When my grandma passed away in November, we were cleaning out her residence and on folded papers I found this article. I have no idea who wrote or published it. I thought it was an interesting article. A little new for our time frame, but still a good read. CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE Vince Macchione and the Perfect Crime It was Steve Drevenuk, a Fernie miner, who discovered the body on Monday morning, February 10, 1936, about four miles out of Fernie and down a 12-foot bank from the highway, just at a point where the Elk river takes a swing in toward the road. It was cold, below zero, and the early morning sun was casting long, bluish shadows on the frozen, snow-covered landscape. Steve thought the figure lying face down near the river bank was drunk, but then turning the matter over in his mind figured that anyone, drunk or sober, who slept on the river bank in sub-zero weather would soon be a corpse. He heard a car coming, and scrambling up to the highway flagged it down. Turned out the driver was a Mr. Guthrie, a government welfare investigator. The two men made a closer examination of the prone figure at the bottom of the river bank to discover that it was both dead and frozen stiff! The pair then made fast time in to Fernie and minutes late were telling their story to Corporal D. A. McDonald of the Fernie detachment of the British Columbia Provincial Police. McDonald, 47, a husky six-foot war veteran with 24 years’ provincial police service, had served in many parts of the province and had been stationed at Fernie about a year. After hearing the report, McDonald told Constable Dick Shiells to phone the local undertaker, then pick up Dr. Duthie, the coroner. Grabbing his cap, McDonald nodded to Drevenuk to follow. A quick run by police car on the snow-packed highway and they reached the scene, stopped and got out. McDonald stood for a minute taking in the picture, then, before going down the bank, stopped and picked up two big pieces of paper, the crumpled remains of a couple of candy bar wrappers. Something else he noticed: two beer bottle caps. These he also pocketed. A Few feet down the bank he picked up a little cardboard disc, about the size of a quarter. The printing on it showed it was a wad from a 16-guage shotgun shell. Finally, at the river’s edge he knelt beside the dead man. Just then the coroner and the undertaker arrived, so the three turned the lifeless body over. The dead man seemed to be about 35 years old, his dark hair and complexion giving him the look of a central European. There were some spots of blood on his chin and a ragged hole where a shotgun charge had torn into his throat. Near him was a cheap brown cloth cap, six empty beer bottles, some more beer caps and another shotgun wad. Footprints were out of the question for local fishermen had trampled the snow. With nothing more to be learned the body was removed to Fernie. There a search of the dead man’s clothing revealed a couple of government letters addressed to Mike Hudock of Michel, a small coal mining town 25 miles from Fernie. The letters indicated Hudock had been on welfare. “Hudock?” thought McDonald as he picked up his office phone to report the occurrence to District Sergeant Andy Fairbairn, at Cranbrook. “That name rings a bell.” Then he remembered. The previous afternoon a C. P. R. policeman had phoned to say he had a couple of lost kids on his hands. Apparently he found them wandering around the station. McDonald had driven over and picked them up. A bright couple of youngsters, they chatted away in the police car. The oldest, nine, said his name was Sammy Hudock and he lived at Michel. This was sometime between four and five in the afternoon, and as Fernie wasn’t so crowded that children got lost on a Sunday afternoon the puzzled McDonald asked Sammy how he and his brother got to the C. P. R. station. “Vince took us there,” was the cheery response. “Vince who?” “Vince Macchione. He knows my dad and mum. He took us to the station in his car and said he’d pick us up later, but he didn’t come back.” McDonald then remembered he’d run into this Macchione somewhere, a little Italian sectionhand who lived out at Galloway. Leaving the children in the police office, McDonald had headed up town to find Macchione. It was about 5:15 when he spotted the Italian in a blue coupe coming down Baker Street but before the law could step into the street to stop him, Macchione made a left turn down a side street. McDonald kept walking until opposite the Royal Hotel he noticed Macchione pull in to the curb on the other side of the street. As the police officer crossed the road he saw a woman come out of a doorway and get into the blue coupe. Turned out she was Mrs. Hudock, mother of the lost