words, it was estimated that Cummings had taken down more than 60,000,000 words before the Scovern trial even began. What makes this feat even more remarkable is that Cummings was required to transcribe each word of testimony not once, but twice--- first in shorthand, and then again on the typewriter. So, in reality, Cummings transcribed a total of roughly 120 million words on Northumberland County murder trials alone.

As for Mary Baranoskie, she left the area as soon as she recovered from her injuries, finding work at a department store in New York City.








Sources:

Mount Carmel Item, Jan. 4, 1926.
Shamokin News-Dispatch, Jan. 21, 1926.
Shamokin News-Dispatch, Oct. 4, 1926.
Shamokin News-Dispatch, Jan. 23, 1928.
Shamokin News-Dispatch, Jan. 25, 1928.



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