Rising From the Ashes of Oklahoma City

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"The Oklahoma City bombing was simple technology, horribly used. The problem is not technology. The problem is the person or persons using it."

Rev. Billy Graham

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It's hard for me to believe it has been 20 years since the bombing of the federal building in Oklahoma City.

I wrote about this back on the 15th anniversary, and I observed much the same thing then as I do now. It's hard to believe, probably even harder now. Maybe that's because it seems as if I have lived another lifetime since it happened.

There were many things going on in my life at that time — and other things that happened in the weeks and months that followed — that make my memory of the bombing something of a blur.

I was teaching journalism at the University of Oklahoma, about 30 miles southeast of Oklahoma City, when the bombing occurred. In fact, I was scheduled to be in the classroom less than half an hour after the bombing happened. My office was just across the hall from the student newspaper newsroom, and I had been doing some work in my office for about an hour or so. There were never very many students in the newsroom in the mornings — it was a daily paper, and the staffers worked in there in the late afternoons and into the evenings — but there were a few students in there that morning, and they had the TV on. I could hear the news reports — still sketchy — as I walked down the hall just before the start of my class.

I knew something had happened, but, like most of the people watching the news reports on the local TV stations at that time, no one really knew what it was. In those days, people didn't automatically think of terrorism when something unpleasant happened. Well, maybe some people did — there was a report that day of a man of Middle Eastern descent who had the misfortune of boarding a plane in Oklahoma City that morning and flying to Chicago, where authorities stopped and detained him after he got off the plane. There was some modest hysteria about that, but it was nothing, I am sure, compared to what it might have been if the Oklahoma City bombing had occurred maybe a decade later than it did.

In those more innocent times (by comparison), terrorism was one of many potential culprits; in fact, the early speculation that day was that a gas line had exploded. As far as most Americans were concerned in 1995, terrorism was still something that happened in the other hemisphere. I could be wrong, but I don't think that man had any idea what had happened when the agents descended upon him in Chicago. Fast forward a few years. If the bombing had occurred in 2005 instead of 1995, terrorism probably would have been the first — and, perhaps, only — suspect for many.

My class lasted for an hour, then I returned to my office to do some work before going home for lunch. While I was at home, I watched the news reports. Considerably more was known by that time. The gas line explosion theory had been ruled out by noon. It was now believed to have been the outcome of a deliberate act.

That afternoon, I had a writing lab. Before it started, some of my students approached me about letting them leave early so they could donate blood for the injured. That was the kind of thing I wanted to encourage so I said I would try to wrap things up earlier than usual to allow them to do that — and that is what I did.

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By mid–afternoon that day, a suspect was in custody. His name was Timothy McVeigh. He was convicted in 1997 and executed in 2001. His accomplice, Terry Nichols, is serving several life sentences in a super maximum security prison in Colorado.

For them, the Oklahoma City bombing is a closed chapter, I suppose — but not so for those who must live with the consequences of their acts.

The most obvious victims, I imagine, are the ones who were injured that day, and many have been the subjects of followup articles in newspapers and magazines. The survivors have not all been eager to share their stories. Some chose to avoid the spotlight on what must be a very personal anniversary for them; others reluctantly went ahead with the interviews but insisted that they would not let what happened 20 years ago define them.

I have to admire that.

But, as I have often said in these last 20 years, I also admire the commendable work that was done by the student journalists with whom I worked at the University of Oklahoma at that time. Many of them grew up in Oklahoma City or one of the many nearby towns; they were touched by the bombing, too, but they persevered with their work as journalists.

The student newspaper had its staffers at the bombing site for the rest of what remained of that semester. At a time when nearly every other newspaper — professional or academic — was using articles, photos and graphics supplied by the wire services, the OU student newspaper relied on its reporters, photographers and graphics artists to produce all original material — material that was posted online at a time when many professional periodicals still did not have an online presence, let alone most college newspapers.

They put aside their personal feelings and covered the event with the professionalism it deserved. That accomplishment was even more impressive than you may realize. One of the staffers actually lost her father in the bombing.

But she, like the city, has risen from the ashes. She has gone on to pursue a career in broadcast journalism and has refused to let what happened to her family 20 years ago define her.

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At the site of the bombing, a memorial now stands.

