Chris Wright was my first friend. We met on the playground at St. Timothy’s Preschool in 1988 and formed a bond that would last nearly four decades. I’m an only child – and to me, he was more like a brother in every way but blood.
The night before he was killed, we shared a meal at Main Street Meats – swapping stories about the beautiful chaos of raising young families, our ambitious career pursuits, the wives that we adore, our parents, our kids, our dreams, our future golf trips.
We toasted to his joy of finally becoming a ‘Girl Dad’ to Aprilia – born only a few weeks prior, as well as the antics of his young boys, Abbott and Declan. Chris was beaming with pride.
We played golf on Friday morning, and on McLemore’s iconic 18th hole with sweeping views of the rolling hills below, he called our group over: “Come on guys, look at this view, let’s get a picture together.” It’s a snapshot I’ll cherish forever.
Just hours later, everything changed.
On the eve of our 20th High School Reunion — a celebration Chris organized with great enthusiasm — his life was brutally and senselessly taken.
Here’s a glimpse of his personality in an email to our classmates:
“Twenty years ago we said goodbye to many close friends and ventured on to discover our future selves. And venture far we did (myself excluded).
I can only imagine what people are doing in Seattle, Bozeman, Brazil, and Saudi Arabia - among many other interesting places. Come back for our reunion so that I - and your other classmates - don't need to imagine anymore!”
Chris was funny, self-aware, and endlessly curious about others. He was always looking to bring people together. That’s who he was.
This week, the jury ensured justice was served to the man who stole Chris’s life. However, no testimony or public defender will be the thief of his legacy.
Upholding the spirit of the law and ensuring equitable, fair representation is a cornerstone of our legal system. Manufacturing a narrative about race, class, and privilege to distract from a heinous murder is not only dangerous – it’s a moral and ethical disservice.
Since the defense freely painted their picture of the events of that night – I’d like to offer mine.
I believe Chris was headed to see our friend and classmate he’d been with all evening, in from out of town and staying at a nearby hotel. While passing Patten Towers, he heard an argument between men sitting on the stoop.
Whether on the baseball or football field, or amongst friends, Chris could always be relied on to lower the temperature of tense situations. He didn’t pick fights – he helped to settle them.
I believe he engaged the men on the stoop to check in, and make sure everything’s okay. He was told to “Move on” and offered a universal gesture of peace and kinship – a fist bump. They left him hanging. Chris turns and walks away.
Darryl Roberts stood up, pursued Chris, and ended his life.
The truth is, Chris wasn’t a part of an argument. He was trying to end one. He lost his life for doing what he always did – looking out for others, even strangers.
That’s the kind of man Chris Wright was, and how he’ll be remembered.
In the future, if Chris’s children or grandkids ponder the circumstances around his death, the trial that followed, or the moral fabric of his character – I hope they find this. I pray they see the truth clearly, not the distorted stories told in court and echoed by the media. The minutes before his death should not overshadow the monumental life he lived.
Chris was a man of integrity, humility, warmth and ambition. A man who loved deeply and lived generously. A man whose light deserved so much more time in this world.
Public Defender Steve Smith said “Mr. Roberts isn’t a monster. Mr. Wright isn’t a hero.”
He’s wrong.
Chris Wright is a hero – in the way he loved, in the way he led, and in the way he lived. An adoring husband. A father who showed up. A friend you could count on.
A man who made greatness his mission – and that’s how he should be remembered.
Wil Trohanis