Gone Too Soon

A Bridge to Hell

I lifted the recent photo from my office desk and thought of my great day with my children. We had spent the last days of summer together on Lake Keowee boating. We didn't know it would be the last day the three of us spent together. Though imperfect at times, they had overcome and survived the antics and hazards of their teen years.

My twenty-year-old son, Hampton, was on a fast track to maturity, excelling in second-year mechatronics at Greenville Technical College. He was content and on a path to succeed in school and work. The previous years had been tough. A debilitating shoulder injury had ended his dream of a college football career, and his best friend Cory had been killed. Looking back, he was stronger than I could have ever been at that age. Hampton aided Cory's parents in their grief with his presence. He stayed with them many nights while working at the Sealed Air Corporation and attending class. I was proud of the man he had become.

Victoria, my eighteen-year-old daughter, was a volleyball beast who had broken high school records and received dozens of statewide awards. Twice, her blistering strikes had skittered off the floor (inbounds) to the gym wall, busted the protective cover, and set off the fire alarm. Recruited by many large universities, I was elated when she chose Augusta University in Augusta, Georgia, a smaller school. Victoria was a get-out-of-my-way go-getter. I have told many in jest, "Victoria will either be a convicted felon or the CEO of a major company, I'm not sure which. The jury is still out, but I hope the latter." I was proud of her for defeating an athlete's academic challenges while training six days a week. Her sacrifices had set her on a solid path to a bright future.

Setting the photo down, I thought, life is good; I'm so blessed, as I returned to the busyness of the day at the automotive dealership I managed. I didn't know this moment marked the end of my life as I knew it. The next sixty seconds would transform my world, and I would never be the same.

While reviewing a transaction at the sales desk, Victoria's photo populated my cell phone screen, and I answered her call.

"Hello Sugar bear," I said.

"Dad, I just got a phone call from a high school friend that Hampton's been in an auto accident and is being airlifted to Greenville Memorial."

"What happened? No one's called me."

"I don't know Dad. I'm scared. They couldn't tell me anything else. I'm coming home."

"Stay put Victoria. I will find out and call you back."

Stunned, a mental bomb exploded inside me with its shrapnel of panic. I ran to my truck and fought to breathe after fumbling with the key to start the engine. I slung my truck onto the highway and sped towards Greenville Memorial Hospital, forty-five minutes away. My mind scrambled as I called his mother, but there was no answer. I called the hospital Emergency room, but there was no answer. On the third try, they answered.

"Yes, your son is here."

"No, we can't tell you anything over the phone. It's hospital policy."

Driving like a madman, I pleaded aloud,

"Please God, let my boy be okay. Please."

Traffic came to a hard stop, and I sat there with an ocean of cars and semi-trucks in front and behind me. Trapped, I cried and begged while I slammed my palms against the steering wheel. I jerked the gear into park an hour later, hopped out the door, and sprinted for the emergency room entrance. A woman who didn't look like a nurse identified me and led me to a conference room.

"Where's my son? How is he?"

"Wait here, Mr. Wade, as she opened the door where his mother, my ex-wife, waited.

"The trauma Doctor will come speak with you both in a moment."

A minute later, a doctor stepped into the room and said,

"Mr. and Mrs. Wade, the medivac chopper staff did all they could. Your son died in transit to the Trauma center. There was nothing we could do. I'm sorry."

My son's dead resounded in my head and crushed my soul like a ton of bricks. Just twenty years earlier, Doctors had told me, 'Congratulations, you have a fine healthy son, eight pounds and ten ounces,' generating joy, amazement, and delight. Now, the same people are saying, 'He's dead, there was nothing we could do.' I fell to the floor on all fours and couldn't breathe as my heart hammered in my chest. A voice wailed like a wounded wolf, and I realized it was my own. Disbelief and shock stabbed me like a knife in the chest. My beautiful boy was gone.