children, and glad to hear they were safe. Macchione seemed glad too. Vince, apparently an old friend of the Hudocks, had been delayed and got back to the depot to find the kids gone. With smiles all round the couple drove McDonald to the police station to pick up the children. It was a few hours after the discovery of Hudock’s shot-riddled body that Sergeant Fairbairn drew his car up in front of the Fernie police office and minutes later was listening to McDonald’s story of death on the banks of the Elk river and the coincidence of meeting Hudock’s widow and Macchione the day before. Widow? Had Hudock been lying dead off the highway while Mrs. Hudock chatted and laughed yesterday afternoon. It was in the interval before Sergeant Fairbairn’s arrival that McDonald had phoned Constable Bob Holliday at Natal and asked him to get in touch with Mrs. Hudock, tell her the news of her husband’s death and get her statement. After that he phoned Constable W. R. “Ray” Powers at Wardner telling him to get over to Galloway right away and see what Macchione had to say. The inquest was set for that evening and it was just after lunch that Macchione put in an appearance at the Fernie office with Robert Evans, Mrs. Hudock’s brother. Gone now was the Italian’s bright, vivacious manner. “I’m sure sorry to hear about Mike,” he told McDonald, with almost a catch in his voice. “When I heard the news I just couldn’t believe it. He was one of my best friends. Why, I was only with him yesterday afternoon.” As the conversation developed it seemed that Macchione had been seeing a lot of the Hudocks lately. The family, he said, had been having a rough time what with Mike being on relief. He’d given them a little money now and again, and even last Saturday night bought them a week’s supply of groceries, then took the family to Fernie’s Northern Hotel for dinner. On Sunday they all drove in again to Fernie in Macchione’s car, and Mike had left them to meet some man. That’s the last they saw of him. “I figured,” said Macchione, “he got tied up with some fellows in some hotel room, and would come home later.” That evening a coroner’s jury rendered the verdict that Hudock had been killed by a charge of shot that entered his throat. It had been fired at close range and wasn’t self inflicted. It was murder. Which left it up to the British Columbia Police to find the murderer. Problem was to find whoever it was who last saw Hudock alive; but persistent enquiries produced nothing. Which brought the police back to Macchione, who was either an innocent bystander or a very subtle character. It was the veteran Sergeant Fairbairn who was suddenly inclined to the “Cherchez la femme” angle went out to Michel to have a quiet chat with Annie Hudock. Her story was simple. She and her husband and their two children had come in to Fernie on Sunday in Vince’s car to buy some bottled beer. First they went to the Waldorf. They hadn’t any. Then they parked outside the Royal and she and her husband went inside, Vince and the kids stayed in the car. The woman at the Royal said she had no bottled beer, but they could have beer by the glass. “Go out and tell Vince to leave the kids in the car and come on in,” Mrs. Hudock told her husband. Hudock went out to the car, had a conversation with Macchione and then, instead of returning to the hotel, walked slowly down the street. Vince followed slowly with the car. “I thought it funny,” said Mrs. Hudock, “because Vince had given us the money to buy the beer.” Then she concluded sadly, “I never saw Mike after that.” “What did you do then?” continued Fairbairn. “Well,” said Mrs. Hudock, “in maybe half an hour when they didn’t come back, I went out to look for them.” She said she found Macchione parking his car across the street from the Royal Hotel, and just as she was asking where Mike and the kids had got to, Constable McDonald walked over and told them the children were at the police station. “Did Vince say where Mike went?” queried Fairbairn. “Well, he said he was going to see some man and just walked off.” “And how did the children land at the C. P. R. station?” “Vince said the kids wanted to run around, so he dumped them off at the station and said he would pick them up later. Then he went looking for Mike and I guess he was late in coming back.” in a way it was a dove-tailing story; but Fairbairn couldn’t help wondering why Hudock hadn’t returned to the hotel to drink his beer. What made him change his mind and walk down the street? And how, in a small town like Fernie, did Vince Macchione lose track of him? It was curious too that Annie Hudock didn’t seem to be unduly burdened with grief, but then perhaps she was of the type that allowed little room for display of grief or affection. Meantime, McDonald, intrigued