Charles Leto Obituary, Death Investigation: 55-Year-Old Chicago Park District Lifeguard Charged with First-Degree Murder in Douglass Park Pool Shooting That Killed 15-Year-Old Marjay Dotson, Critically Injured Another Teen Cousin of Laquan McDonald, As City Officials Scramble to Support Community and Determine Motive

In a tragic and deeply disturbing incident that has left the city of Chicago reeling, a 55-year-old lifeguard employed by the Chicago Park District, Charles Leto, has been charged with first-degree murder, attempted first-degree murder, aggravated battery, and aggravated discharge of a firearm following a deadly shooting that occurred just after 7 p.m. on Thursday evening near the Douglass Park pool. The shooting resulted in the death of 15-year-old Marjay Dotson and left another 14-year-old boy—identified by family members as a cousin of Laquan McDonald—critically injured after both were gunned down in a sudden and unprovoked act of violence that authorities say was carried out by a man entrusted with ensuring public safety.

The shooting took place on the 1500 block of South Sacramento Drive, moments after the Douglass Park pool had closed for the day. It was a warm summer evening in a public space where families and young people routinely gather for recreation, swimming, and basketball. What should have been a routine end to a day at the park turned into a night of terror, grief, and unanswered questions when, according to police, Leto allegedly opened fire on two teenage boys near the basketball courts. One was struck in the neck. The other—Dotson—was shot in the back. Both were rushed to Stroger Hospital in serious condition, but only one survived.

As confirmation of the incident spread through official channels and social media, shock turned quickly to outrage. The Cook County Medical Examiner’s Office later identified the deceased teen as Marjay Dotson, a 15-year-old whose future was cut violently short. The other boy, just 14, underwent surgery and remains in critical condition, his family struggling to comprehend the horror of what transpired. In a sobering revelation, the family also disclosed that the injured teen is a cousin of Laquan McDonald—the 17-year-old whose 2014 fatal shooting by a Chicago police officer ignited national protests and became a catalyst for long-overdue conversations around systemic police violence, accountability, and justice reform.

Charles Leto’s arrest has intensified those conversations. A confirmed employee of the Chicago Park District, Leto also had connections to the Chicago Fire Department, with a source inside the department verifying his role. The image of a city worker—someone charged with the well-being of children and the safeguarding of public spaces—turning a weapon on minors has sent a chilling wave across communities already grappling with the complexities of violence, authority, and institutional trust.

While the precise motive remains unknown, a source familiar with the events stated that Leto had been repairing a bicycle near the pool just before the shooting. This detail, seemingly mundane, takes on ominous weight in the absence of a clear reason behind the violence. Why a lifeguard—unarmed and presumably off-duty, by nature of the pool’s closure—was in possession of a firearm and what exactly triggered the sudden aggression remain central questions in the investigation. Authorities have yet to provide an explanation.

The silence surrounding Leto’s motive is particularly unsettling given the serious and premeditated nature of the charges. First-degree murder, under Illinois law, implies intentional and willful action. Coupled with attempted murder and multiple felonies, the charges paint a picture of a deliberate act of violence, not a tragic accident or a momentary lapse in judgment. Yet, in the absence of a witness-provided rationale or a public statement from the suspect himself, what provoked the attack is left to the realm of speculation—and for the families involved, a tormenting lack of closure.

City officials, aware of the emotional gravity and potential social fallout, responded swiftly. Mayor Brandon Johnson, along with Chicago Park District Superintendent Carlos Ramirez-Rosa and 24th Ward Alderman Monique Scott, met with park staff and youth campers the following morning. Their presence was a visible gesture of solidarity, an attempt to restore some sense of community assurance in the wake of chaos. But gestures, however meaningful, are only a first step. As city agencies mobilized to provide crisis support, the Chicago Park District issued a public statement expressing sorrow and promising cooperation with the Chicago Police Department. The Douglass Park pool, a space meant for joy and communal gathering, was shuttered for the day—its closure emblematic of a deeper rupture.

“We are cooperating fully,” the Park District’s statement read, acknowledging both the pain inflicted and the institutional responsibility borne by an agency whose employee had become the source of that pain. The Chicago Department of Public Health has since been engaged to provide counseling and crisis response services to both staff and residents—an acknowledgment that trauma of this scale reverberates well beyond those directly involved.

That trauma has indeed rippled outward. The death of Marjay Dotson adds a name and face to a disturbing pattern of youth gun deaths in Chicago. While the city has made incremental gains in curbing overall violence, children and teenagers continue to bear a disproportionate share of the burden. The fact that Dotson was allegedly killed not by a stranger or a gang member, but by a public employee, deepens the collective anguish. For residents already wary of institutional trust—particularly in the aftermath of cases like Laquan McDonald—this tragedy reopens wounds still raw, still unresolved.

The presence of a familial link between the injured teen and McDonald further complicates the narrative. McDonald’s 2014 death, captured on police dashcam footage and followed by a 13-month delay in filing charges, became emblematic of a broken justice system. His story galvanized nationwide protests, led to the conviction of Officer Jason Van Dyke, and prompted changes in Chicago’s oversight mechanisms. Now, in 2024, his cousin lies in a hospital bed, gravely wounded in a shooting perpetrated by another figure of municipal authority. The cruel symmetry between the two cases underscores the cyclical nature of trauma in under-served communities and the ongoing struggle to prevent history from repeating itself.

At the center of it all remains Charles Leto, now in custody, facing the full weight of the criminal justice system. His bond hearing was scheduled for Sunday, and though prosecutors have yet to present a full timeline of events or outline their case, the charges alone suggest they believe the incident was more than a spontaneous outburst. The inclusion of aggravated battery and aggravated discharge of a firearm suggests that multiple shots may have been fired, and that the act targeted both boys intentionally. Whether mental health concerns, personal disputes, or some unknown provocation played a role is not yet known—but such assessments will likely feature in both legal arguments and public debate.

The broader implications for city policy and public trust are profound. As investigations continue, Chicagoans are left to wrestle with pressing questions: How was a Park District lifeguard able to carry a firearm on or near municipal property? Was there any prior disciplinary history or behavioral red flags involving Leto that were overlooked? How thoroughly are employees who interact with minors vetted for behavioral or psychological stability? These questions will haunt city leadership as they work to reassure a shaken public and reinforce safety protocols that clearly failed in this instance.

As the Douglass Park pool remains closed and investigators continue to interview witnesses, review security footage, and gather forensic evidence, the community is left to mourn a young life lost and another left hanging in the balance. The image of two teenagers, gunned down in the place where they came to play, is one that will not be easily forgotten. It speaks to the fragility of peace in public spaces and the deep vulnerability of youth in a city still healing from past scars.

The investigation remains active, and more information will likely emerge in the coming days. For now, what remains is a city in mourning, a family demanding justice, and a public institution facing a reckoning over the conduct of one of its own. Marjay Dotson’s name now joins the somber list of young victims whose stories demand not only remembrance but action. The surviving teen’s path to recovery—physical, emotional, and psychological—will be long, and his family’s sorrow is amplified by the cruel history that now binds him to his cousin’s legacy.

Whether justice, in this case, can provide even a sliver of peace remains uncertain. But what is certain is that the wounds of Thursday evening’s shooting will not heal quickly—nor should they. For it is in remembering, in reckoning, and in reforming that a city can hope to prevent another life from being lost in the very places designed to offer safety, community, and joy.