That illusion was shattered abruptly when gunfire crackled through the cavernous east side of the Capitol at 3:40 p.m. on July 24, leaving Chestnut and Gibson dead, their alleged killer, a deranged loner named Russell (Rusty) Weston Jr., gravely wounded, and tourist Angela Dickerson, 24, of Chantilly, Va., injured when caught in the crossfire. Mourning the deaths of the two officers, President Clinton hailed them as heroes who had died in a "moment of savagery at the front door of American civilization." Congress voted unanimously that their bodies be allowed to lie in the Capitol Rotunda, an honor granted previously to only 27 other Americans, among them Abraham Lincoln and John F. Kennedy.
As authorities reconstructed events, it appeared Weston, a paranoid schizophrenic who harbored delusional grudges against President Clinton and the government—including the belief that federal agents had mined property he owns in Montana—burst through a security checkpoint after entering the Capitol near the Document Room, where copies of legislation are kept. Seeing Chestnut, who had been busy assisting two tourists, he pulled out a .38-cal. revolver and shot him in the head, then rushed down a hallway toward the offices of Republican House Majority Whip Tom DeLay of Texas, where he traded shots with Gibson. "If it hadn't been for John, the gunman would have walked through this office and picked us off one by one," said DeLay senior aide Tony Rudy. "He saved our lives."
Both officers were well-known to congressmen. Chestnut, called J.J., was admired for his dedication. "He exemplified professionalism every day I worked with him," says James Davis, a colleague on the Capitol Police. "He was always very squared away, very sharp." That came naturally for Chestnut, a native of Myrtle Beach, S.C., who had spent 20 years in the Air Force, with two tours in Vietnam, where he won the Bronze Star. He met his wife, Wen-Ling, 50, a native of China, while stationed in Taiwan.
Behind Chestnut's crisp demeanor, there was warmth and compassion. "He'd go out of his way to help a neighbor," says Jerome Goldring, who has lived near the Chestnuts for 18 years. "He'd cut people's lawns when they were sick." And he loved his garden. "Every day you'd see him out there watering," says his sister-in-law Betty Johnson. Indeed, Chestnut chose to remain on the 3-to-ll-p.m. shift at the Capitol so he could spend mornings tending his vegetables. Along with three adult children from a previous marriage, Chestnut leaves behind Karen, 22, a student at the University of Maryland, and William, 19, who attends Florida A&M.
Gibson, raised in Cambridge, Mass., reserved much of his enthusiasm for all things Boston. He had hoped to become a police officer there, but when he couldn't find a spot on the force, he moved to the Washington, D.C., area and signed on at the Capitol. He worked his way up to the force's Diplomatic Protection Service, where his duties included guarding DeLay's suite. The husky Gibson could often be seen chatting with visitors and staffers about his beloved Red Sox and Celtics. At home he was an avid fan of mysteries by James Patterson and Patricia Cornwell.
With wife Lyn, 41, a school crossing guard and the niece of Rep. Joe Moakley of Massachusetts, Gibson had three children—Kristen, 17, Jack, 15, and Danny, 14—to whom he was deeply devoted. His idea of a perfect getaway was to head off with his wife and kids in their old van to a park near their townhouse in Lake Ridge, Va., to camp over the weekend. "You didn't often see him without his family," says longtime neighbor Kevin Murphy. "They went everywhere together." By several accounts, the Gibson children were showing remarkable strength. Neighbor Murphy says that at one point young Jack was even consoling him. "I broke down and cried in front of him, and he was patting me on the back," says Murphy.
In the aftermath of the tragedy, those close to the Gibsons and the Chestnuts expressed more sorrow than outrage—and a belief that the cherished symbol the men were guarding will always be at risk from madmen or from fanatics who reject the values it represents. "I don't think they could have done anything different to change things and stop this from happening," says Gibson brother-in-law Bobby Moakley. "John wouldn't have wanted the Capitol closed off from the people."
Bill Hewitt
Jane Sims Podesta, Margery Sellinger and Rochelle Jones in Washington, D.C.
- Contributors:
- Jane Sims Podesta,
- Margery Sellinger,
- Rochelle Jones.
Saved by the Bell Reunion
The hookups, the meltdowns, the memoires
The case reveals what was really going on what they think of each other now!
