Reflections Of Oklahoma City

We feel relieved when a perpetrator (or even a suspect) of a heinous crime is apprehended. In this case, our relief is mixed with shock and even more unanswered questions. Hopefully, we will get at least some answers and justice in the forthcoming real trial of the century.

On March 25, 1990, a social club in the Bronx, NY, became the site of the worst mass murder in America. Eighty-seven people died at the hand of an arsonist.

Five years later, on April 19, 1995, New York City lost that distinction to Oklahoma City, OK, because of another type of murderer ... a bomber. One-hundred sixty-eight were killed, 503 injured and 320 buildings damaged. Of the survivors, 249 children lost one or both parents.

If it had been an accident or act of nature, it might have been easier to accept and possibly understand. So brazen was the primary suspect, he got himself arrested less than two hours later for carrying an illegal weapon while stopped for speeding in a car with no license plates.

For my continued studies to become a peer support counselor, I had already planned to drive to Oneonta, NY, around July 1 to attend a seminar on "Advanced Critical Incident Stress Debriefing." En route from Las Vegas, NV, I thought I'd get to see what was left of the Alfred P. Murrah Federal Building during a stopover off Interstate 40 in Oklahoma City. But shortly after the rescue operations ended, the building was demolished.

I went there anyway, hoping to at least see the crater left by the blast (and the surrounding area) to get a sense of the magnitude of the destruction that I had only read about or seen on TV.

I didn't see the crater, because it was filled and covered. The demolition area was fenced and in every direction there were buildings with all or most of their windows missing or boarded up. An idle crane stood in the middle of 5th Street, its job apparently finished.

It was July 2, the middle of the long holiday weekend. A continuous flow of vehicular and pedestrian traffic (some people with cameras) circled the fenced area seeking a better view of the newest site of America's worst mass murder.

But this was no tourist attraction. No provisions were made for the inevitable visitors. No brochures or helpful guides. The implied message was, "You can look around. You can look through the fence. But please stay away while we clean up our mess!" (Rather than replacing the building, a memorial park is planned. At that time, visitors will be welcome.)

Along with the "No Trespassing" signs, the fences were decorated with items left in tribute to the victims, survivors and rescuers. Tokens of respect such as flowers, ribbons, photos, American flags, poems and letters send a clear message that what happened here will not be forgotten.

Visiting this (now and forever) historic site was almost like going to a cemetery and I am glad I was there to pay my respects to the 168 victims. Emotionally, I was doing OK until I saw a photo on the east fence. It was of a little girl and below it was simply written, "We love you, Nicole."

That was it! I almost lost it there. Gritting my teeth and suppressing the proverbial lump, I looked down at the sidewalk while walking away so no one would see my eyes. In the privacy of my car, I let the tears flow or else I'd have burst. I also prayed for the thousands of friends and family members of the victims who have been forced to bear the unbearable.

Later on, I visited Fire Station 1, which is just five blocks west of the bomb site. I met Firefighter Sullivan, who was on the watch desk, and inquired how everyone was doing in general and whether anyone had resigned or was still out on leave since the incident. As far as he knew, no one had quit or was unable to return to work, not even one rookie who never before had seen a dead body his first sighting of a fatality was half of a body. The need for stress debriefing was unquestionable and almost immediately, CISD teams flew to Oklahoma City.

At the time of the explosion, shock waves through the fire station caused ceiling tiles to fall. Without waiting for the telephone alarm to come in, everybody donned their fire gear and prepared to go to work.

Although it was more than two months since the incident, I noticed all flags were at half staff. I don't recall that our flag was ever flown that way for longer than 30 days, so I was surprised to learn that it was decided to do so in Oklahoma City until the Fourth of July, when a formal flag-raising ceremony would take place outside the State Capitol. I decided to extend my stopover in order to attend the ceremony.

On Monday, July 3, I visited the Oklahoma State Firefighters Museum. I must say it was more impressive than I expected and I had a very pleasant visit and chat with Captain Pierce of Fire Station 2, who was in charge of the museum that day.

In the afternoon, I went back to Station 1 to meet other crew members and possibly trade some shoulder patches. Assistant Fire Chief Jon Hansen was there, but I didn't recognize him right away because until then, I had only seen him on TV wearing a fire coat and helmet as he kept the world informed with progress reports. We were not introduced, but I was wearing a cap with the letters FDNY and he motioned for me to follow him. From his car, he took out a copy of his book, Oklahoma Rescue, and gave it to me.

"What a nice honor!" I said to myself. Merely because I was somehow connected to the New York City Fire Department, a fire chief gave me his book. I naturally wanted to reciprocate, so I offered him a copy of my book, Fire: A War That Never Ends, which is also about a fire-related tragedy.

The morning of July 4 was sunny and warm. I didn't take a head count, but there must have been more than 3,000 spectators outside the Capitol. One speaker introduced all the agencies and organizations that assisted in the rescue effort and paused after each one awaiting applause. The Oklahoma City Fire Department was third or fourth on the list and not only received the longest applause, but a standing ovation as well.

Among the guest speakers, Vince Gill, a native Oklahoman, offered words of encouragement to all. He was also there to perform a benefit concert that afternoon, but unfortunately I couldn't attend due to my own schedule.

Oklahoma!, the musical stage show, was playing in Tulsa and cast members had come to entertain the crowd by doing a few numbers on the Capitol steps. When they sang the title song, the audience really got into it. I couldn't imagine this much pride and enthusiasm happening in Albany. Maybe I'm too cynical, even for an ex-New Yorker.

Oklahoma Gov. Frank Keating, of course, was there, promising support for the survivors and that justice will prevail. Timed with the actual flag raising, four jets from nearby Tinker Air Force Base flew overhead. Then the event was topped off with a parade.

Before hitting the road, I had to stop by Station 1 again because a firefighter had promised to give me a piece of granite from the rubble of the Murrah Building. It may sound silly, but I'm proud of that piece of stone. To me it's more than just a rock, it's a piece of American history that represents both the best and worst in people. I have a place for it next to an Indian Prayer to the Great Spirit. In it there is a line that says, "Let me learn the lessons You have hidden in every leaf and rock." Surely there are lessons to be learned from my rock!