New England man's sacrifice changed Washington D.C. forever

WALTHAM, Mass. — There was a moment 20 years ago when Charlie Gibson knew his son was gravely injured.

He saw it on live TV.

“The way we really found out was when they carried John out, his left arm fell off [the stretcher] and his watch was on the backside of his wrist,” Charlie said. “We could see it. We knew it was John.”

John Gibson was a 42-year-old United States Capitol Police detective when he and fellow officer Jacob "J.J." Chestnut were ambushed and killed by a lone gunman in the halls of the U.S. Capitol. The shooting—three years before 9/11--rocked the country and rattled the foundation of our government.

“I don’t know why people say it gets easier,” Charlie said in his Waltham living room almost two decades later. “You never forget. It’s always right in front of you, whenever a police officer gets hurt of get killed, it brings back everything.”

The Shooting

U.S. Capitol Police Chief Matt Verderosa remembers hearing the radio call for shots fired. He was on the Senate side of the Capitol building. It was a few moments after 3:40 p.m., July 24, 1998.

“It was a surreal kind of experience because out of all this turmoil, people leaving, running, it’s eerily silent in this hallway of marble,” Verderosa said. “The shots had already occurred. There was very little to do except tactically make your way towards [the crime scene].”

Responding officers found a bloody, chaotic situation with one officer dead, one dying and a gunman who had been hit five times.

Investigators would later determine Russell Eugene Weston entered the Capitol through the Document Door, a public entrance on the East Front of the building. Armed with a .38 caliber Smith & Wesson, Weston fired at Chestnut near the door’s security checkpoint, killing the 58-year-old instantly. Capitol Police Ofc. Doug McMillian returned fire, driving Weston down a nearby hallway, where he encountered Det. Gibson.

“John was stationed near the back and he did advise people to get down and get out of the way,” Verderosa said.

Gibson was standing near House Majority Whip Tom Delay’s office when he was hit once in abdomen. It was a fatal wound, but investigators said Gibson was able to return fire and slow the shooter down.

“Had this gunman got past John, who knows what havoc—how many people he would have killed,” Verderosa said.

The Aftermath

Gibson and Chestnut were the first officers to lie in honor in the Capitol rotunda. Despite never having served in the military, an exception was made so John could be buried in Arlington National Cemetery.

“If it wasn’t for President Clinton, John wouldn’t have been buried in Arlington. He gave the okay for John to be buried there because John wasn’t a veteran,” Charlie said.

Dignitaries and lawmakers from around the country attended their funerals. Medford native Jack DeWolfe joined Capitol Police in 1979 and was one of John’s best friends. He delivered the eulogy at John’s funeral.

“It’s tough on them,” DeWolfe said about the Gibson family. “It’s still fresh. In such a public place, people all over the world knew [about the shooting]. The funeral was the biggest I’d ever seen."

John’s wife Lynn was suddenly left to raise their three children. Their oldest son Jack, just 15 when his father was killed, went on to become a U.S. Capitol Police officer in the mid-2000s.

“It tore their hearts out,” John’s uncle George Gibson said about the family. “We wonder what John would be doing today. He’d be a grandfather now. That’s all the stuff he’s missing. It’s pretty sad."

The Gunman

Despite being shot five times, Weston survived the attack. He remains in custody at FMC Butner, a federal psychiatric hospital in North Carolina. A spokesperson for the facility said he wasn’t allowed to release a current photo of the 61-year-old.

Weston’s exact motive is unknown, but investigators said he was delusional, paranoid and thought the government was out to get him.

He told a court-appointed psychiatrist he carried out the attack "to prevent the United States from being annihilated by disease and legions of cannibals," according to a 1999 Washington Post article. 

A federal judge ruled Weston incompetent to stand trial. Verderosa said that outcome leaves an empty feeling for everyone involved.

“There’s a lot of unanswered questions that haunt people,” he said. “I think it makes it difficult. It’s probably made it a lot worse for the Gibson and Chestnut families. You don’t get that sense of closure you get sometimes through the justice system.”

“He knew what he was doing,” Charlie said about Weston. “I still believe that to this day. He was mad at the government. He didn’t care who he killed once he got in there.”

Those closest to the case believe Weston will never be tried or released.

The Legacy

Capitol Hill feels like a much different place twenty years later. Following the shooting, certain public areas, including the old Document Door entrance, were closed off to the general public.

More officers were added to security checkpoints. Officers wearing bulletproof vests, once mandatory but rarely enforced, was now enforced regularly. Capitol Police also traded in their 9 mm Smith & Wesson handguns for a weapon with more stopping power: the .40 caliber Glock.

The shooting was also a catalyst for the construction of the $600-million underground U.S. Capitol Visitor Center, which opened in 2008.

“The visitor’s center was really an answer to the problem,” Verderosa said. “It helped move the threat away. It helped move the threat to an area that could be isolated, where the threat could be isolated,” he said.

But Verderosa said what changed the most was the mindset on Capitol Hill.

"I think people felt more vulnerable, the staff, and visitors,” he said. “It's a shocking thing.”

The Document Door was later renamed the Memorial Door. Gibson and Chestnut’s sacrifice is immortalized by a large plaque on the wall.

“It’s hard not to get choked up seeing these things,” Verderosa said, holding back tears.

Grieving in New England

There are reminders of John’s service all over the Gibson’s Waltham home, including photographs, newspaper clippings and commendations. The Fraternal Order of Police Medal of Valor and Medal of Honor sit in a living room cabinet.

“They don’t bring him back but they’re nice to receive,” Charlie said.

A few miles away in Cambridge, the corner of Tremont Street and Broadway across from the old St. Mary’s church where John went to high school is dedicated John M. Gibson Square.

“People come by when I’m looking at it,” George said. “They look at it and ask, ‘Who is this guy?’ I try to explain to them who he was.”

John’s parents rarely talk publicly about the shooting. Charlie has only granted two interviews and John’s mother Eleanor has never spoken to reporters about her son’s death.

But after twenty years of grieving, Charlie says talking helps.

"If somebody asks me about it, I talk about it,” he said. “I don't try to keep anything in because I'm very proud of him. I think it helps to get it out."

Cox Media Group