REDACTED: Declassified Mysteries with Luke Lamana - The Black Panther Plot

Episode Date: January 21, 2025

On a cold night in December 1969, Fred Hampton, the 21-year-old leader of the Chicago Black Panther Party, lay asleep beside his pregnant partner, Deborah Johnson. Without warning, their home was raided by the police, who shot hundreds of rounds into their building. But what at first seemed like a brutal act of violence turned out to be the culmination of a far more sinister plot by the FBI. Be the first to know about Wondery’s newest podcasts, curated recommendations, and more! Sign up now at https://wondery.fm/wonderynewsletterFollow Redacted: Declassified Mysteries with Luke Lamana on the Wondery App or wherever you get your podcasts. You can listen to new episodes early and ad-free on Wondery+. Join Wondery+ in the Wondery App, Apple Podcasts or Spotify. Start your free trial by visiting https://wondery.com/links/redacted/ now.See Privacy Policy at https://art19.com/privacy and California Privacy Notice at https://art19.com/privacy#do-not-sell-my-info.

Wondery Plus subscribers can listen to redacted, declassified mysteries early and ad free right now. Join Wondery Plus in the Wondery app or on Apple podcasts. This episode contains depictions of violence and is not suitable for everyone. Please be advised. It was the middle of the night on December 4th, 1969. Deborah Johnson was about nine months pregnant in bed sound asleep next to the father of her unborn child. His name was Fred Hampton and he was the chairman of the Chicago Black Panther Party. Suddenly, the door swung open and one of their fellow

Black Panthers barreled into their bedroom yelling that the house was surrounded by cops. Debra turned to Fred, still fast asleep next to her. She shook him and screamed his name, but he didn't move. As Debra continued shaking Fred, a dozen gunshots exploded from the street. The bedroom walls shook from the impact. With a wave of panic, Deborah realized they were shooting up the building. Deborah heard the downstairs windows shatter. She screamed and then turned back to Fred, frantic to wake him. The panther who had run into the room slammed the door shut, barricading them inside.

Then a bullet flew into one of the bedroom windows, and Deborah rolled over to cover Fred from the glass. She begged him to wake up, but he didn't so much as flutter his eyelids. She worried he had been shot, but there was no time to search for a bullet wound. The panther screamed out of the window for the cops to stop shooting, that a pregnant woman was inside. Then machine gun fire ripped across the front of the house. Windows shattered.

Bullets sank into the drywall. The whole apartment shook with the impact. And at that moment, Deborah had the horrifying thought that she, Fred, and her baby might not make it out of this alive. From Balint Studios in Wondery, I'm Luke Lamanna, and this is Redacted – Declassified Mysteries, where each week we shine a light on the shadowy corners of espionage, covert operations, and misinformation to reveal the dark secrets our governments try to hide. This week's episode is called The Black Panther Plot. From 1956 to 1971, the U.S. government sanctioned a covert operation called the Counterintelligence

Program, or Co-Intel Pro. It was run by the FBI with the purpose of infiltrating and spying on any group that the government saw as radical or threatening. They hired informants who would join these groups and report on their movements. And while some of this undercover work helped to undermine hate groups like the Ku Klux Klan, the FBI also targeted groups such as the Communist Party, the American Indian Movement, and at the very top of the list, the Black Panthers. The Black Panther Party was an African American revolutionary organization founded in Oakland,

California, in 1966. Originally formed to patrol black neighborhoods and protect them from police brutality, the party eventually turned into a socialist-leaning political group that believed black Americans should arm themselves as protection from the cops. They eagerly joined the fight for equality and social justice, often condemning the U.S. government. For longtime FBI Director J. Edgar Hoover, the Black Panthers became almost an obsession. He saw them as violent and out of control, and his administration labeled them a Black nationalist hate group. The FBI even adopted the motto, discredit, disrupt and destroy. In the winter of 1968, 18-year-old Deborah Johnson sat in her living room with a college textbook in her lap.