somewhat by the Hudock-Macchione set-up decided to have a talk with the dark-eyed Italian. “You thought a lot of the Hudocks?” was his opening gambit, when he got Macchione alone. “I sure did – my best friends,” said the sectionhand. McDonald put his wits into high gear. Suppose Macchione was enamoured of Mrs. Hudock? Maybe standing treat and buying the groceries was one way of capturing her affections. He’d try it. “I guess you didn’t like to see Mrs. Hudock so poor. Is that why you bought the groceries?” “I guess that’s about it,” admitted Macchione. “Maybe,” ventured McDonald, “you liked Annie a little better than Mike?” “Yes, I guess I did.” “So, I guess you saw a lot of her,” continued the corporal, “Maybe sometimes when Mike wasn’t around?” “Sometimes,” came the halting admission. It wasn’t much, but it was something. Something that might lead to a motive. Hitting the iron while it was hot, within the hour McDonald was on Mrs. Hudock’s doorstep with just a few more questions. One was a leading one. Had Vince Macchione ever shown her any marked affection? Yes, Vince had wanted to marry her, and once he urged her to run off, leave Mike, and go with him to the States. Sometimes he gave her money, money for dresses. It broke down to this: Macchione and Annie Hudock had been more than good friends for a couple of years. It was after comparing notes with McDonald that Fairbairn decided it was time to act. He got a warrant for Macchione’s arrest on a charge of murder and late that night Vince Macchione was arrested at his home at Galloway. He was in bed when Corporal McDonald arrived and by the light of an oil lamp sat up rubbing his eyes as the policeman prowled the room looking for a shotgun. “You’ve got a gun here. . . where is it? snapped McDonald. “I haven’t got a gun. . . I never owned one,” vowed Macchione. But an overcoat hanging over a chair responded to treatment. As McDonald went through the pockets he asked Macchione if this was his coat. “Sure it is,” said the little Italian. “Did you wear it last Sunday?” “Sure.” “Then why were you carrying these?” asked McDonald as he produced from a pocket two 16-guage shells. “I never saw them before,” said Macchione, but in a low tone and unconvincing. On a shelf above the stove were two boxes of 16-guage shells. “Why did you get these shells if you haven’t got a gun?” probed McDonald relentlessly, as Macchione was getting himself dressed. “I don’t know how they got there,” came the answer from the badly rattled sectionhand. McDonald took him out to the lean-to garage and spent the next few minutes looking over the blue coupe. Under the front seat were two more 16-guage shells. “I guess you don’t know anything about these?” remarked the cynical policeman. “Never saw them before,” came the now routine answer. With Macchione under lock and key there were still a few gaps in the story that needed filling. Absence of the murder weapon prompted Fairbairn to put gangs of men to work exploring all the culverts along the highway, probing snow drifts, and searching the river bank. Nothing, simply nothing, was turned up. Men who had worked with Macchione on the section gang were interrogated. “Sure Vince owned a shotgun,” said Fred Kalt, “he bought it mail order from Eaton’s. He picked it out of the catalogue.” “I saw him with it lots of times,” said Bill Lagoda. “It was about 16-guage.” “I delivered it to him,” said Leon Simmons. A body, a motive, a weapon . . . but how on earth did Macchione take his victim four miles out of town, shoot him, and return so quickly. It was a fast piece of work any way you looked at it. But on a practice run police officers found they could get out to the scene of the killing, driving 25 to 30 miles an hour, in seven minutes. A fast driver could do it in three or four. Apart from the shotgun wads found at the scene, the beer bottles might offer a clue. The labels said Fernie Brewing Company. . . but where did he get them> And on a Sunday? McDonald started canvassing the licensed hotels and beer parlours. After a few negative replies he struck oil . . . with Joe Perri of the Central. “Sure. Vince was in here Saturday,” said Perri, “he paid a small bill and asked me to set aside six bottles of beer in a paper bag. Said he would pick ‘em up Sunday.” “And did he?” “Yep. Came in Sunday afternoon just after four o’clock and picked them up. Mike Hudock was with him.” So. Vince Macchione knew that no bottled beer was going out of licensed premises in Fernie on a Sunday. So he made sure on Saturday that there would be bottled beer on Sunday. It was a nice bit of evidence. . . of premeditation. Thing now was to place the blue coupe and its two occupants out on the highway on Sunday afternoon. Could it be done? Word was