One minute, I had reminisced about our grand day on the lake, and the next, my life was shattered into a thousand pieces. My girlfriend, my rock, arrived with her son, and they became a crutch, a thread, a connection to the world of the living. They guided me gently through a black fog where the sun no longer existed. Emotionally paralyzed for days, I became virtually blind, deaf, and dumb.

***

The Funeral

Four days later, having felt compelled to speak for my son and be his voice, I did the hardest thing I have ever done and spoke for him at his funeral.

(Eulogy unedited)

For my family, I thank each of you for being here today and for your love, concern, sympathy, empathy and support. It's not a day we chose to share, but tragic circumstances have brought us together. Today, as Hampton's father, I want to speak for him. I want to be his voice. So, as I speak, I want you to hear Hampton and what he wants to say to you. As you know, Hampton saw things as black or white and not much in the gray zone. So, some of his words may be difficult for you.

Dear friends,

I want to talk to you about the difference one minute and 60 seconds can make.

On November 20th, 1997, I was in the darkness of my mother's womb. She had been pushing hard for a long time. And we were both getting really tired. The Dr didn't realize that the cord was wrapped around my neck and I was trapped. One minute, I didn't know if I would make it. Things were looking a bit grim when the Dr realized the problem and cut the cord, and 60 seconds later, I was in this world. And the adventure of my life in it had begun.

On March 10th, 2000. One minute, I was an only child. Enjoying life with my parents. My room had precious moment sports figures that were pretty cool on the walls. And I had my parents to myself. Then, 60 seconds later, my sister Victoria Wade was born. And oh my, did she come into the world. As we grew up, She followed me everywhere and wanted to do everything I did. Football, no problem. 4-wheeler, here she comes. As siblings, we competed and squabbled, but only we could and no one else. I taught her to drive a speed boat on Lake Keowee this summer. Amazing the difference in 60 Seconds. That was a good day.

I had dreams and goals of playing College football. I worked super hard in the weight room. I played hard on the field as I loved the sport. And I loved my Woodmont High School, my teammates, and my coaches. On October 31st, 2014, my junior year in High school, I was excited because I was starting as an outside linebacker and was ready to play. One minute, I was having the time of my life and made a flying tackle 5 yards behind the Greenville Raiders line, dropping their running back for a loss. 60 Seconds later, I was in agony because I had totally dislocated my shoulder. And my Season was over because it required extended surgery to repair. It's crazy the difference 60 seconds can make. And my dream of college football was over.

One year later, almost to the day on October 30th, 2015, after recovering from major surgery and rehab and having lost 40 pounds of muscle, I had fought back and worked hard to earn a starting spot in the Safety position. We were playing the Greenville Raiders again. I was pumped up and excited to be there. On a 3 and 8 play, I popped the Raider running back with a jarring tackle, but something snapped in my shoulder. It was painful, but I wanted to play and popped it back in. 4 plays later, on another hit, my shoulder came out of the socket again, but I popped it back in. On the next series, I was back on the field. So, one minute, though my shoulder was hurting badly, I set for the next play when the Raider running back broke through the front line. I dropped him in hard, but 60 seconds later, I was in excruciating pain because my shoulder had dislocated entirely again. And it wouldn't go back in. Football was over. Playing for my team was over.

Amazing the difference 60 Seconds can make.

October 20th, 2017

After a hard and difficult time, I reconnected with my friend of many years, Corey Rabb and friends. We were the Fabulous 5, including Corey, Caleb, Blake, Alex and myself. We spent the year taking things apart. Putting them back together. Learning, doing, helping and modifying my Frontier. We had made a pact, Family First! We were a family of Mechanics. Builders, problem solvers, helping others, and having fun!

One minute, on this Friday night, I was hanging out with friends and 60 seconds later, I was totally devastated when my phone rang ..... I was told my dear friend Corey Rabb, the leader of our pack, had been tragically killed helping push a car out of the road in Greer. One minute, Corey was alive and 60 Seconds later, because someone in the car wasn't paying attention, it struck him, and Corey was dead. 60 seconds of not paying attention and being careless took the life of my dear friend.

