Oklahoma City bombing remembered..as Bill Clinton, officials join hundreds of survivors...

Libs couldn’t get white veteran McVeigh executed fast enough, but the Ft. Hood shooter got a double jail cell and private Army helicopter service and no mention of his final disposition.

Did he ever care about who John Doe Number Two really was and why he was in OKC on that day?

We had a family friend at Tinker. They had to clean up the bodies. His fellow soldier couldn’t take carrying out the babies, he later committed suicide.

Clintons planned this event. The multiple seismic events at the University, FBI confiscating all vids, a women, who is still alive, was blown backwards while entering the building, first responders ran back out of the building, saying there were shape charges on the columns.

All we need, to know the truth, is confront Jeb, and ask for access to these dump sights.

It must also be remembered that Tim McVeigh sought revenge for the deaths of the Branch Davidians at Waco. That is why he picked that date. Had the Waco massacre never taken place, McVeigh would not have had that reason. That much is easy to say. What we will probably never know is what he would have done or not done instead.

I notice that under Clinton, in my opinion Waco shares one common factor with the explosion of TWA 800 over Long Island Sound and with the first World Trade Center bombing. That is the rush to a pre-determined outcome, and a bullheaded determination to pursue the case as a criminal act, and not an act that involved any foreign power.

Given who John Doe Number Two was It is my personal opinion that McVeigh was helped by people from the Middle East. I think that former KOFR reporter Jayna Davis was substantially correct in her factfinding on this matter. Witnesses placed a man with middle-eastern appearance with McVeigh when he parked the truck. The rest can be found using Google if anyone cares.

In the case of the first WTC truck bomb, the Clinton Justice Department very quickly refused to consider it an act by jihadists acting from a global jihadist movement but instead just an isolated criminal act.

In the case of TWA 800, I think that it was shot down by a missile because of the number of witnesses with the same story. If TWA 800 was shot down by Iran in retaliation for the US shootdown of Iran Air Flight 655 by the USS Vincennes during the Gulf War, it would have been an act of war.

It is clear to me that Clinton bent over backwards in absurd denials of very loud facts in order to avoid responding appropriately. In the case of Iran, maybe they are rushing to build a nuclear weapons capability in part because the US has never had the appetite to cut the head off of that snake.

I was working at a factory just a few blocks from the Murrah bldg. on that day. A couple of times during the afternoon, agents (OSBI, FBI, ?) came into the bldg and questioned us....asking particularly if, while on break outside, maybe we’d seen a pickup truck carrying 3 ME’s. They talked about it in the news for a day or so. Then no more mention.

Was he laughing before he “cried”?

Like you, I was near Ground Zero at 9:02. The following is a shorter version of a piece I wrote about that horrific day.

April 19, 1995 was a beautiful Spring Wednesday in Oklahoma. The air was crisp, but the skies were promising with blue skies interlaced with patchy clouds. How surreal appearances can be.

I had previously committed to a friend from Southern Oklahoma that I would save him a long arduous trip from Durant, and I would make a court appearance for him. I left my office a little late, so I was rushing downtown trying to escape rush-hour traffic. The hearing was at 9:00. I drove East on 4th Street, then South on Robinson to park. As I was proceeding to the East, I had to pass a yellow truck parked in the right hand lane. Little did I know that truck would alter history for so many. I parked in the garage to the Federal Building, and walked to the Bankruptcy Court for my appearance. Nothing seemed irregular. How surreal appearances can be.

I arrived at the courtroom on the 7th floor of the old Post Office, which had become the Bankruptcy Court for the Western District of Oklahoma. It was one block from where I parked. I chatted with a few friends waiting on the Judge. There were 20-25 lawyers present. At 9:00 the Judge’s clerk appeared. That was normal procedure - for someone had to announce the entry of the Judge. We waited. Everyone quieted, and began collecting their thoughts. That is normal. How surreal appearances can be.