She yawned and glanced at the clock. It was after midnight, and she still had a few chapters to go. She turned the TV on to the Ronnie Barrett late night show for a little background noise to help her stay awake. Deborah half listened as she got back to her reading, until Ronnie announced his guests that night, a couple of high-ranking members of the Black Panther Party. Deborah looked up and watched as a couple guys in leather jackets and black berets, took their seats next to Ronnie. One of them caught her eye. He was tall, handsome, and with a voice like a church preacher. He introduced himself as Fred Hampton, chairman of the Chicago chapter. He looked young, not much older than herself,

but he spoke with the authority of someone twice his age. Fred started talking about the free meals program that the Panthers ran for kids in Chicago. But he spoke with the authority of someone twice his age. Fred started talking about the free meals program that the Panthers ran for kids in Chicago. He said it wasn't rocket science that kids who didn't get anything to eat weren't able to learn and that education was the key to interrupting cycles of oppression. Deborah felt immediately drawn to Fred, to his personality, his mission, his charisma. A strange feeling came over her, like she was staring at her future.

She knew that someday their paths would cross. A few months later, Deborah walked down one of the gravel pathways at Wright City College in Chicago where she was a freshman. She passed a notice board where students usually advertised open mic nights or babysitting jobs. But today, a flyer caught her eye. Her school was bringing Fred Hampton and other Black Panthers to give a talk on campus. Deborah's heart skipped a beat. This was how she was going to meet Fred.

Later she told her friends at the Black Student Union about the talk. But to her surprise, some didn't want to go. They said they were busy with schoolwork. But others were more honest. The Black Panthers could mean trouble. The cops trailed them and sometimes broke up their events with billy clubs. Not even a college campus felt safe from potential violence. Deborah was disappointed, but she decided to go anyway. A few days later, she entered the back of the school auditorium. The room was packed. Deborah scanned the crowd for an open seat and found one in the front row.

The Black Panthers filed in, wearing their iconic uniform, leather jackets and matching black berets. Fred led the charge. Deborah thought he looked even taller than on TV, and he gave off the kind of confidence that felt magnetic. Every eye followed him to the front of the room, and when he began to talk about serving his community and empowering the people, Deborah felt herself leaning forward in her chair. Deborah could have sworn Fred glanced at her, and that the corner of his mouth twitched

with a smile. After the talk was over, Deborah worked up the courage to go up and say hello. When she shook Fred's hand, she felt a bolt of electricity run up her arm. She had spent months dreaming of meeting this man, and now her premonition was becoming reality. coming reality. A few months later, in late spring, Deborah sat in a folding chair at Black Panther headquarters in Chicago. She was taking notes as one of the Panthers gave a lecture on the party's beliefs. Deborah joined the Black Panthers right after Fred's speech at Wright College and had been doing her best to handle the steep learning curve

that came with joining the party. She had political orientation classes like these a few times a week. All the new recruits would pile into headquarters, and a senior member, sometimes Fred himself, would talk about the party's politics. On top of these classes, De Deborah was expected to volunteer at their free meals program and at the free medical clinic. Plus, she was still juggling her college

workload. She had never been more busy, but she loved it. She also loved Fred. The two of them had started dating after they met on campus. Deborah fanned herself with her notebook. There were so many new Panthers crammed in headquarters that the room felt stuffy. The uptick in membership was thanks to Fred, and it wasn't just Deborah who thought so. Everybody knew Fred was the one drawing

in dozens of recruits. Plus, Fred was making alliances with other groups outside the Panthers too. He'd formed the Rainbow Coalition with a Puerto Rican turf gang called the Young Lords, and a group of white southern leftists called the Young Patriots. It was no wonder that headquarters was usually bursting at the seams. The senior Panther stopped his lecture to sip some water, and Deborah looked out the window. There, she spotted a two-tone sedan parked on the curb with two middle-aged white men

sitting in the front seat. Deborah rolled her eyes. The cops were here. Again. Cops were always hanging around headquarters. Sometimes they followed recruits out of the building just to intimidate them. A few recruits had even been roughed up. And on top of that, the headquarters phone lines were being tapped.