September 27th, 2018

Riding my motorcycle over the last year with Caleb and friends had become my freedom. My relief from stress. I had just finished class. One minute, I was cruising down W Ga Road and crossed an intersection. 60 seconds later, that all changed.

The road was clear when, out of nowhere, suddenly, a White Honda Civic moved into my path, striking the front of my motorcycle! The bike's front end collapsed instantly, and my body was thrown into the side of the Civic, crushing my chest and entire abdomen. The pain was excruciating as the breath was forced from my lungs. My body was thrown back from the combined force of my speed and the Civics, and I hit the pavement on my back. 60 seconds later, I was dying!

Someone in a hurry couldn't wait 60 Seconds to get somewhere. They couldn't wait 60 seconds to let us pass through. They couldn't wait 60 Seconds to make their left turn. Someone traded 60 seconds for my life and killed me!!!!

What about you here today?

Is 60 seconds ... worth killing someone?

Is 60 seconds ...worth hurting someone?

What is the world coming to where the value of life is so cheap? That one minute, 60 seconds, can be selfishly cashed in for a life.

The final thing I want to tell you about is my life's most important 60 seconds. I had asked my Dad what it meant to be saved. He took me into the backyard, and we sat together, and he told me the Gospel story, and I listened. He explained the sinner's prayer and asked me if I believed and wanted to pray it with him. I said ...yes !!

One minute, I was not under God's grace, and I wasn't going to heaven, but 60 seconds later, after praying with my Dad, I was saved ... and today I am in heaven!! It's amazing the difference 60 seconds can make.

Those 60 seconds and that prayer to God gave me eternity in heaven. I'm with Corey, my MaMa, and many others who have gone before me. And You can count on one thing for sure.....we are riding the streets of Gold!

God bless you all for coming. Don't worry about me. I'm in heaven! There is no pain. There is no suffering. There is only peace and joy.

60 seconds - it really is a Choice !!!!!

Please .... please ....choose wisely!

Hampton Wade

I have loved you from the day I first saw you, son!

Till we meet again.

Dad

***

The Shock of Injustice

The following day, I visited the Simpsonville police department to inquire what charges were brought against James Ferguson, the man who had killed my son. Expecting a charge of Reckless Vehicular Homicide, I was shocked when I was told a traffic citation for Failure to Yield Right of Way had been issued. The penalty? A two hundred and thirty dollar fine. The investigator told me there was nothing else to charge him with. I received an incident report and learned the traffic court date was October 4th, one week after Hampton died.

Determined to advocate for Hampton, I arrived at the courthouse to confront my son's killer, but Ferguson wasn't there. I verified the fine had not been paid and returned to the police station to learn of any changes to the case. When I asked about a new court date, the investigator told me it had been changed, but he did not have to give me the new date. One week later, unbeknownst to me, Ferguson arrived in court with an attorney and requested the dismissal of the case. The Judge gave notice that she would dismiss once he took a defensive driving class. I learned later that the Simpsonville police supported the dismissal. When I confronted the investigator, he said, "Ferguson has suffered enough."

***

The Fight

The plan to dismiss the charges burned through the fog of grief and I began the fight. How could this be? Were the Judge and the police corrupt? How could you kill someone, receive a traffic ticket, block the victim's family from any notification of court dates, and get the charges dismissed? After making hundreds of phone calls to various officials, coroners, solicitors, S.C. Public Safety, and the head of S.C. State Troopers, I designed a plan to expose them all for Hampton to receive some form of justice. A petition garnered almost five thousand signatures, followed by a one hundred thousand piece email blast to residents of Simpsonville. I filed a thirteen-point grievance with the S.C. Governor's Ombudsman for Victim Advocacy. When I emailed a senior reporter for the Greenville News, he replied within a minute with, "This can't be possible." Two television news stations picked up the story and broadcast multiple interviews with me. A public protest on a rainy December day in front of City Hall brought a large crowd. Public pressure was building as thousands became angry at the injustice perpetrated.