Prior to the Judge appearing, and at 9:02 an explosion moved air inside the courtroom. It was the loudest sound That had ever surprised and startled me. It was totally out of character for the library like solitude of a courtroom. There had been no warning. Windows were shattered, and shards were hurled through the room. The blinds on the windows were limply hanging, having been dislodged by the air concussion. Three questions came to mind immediately; what was that, is it going to happen again, and what do I need to do now? While lost in trying to make order of the disorder, the clerk barked,”Get down on the floor, now!” After a few seconds, that seemed like minutes, the clerk again barked, “Get out of the building! Use the stairs!” We did, walking over glass fragments and ceiling tiles. As we descended, one of my friends (an ex-Vietnam veteran) remarked that he had not heard anything that loud since the Tet offensive in 1968. He thought it was a natural gas explosion. It seemed that it took forever to get to the ground floor and exit on the street. How surreal appearances can be.

When I got to the street, I was met with a sight I had not seen before, or since. Immediately on exiting I was staring at the Oklahoma City branch of the Federal Reserve. For decades the Fed looked like any office building during the day, but a vaulted fortress after hours. Tall, heavy, massive steel/iron doors had closed the entrance. Something was clearly different. Scores of people were running, walking fast, in no unified direction. Men in white shirts were stained by blood. Women were hobbling barefoot, carrying their shoes. Some had lost heels in their haste. I looked up at the surrounding buildings and saw windows broken and missing. I remember remarking later that it looked like a war zone. It was pandemonium. How surreal appearances can be.

I walked the block to where my car was parked - the parking garage of the Alfred P Murrah Federal Building. Law enforcement already had yellow tape around the entire two block area. I talked to an agent, approaching slowly so I would not appear a threat since many people had attempted to cross the tape and were physically prevented. As I looked at the garage entry I observed that a triage station was established on the apron to the garage. My assessment was that my car would not be removed that day. I was right. I heard passing people shrieking about a bomb, and that there were others in all directions. I surveyed the vicinity, and saw blue sky while looking through the shell of building roofs. How surreal appearances can be.

I made an executive decision. I was clad in a suit, and 8 miles from my office. I decided that I would walk a mile away and call my wife from a phone. This was before cell phones were carried. I chose a location far enough away that she would be able to find me. In downtown Oklahoma City there were officers directing traffic at every intersection. Fire hoses were stretched prominently. Sirens were echoing from all directions. On my way to my chosen meeting place, I ran across a young man dressed in faded and tattered fatigues. He had several months of facial hair, and appeared as he hadn’t seen soap or shampoo in quite a while. Even in those circumstances I gave off an air that I am approachable. He stopped me and asked if I knew what had happened. I told him no. He said he was sleeping in an alcove a block away, and when it happened he skedaddled before someone blamed him for it. How surreal appearances can be.

As I strode on I walked by small merchant shops some 7-8 blocks away. The front, plate glass windows had been blown out, and several merchants were using their push brooms to clear the sidewalks. I talked to one. He had come to the United States in 1975 - a refugee from Saigon. I remember thinking that life goes on - in Southeast Asia and in the United States. As I continued walking I thought that he had to have seen many atrocities in his life, but the enduring, surviving spirit was remarkable. I got to the rendezvous point. It was outside a McDonalds. How surreal appearances can be.

I called my wife. She broke, and started crying. Crying for happiness. The early news reports from a helicopter was that the building was the Federal Courthouse. My wife knew I was making a court appearance and believed the worst. I got her the necessary information on my location. While I was waiting for her a suited man approached me and apologetically asked me if he might ask a few questions. I consented. He told me he was from Dallas, and said he had just driven in that morning. He had been listening in his car to a script for a business presentation he was to make later that day. He asked me if the sirens, and all the law enforcement traffic was normal in Oklahoma City. He was even more oblivious about what had happened. How surreal appearances can be.

My wife arrived and we cried together. That was one of the most binding events in our marriage. She told me that our youngest daughter had been on the school bus to come downtown for the Arts Festival. The bus had not departed the school, and my understanding that it was rocked by the concussive force even 16 miles away. I was told that the picture frames on our walls had moved. I had her drop me at my office so I could make telephone calls. When I got there I discovered the phone lines were limited. I could not get a dial tone. I received one phone call. A friend from St. Louis had been outside his building and saw something about it on a news crawl at a bank. He had worked in Oklahoma City and had many friends and former co-workers here. He told me more of what happened than I had heard up to that point. It’s always been interesting to me that news travels much faster to a distant place than to a local one. How surreal appearances can be.