Deborah knew the cops saw the Panthers as a threat to society. Many Panthers wondered if a larger government agency was behind it all, like the FBI. A lot of the college chapter thought there could already be an undercover cop or FBI informant among their ranks. They had to be careful. After the class wrapped up, Deborah headed upstairs to Fred's office. She knocked, and the chapter's head of security, Bill O'Neill, let her in. Deborah had mixed feelings about Bill. He was a loudmouth who drove a fancy car and had a big ego. But he'd been with the chapter since its early days, and took his job seriously.

So much so that last year he tried to build a full-scale electric chair inside Panther headquarters. Bill said it would scare off any undercover FBI informants trying to mess with the Panthers. Debra doubted whether the chair actually worked, but Bill said that didn't matter. It was just there for intimidation. In short, Bill was a handful. He was always trying to convince Fred to stir up some kind of trouble. But Fred was good at keeping him in check. And in the end, Bill was fiercely loyal to Fred.

So Fred used Bill as a personal bodyguard too. Deborah stepped into the office and asked everybody but Fred to leave. Everyone followed out of the room until it was just her, Fred, and Bill. Deborah smiled and assured Bill that Fred wasn't in any danger. Bill looked to Fred, who nodded that it was okay to go. Deborah took a deep breath and told Fred the news. She was pregnant. She knew they'd only been dating a few months, but they were going to be a family. Fred looked stunned.

Then he raced over to kiss her. Deborah burst into tears. She was both excited and terrified. Becoming a mother was daunting enough, but she and Fred led risky lives. It was dangerous to be a panther, and even more so to be Fred's partner. It would be a full-time job keeping the new baby safe, but she decided that it was worth the risk. A month later, on May 27th, 1969, Debra sat in the back of a downtown courtroom, wracked with nerves. About a year earlier, Fred had been arrested and charged with robbery.

The police claimed that he stole $71 worth of ice cream bars from an ice cream truck and handed them out to the neighborhood kids. They said the ice cream vendor identified Fred's picture in a photo line-up. Fred denied the charges but was arrested anyway, and today they were awaiting his sentence. This was just the Chicago PD's pathetic attempt to take Fred off the streets and put him behind bars. He was the glue that held the Black Panthers together. They probably figured that if Fred went away, his chapter would fall apart.

The judge entered the courtroom and Deborah's heart started pounding. She glanced at Bill O'Neill, who seemed just as upset as she was. He couldn't protect Fred from what was about to come. The other Panthers in the room looked equally nervous. The judge read over Fred's crime and the evidence against him. Then he delivered the sentence. Fred would serve two to five years in prison. The Panthers around the courtroom jumped to their feet, yelling as the police led Fred away in handcuffs. Deborah was horrified, their baby would be born in seven months, and Fred would be gone.

Aside from her and the baby, Deborah worried that without Fred, the Chicago PD's plan would come true, and their chapter really would fall apart. There was only one thing to do. She had to appeal the conviction. Two months later, on July 31, Deborah turned the corner on West Monroe Street, walking toward Panther headquarters. It had been a rough few months without Fred. He was capable of juggling a hundred things at once and rallying a room to action. Without him, it was hard to keep everything going. Meetings were unfocused, the chapter lacked direction, and new recruits were already beginning to fall away. But Deborah was doing everything she

could to keep the chapter afloat, spending practically every waking minute at headquarters. chapter of float, spending practically every waking minute at headquarters. She was halfway down the block when several police cars whizzed past her and screeched to a halt outside their building. Deborah stopped dead and watched in terror as officers jumped out of their cars and aimed their guns at headquarters, yelling for everyone inside to get down. She wanted to turn and run, but she knew that would only draw attention to herself. One of the cops might recognize her as Fred's girlfriend. The safest thing she could do was keep her head down and keep walking.