A judicial angel aided me when I met with the Simpsonville Clerk of Court. Expecting another rejection for information on a new court date, I was humbled when Judge Feld responded,

"Mr. Wade, my husband was one of the first responders the day your son died on W. Georgia Rd. He was so upset when he came home I had to console him. This is not right what you are going through so I'm going to help you. They withheld material facts from the Judge. So, I will do what is in my power as an administrative Judge to rectify this. You are hereby subpoenaed to this case to not only be notified of any and all court dates but also to testify on your son Hampton's behalf. I'm sorry for your loss and the added insult of a failed system."

The Greenville News printed a front-page investigative story on December 20th, 2018, the new court date, indicting an unjust system. Hampton would have his day in court as I was authorized to speak for him. Under tremendous public pressure, the Simpsonville City Attorney removed the police officer from the case and took over the prosecution. The city reversed course and refused to accept dismissal. James Ferguson pleaded guilty, paid a two hundred and thirty dollar fine, and was penalized four points against his driver's license. When allowed by the Judge to speak, he said,

"I have nothing to say."

No apology. No, I'm sorry. Not a word. The Judge, who had been unaware in October of Hampton's death as a result of Ferguson's actions, held the Simpsonville police department and the defense attorney in contempt for withholding material facts. The case was closed, but this marked the beginning of the second half of my life.

***

My New Life

Grief is like a lifelong virus that never goes away. You can't kill it, but you can learn to manage it. Everyone grieves differently, and there is no timeline. I have learned to manage the loss of my son through the presence of my daughter, friends, and a great program called GriefShare. I highly recommend it to anyone.

I have spoken dozens of times around the state advocating for a change in the laws of S.C. Hundreds of perpetrators have had their cases dismissed by the same methodology. Many times, the victims' families were denied insurance claims as a result. Families find out too late that the people who killed their sons, daughters, husbands, and wives have had their cases dismissed. They are unaware that defense attorneys are working with investigators and insurance companies to manipulate the system to achieve dismissal. Do you require proof? Read below the commonplace excerpt from a S.C. Law Firm’s Website.

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How does Crangle Law Firm Help?

We've resolved dozens of failures to yield traffic tickets, leading to dismissal. We speak with the trooper, insurance companies, and witnesses. After discussing the case, we worked with the court to dismiss the ticket.

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Two legislative bills I pushed before the S.C. House Judiciary Committee died during COVID-19. New attempts to change the laws will be brought in 2024. S.C. ABATE, MADD (Mothers Against Drunk Drivers), and the National Safety Council have endorsed my cause in Hampton's name. S.C. ABATE funded a Gone Too Soon campaign, utilizing testimonial videos of victim family members to raise awareness, which was produced and launched in 2023. Hampton's story is the template. The National Safety Council has adopted them for a Prom Night campaign in 2024. Through grassroots social media and email, the brutal stories are being used to lobby members of the House and Senate for change.

SC ABATE - GONE TOO SOON VIDEO

Warning: This 3-minute video contains graphic imagery.

I ask you, reader: Are sixty seconds, or thirty, or ten, five or even one worth a life? What is lost if you arrive at your destination a minute later? The inscription engraved on Hampton's burial marker says Sixty seconds would have saved this life, and it would have.

My beautiful boy is dead, and I cannot bring him back. Still, I can and will fight for justice until my last dying breath, in Hampton's name, to make South Carolina's road safer and end the broken and corrupt system of vehicular homicide being forced into traffic court.

***

August, 2023

Back at my office desk, I had just gotten off the phone with Victoria, discussing her October wedding plans, when the phone rang. It was the legislative coordinator for S.C. ABATE and research staff from the S.C. Senate conferencing me in with a small group of elected officials. I lifted the photo from our last day together at the lake and thought,

For you, Hampton, this is my life until we meet again.

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