On the morning of September 7, under the warm Texas sun, Andrew James Wimsatt did something unremarkable and profoundly human: he went to visit his elderly mother at a nursing home, then found a quiet park bench in Round Rock, Texas, to sit for a few minutes. He was 62 years old, a retired civil engineer with a doctorate, a man who had spent his life building things and caring for people. He had no idea that he was being watched, and no reason to fear the stranger who would approach him from behind. Within minutes of sitting down, surveillance video captured another man grabbing Wimsatt from behind and repeatedly driving a knife into his neck. Wimsatt struggled, but the attack was swift and merciless. The assailant wiped blood from his shirt, walked away, and left a beloved man dying on the ground in broad daylight. It was a random act of violence, a senseless explosion of cruelty that turned an ordinary errand of love into a tragedy no one could have predicted.
The man accused of this killing is Benedict Chinedu Ogbodiegwu, a 26-year-old local resident with a long history of run-ins with the law. According to the Williamson County Sheriff’s Office, Ogbodiegwu was arrested on murder and theft charges after investigators matched fingerprints, recovered bloody clothing, and found what they believe to be the murder weapon. When confronted with the evidence, Ogbodiegwu allegedly claimed he had a twin brother, but could not provide that brother’s name. His criminal record in Williamson County stretches back to at least 2017, with arrests involving theft and carrying fake identification. This year alone, he had been arrested twice before, and he had spent time in the county jail from January to April. He was released on June 9, just three months before Wimsatt’s murder. For those who loved Andrew Wimsatt, the hardest part is not just the loss—it is the feeling that this could have been prevented, that the system meant to protect the public failed at a critical moment. Ogbodiegwu is now being held on a $1 million bond, with a court date scheduled for October 8, but no legal proceeding can undo the devastation left behind.
Andrew Wimsatt was not a public figure, but he was a man of remarkable depth and quiet accomplishment. He earned a Ph.D. in civil engineering and worked for years at the Texas A&M Transportation Institute, where he remained part-time even after retirement. His professional life was rooted in logic and structure, but his personal life was filled with art, curiosity, and an almost childlike wonder at the world around him. His Instagram account was a curated gallery of wildlife photographs, vintage storefronts, and city landscapes—snapshots of beauty in the everyday. He also had a creative side that led him to be credited as an executive producer on “Director’s Cut,” a horror/comedy film starring Penn Jillette. He was not the kind of man who sought fame or attention; he was the kind of man who supported others’ work because he genuinely loved it. He gave his time, his energy, and his encouragement freely, often behind the scenes, never asking for anything in return. His friends describe him as someone who took care of his mother, who was always positive, who had a giant laugh that seemed to fill any room he was in.
That quiet generosity is how Andrew Wimsatt came to be connected with several Fox News personalities. Greg Gutfeld first met Wimsatt when the engineer became a fan of “Red Eye,” the late-night talk show Gutfeld hosted. Wimsatt would clip segments from the show and share them, and he began attending Gutfeld’s live events. Gutfeld admitted that he was initially suspicious of the attention, assuming people usually do things because they want something in return. But he soon realized he was wrong. “I was wrong with Andrew. He did stuff for people — lots of people — because he enjoyed being of service, and promoting stuff that he genuinely enjoys and believes in,” Gutfeld told Fox News Digital. Wimsatt was not a fan seeking favors; he was a friend who found joy in lifting others up. He became a familiar presence in the “Gutfeld!” orbit, known for sending TV clips to members of the cast, always paying attention, always thinking of others. His kindness was so consistent that it became a part of the rhythm of their lives, something they could count on in a world that often felt chaotic and cold.
Kat Timpf, another “Gutfeld!” regular, described Wimsatt as “a fan who became a friend,” and not just to her, but to her entire family. They had lunch together in Fort Worth in June, and she had been looking forward to seeing him at a show in Nevada later that month. In the aftermath of his death, she reflected on how he supported her during the darkest moments of her career, when the internet seemed to pile on and hope felt out of reach. “He was so kind and generous it almost seems impossible,” she said. “He always supported me… whether that was sending me clips I wanted to post or offering truly helpful words of encouragement during the times throughout my career that the internet was piling on me.” They spoke regularly, sometimes once a week or more, for years. In a world where friendship is often transactional, Wimsatt was the opposite: he gave without expectation, listened without judgment, and reminded people of the good that still existed. Tyrus, another Fox News personality, knew Wimsatt as a supporter of his standup comedy shows. He remembered him as a gentle, fragile-looking man with a monster laugh, someone who took care of his mother and always saw the positive in people. “I was honored to know him,” Tyrus said. “I was honored he cared so much and honored that my jokes and thoughts brought him joy.”
The loss of Andrew Wimsatt has left a hole that cannot be filled. On Labor Day, a witness called 911 after finding him on the ground in the park, but paramedics pronounced him dead at the scene. His murder was so violent, so brutal, that it defies comprehension. Greg Gutfeld put it plainly: “The crime, to me, is so heinous and shocking that I’m still trying to comprehend it. I may never.” He spoke of the senselessness of it all—a kind, generous man, nearly beheaded in a park on a sunny morning, for no reason, just because. He also voiced the anger that many feel, saying, “I believe everyone who allowed the person who killed him to roam free like that deserve severe accountability.” It is a call for justice, not only for Andrew Wimsatt, but for all the victims of random violence whose lives are stolen by repeat offenders who slip through the cracks. In the end, Andrew Wimsatt’s story is not just about how he died, but about how he lived: with kindness, with generosity, with an open heart. He was a man who visited his mother, who cheered on his friends, who found beauty in a vintage storefront and shared laughter with everyone around him. He did not deserve to die alone on a park bench. And while the world may never fully understand why this happened, those who loved him will carry forward the lesson he taught them—that being of service to others, with no expectation of return, is the most meaningful thing any of us can do.