She crossed the street and listened helplessly as glass shattered and the sounds of fighting erupted from inside the building. She could hear the police racing up the steps and bursting into Fred's office. glass shattered and the sounds of fighting erupted from inside the building. She could hear the police racing up the steps and bursting into Fred's office. She picked up the pace, praying none of the police would look her way. Then she heard a gunshot. She looked back and saw police dragging Panthers out of their building, throwing them into cop cars.

One of the cops had Bill O'Neill in handcuffs. More gunshots sounded, police and panthers were yelling, glass was breaking, and the upstairs air conditioning unit came crashing down onto the sidewalk. Deborah turned the corner, feeling sick. She didn't know if any of her friends had been hurt in the gunfight, or even killed. Privately, she wondered what would have happened to her and the baby if she had arrived five minutes earlier. She might not be so lucky next time. Two weeks later, on August 14th, a young lawyer named Jeff Haas walked into the People's Church on Ashland Avenue, just a couple miles from

Black Panther headquarters. Jeff was two years out of law school and had been doing civil justice work in his free time. As a white man, Jeff was in the minority at the church, which was filled to the brim with Black Panthers. They had been using the church as a meeting space ever since headquarters was raided. Jeff had driven past the building that morning. It was full of debris and riddled with bullet holes.

The Panthers had been working to clean the space up, but they still had a long way to go. Jeff spotted a colleague of his sitting in a pew near the back of the church and snuck in beside him. The colleague had invited Jeff to the church that morning. Their law firm was representing Fred Hampton and had recently appealed his conviction to the state supreme court. Two days ago, Jeff's colleague got Fred released from prison on bond

while they waited to hear whether the court would uphold his sentence. Jeff wanted to hear Fred speak since their law firm would likely be doing more pro bono work for the Panthers in the future. Jeff believed in social justice, and he was intrigued by everything he'd heard about the 20-year-old Black Panther chairman. But he wasn't convinced that someone so young was capable of leading a revolution. A minute later, Fred walked to the pulpit. The room exploded with applause.

Someone shouted, Free Fred Hampton, and the rest of the church joined in, stomping their feet and chanting. Fred smiled warmly and told the crowd, I'm free. The answering cheers were so loud that the walls shook. Jeff couldn't help but join in with the applause. Fred assured his fellow panthers that nothing would stop him from pursuing their mission. He told them to stand, and in an instant the entire church was on its feet. Jeff was impressed.

Fred really knew how to mobilize a crowd. Fred held up his right hand and told the crowd to do the same. He said, I am, and the church responded, a revolutionary. The call and response continued. Jeff wanted to join in, but the word revolutionary caught in his throat. He believed in social justice, but he never felt part of a movement before. He wasn't one to join the fray. But Fred's passion was infectious.

Jeff couldn't help it. He said, quietly at first, I am a revolutionary. He said it again, chanting with the rest of the crowd. Each time, it became easier, until he was as loud as everyone else around him. The meeting lit a fire in Jeff, one that was still burning by the time he got home. He knew that Fred was a once-in-a-lifetime leader and that this was not a fight that he could watch from the sidelines. Jeff decided to leave his job at the new law firm. He was ready to join the revolution. In early October, Debra stood in the middle of her new living room, directing Bill O'Neill and a couple other Panthers as they moved boxes into the house.

She was seven months pregnant and couldn't lift any of the moving boxes herself, but was happy to order the boys around. She heard Fred upstairs, unpacking their new bedroom. They decided to move in together and rented this five-room apartment just a few doors down from headquarters. Some of the Panthers had cautioned them against renting a place in the city. They said she and Fred should get a place in the suburbs, further away from the Chicago police.

