The Atlanta Journal-Constitution
Carruth wanted to kill his unborn son who now turns 21
CHARLOTTE, N. C. — On Nov. 16, 1999, Chancellor Lee Adams was born in Charlotte, shortly after a hitman shot his mother, Cherica Adams, four times in a drive- by ambush.
His father, former Carolina Panther first- round draft pick Rae Carruth, would be convicted of masterminding the attempted murder of his own son by hiring the hitman who shot his pregnant girlfriend. Now it is November 2020. And the boy they couldn’t kill has become a young man who will celebrate his 21st birthday Monday.
“The 21st birthday is significant in any young man’s life, because that’s the transition from a boy to manhood,” said Saundra Adams, who has raised her grandson, Chancellor Lee, in Charlotte since his birth. “And I’m especially grateful. Because if I had listened to the prognosis of those doctors early on, we never would have been here today.”
For years during our interviews, Saundra Adams has referred to Chancellor Lee as her “miracle boy.” But as the three of us sat together at a north Charlotte park recently, she stopped herself from using the phrase again.
Said Adams: “Now he’s my miracle young man. ... And we are celebrating what we have ahead of us, instead of looking back on what we lost.”
Cherica Adams saved her son’s life on the night of his birth 21 years ago. Shot four times through her car window by hitman Van Brett Watkins, moaning in pain, Adams still managed to call 911 and direc t rescuers to exactly where she was.
Adams died four weeks later in the hospital, unable to recover from her wounds. Carruth panicked and fled inside the trunk of a friend’s Toyota Camry soon afterward, eventually being caught by the FBI in Tennessee.
But Chancellor Lee lived, thanks to that haunting, 12- minute emergency call his mother made — a call that both saved her son and implicated his father.
Chancellor Lee has struggled with cerebral palsy and permanent
brain damage owing to the traumatic circumstances of his birth. He was deprived of oxygen and blood during the chaotic minutes after his mother was shot just after midnight on Rea Road in Charlotte, not long after she and Carruth had gone to see the movie “The Bone Collector” together.
While some 21- year- olds are working or entering the latter stages of college, Chancellor Lee continues to work on buttoning his shirt without help. He usually speaks one or two words at a time — “Yeah” and “Thank you” are among the most common.
But the walker he once used regularly now has been almost retired. After years of physical therapy, he now walks with only his grandmother’s hand for support. And his beaming smile is a constant — what Saundra calls her grandson’s “Smile Ministry.” Over the past few months, when Chancellor Lee had to wear a COVID- mandated mask, people missed that smile so much that Saundra bought her grandson a clear mask to wear so the “Smile Ministry” could start ministering again.
Is he excited about his upcoming birthday?
“Yeah!” Chancellor Lee said.
Motive: Avoid child support
The point of shooting Cherica
Adams, prosecutors would later argue to the jury, was for Watkins to kill Chancellor Lee while he was still in the womb so that Carruth wouldn’t have to pay years of child support. The speedy wide receiver from Sacramento, Calif., already had another son by a different woman — his high school girlfriend — whom he was supporting, and injury problems were jeopardizing his longterm NFL prospects.
Chancellor Lee has been raised by his beloved “G- Mom” — Saundra Adams, Cherica’s mother and his grandmother — for his entire life. In their home, they refer to Cherica as “Mommy Angel.”
Cherica Adams was 24 when she died, barely three years older than her son is now. If she had survived the shooting, she would be 45 today. Saundra Adams said she often tries to imagine what her daughter would look like now, a melancholy process made easier by the fact that Cherica has a half- sister who is similar in age.
Saundra Adams long ago forgave Carruth for his sins, however, telling me once: “If I’m sitting around in unforgiveness, it’s like me drinking poison and hoping he’s going to die.”
Besides his milestone birthday, Chancellor Lee will reach another landmark in June 2021 when he graduates from high school. Saundra
Adams is waiting until then to have a party that will mark both accomplishments, hoping that a COVID19 vaccine will be widely available by that point. For Chancellor Lee’s birthday, they plan a quiet dinner at a Charlotte steakhouse.
Released from prison
Rae Carruth was released from a North Carolina prison in October 2018 after serving nearly 19 years for conspiring to murder Adams and other charges related to the shooting.
Carruth, who was the Panthers’ first- round draft pick out of Colorado in 1997, moved to Pennsylvania after his release. I found his address and tracked him down two years ago, ringing his doorbell, sitting with him at his spotless kitchen table and, over the next several weeks, eventually conducting the only interview he has given since he became a free man.
Carruth, now 46, couldn’t be reached for this story, however. And he hasn’t been in direct contact with the Adamses since he was released, according to Saundra Adams.
But 11 months ago, Carruth did reach out to his son i ndirectly through the Mecklenburg County court system, sending him a check for several thousand dollars. Carruth still technically owes the Adamses millions due to a judgment Saundra Adams won in 2003 for a wrongful death lawsuit she filed following the murder of her daughter. She said she hasn’t received any money or correspondence since December 2019 from Carruth.
The father and the son haven’t seen each other in the past 20 years, except through photos — and everyone who sees photos of Rae and Chancellor Lee is struck by their uncanny resemblance to each other.
Visit a possibility
Carruth and Adams have told me in separate interviews that they aren’t averse to a supervised visit between Carruth and Chancellor Lee, but neither side has actively pursued the idea since Carruth’s release.
Carruth wrote me in 2018 about a potential visit: “My only desire is for true forgiveness and a genuine opportunity to be a part of my son’s life. And out ( of ) respect for Ms. Adams and her feelings towards me, I have no plans of ever trying to force my way in. I’m going to be patient and give her the space she rightfully deserves.”
Said Adams this week: “I would expect now that it’s been two years since he’s been free that he’s moved on with his life. And we’ve moved on. ... We have so much ahead of us to be grateful for.”
Watkins, the hitman, is the only one of the four convicted co- conspirators who remains in prison for the crimes of 1999. He isn’t scheduled to be released until 2041.
But Carruth was released in 2018 because of the jury’s mixed- message verdict in 2001 after his nationally televised trial: He was convicted of conspiracy to commit murder but acquitted of first- degree murder. In prison, he stayed busy as a prison barber.
Adams came to terms with that sentence, even though it was shorter than she would have liked. She still firmly believes Carruth orchestrated the murder of Cherica Adams, her only biological child.
Carruth has never admitted to ordering the hit; his defense team advanced a theory that Watkins murdered Adams as retribution for a drug deal gone sour. In a letter he sent to me once, Carruth, an English major at the University of Colorado, wrote: “In every great piece of literature, there’s always a protagonist and an antagonist. ... The latter applies to me — and that’s something that will never change. ... There’s absolutely nothing that I could ever say or do to right my wrongs. ... To no longer be ‘ the bad guy.’”
Watkins insisted in court, however, and in a later three- hour jailhouse interview we did in 2018, as well as numerous letters, that Carruth hired him for the murder. He still is furious with Carruth. “I want him dead,” Watkins told me. Saundra Adams does not.
“He’s paid his debt to society,” Adams said of Carruth, who at one point during his Panthers career made about $ 40,000 per game. “The biggest price was when he first went to prison. It was the death of the ( NFL) lifestyle that he knew.”