Stories Within: Stacy’s Story

Exploring the stories within our community told by those most affected by them. This is a story about a daughter and her father. This is Stacy’s story.

In May of 1994, I was 18 years old and counting down the days until graduation from high school. It was Memorial Day Weekend and my best friend, Nicole, and I had skipped school to get an early start camping for the holiday weekend. We switched it up that year and chose Sacandaga State Campground in the town of Wells, NY. We were surrounded by the majesty and beauty of the Adirondacks in the spring. Campfire scent filled the air, the sun was shining through the enormous white pines, and we were enjoying time with our friends, completely carefree.

That carefree feeling disappeared in an instant on Friday, May 27th 1994 at around 7:30 p.m. when I returned to my campsite after a quick trip into town and found a Hamilton County Sheriff Deputy parked at our site. He was there to inform me that my father, Inv. Mark Snyder of the Johnstown Police Department, had been shot in the face while directing traffic at the Johnstown Memorial Day Parade. He didn’t have many details except that my father wasn’t dead, and they had called for radio silence due to an active manhunt to find the person who shot him.

In an instant I experienced a host of different emotions, but anger and fear hit the hardest. Thankfully, I got to Nathan Littauer Hospital before my father was airlifted to Albany Medical Center. He couldn’t speak, but he was able to respond. I told him I loved him, that he would be ok, and when this was all over, I would take him for a drink at a local establishment we both had history with. He gave me a thumbs up. I asked,  “Do you promise?” and he gave me another thumbs up.

Everyone around me was telling me to brace for the worst and that he was critically injured, but I knew that he would survive. He made a promise, and my dad had never broken a promise to me. Thirty-one years later, he still hasn’t. Three months after the shooting, I took him out for that drink. The days and weeks that followed were a blur, but what I remember so clearly and what has stayed with me to this day, was the outpouring of love and support from our community. Friends, family, neighbors, and even strangers showed up for us. And they still do. To this day, when I go home, people will share their memories of that day. It amazes me how far-reaching the impact of one person’s terrible decision can be.

A few years after my father was hurt, I followed in his footsteps and began working in emergency services as a Corrections Officer where I met my husband, then later as an EMT and 911 dispatcher. Our family tends to deal with trauma using dark humor, so we have made some wildly inappropriate jokes over the years. But the truth is, that fear never really leaves, and it was amplified for me whenever my husband was on duty.Three decades later loud bangs still make us flinch, and we’re all still hyper aware of our surroundings.

My father was my hero long before the shooting, and he’s still one of my best friends. He made an impact in his community that I’m incredibly proud of. The hardest part for all of us has always been that his career, his calling, was taken from him too soon. He had so much more to give. Even though our children were born years after the shooting, we have made sure they know the impact he had on our community and the story of his career, not just how it ended. My daughter shares his birthday, and my son is his namesake (my siblings are convinced I will do anything to be the favorite). Both have followed the family path of service, my daughter as a CNA during the pandemic, and m yson as a Navy veteran.

What happened to my father bonded our family in a way I don’t think would’ve happened otherwise. That same bond became our foundation when we were hit with an even greater tragedy in 2019, when we lost my baby brother, Trevor Mark Snyder, to medical malpractice. The grief was crushing, but once again, we came together and held each other up. And once again, our community, both in Florida and back home in New York surrounded us with love, support, and grace.

Even though my brother is no longer with us, we continue to fight for him. As a result of his death, we discovered a little-known loophole in the Florida Wrongful Death Statute that denies families access to the courts if their loved one was over the age of 25, unmarried, had no minor children, and died as the result of Medical Malpractice. For six years, we have continued to tell my brother’s story, in effort to get this discriminatory law repealed and advocate for the countless families affected by it.

On that beautiful spring evening in 1994, my entire world shifted. How I saw life, people, justice and what really matters changed in an instant. If I could go back and tell that 18-year-old girl anything, I’d say this: what’s coming will hurt, but you will survive it. You’ll become someone who fights fiercely for the people you love, and that fire will carry you through everything that follows.

Today, my father is finally retired, for good, after 25 years with the FL. Civil Commitment Center. We are still navigating the loss of my brother, but we keep moving forward. Our superpower, no matter what the universe throws at us (and it seems to throw a lot at us) continues to be humor and love. We never hang up without saying “I love you,” and we never miss an opportunity to laugh, even in the darkest moments. Because if life has taught us anything, it’s that tomorrow isn’t promised—but love and laughter can carry you through even the worst of days.

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These accompanying photos are from Johnstown High School graduation day for the Class of 1994. It was just about a month after my dad was shot and they had asked him to give out diplomas. His jaw was wired shut, he had lost 45 pounds, and he was unable to speak, but he was beaming with pride. It had rained earlier in the day, so we were stuck having the ceremony inside. Between the students, staff, families, friends, and media, it was packed. When they announced my dad’s name, he stood up and pumped his fist in the air, making the crowd go wild, but that was nothing compared to when they called my name to receive my diploma. I ran into his arms. and we hugged for a very long time. The building was literally shaking with people clapping, yelling, and standing. He whispered he loved me and that he was proud of me, and I said the same back to him. A beautiful memory and day coming so soon after a day that could have ended my father’s life.

 

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