But the couple decided it was more important to be close to their base where Fred was recruiting new Panthers every day. Bill set down the last box from the truck, threw on his leather jacket, and called upstairs for Fred, saying it was time to go. Deborah heard footsteps overhead, then Fred came bounding down the steps. He kissed her and followed Bill out the door. He and Deborah decided that for his safety, he should vary up his routine, never let the cops figure out where he was going to sleep. Tonight he'd stay with his mom in the suburbs and Bill would drive him. As Deborah watched him go she did what she always did.

She said a silent prayer that he would make it to his destination safely. On December 2nd Jeff Haas stood outside the steel door of Black Panther headquarters. The front of the building was still marked with bullet holes. Over the past few months, police had raided and shot up headquarters so many times that the owner of the building was threatening to evict the Panthers. So Fred decided to raise the money to buy the building. And since Jeff had some experience with real estate law, he offered to draw up the papers and make it official. Fred and a few other Panthers were already waiting for Jeff when he got upstairs. Jeff set down his briefcase and took out a stack of papers. He smiled and told Fred that once

he signed them, this beautiful, bullet-riddled building would be all his. Fred beamed as he looked the papers over, filled in a few blanks, and signed the bottom. Jeff promised to file the paperwork right away. They gave each other a nod and said, Power to the people. It was the last time Jeff would see Fred Hampton alive. The next evening, Deborah gripped the armrest in Bill O'Neill's car as he sped through Chicago's west side, driving her home from Fred's mother's house. Bill usually drove

like he was in the Grand Prix, and Deborah was doing her best not to get car sick. When they finally pulled up to their apartment, the lights were on. Through a gap in the curtains, she could see Fred and a few other Panthers sitting in the living room. Deborah wondered if they were planning for when Fred went back to jail. A few days ago, they learned that the state Supreme Court had upheld Fred's prison sentence for stealing $71 of ice cream. Next week, he would have to surrender himself to prison,

where he would serve two to five years. Deborah was furious and heartbroken at the same time. And to make it worse, the police had been tailing them more than ever since the sentencing, probably to make sure Fred didn't try to run or go into hiding. Deborah guessed Fred was lecturing some new students. It was more important than ever to leave the Panthers in the strongest shape possible before he had to go to jail. Deborah knew the meeting would run late. She told Bill he might as well come inside with her

and listen in on the lecture. She joked that he could use a refresher anyway, since he skipped so many of them. He was a man of action. He wasn't as hot on the education part. Bill followed Debra into the apartment. He went straight to the kitchen and started rooting around in the fridge. Debra went to the living room to join Fred, who helped her down onto the couch. She was nine months pregnant now and moved slowly. Fred asked if they were tailed on the way over, but she shook her head no. She didn't think so.

Fred was still sleeping at different places every night to keep his schedule unpredictable. He and Debra were supposed to stay at Fred's mother's house tonight, but Fred changed his mind and said he decided to stay with Deborah at their apartment instead. He wanted them to be alone together while he still could. Deborah was too tired to join in the conversation, so she just listened. A few minutes later, Bill came out with a few beers for everyone and a Kool-Aid for Fred who never drank alcohol. He couldn't afford to have his mind clouded for even a minute.

The group drank and talked, and soon Deborah was yawning. Fred noticed, because after a few minutes, he suggested they go to bed. Upstairs, Deborah called Fred's mother to let her know they weren't coming tonight. Then she handed the phone to Fred while she got ready for bed. As Fred listened to his mom, he was already looking drowsy. Deborah smiled to herself as she went to the bathroom to brush her teeth. By the time she got back to their bedroom, Fred was fast asleep, the phone still in his hand. This was typical of Fred. He ran himself ragged every day and

fell asleep the minute his head hit the pillow. But tonight he'd seemed especially tired. Deborah figured it was the prison sentence looming over him. She hung up the phone and climbed into bed next to him, thinking about how this was one of the last nights they would get to sleep like this. to sleep like this. A few hours later, bullets flew as Deborah crouched over Fred, shaking him, begging him to wake up. Someone began shouting out the window to stop shooting that there was a pregnant woman in the house, and for a moment the gunfire ceased.

