#murrah building

[celticculture]

25 years ago today, I lost a good friend...

[peabodyawards]

KFOR-TV, KOCO-TV and KWTV-TV - Murrah Building Bombing - 1995 Peabody 

Peabody Winner 1995 | KFOR-TV, KOCO-TV, KWTV-TV

At 9:02 a.m. on April 19, 1995, an act of terrorism struck our nation’s heartland. In the days that followed, America and the world came to know the extraordinary courage and indomitable spirit of the people of Oklahoma City. That message was carried forth by the heroic television journalism of local stations KFOR-TV, KOCO-TV and KWTV-TV. Located in a comparatively small city by television standards (market size 43), each of these stations set aside the competitive rivalries which often drive TV news today, and instead concentrated on transmitting reliable, compelling reports to their community and to the world. The Peabody Board was struck by the extraordinary news judgement demonstrated by each of the stations involved and by the overriding commitment to accuracy, professionalism and public service which marked the television journalism surrounding the Murrah Building bombing. To news directors Mary Ann Eckstein, KFOR-TV, Susan Kelley, KOCO-TV, and Joyce Reed, KWTV-TV, and the dedicated employees of all three news operations, a Peabody Award.

[tvoinews]

The Missing Link: Refugee Resettlement and Economic Development - Vicky Davis

The Missing Link: Refugee Resettlement and Economic Development – Vicky Davis

The United States is a host nation for refugees and now we understand that squatters who enter a country in some way – legal or illegal, can be declared “urban refugees” simply by presenting themselves at a UNHCR office with a sob story about how they would be persecuted if they were to return home. UNHCR’s partner, Manpower, Inc. can then make a significant chunk of money by getting the “urban…

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[the-lovely-river-song]

Twenty years ago

I remember getting home from school and seeing the grownups in tears. I remember asking my grandma why the people on tv were crying. I remember watching my mom put on her uniform to try and go. I remember watching as she broke down in tears when the people on tv said that they didn't need anymore nurses on the scene, that those who remained were lost. I remember seeing the faces of men, women, and children who were walking away. I remember seeing the faces of those that would be taken away in small black bags. I remember everyone sitting in silence for those little black bags and me not understanding. I remember the chaos of firefighters, police officers, and medical workers trying to put things back in order. I remember that none of my questions were answered because I was too young to understand. I remember watching the bomb go off later that night, and somehow knowing what happened. I remember crying for days on end for those little black bags. I remember thinking that they would never see sunshine, or butterflies, or their families again. Today I know that this pain was caused by a bitter man. Today I know that there is nothing that will ever make the pain go away for those who lost someone. Today I know that the survivors are heroes as much as the police, firefighters, and paramedics who were the heroes in uniform. Today I know that the events of that day will forever make a our state stronger as a whole. Today I pray for those children in the little black bags. Today I pray for those who walked away from the chaos. Today I pray for all of Oklahoma. Today I remember the Murrah Building bombing and every one who was impacted by those events. Today I am and always will be Oklahoma Strong.

[excylala]

A Short Note

Just a little ramble.

Today marks the 20th anniversary of the bombing of the Alfred P. Murrah building in downtown Oklahoma City. When Timothy McVeigh parked a Ryder truck filled with a fertilizer bomb and detonated it to prove some sort of morbid point. I was three years old when it happened, my sisters 13 and 19. I don’t remember much, but I do know of the stories and impact it had on this city.

My mom told me that she was drying her hair and the whole house shook, as well as a large boom rattling the walls, she thought that the about 40-50 foot tall oak tree we have in our lawn had fallen on our house and of course, came to get me from my bed. Mind you, we live about 7 miles from downtown, so that was a lot of distance for such a boom and tremor to take. My dad was supposed to be going to a meeting across the street from the Murrah building, but he had the thought to pick up his dry cleaning before, which made him late. I’ve never been happier for someone being tardy for something.

Oklahoma may have a few drawbacks but for the most part, the people here are very nice and kind to each other and pull through pretty much anything. Whether it be the F5 tornadoes in Moore in 1999 or 2013 or the bombing, we have been resilient, helpful, and proud to live here. For things like this, the best is really brought out in people. This isn’t about who is Republican or who is Democrat, who is wealthy or who isn’t, and who is old or young; it’s about caring for each other since really, the whole city was affected. Rising from something completely devastating and creating something beautiful and strong. 