accordingly spread that the police wanted to see anyone who had noticed a blue coupe on the Fernie highway on Sunday, February 9. Next day four men appeared at the Fernie police station, electrical workers who had left the Elko plant of the West Kootenay Power & Light Co. and driven to Fernie that Sunday. Four miles from Fernie they’d seen a blue coupe parked on the right hand side of the road near the river. There was nobody in the car, so they concluded it was someone fishing. They didn’t notice the licence number. Fairbairn, still involved in his “cherchez la fame” angle, checked to see if the Hudocks had called in anywhere on the way back to Michel that fatal Sunday night. Apparently they dropped in for a minute to see the Sowchuks at Hosmer. Mrs. Sowchuk remembered the visitors, Mrs. Hudock, Macchione and the two kids. They said they’d been to Fernie, then suddenly Mrs. Hudock started to cry and went into the bedroom. Julia Sowchuk followed her, and put her arm around her asked what the trouble was. “Mike’s dead!” moaned Annie Hudock, between sobs. “You’re crazy!” had been Mrs. Sowchuck’s retort, “Mike probably went off with a bunch of fellows and got drunk.” Fairbairn’s hunch seemed to be paying off, and in fast time he was in Mrs. Hudock’s front room, notebook in hand. What had Mrs. Hudock meant by that remark at Hosmer? Before her husband’s body had been found? “It was Vince who put the idea in my head,” said the distraught Mrs. Hudock. “When he got into the car in Fernie that night he leaned over to me in the front seat and whispered ‘he’s dead.” Now if Fairbairn thought this ominous admission put him on the club house turn, he found, when he got back to Fernie, that Corporal McDonald was already on the home stretch. For big Mac had just had one of those brain-wrenching revelations. While the four electrical workers had seen a blue coupe on the highway, it might have been somebody else’s car. And thinking about the fragments picked up at the scene of the crime, suddenly he thought of the two candy bar wrappers. True, they might have been thrown out of any passing car, but two men stepping out of a car to drink beer wouldn’t likely eat candy bars. But the children. The Hudock kids! When Fairbairn returned to Fernie, McDonald propounded his theory and straight-way the pair headed back to Michel. While Mrs. Hudock looked on, wondering what on earth they were talking about, the police officers asked the Hudock children if Vince had bought them any candy on Sunday. Yes, before they got to the railway station he bought them each a candy bar. What did they do with the wrappers? There was a pause while they thought. “We just threw them on the floor of the car,” came the considered reply, the moppets unaware they were helping to put a rope around the neck of their father’s killer. They named the brand of the candy bars, and the wrappers in the police office matched! They must have been scuffed out of the car by the feet of the men, or blown out when the right hand front door was opened. If the investigation had caused the British Columbia Police many extra hours of duty (and many sleepless nights) there were also some exhausting hours ahead for the jurors at Macchione’s trial, or rather trials. For seldom in the history of British Columbia was a man tired for his life so many times. First trial was at Cranbrook in May 1936, when Macchione’s defence was a simple: “I went to look for Mike and couldn’t find him.” The jury found him guilty and he was sentenced to die in August. On appeal he got a new trial, and 12 months later he heard a second jury say “guilty”. Again he was sentenced to hang in August. Came another appeal, and still another trial, this time at Vernon in the Spring of 1938. They jury disagreed and immediately a fresh trial started. Again the jury disagreed. A fourth trial was ordered but this time with a difference. The deadlock was broken by a new Crown witness, Rudolph Smalik, who said that about 4:30 p.m. on the fatal Sunday he had been curling at the Fernie rink and driving out on the highway he had passed Macchione in his blue coupe. And Mike Hudock was sitting beside him! He knew both men well. And he was sure of the time because he was on his way to a new job and didn’t want to be late. For the fourth time in his cliff-hanging bout with the law, Vince Macchione heard a jury foreman give the dreaded pronouncement . . . and this time it stuck. It was early on the morning of October 26, 1938, that Vince Macchione, the “good friend” of the Hudock family, stood for a second or two on the scaffold at the Oakalla Prison Farm down on British Columbia’s lower mainland – then know no more.
Posted on: Thu, 22 Jan 2015 13:26:16 +0000
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