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WINSTON-SALEM — On the 22nd floor, in a downtown building once occupied by Wachovia, Rob Van Camp keeps the old videotapes in a corner.

There are at least 50, stuck in a box that weighs at least 35 pounds. He keeps them because they're necessary. They represent a tragic turn in someone's life. And every time he pulls one out, he remembers.

A mother singing by her daughter's grave.

A state trooper arresting another drunk.

A man crying in court for killing three people — two of whom were brothers — after drinking too much, stepping into his station wagon and driving the wrong way down U.S. 421 in Kernersville.

"It's so hard to look at these," said Van Camp, an independent filmmaker, flipping through the videotapes in the box. "For me, to pull these back out, it feels like yesterday."

Twelve years ago, Van Camp and his broadcasting buddy, Andy Lockett from WFMY, put together a documentary that focused on drunken driving from both sides of the courtroom aisle: victim and defendant.

They called their 30-minute documentary "Blurred Lines." It grabbed a regional Emmy, earned a bucket of awards, went nationwide and turned into a teaching tool for cops and new drivers.

The film helped launch Van Camp's career. He now travels worldwide and creates gorgeous films about railroads and trains for PBS. Yet "Blurred Lines" sticks with him because of the anguish he saw through his viewfinder.

But the worst thing? It all could've been prevented.

Easier said than done. We all saw that this week with the fall of Tolly Carr.

By now, you know the details. Carr, a talented news anchor at WXII, drove drunk down a barricaded street, wrecked his pickup, injured his passenger and killed a stranger, who was on the sidewalk a few steps from his front door.

Today, Carr sits in a jail cell. He'll remain behind bars for at least two years and one month after pleading guilty Monday in a Winston-Salem courtroom to the alcohol-fueled crash March 11 that killed Casey Bokhoven.

Bokhoven's family took the stand. They showed a DVD and talked about the 26-year-old chef bound for culinary school. "My Casey," his mother called him.

Carr apologized. He cried in court and wished he had died instead of Bokhoven. And standing in his sharp, three-button suit in front of a crowded courtroom, he seemed sincere.

But after writing about countless drunken driving cases, I realized the sameness of it all. Just the names had changed.

Like Ashley Kennon in July 1995. She was 11, riding her bicycle in Ruffin, 20 feet from the road, when a drunken driver swerved to miss a car and clipped her and her good friend, Jennifer Cannon. Jennifer survived; Ashley didn't.

Or Ronnie Haithcock in May 1995. He was 39, living in High Point, when he drove drunk down U.S. 421 the wrong way — going at least 75 mph — and hit a Cadillac head-on.

James Harvey Banner Jr. and two brothers, Antonio and Lamont Walker of Winston-Salem, were killed. Haithcock pleaded guilty to second-degree murder.

Both Ashley and Haithcock are featured in "Blurred Lines." People nationwide have watched Haithcock apologize in court and seen Ashley's mom, Linda Kennon, stand beside Ashley's tombstone and sing an off-key "Over The Rainbow," her favorite song.

State Trooper Tim Trollinger recognizes those scenes all too well.

"I can't explain why her child died," Trollinger said Friday. "There is a reason for it, and I hope that one of these days, God will explain it to us."

Trollinger is featured in "Blurred Lines," too. Since then, he's listened to his colleagues call him "movie star" and heard classmates of his teenage children ask them, while watching a video in driver's education class, "Is that your dad?"

After 23 years patrolling the roads of Forsyth County, Trollinger says drunken driving hasn't waned.

And the number of people dying in alcohol-related crashes — 17,602 people last year, according to the National Highway Traffic Safety Administration — continues to go up nationwide.

The result is tragic. In courtrooms everywhere, we're left seeing the same fractured lives on both sides of the aisle.

So, we need to remember — and never forget — people like Casey and Tolly, Ashley and Ronnie. Or we'll never learn.

Contact Jeri Rowe at 373-7374 or jrowe@news-record.com

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Tolly Carr Courtroom Apology

I can't begin to imagine how you guys feel. I've never lost anyone in a tragic way, but I want you to know that it wasn't anything I did on purpose. And I know it's not going to make you feel any better, and I know there are a lot of people who commented here on what type of person I am. But that really doesn't matter because you lost your son, and there's nothing we can do to bring him back.

And I am very very sorry for what I did. It was very reckless and very irresponsible. And when I say I want to forgive me, it's not to make me feel good. I want you to one day -- when you're ready to be able to forgive me -- so (your) anger won't eat away at you. That's my prayer for your family.

And Sean (Bokhoven, Casey's older brother), I feel I can relate to you the most because I love my brother deeply. I don't have any children. But I have a sister, and I have a brother, and if anything ever happened to them, I don't know what I would do.

Casey had a lot to offer the world, and I should be the one who's dead. I should not be here breathing the air in this courtroom. But I am here and the only thing I can tell you Casey had a lot of offer the world, and he had a lot of good to offer people. And the only thing I can do is the good I was meant to do and do the good Casey was meant to do that I took away from him.

We talk about justice and punishment. I have punished you all. I have punished my family. And my friends. And now I was supposed to be a good role model for my sister and my brother. I did a terrible job.

Your honor, I turned myself in -- and I went to jail -- because that's what I was supposed to do. And I feel like the worst person in the world right now for what I've done. And all I want is justice (to) be served. That is the world we live in, and that's what governs us and keeps us civilized.

I've learned a lot. I've tried to use my time in rehabilitation and my time in the detention center to take inventory of myself, to become a better person. And every day, that's my goal: to become a better person.

I try not to look at it as a punishment situation. I've been around alcoholics and addicts and convicts, and I've tried to find a rewarding experience from that. All those people have helped me, and I've tried to be better person than the day before.

I've achieved my dreams. My one dream was to be on television, and I did it. I've already lived my life. The only thing I want to do at this point … when I'm able to come back to my community, I want to do what I can to make my part of the world a better place.

And if I can do that, I don't know if the world has a place for me. To measure my success. To take and see what I can accomplish. I have accomplished everything I wanted to do, and I'm very blessed.

If I can, I just want to help people and do better. None of that will bring anybody back -- and Casey's life was much more than (his) death -- but this is all I know how to do.

You have the unenviable task of deciding where I'll go and how long I will be there. I just hope that what is best for everyone happens today. I just hope justice was served, and whatever decision that you come to, I already fully support it. I'm behind you.

I thank you for your time. I'm sorry. Stupid. It's my fault. It's no reflection on my family. They did their best. It's my fault, but I know this doesn't change anything.