As Aged Cop Killers Are Paroled, Memories of Fallen Officers Grow Stronger

Chicago Police Officer John R. Tucker was 36 years old when he was killed in 1968 trying to stop a man from robbing a South Side bank.

For thousands of Chicago police officers, active and retired, their families and police leadership, last week’s parole of 58-year-old convicted cop killer Joseph Bigsby was the ultimate disrespect.

Sixteen years old when he shot Chicago Police Officer Edward Barron to death in 1973, many believed that the judge’s harsh, 200-year sentence from 1975 would send a signal to future parole boards that would prevent Bigsby from ever being released.

“We have special laws that protect school teachers, firefighters, paramedics and police officers who are killed in the line of duty,” O’Connor said. “That’s because these people are symbols to of a civilized society. It should be a serious crime to kill a police officer in duty. There was no reason to let this guy out. They will never justify it to me, ever.”

“There is a fear it could be me. If you were on the same watch you know the man and his family. It’s the loss of a brother and family member. There is always anger.”

retired Chicago homicide detective speaking on line-of-duty deaths of police officers

O’Connor knows firsthand the fear and the anger that grip the rank and file cop on the street when an officer goes down. “There is a fear it could be me. If you were on the same watch you know the man and his family. It’s the loss of a brother and family member. There is always anger.”

In 1968, O’Connor’s partner, Chicago Patrol Officer John Tucker, was shot and killed trying to stop a man from robbing a South Side bank.

On Oct. 8, 1968, Tucker, 36, and an 11-year veteran of the Chicago Police Department, went to the Standard Bank and Trust at 7912 S. Ashland Ave. in his off-duty hours to make a deposit. While the officer was inside, 37-year-old Clemmie Johnson entered the bank armed with a .38. Ordering three tellers to fill a pillowcase with money, Tucker approached Johnson and announced his office.

The fallen officer’s last words were, “I tried to get him.”

Death of Chicago Patrol Officer John Tucker in 1968, Chicago Police Memorial Foundation

Tucker pursued Johnson into the bank lobby, unaware that a silent alarm had been activated and there were officers waiting to arrest the robber. Johnson turned around and fire three bullets into Tucker’s chest. Two patrol officers called to the bank stormed the lobby and shot Johnson eight times, according to news reports of the time.

The officer’s last words were, “I tried to get him.” Tucker died at Little Company of Mary Hospital in Evergreen Park. Tucker left a wife and three children, according to the Chicago Police Memorial Foundation.

“I stood honor guard at John’s coffin for both nights of the wake,” O’Connor remembers. “I watched tough, grown men, black and white, with tears streaming down their faces approach the coffin and salute. It was emotionally draining. John was a fine man. He left a void. I keep a picture of him in my iPad.”

A few months later, in March 1969, Johnson was tried and convicted of Tucker’s murder and armed robbery. A news story of the day reported that before Johnson was sentenced, presiding Judge Richard Fitzgerald said: “Because of the gravity of the offense, the defendant should not be allowed ever to return to society.”

“As long as I’m alive, John’s memory is alive.”

Retired Chicago Police sergeant detective Ted O’Connor

Johnson was sentenced to 100-199 years. He was paroled in 2006, after serving 37 years of his sentence, which news reports termed a “mercy release” by the Illinois Prisoner Review Board. O’Connor claims that Johnson was paralyzed as a result of being wounded during the bank robbery and left prison in a wheelchair.

“He was paroled by mistake,” the retired detective sergeant said. “John’s family thought the Fraternal Order of Police was going to the hearing, and the police union thought John’s family would be there. We thought [Johnson] would never get out and assumed he would die in prison, but the [Illinois Prisoner Review Board] saw their chance.”

Before 1978, offenders like Bigsby and Johnson were confined under indeterminate sentencing laws. Combined with a U.S. Supreme Court nationwide moratorium on the death penalty that lasted from 1972 to 1976, states were forced to rethink their statutes from capital offenses to ensure the death penalty would not administered in a capricious or discriminatory manner.

“Forty-seven years later, O’Connor still grieves for his old partner.”

Because there were technically no capital cases, it wasn’t unusual for Cook County judges to dole out harsh, severe sentences, sometimes ranging up to 700 years.

“The judges were trying to prevent these offenders from ever being paroled,” O’Connor said.

Last week, when the Illinois Prisoner Review Board voted 8-6 in favor of releasing Bigsby, the board’s chief legal counsel said he was well aware of the outrage levied at board members by the Chicago Police Department, Fraternal Order of Police and the Chicago Police Memorial Foundation.

“One of the things the board looked at was [Bigsby’s] age when he committed the shooting. He was 16 years old,” Tupy said. “He’s served [40] years. He’s [58] and spent three-fourths of his life in the penitentiary. He’s had an excellent institutional adjustment and an excellent parole plan.”

Tupy said that Bigsby left the Danville Correctional Center on June 25, and is now living in Maryland with family members.

That doesn’t quell O’Connor’s anger, or the busloads of police officers that travel to parole hearings to ensure that inmates convicted of killing cops in the 1960s and 1970s remain incarcerated.

Forty-seven years later, O’Connor still grieves for his old partner.

“As long as I’m alive, John’s memory is alive.”