On Thursday I received a call from my auto insurance company. They wanted to buy my car. I do not know how they discovered it was quarantined inside the secure area. I told them that I wasn’t sure it was damaged, but they were insistent on paying full retail book value plus $1,000. I explained that the policy had a terrorism exclusion and hence they would have no liability. They said it didn’t matter, that they were waiving that. I regretfully accepted as I needed transportation and I couldn’t get mine back. I’ve never had an insurance company call and make such a generous offer when I didn’t ask for it. How surreal appearances can be.

Over the next month I attended more funerals than anyone should be required to do. Nine. Catholic, Christian, Jewish, and non-sectarian. This senseless act had rippled through all socio-economic levels in Oklahoma City. It did not discriminate on race, religion, ethnicity, political party, or social standing. It was the beginning of “The Oklahoma Standard” as coined by Governor Frank Keating. The sense of community and brotherhood was only rivaled by the spirit helping those harmed by tornadoes. The rescue workers that came from afar were touched by the genuine Christian hospitality shown them. I remember writing a short note to a friend in San Francisco - I told him that our “people” we’re unified in helping their brothers and sisters in their time of need. I wrote that I was confident that other communities would do the same given a common, horrific atrocity. Several years after that I ran into him at a conference, and he produced a worn note from his wallet - the one I wrote him. He said he reads it when he is down and needs encouragement. How surreal appearances can be.

In one week the 20th anniversary of the bombing will be observed (This article was written on April 12). Things have changed. Changed in personal lives, and changed with knowledge. The attacks on 9/11 were even more horrendous. The images of the towers collapsing were vivid reminders of the street scene I saw on April 19. But, some things have not changed. The endearing compassion and sense of community persists. How surreal appearances can be.

Some of you know that I run a bit. Some of you know that the Oklahoma City Memorial Marathon occurs every year. This year will be the 15th. This run is styled as the “Run to Remember.” Along the course there are 168 banners with the names of those that died, displayed from light poles throughout the course. Many runners are friends or family of those deceased. They run for the memories and for the sense of community. That includes me. How surreal appearances can be.

So on Sunday April 26, I will be one of the 25,000 - 30,000 runners in the event. I’ve decided to do the full 26.2 again, as it gives me more time to reflect. Yes, I will be slow. Yes, I will have pains afterwards. Yes, I will meet people along the way with stories. Yes, I support them. Please pray for the families of the deceased, and the 674 that were wounded. How surreal appearances can be.

Guy

WTF was Clintoon doing there ?

Great article. I still remember almost every minute of that morning. I was almost there when they started reporting it was actually the Murrah building, the building my mom worked in. Somehow, in the middle of all the chaos and debris, I located my dad on the NE corner. That was the first time I had ever seen him truly terrified and and in shock. We both just stood there, looking up where my mom’s office used to be, knowing that she was probably gone.

The most vivid memory of that day, was when several police and rescue workers came running past us screaming at everybody to run for cover. That they had just found more bombs. No one has ever explained why they thought there were more bombs in the building, since it was supposedly just one truck. Of course I still have a lot of questions about that day and why so much has been kept from us.

Thank you for running in remembrance of my mom and all the other victims. I have run it several times, but sadly a health issue forced me to stop a few years ago. The starting line, truly is on of the most intense, emotional, and surreal moments that someone can experience.

okkev68 —

Thank you for your kind words. I have many more memories about that day, that will always be with me. I feel for your loss, and that of your Dad. I continue to discover people that were impacted much more than I was that day. When you were on the NE corner you, if you looked to the NW, would have seen the blue sky through the top of the Journal Record Building. All of the stone “shingles “were” removed by the force of the blast. That is what I was referring to; disorder accompanied by regular order.

I suspect your dad leaned on you quite a bit; and you on him. One of our Oklahoma Supreme Court Justices (Steve Taylor) was a district judge when this happened. He was the judge from McAlester that was hand selected for the Terry Nichols trial. I can only imagine being in the same courtroom with evil. But he did it for the duration of the trial. I’ve had several occasions over the years to express my appreciation to him for his professionalism and care. I was fortunate to try a case before him some 10 years before 4/19/1995. He was indeed a lawyer’s judge.

Yes, the starting line is one of the most somber, thoughtful, reflective beginnings. The organizers always treat it with the respect and dignity that is healthy.

I wish you well on your journey, my FRiend.

Guy