I haven't been there, but I have heard it is a serene place with a reflecting pool, a "gate of time" and a field of chairs symbolizing each life that was lost that day. The chairs representing the adults are a little larger than the ones representing the children who died. That is a nice, subtle touch.

Another interesting touch is the "survivor tree." It was part of the building's original landscaping and, somehow, it survived the bombing and the fires that followed. It still stands. I presume it will be mentioned during today's memorial service.

The View From Ground Zero ...

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I remember the aftermath of the terrorist attacks on Sept. 11, 2001.

That was a traumatizing experience for the whole country, but it must have been especially brutal for the folks who lived where those planes did their devastation. In fact, I often wondered, as I watched news reports from New York, Washington and Pennsylvania, what must it feel like to be at ground zero?

Now I think I know.

Well, the casualty rate isn't anywhere near as high as it was on that day — not yet, anyway. And no buildings have been destroyed. Otherwise, though, it seems to be pretty much the same.

I live a few miles east of Dallas' Texas Health Presbyterian hospital. The original Ebola patient didn't come to my apartment complex when he (knowingly? unknowingly? does anyone know for sure?) brought the virus to America ... but he could have. From what I have seen, there is little except geography that separates that apartment complex from the one in which I live or hundreds of others in this city, for that matter. His girlfriend happened to live in a complex that is south of the hospital so that is where he went.

But any of us could have been put at risk. It was just the luck of the draw that we were spared and the other apartment complex was not.

A similar thought must have passed through the minds of many New Yorkers in 2001. Clearly, people died at the World Trade Center simply because they were at the wrong place at the wrong time. Many victims worked there; if one's workplace is targeted, it's really more a matter of time than the luck of the draw for that person, even if that person doesn't know, but in a large facility like the WTC, there are always people on the premises who don't come there every day. They are just there conducting business of some kind. In the North Tower of the World Trade Center, some were eating what turned out to be their last meal in the Windows on the World restaurant at the top of the tower.

Perhaps those who are in the wrong place at the wrong time only plan to be there a few minutes or a few hours, but they get caught in the event.

I was near another ground zero in the 1990s. I was teaching journalism at the University of Oklahoma, which is located in Norman, about 25 miles from Oklahoma City, at the time of the bombing of the federal building there. I was about half an hour from the start of a class when that bomb went off that morning. Some people said they could hear the explosion from that far away. I couldn't. Maybe that was because I was indoors.

Anyway, on that occasion, I had that dodged–a–bullet kind of feeling. I had been to Oklahoma City many times. Frequently I went to do some research at the Oklahoma City library, which was just a few blocks from the federal building. I had walked past the federal building several times.

I thought of those occasions early on, when speculation centered on the possibility that a gas line had blown up or something like that, and I thought, that gas line could have blown up when I was walking past that building. Of course, we know now that it was a bomb — and that a young man named Timothy McVeigh was responsible.

That was the extent of my connection to the federal building.

Many of my students, though, came from Oklahoma City. It was much more personal for them than it was for me, whether they had been to the federal building or not. One of my students, who now works in the Dallas broadcasting media market, lost her father in the bombing.

Even so, I still had that ground zero feeling. There were many people in that building who lost limbs — or lives — simply because they were there, however briefly, for some reason that day.

And, as the unofficial adviser for the newspaper, I was proud of my students for putting their personal feelings aside and producing all their own coverage — their own articles, their own photos, their own graphics — in reporting on a once–in–a–lifetime news event. A journalist must find ways to remain detached from a story, no matter how difficult that may be.

And I know how difficult it was for my students. In addition to unofficially advising the newspaper staff, I was the unofficial counselor for many of them, too.

When you observe from afar, you have no idea how rough it gets, how raw emotions can become at ground zero. Perhaps that is why I hear so many speak so disparagingly of the fears of people here on the front lines — and I am angered and frustrated.

Those of us here at ground zero have never been through anything like this before. We've heard about Ebola, how so many people who get it die, and not long after the original patient died came word that two of the nurses who cared for him were infected. The news sent a wave of fear through this city; we turned to our "leaders" for reassurance, and we encountered what appeared to be an indifferent president — who appointed a political flunky with no medical background to be the Ebola czar — and an equally unconcerned director of the CDC, who could only keep repeating talking points like "we know how Ebola is spread" ad nauseam.

No one to whom I have spoken was the least bit reassured by any of that.