Then, two cops came into the room and lifted Deborah off the bed. She looked over her shoulder. The last thing she saw was Fred, flat on his back, still asleep. One of the Panthers tried shaking him, but he was limp and unresponsive. And that's when Deborah realized Fred had to have been drugged. That was the only possible explanation for why he hadn't moved a muscle through all the gunfire and chaos. She didn't understand how it could have happened.

Fred was so careful about what he drank and ate. As the police walked her down the hallway, Deborah tried to keep it together. She told herself to keep breathing, to protect the baby at all costs, to fight the panic rising in her chest. She looked into the eyes of the policemen rushing into the apartment, trying to memorize their badge numbers and faces. She wanted to know exactly who was doing this to her family and make sure they paid for it. One of the cops threw her bathrobe open and said, What do you know? We have a broad here. Then police rushed into their bedroom where Fred was still unconscious. Two gunshots rang out.

Deborah heard someone say, He's good and dead now. The following afternoon, on December 4th, Jeff Haas was at the police station. He was fuming. He'd been trying to see Deborah and the other Panthers who'd been arrested in the raid. But the sergeant on duty told him the Panthers weren't allowed to see anyone, not even lawyers. Jeff argued that was illegal, but the sergeant didn't care.

That morning, Jeff had heard two cops being interviewed on the radio. They said they were part of the raid that killed Fred Hampton. They'd come to his apartment with a warrant, and the Panthers had started firing shots. By the time they got into Fred's bedroom, he was already dead. Jeff knew instinctively that this was a lie. The Panthers would never open fire on police without provocation. After making a special call to a contact at the State Attorney's office, Jeff finally got past the Sergeant. He was led into a small, windowless room with a wooden table in the

middle and a two-sided mirror on the wall. Jeff sat down, and a moment later, Deborah Johnson, a woman he had never met, was brought in. Deborah was shaking and her face was stained with tears. She looked exhausted as she dropped down into a chair. Jeff introduced himself and explained he was with the people's law office, that he'd like to help her if he could. He wanted to make sure that she and the baby were okay. He knew that Deborah was new any day now. Deborah told him that Fred wouldn't wake up.

The entire bed was shaking from bullets hitting the frame, but he just lay there without moving. She said he must have been drugged. Jeff agreed. The question was how. Jeff already knew that the police were tailing Fred and listening in on his phone calls, but now he had to wonder, could they have flipped one of the Panthers and gotten them to drug Fred the night of the raid? Jeff couldn't voice his suspicions, the police were listening in on him and Debra. But by the way Debra was looking at him, he suspected that she

was thinking the same thing. A few weeks later, Jeff stood in his office going over the results of a private autopsy report that his firm had ordered for Fred. After his ordeal at the police station and the way Fred's death was being talked about on the news, Jeff knew that the police were spinning lies to make the Panthers seem like criminals. It was time to take things into his own hands. The cops still maintained that the Panthers had been the first to shoot at them. But now Jeff had evidence to prove that wasn't true.

The day of Fred's murder, one of Jeff's partners had the presence of mind to run over to Fred's house and take video footage. He counted around 90 shots coming into the house from outside where the police were standing. Only one single bullet came from inside from a Panther gun. Even if the Panthers had fired first, a single bullet didn't warrant 90 in return. To Jeff, it was clear that the cops had instigated the bloodshed. But the real smoking gun was the autopsy report in Jeff's hands. It said that Fred was shot twice, at point blank range. This wasn't the case of a stray bullet, it was an execution. And most startling of all was the final note left by the coroner, that a large amount of

a sleeping pill called Secobarbital had been found in Fred's system. Fred didn't use drugs, which meant someone drugged him earlier that night. And based on how careful Fred was, the person who slipped him the drug was likely someone he trusted. On May 8th, 1970, six months after Fred's death, Jeff sat in a courtroom with his legal partners. In the row behind them sat Debra and the other Panthers who'd been arrested during the raid. They'd all been indicted with at least one count of attempted murder, one count of armed violence, and several weapons counts.

