A story about a kid named Wade

Wade was born in 1976 in Nashville Tennessee and was the oldest in his family. He was a good kid who had a future that was almost as bright as him. His family moved to North Carolina and during his tenure at high school he was an honor student, athlete, editor of the yearbook and a gifted writer. In early 1996, he composed an essay the celebrated what he felt was the greatest gift one could have in a free world. I recently read this piece and was blown away by its simplicity, passion and brilliance.

It rings familar for me as I am sure it did for every judge it came across when it was entered into that year’s national essay contest for high school students. It was co-sponsored by the Voice of America and National Endowment for the Humanities. The piece titled ‘Fancy Clothes and Overalls’ is a moving piece, powerful with its message and hits home to anyone who appreciates their rights. It’s not very big, but posted below this paragraph is the essay that made Wade a national finalist that year and earned him a trip to Washington D.C. to meet some very important people:

FANCY CLOTHES AND OVERALLS

A little boy and his father walk into a firehouse. He smiles at people standing outside. Some hand pamphlets to his father. They stand in line. Finally, they go together into a small booth, pull the curtain closed, and vote. His father holds the boy up and shows him which levers to move.

“We’re ready, Wade. Pull the big lever now.”

With both hands, the boy pulls the lever. There it is: the sound of voting. The curtain opens. The boy smiles at an old woman leaving another booth and at a mother and daughter getting into line. He is not certain exactly what they have done. He only knows that he and his father have done something important. They have voted.

This scene takes place all over the country.

“Pull the lever, Yolanda.”

“Drop the ballot in the box for me, Pedro.”

Wades, Yolandas, Pedros, Nikitas, and Chuis all over the United States are learning the same lesson: the satisfaction, pride, importance, and habit of voting. I have always gone with my parents to vote. Sometimes lines are long. There are faces of old people and young people, voices of native North Carolinians in southern drawls and voices of naturalized citizens with their foreign accents. There are people in fancy clothes and others dressed in overalls. Each has exactly the same one vote. Each has exactly the same say in the election. There is no place in America where equality means as much as in the voting booth.

My father took me that day to the firehouse. Soon I will be voting. It is a responsibility and a right. It is also an exciting national experience. Voters have different backgrounds, dreams, and experiences, but that is the whole point of voting. Different voices are heard.

As I get close to the time I can register and vote, it is exciting. I become one of the voices. I know I will vote in every election. I know that someday I will bring my son with me and introduce him to one of the great American experiences: voting.

I’m sure many of you are thinking the same thing I did when I first read this amazing piece of work. Wade had composed a brilliant piece that not only captures the essence of our democratic rights, but the pride one feels as those rights are exercised and then passed proudly from one generation to another. As a father who has taken his children to the polls ever time I’ve gone to cast my ballot, sometimes when the weather was less than pleasant, it was a theme that hit home and even brought a tear to my eye. That year in 1996, Wade went on a trip to Washington D.C. as a national finalist for the above essay. He met his state’s Senator, Mr. Jesse Helms during that trip, and was honored at the White House with the other finalists by the First Lady of the United States, Hillary Clinton.

Wade’s essay is just a shimmer of the brilliance many people believed he had. No one ever got a chance to see how bright this star was able to shine as he died on April 4th that same year, at the age of 16. A strong wind swept his jeep off a highway only three weeks after his trip to the nation’s capital. His school and family were devastated, and rightly so. I doubt anyone who had the privledge of knowing him would ever be able to get over this horrific loss. Wade seemed to be the kind of person that could have risen to anything had he simply wanted it, and it’s a true shame society was denied the chance to witness what that could have been.

After his death, Senator Helms, who Wade had met less than a month prior to his passing, gave his eulogy on the floor. Helms also entered Wade’s obituary and essay into the congressional record. Wade is buried at the historic Oakwood Cemetary, the resting place of seven governors and numerous U.S. Senators.

One thing that crossed my mind as I was reading Wade’s essay and about his trek to the nation’s capital was this: does Hillary remember him? I know he was one of ten who the White House was celebrating for their inspiring compositions, but does she remember that one who was wrongfully taken away from this world too soon? I’m not sure, it was a very long time ago, but that was the question that rattled the fragile noodle that dwells between my ears. The reason why I was curious concerning the answer is because Hillary knows his Dad. They know each other quite well, at least professionally.

The writer of the above essay was Lucius Wade Edwards. That last name should sound familiar because his father’s name is John… and right now he’s running for President of the United States.

Sources:

– The Wade Edwards Learning Lab

– http://www.findagrave.com/cgi-bin/fg.cgi?page=sh&GRid=8442204&