CHARLOTTE, NC (Scott Fowler/The Charlotte Observer) -
In 1999, they tried to kill Chancellor Lee Adams before he was born.
They conspired to commit murder – to shoot and kill his mother. That way the unborn baby’s life would end, too, and his father wouldn’t have to pay any child support. It was a horrific crime that altered Chancellor’s life forever and exposed us all to the dark side of professional sports.
And yet here is the son of former Carolina Panther first-round draft pick Rae Carruth. He is smiling, holding onto his grandmother’s arm and walking slowly toward the horse named “Raider” that he rides every week.
Chancellor turned 16 Monday. He already had his “Sweet 16” party. He got to have a magician and his favorite dessert – yellow cake, with strawberry mousse in the middle and whipped cream icing.
“Chancellor is not just surviving,” says his grandmother, Saundra Adams. “He is thriving.”
The boy they could not kill goes to high school in Charlotte now. Chancellor is 5-foot-4, about 7 inches shorter than his father. The two bear a stunning facial resemblance. But Chancellor has a dimple in his chin just like his mom and he also inherited her peaceful nature, Saundra Adams says.
Carruth – still in prison for hiring the hit man who killed Chancellor’s mother, Cherica Adams s a fleet wide receiver for the Panthers from 1997-99, Carruth used to make almost $40,000 per game.
Carruth, a native of Sacramento, Calif., is scheduled to get out of jail on Oct. 22, 2018. It may surprise you that Saundra Adams hopes Rae will be a part of his son’s life after that, although Rae and Chancellor haven’t seen each other in 15 years.
Chancellor has special needs. Owing to his traumatic birth, he has cerebral palsy. Loss of blood and oxygen the night of his birth caused him permanent brain damage. When he was born, he looked blue.
But the boy who wasn’t supposed to talk can communicate a little with people who don’t know him and a lot with people who do. The boy who wasn’t supposed to walk mostly uses a walker to get around now instead of a wheelchair, and he navigates steps without help.
“He’s able to feed himself some,” Adams says. “He’s able to dress himself with minimal assistance. And the biggest thing is he’s able to walk.”
Beside him, every step of the way, has been Adams. She has devoted the past 16 years mostly to taking care of her grandson, ever since she took him home from the hospital on New Year’s Eve 1999 – less than three weeks after Cherica Adams died in the hospital.
It is just the two of them now, living together in a home in Charlotte that is filled with pictures of Cherica, whom Chancellor calls “Mommy Angel.”
“I’ve never treated Chancellor like he’s disabled,” says Saundra Adams. “I treat him like he’s ‘abled’ differently.”
