Milltown man recalls role in Lindbergh trial
After an action-packed life, retired trooper, 99, happy to 'take it easy'
BY JESSICA SMITH
Staff Writer

MIGUEL JUAREZ staff Hugo Stockburger, 99, who as a young state trooper in 1934-35 guarded the convicted killer in the Lindbergh baby murder, recounts stories from his lengthy career while checking on a berry bush outside his Milltown home.

From the horse and wagon to the jet plane, 99-year-old Hugo Stockburger has seen it all.

Though his life experience has afforded him many distinct and varied memories, his role in the Lindbergh baby kidnapping case stands out the most.

"There will never be another case like the Lindbergh case," Stockburger said last week in an interview at his home in Milltown.

Stockburger recalled the day of the kidnapping as if it were yesterday. On March 1, 1932, he was driving his state police patrol car on an open, undeveloped Route 1. It was his third year on the force. At that time, red flags or lights were used at gas stations and other local buildings to alert officers to call headquarters. Stock-burger noticed an alert light, and called in.

"They told me somebody stole the Lindbergh baby. I said, 'Are you kidding?' " Stockburger recalled.

MIGUEL JUAREZ staff Hugo Stockburger, at his borough home last week, talks about some of his many experiences as a state trooper and police official in Milltown.

Two years later, on Sept. 19, police arrested Bruno Richard Hauptmann, who had been tracked through a five-dollar bill with a gold seal on it. The defunct gold-seal bills had been used to pay the ransom money, and banks had received lists with the serial numbers of each bill in the $50,000 ransom. Notably, Hauptmann had marked each of his numerous ransom notes with a sort of signature, consisting of the imprints of two half-dollars and a dime. Of the extensive media coverage of the case, none mentioned the signature, Stockburger said.

That October, Hauptmann was brought to New Jersey to stand trial. Stockburger was with him in the car.

"When we got to Flemington, it looked like a carnival," he said.

MIGUEL JUAREZ staff Stockburger leads Bruno Richard Hauptmann into the courtroom in 1935.

There was a mob scene outside the courthouse, and the courtroom itself was packed. It was Stockburger's job to sit with Hauptmann, holding his wrist in lieu of handcuffs, so as not to make him appear to be a criminal to jurors.

Stockburger also guarded Hauptmann for 102 days while he was incarcerated. What little conversation they shared consisted of Hauptmann asking about the weather or sports scores. It was Stockburger's duty, while he was locked in with the kidnapper, to make sure he didn't do anything to hurt himself.

On the day of his conviction, Hauptmann acted like it was just another day, Stockburger said.

"He was a cold-blooded killer," said Stockburger.

His career also afforded him more light-hearted times. He recalled the couple he picked up for speeding on Route 1. He brought them to a North Brunswick court. When he returned there in the afternoon, the couple had decided to get married, since they were in court anyway. The judge's wife served as the witness, and Stockburger served as best man for the young groom.

"If I told somebody in the morning I locked someone up for speeding and in the afternoon I was his best man, they wouldn't believe it," Stockburger said.

Stockburger joined the New Jersey State Police in 1929. It was the 21st class of recruits. His training involved running, boxing, wrestling and swimming, as well as jumping on and off horses at full gallop. He had only one weekend off during the three-month training.

"It was rough," Stockburger said. "We started out with 98, and about 45 graduated."

When he took his compulsory retirement at the age of 55, he was known to many as Major Stockburger, the second highest rank in the state police. Not ready to end his career, Stockburger served for nine years as the appointed deputy director of Alcoholic Beverage Control for the state. At the age of 64, he took the position of Milltown police director.

Stockburger was 16 when he moved to New Jersey from his native Germany. He moved to Milltown in 1939, and has lived there ever since. He was married 50 years to his wife, Elizabeth, who died in 1993. He continues to reside in their home with his son Jim, 69.

Behind the recliner where Stockburger, or "Stocky" to close friends, sits in his home, there are numerous honors he has accumulated over the years. Among them is the "key to the city" of Milltown, along with a pencil sketch bearing his likeness, signed by all of the officers who worked under his authority at the time of his retirement. A plaque bears Stockburger's badge, which is usually not allowed to be kept. His badge number was 504. Today, the numbers are in the 6,000s.

On another wall, there is an oil painting of Stockburger in uniform, a gift his wife gave him when he retired. The fireplace bears more whimsical testament to his career, with a police motorcycle, complete with sound effects, that was a gift from his colleagues when he retired, as well as a large teddy bear dressed as a state trooper that his son gave him.

"He's bow-legged from riding horses," Stockburger said.

Stockburger's scrapbooks, which the New Jersey State Police have requested after he passes, also sit behind his chair. Each of them is thick with articles and photographs from his lengthy career. There are letters of commendation and praise from former Gov. Richard Hughes, as well as from two deputy attorney generals, who wrote with their regards over 50 years after working with Stockburger.

"When you get close to my age, you're satisfied to sit down and take it easy," Stockburger said.

With a remarkable career and 99 years of living under his belt, Stockburger now enjoys daily 45-minute walks with his son in the field behind his house, and bike riding during the summers, which he spends at his house by the beach in Normandy Shores. He said exercise has been the key to his longevity.

Stockburger said he has no health problems, aside from the case of shingles he is recuperating from. Shingles is common among senior citizens, and causes pain to those inflicted. His doctor gives him medicine to kill the pain, Stockburger said, but he does not take it. Instead, he just takes aspirin.

He still drives around town like he did as a police officer, only now he is in a Cadillac instead of astride a motorcycle.

Stockburger will turn 100 on Dec. 28, but his friend and neighbor, George Mackaronis, is planning a big block party for him Oct. 14, while it is still warm enough to have an outdoor party. Stockburger said he could do without all the festivities, and even being interviewed.

"I'm low-key," Stockburger said. "I suppose that is something, to make 100 years."