Jeff was proud to be one of the lawyers representing them. From the get-go, Jeff and his partners knew that if the Panthers wanted to win over a jury, they would have to win over the public first. They encouraged the Panthers to speak to the media, to tell their side of the story, in the hopes that it would drum up public support and turn the spotlight on Chicago PD. The Panthers didn't hold back. They gave tours of Fred and Deborah's destroyed apartment.

Giant crowds came to see the bloody mattress and bullet-riddled walls for themselves. 5,000 people came to Fred's funeral the week after he was killed. Support swelled for Deborah and her newborn son, Fred Hampton Jr., who was born on December 29th, just 25 days after his father's murder. Someone called Fred's murder a northern lynching, and the phrase caught on. Someone called Fred's murder a northern lynching, and the phrase caught on. Now, two months later, as Jeff sat in the courtroom, he hoped that their media campaign was enough to keep the Panthers out of prison. He heard people whispering, Power to the People, around the room, as though encouraging one

another to keep the faith. Bill O'Neill gave Jeff a salute from his place in the audience. They were all in this together. The judge entered and everyone rose. Jeff took a deep breath, readying himself for a fight. But instead, the opposing council announced that they were dismissing the indictment. Their evidence against the Panthers was insufficient, so they were no longer pressing charges. The case was dropped, and the Panthers were free to go. Jeff was shocked. He looked at Debra, who was too stunned to speak. For a moment, everyone just stared at one another in disbelief. They had spent months preparing for this trial, building a defense, and readying the Panthers to fight for their lives, and now they were just free to go?

For a moment, he wondered if the bad press had been so intense that the prosecution had decided to drop the case. As the news sunk in, Deborah and the others began hugging one another in relief. And that's when Jeff had a brainwave. What if the prosecution had dropped the case because they were hiding something? If the trial were to move forward, the police would have to reveal the names of any informants they were working with. Maybe, just maybe, they were dismissing the case because they didn't want to reveal their source. The same source who told them where Fred was going to be that night.

Maybe even the same source who had slipped something into his drink. And now that the case was dismissed, Jeff doubted he would ever know the truth. Three years later, on a cold Saturday morning in February 1973, Jeff was in his kitchen pouring himself a cup of coffee. He grabbed the newspaper off the table and saw the day's headline. It read, Informer, Aids, FBI. He turned to the story and nearly dropped his coffee in shock. The article named Bill O'Neill, Fred's former chief of security, as an FBI

informant who had been working with the Feds since 1968. On the next page, Jeff saw Bill's familiar face. He was Fred's friend, his bodyguard. Jeff felt a rush of fury as he realized that Bill, the man Fred trusted with his life, had to be reporting Fred's movements back to the FBI. That's how they knew where Fred was on the night they raided his apartment, and that's how drugs made their way into Fred's drink. Jeff remembered how Bill had sobbed after Fred died. He now realized that this hadn't been a display of grief, but of guilt.

Bill, the lovable loudmouth, had been a spy the entire time and he had gotten Fred Hampton killed. Jeff didn't want to believe it, but the more he thought about it, the more it began to make sense. After all, Bill never attended Fred's lectures on Panther politics because he didn't really care about the mission. Yet he always pushed for the Panthers to be more militaristic. He carried a gun himself and tried to get them to commit crimes.