Well, now we're reaching the point where people who were isolated because they came in contact with the original patient have made it through the 21–day incubation period without showing any signs of infection and are free to resume their lives. I hope that continues and that no one else is diagnosed with this disease. Perhaps that will reassure people that it really is difficult to catch this disease, that perhaps we have contained it here.

Because the people who are supposed to reassure us at a time like this have let us down. Big time.

The Ashes of Waco

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It was 20 years ago today that the Branch Davidians' compound in Waco, Texas, burned to the ground when federal agents stormed the compound after a seven–week standoff.

In the aftermath of the bombing at the finish line of the Boston Marathon this week, it was natural for people to wonder if there was some connection between the two. When one considers the events of the last few hours, though, it is natural to wonder if there is a connection.

The focus of the investigation and manhunt was two brothers reported to be from Chechnya, but they are now said to have left Chechnya while children. At this writing, their allegiances/motivations are uncertain. About all that is certain is that one of the brothers is dead and the other is on the loose.

I suppose such questions will be answered at some point and in one way or another.

If the perpetrator(s) turns out to be domestic, there may be a pretty good chance that the explosions were planned to coincide (almost) with the anniversary of Waco. It was, after all, the inspiration for the bombing of the federal building in Oklahoma City two years later.

I remember exactly where I was on this day in 1993. I was in Columbia, Mo., with a group of my journalism students from the University of Oklahoma. We were attending a weekend seminar on the University of Missouri campus.

April 19, 1993 was a Monday, the last day of the conference. When things wrapped up around midday, we were planning to hit the road for Norman. I remember waking up in my motel room that morning and switching on the TV. As I got dressed for the day, I kept track of the start of the fatal siege.

It began early that day when the feds tried to use armored vehicles to puncture the walls of the compound — through which, the plan went, tear gas would be tossed in an attempt to flush the occupants out.

But somehow the compound went up in flames instead — some say the Davidians set the fire(s) themselves — and, when it was all said and done, more than 70 people, including their leader, the charismatic David Koresh (born Vernon Howell), were dead.

I've never been sure of the sequence of events. The students and I were busy until around 12:30 or so, but we learned, just before the seminar adjourned, that a fire — well, several fires — broke out shortly after noon. As the host of the seminar concluded the activities, he advised that "all hell has broken loose in Waco."

(I'm not alone in that uncertainty about the event sequence, by the way. Even among those who were at the scene and participated in the siege, there has been and continues to be disagreement about what happened when and who was responsible.)

The students and I didn't see footage of the burning compound until we got back to Norman, but we heard reports on the radio all the way.

That night, when I was back in my apartment, I stayed up late watching news accounts, marveling at what we had missed and at the irony that a bunch of journalism students and professors had missed what was probably the greatest news story of the year because they were attending a seminar about how to present the news more effectively.

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I had no idea that, two years later to the day, a bomb would go off in Oklahoma City, less than 30 miles from where I lived, and the timing would be connected to the anniversary of the assault on the Branch Davidians' compound in Texas.

(That was an even bigger news story, one in which I would find myself involved indirectly — as teacher and unofficial adviser to the students who staffed the OU campus newspaper, who produced all their own copy and photos and graphics, unlike nearly all newspapers, professional and collegiate, who depended upon the Associated Press.

(Frankly, I will never be able to say adequately — or often enough — how proud I was and am of the work those young people did on a story that undoubtedly was intensely personal for them. Many had grown up in Oklahoma City or nearby communities; one student even lost her father.)

But no one knew there was a link until later.

Somehow, that seems appropriate. Like other charismatic figures who led their followers to their destruction, Koresh was a mysterious individual. Judging from what I have read of Koresh — and the video clips I have seen of him preaching to his followers — virtually no one (perhaps not even Koresh himself) could have foreseen the fiery end of the Waco compound.

In many ways, Koresh and the Davidians remain shrouded in mystery.

Two decades later, Koresh still casts a mystifying spell.

"His legacy," writes Allan Turner in the Beaumont (Texas) Enterprise, "is one of righteousness, duplicity and showmanship."

A survivor of the inferno told Tim Madigan of the Fort Worth Star–Telegram that he still believes Koresh was who he claimed to be — in spite of the many questions that swirled around the standoff and final siege at the time.

