Verton Gibson Jr. can't count how many times he has traveled from his South Side home to the looming glass-and-steel federal courthouse downtown since May 22, 2007.
That was the day his son, Tramaine, 23, was gunned down during a takeover robbery at a
Chatham bank, the first teller to be killed in a
Chicago-area holdup in years.
On Monday, on the eve of the trial of the suspect in his son's slaying, Gibson once again jumped on the Red Line and hurried to the Dirksen U.S. Courthouse — just as he has dozens of times in the last four years — to be sure he wouldn't miss a hearing in the case.
For 40 minutes, he listened as the judge and attorneys bantered about the expected evidence and expert testimony. And when it was over, Gibson gathered in the hall with prosecutors, who greeted him like an old friend and asked him if he had any questions.
He confirmed with them when jury selection would begin Tuesday and then offered a little advice.
"Eat your Wheaties," he said with a smile before heading downstairs.
"I'm here for my son," Gibson said moments later. "I have been told that a lot of people don't even come. They just wait until the trial. I just want everyone to know that Tramaine is represented, each and every court hearing.
"The defense attorneys are there. The government is there. So I feel someone from his family should be here. …He would have done it for me. You can believe that."
Bank robberies — particularly takeovers in which armed robbers hurdle teller counters and seize control — are violent, frightening experiences for employees and customers but are rarely deadly. Gibson's son was one of only four bank employees or guards to be killed in the thousands of bank robberies across the country in 2007.
And
FBI officials in Chicago can't even recall the last fatal bank robbery in the Chicago area before Gibson was slain when three masked gunmen stormed the
Illinois Service Federal Savings and Loan, 8700 S. Drive.
Prosecutors allege that Henry Bluford stood lookout at the front door as Alton Marshall kept watch over security guards and David Vance rushed the tellers at about 9:30 a.m.
But things went horribly wrong.
Marshall disarmed a security guard, and Vance, armed with a long-barreled revolver, shot Tramaine Gibson in the lower back when he was unable to open the vault door, authorities allege. Vance then allegedly dragged the mortally wounded Gibson toward the vault.
In the meantime, Bluford and Marshall exchanged gunfire with a second security guard. Both the guard and a customer, a 74-year-old retired teacher, were wounded as dozens of shots were fired. The three fled with a teller drawer containing about $6,900 in cash, according to authorities.
The suspects had planned to rob the bank three days earlier but held off because a parade had drawn a heavy police presence near the bank, according to court records.
A $50,000 reward led to a tip from an acquaintance of one of the gunmen who then with the help of authorities secretly recorded Marshall making admissions about the holdup. When confronted by investigators, Marshall quickly confessed and implicated his accomplices. He and Bluford pleaded guilty and agreed to testify against Vance in return for sharply reduced prison terms. Vance, who has pleaded not guilty and denied involvement in the deadly holdup, faces life in prison if convicted by the federal jury.
It has taken four years — an unusually long time at federal court for a case of this kind — to move to trial. And bit by bit, Verton Gibson, who is head of security at an elementary school, has absorbed the arcane legal process. By now, he has learned the jargon of the courtroom, easily describing a judge's ruling or following trial strategies. He has met with
U.S. Attorney Patrick Fitzgerald.
When Bluford pleaded guilty nearly two years ago, Gibson was shocked to hear he likely faced just a 20-year prison sentence. In an unusual moment for that stage of the proceedings, Gibson was allowed to address his concerns in court to U.S. District Judge Joan Gottschall, who is presiding over the case.
It has been a long four years for Gibson, who has watched patiently in court as the attorneys and judge worked over minute details to ensure Vance obtains a fair trial. At times, he has sat directly in front of the defendants' families and overheard their observations about what was happening, he said.
He has wondered about the times Vance wasn't even present in court — imprisoned defendants awaiting trial have a right to waive appearances at hearings — when Gibson himself had "slipped and slided over ice" to be there for hearings in winter.
What he didn't hear much about over these years was his son, who despite growing up in one of the city's toughest neighborhoods was carving out a good life, with a promising job at a bank and a young family. The younger Gibson was also attending college and planned to buy a home to live in with his wife and two young children, one of whom finished kindergarten this year.
"Everything is geared toward the defendant," Gibson said. "They have this right. They have that right. And we want them to have a good trial. But the fact remains that the only thing Tramaine did when he got up that morning was he kissed his family goodbye and he went to work. Who anticipated dying at work?"
At the hearing Monday, federal prosecutors and Vance's attorneys debated whether a particular expert was qualified to testify. The two sides also argued about whether the defense could raise questions at trial about evidence it contends was lost.
Sitting on a bench in the courtroom, Gibson took it all in. He's been coming here long enough to figure out what lies ahead.
"That's (their) job to pick holes or find something wrong," he said of Vance's lawyers. "I just don't know, I just don't know. When the trial starts, I guess it will all come out."
