During the summer of 1967, a close-knit mining community in Hazleton, Pa., was home to a loving Italian-American family that dearly loved their Catholic faith and coal mining heritage.
Carmen Chiverella operated a corner grocery store, and his wife, Mary, worked in a knitting mill to feed their five children. Young Marise Ann Chiverella, born in 1954, was remembered for having a tender heart and dreaming of becoming a nun as she played organ duets with her brother Ron.
For Marise, life stretched to family habits and walks to St. Joseph parochial school, where nuns offered values-soaked lessons. The neighborhood was a safe place during that time, and children played out in the street without worries of strangers.
But underneath this veneer of tranquillity lurked a hidden monster waiting to change their world forever.
At 9 years old, Marise got up early on March 18, 1964 day to go to school with a present: cans of food for her teacher’s feast day.
She hugged her sisters goodbye and walked alone along familiar streets. When she did not show up to school, panic ensued as family and police searched.
And with each passing hour, there was no trace; hope gave way to dread for the Chiverella family. This afternoon, a person outside teaching his nephew to drive saw something horrible in an abandoned coal pit near Hazle Township.
There was Marise, still warm in death, with her gift cans nearby, a pathetic index to her innocent mission.
The girl had been raped and killed, her head battered in a blow that reverberated across Hazleton. Pennsylvania State Police opened a vast investigation, gathering evidence such as DNA from her clothing.
More than 230 officers participated in what would become one of the state’s largest investigations.
The community mobilized with tips and searches, but soon leads ran cold despite the tireless effort. One local suspect led officers to an acquaintance in the remote pit, but there were no arrests.
For decades, the family experienced their sorrow anew, raising their other children in the midst of unresolved grief.
Detective Thomas McAndrew had spent 26 years on the cold case and kept it chill, saving crucial evidence for the tech of the future.
Eric Schubert, 18, a genetic genealogy prodigy from New Jersey, volunteered his services in 2020. He had solved other mysteries by combining DNA and family tree research.
Schubert uploaded the killer’s DNA profile to open-source public databases, searching for distant relatives. Creating expansive trees required patience, winnowing suspects as possibilities grew old.
At the top of the list was a 22-year-old bartender in 1964 named James Paul Forte, who lived just blocks away.
Forte had a history of violence, including an assault charge in 196,1, and died in 1980 of a heart attack.
His body was exhumed by the police early in 2022 for DNA testing. Weeks later, results revealed a positive match to the crime scene evidence.
On Thursday, the authorities revealed their break: 58 years of mystery over. The assault at random shattered small-town illusions of safety.
For years, Forte had also enjoyed freedom living among the neighbors of his victims, once again haunting the community.
The tone of Marise’s siblings, who gained bittersweet closure, opting for belief over hate, was amazing. They applauded Schubert’s persistence and dogged police work.
The case underscored the power of genetic genealogy as a way to resurrect long-forgotten injustices.
This tale of innocence lost calls on us to remember the vulnerable children who are with us always. Today, Hazleton pays tribute to Marise by means of memorials and consciousness-raising.
Her spirit of peace endures, summoning kindness in the shadow of tragedy.
And so Schubert, now in his 20s, keeps sleuthing. Her missions prove that one person’s obsession can mend old wounds.
Families such as the Chiverellas sleep at last, content that truth has come to light. But the pain is not too subtle a reminder that evil lurks around us everywhere, and vigilance is always necessary.