Jeff now realized that Bill had been trying to set them up, to give police just cause to arrest them, to harass and kill them. It was genius, and that made Jeff feel sick. On the night of the raid, Bill had been one of the last Panthers at the apartment before Fred and Deborah went to sleep. It would have been only too easy for him to slip sleeping pills into Fred's drink, and Fred never would have suspected Bill. He was his bodyguard, his last line of defense, the man who was supposed to shield him from danger. After the newspaper article outed Bill as an informant, Jeff and his partners took the

Chicago Police Department to court for Fred's wrongful death and the unlawful raid. The trial lasted 18 months, and throughout that time, the FBI remained uncooperative about handing over documents. The trial ended with a deadlocked jury. But three years later, in April 1979, an appeals court called for the lawsuit to be heard again. That's when Chicago PD chose to settle the case out of court instead. Bill O'Neill was overwhelmed with guilt for his part in Fred's death. It would follow him for the rest of his life. In 1989, Bill gave an interview for a television documentary about Fred Hampton. He talked about what it was like to embed himself in the Panthers as an FBI

informant. And in January 1990, Bill O'Neill committed suicide. In November 1982, almost 13 years after Fred was murdered, Deborah Johnson left a meeting with Fred's family and her lawyers. After Fred was murdered, Debra Johnson left a meeting with Fred's family and her lawyers. The Chicago PD was awarding them $1.85 million to be split between her, the other survivors of the raid, and Fred's family for damages. Of course, it was no consolation for the hell they had all gone through, and the loss they had sustained. The police had robbed Debra of her partner and her son, Fred Jr., of the chance to meet his father.

No amount of money could erase the pain of Fred's death or the echoes of trauma that haunted them all for the rest of their lives. Like Muhammad Ali and many other black power activists in the 1960s and 70s, Deborah changed what she called her slave name and started going by Akua Ingeri. Akua went on to become an activist and an author. She taught Fred Jr. about his father's mission, the cause he was killed for. In 2021, the mother and son raised the funds to buy and restore Hampton Senior's boyhood

home in Maywood, Illinois. The goal was to grant the building landmark status and to refurbish it as a museum. In the end, it became much more than that. It served as a community meeting place and education center, a place where like-minded people could come together and study Hampton's mission. A little more than a year later, on September 4th, 2023, Akua and her son returned to the site where Fred Sr. was shot and killed at 2337 West Monroe Street. But this time, they were accompanied by Chicago Mayor Brandon Johnson. He proclaimed that Fred Senior's birthday, August 30th, would now be known as Chairman Fred Hampton Day

in the city of Chicago. When Mayor Johnson handed a coup of the proclamation, she wept as the crowd began to chant, Long live Chairman Fred. Fred. winning Wondery+, in the Wondery app or on Apple Podcasts. Before you go, tell us about yourself by completing a short survey at Wondery.com slash survey. From Ballin Studios and Wondery, this is Redacted, Declassified Mysteries, hosted by me, Luke Lamanna. A quick note about our stories. We do a lot of research, but some details and scenes are dramatized.

We used many different sources for our show, but we especially recommend The Assassination of Fred Hampton, How the FBI and the Chicago Police Murdered a Black Panther by Jeffrey Haas, interviews with Deborah published by Washington University in St. Louis, and articles in Slate, Esquire, and the Village Free Press. This episode was written by Aaron Land. Sound design by Ryan Potesta. Our producers are Christopher B. Dunn and John Reed.

Our associate producers and researchers are Sarah Vytak and Teja Pelikanda. Fact checking by Brian Ponent. For Balland Studios, our head of production is Zach Levitt. Script Editing by Scott Allen. Our coordinating producer is Samantha Collins. Production Support by Avery Siegel. Produced by me, Luke Lamanna. Executive producers are Mr. Bollin and Nick Witters. For Wondery, our head of sound is Marcelino Villalpando. Senior producers are Loredana Palavota, Dave Schilling, and Rachel Engelman. Senior managing producer is Nick Ryan.

Managing producer is Olivia Fonte. Executive producers are Aaron O'Flaherty and Marshall Louis. For Wondery.