To honor those whose lives were lost that day 20 years ago.

The bombing became a jumpstart for an amazing comeback and strong growth into what Oklahoma City is today. 

I’m pretty proud of that and I’m pretty happy living here.

Oklahoma strong.

[whywevote]

One More Anniversary of Domestic Terrorism - Can We Now Learn?

It’s nineteen years later, and right-wing extremists are still making the same errors in thinking and ideology that led Timothy McVeigh, Terry Nichols and others to carefully develop, plant, and set off a bomb in Oklahoma City that killed 168 people and traumatized the people of this city, state and nation.

Isn’t it time that we learn from the mistakes in thinking that led to the worst act of…

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[rantzbylantz-blog]

April 19 ... Will always be a very personal day for me to remember what one man did to one building in Oklahoma City in 1995 ... To remember how that one man, and one building affected the entire state - and nation ... To remember lives lost, and lives saved ... To remember OklaHOMEa Today as I enjoyed a day in San Francisco with a friend, she persuaded me to stop in Grace Cathedral to see the art installation soon to be closing. Those ribbons hanging from the rafters each have a wish for the world written on them. As I found myself drawn to a pew to spend time in remembrance I lifted my gaze, my heart, my prayers, my wishes upward ... hoping that something would linger on those ribbons before being sent out into the universe.

[chaptertwelve]

chaptertwelve:

17 years.

Too proud of you, Oklahoma City. We’ve come a long, long way since that day, and that’s what I think about every time I see “Rise Together”.

18 years.

¶ I was 14 years old on April 19, 1995, and I vividly remember the aftermath of the Murrah Building bombing; the way my classmates whose parents worked downtown were pulled from second period, the way the line of them snaked out of the principal's office and into the hallway as they waited for their turn to call their moms and dads, the dread that settled over us when we saw all the empty seats in third period, my friend Brent's ashen face when he walked back into class (his mother's name can now be seen on the Survivor Wall, thank God), and the way he trembled as he took his seat in front of me. I was 14 years old and I knew kids who'd lost both parents in the Murrah Building blast, but, though I'm sure it settled into my bones, it didn't noticeably affect me back then. 

¶ I don't remember ever feeling any hatred or revulsion for Timothy McVeigh. I know I must have, and I do remember being frightened of him when we'd only seen his police sketch, but in photographs - even in his mugshot, even in his prison jumpsuit - he doesn't look like a scary guy. He looks ordinary. He doesn't look angry or psychopathic or frightening. He looks like someone who'd tell you a joke if you were having a bad day.

Once, I saw a pre-bombing picture of him at home, I think for Christmas, and he was wearing socks without shoes. He reminded me of my brother, and I thought, He's someone's Bubba. It humanized him for me. I don't think what he did was right, but I know he was a human being.

I believe we're all capable of doing good or evil, of building up or tearing down. We all make these choices in big and small ways every day. His was big. He hurt a lot of people. He hurt my friends, he hurt my city, he killed 19 babies and showed no real remorse. But when I think of him, when I see his familiar face, he feels to me like just another one of us - another member of the family that's tied together by this awful thing. In the end, we're all in this together, for better and for worse. Whether we, as individuals, choose to be a helping hand or an albatross is, more often than we like to admit, a personal, daily choice.

¶ Those babies. There were 168 (possibly 169; a recovered limb was never identified) people killed that morning. Because McVeigh parked his Ryder truck just below the America's Kids Day Care Center, 19 of the dead were children under the age of six.

Maybe it's because I was practically a child myself that I don't remember being especially impacted by the loss of the children at the time. I was aware of them, we were all aware of them, but it wasn't until just a few years ago - after I'd been working with infants and toddlers for years myself - that I fully grasped that there was a day care center in that building. Someone put a bomb immediately below a room full of babies. Can you imagine? Can you imagine how their mothers felt, going to look for their children and finding nothing but empty space where they'd left them? Can you imagine the helplessness? It's unthinkable. 

I work with babies and toddlers every day and at least once a week I think of Baylee Almon. It's the socks that cause me to do it. She was wearing socks when she was carried from the rubble, and baby feet in socks all look just like her feet, and so I remember. 

¶ I think it did get into my bones. It's subtle, it's soft like a whisper, but it's there. I went to the memorial today, worked my way through the museum, and sat alone in a room full of strangers with my teeth clenched and tears falling down my cheeks because it's still there. I couldn't let go of it if I wanted to.