There are many questions about those events that remain unanswered.

Odds and Sods

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It has been a broiling hot July afternoon in Dallas, Texas, and even though the actual temperatures have rarely exceeded the century mark this summer, the humidity (which I believe has been brought on by the unusual rain we got in late June and early July) has been sending the afternoon heat index well past 100° on a regular basis.

Just before 3 this afternoon, the actual temperature here in Dallas was 96° (a high of 101° was predicted) and the heat index was 100°. Four hours later, the actual temperature was a 99°, and the heat index was 103°. No real relief is in sight.

So we have been advised to stay indoors in the afternoons. And that has turned my thoughts loose this afternoon. I've been "scattershooting," as Blackie Sherrod, a well–known and much–beloved sportswriter in these parts, used to say.

• Wherever I may live in the rest of my life and whatever the climate there may be, the heat here in Dallas is one thing I will always associate with summer.
  
  I was not raised here, but my parents were and my family was always here in the summer to spend time with the grandparents and family friends. Many of my memories from childhood are of riding in hot cars with the windows rolled down and a hot breeze slapping my sweat–streaked face. And then, when we returned from wherever we had gone, my grandmother's house would be blissfully cool, and I recall many times when I would lay down on a bed beneath the window air conditioning unit and doze off for the afternoon.
  
  Ice cream, too, is the source of many summer memories for me. Unfortunately, it is often mixed with my memories of the heat. There were days when, if you were outside, you really had to gobble your ice cream sandwich or your fudgicle — because they would melt on you if you didn't.
  
  Well, I bring up ice cream because Baskin–Robbins, which is clearly one of the most well–known ice cream companies in America, is going to retire five flavors tomorrow, which is National Ice Cream Day. This is also being done in commemoration of the fact that 2010 marks 65 years since Baskin–Robbins began selling ice cream.
  
  Baskin–Robbins still will be selling 31 flavors, CNN reports. Five new flavors will be taking the place of the five that are being dropped, but the company isn't saying what they are. Baskin–Robbins is going to keep us in suspense until Sunday. Anyone care to guess what the new flavors will be?


• Have you ever been frustrated by parking meters?
  
  Once the automobile was invented, I guess the parking meter was an innovation that was bound to happen sooner or later, but you can blame a fellow named Carl Magee if you wish. He patented the first parking meter. And the very first one was installed 75 years ago yesterday in Oklahoma City.
  
  I've been looking at the web site for the newspaper in Oklahoma City, The Oklahoman, but I haven't found any articles about the anniversary. I guess that really is no surprise. I mean, what can you do to observe a milestone for an inanimate object?
  
  And how sentimental can one be about it when all it does is take your money?
  
  Still the revenue from parking meters helps to pay for city services. They're relatively painless, but they can be annoying, like when you're trying to find one more dime or quarter to make sure you don't wind up making an even greater contribution to the city's coffers.


• If you look at the screen capture from the top of this post, you will see my favorite headline of the year (so far).
  
  It's from the Springfield (Mass.) Union–News and Sunday Republican, and it has an unusual relevance for me.
  
  A few months ago, I was summoned for jury duty. All the prospective jurors for this particular case were gathered in a court room and told that the defendant had decided to plead guilty and that the jury would have to decide his punishment. The defendant had been charged with five counts of robbery, and the judge explained that, under the law, the difference between robbery and theft is that a robbery involves a victim who was injured or may have had reason to fear being injured while the theft was taking place.
  
  A theft would be taking something valuable from a parked car or a vacant desk. Of course, legal definitions can vary from state to state. But the article says a wallet was stolen. The suspect apparently wielded no weapon. But he had only one arm. He must have seemed quite threatening to qualify, under the law, for the charge of robbery.
  
  The kicker is his nickname — "Lefty."
  
  That's what my father used to call Bob Dole.

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  As the recession drags on, I hear Ronald Reagan's name mentioned more and more often by politicians who seem to have a problem differentiating between reality and fantasy.
  
  Thirty years ago today, Reagan accepted the Republican nomination for president for the first time. The Republican convention was held in Detroit that year. Four years earlier, when Reagan came up short in his bid to defeat President Ford, the party held its convention in Kansas City.
  
  He went on to be elected president that November. Then he was re–elected four years later. And, in January 1989, he returned to California — the first president in my memory to serve two full terms, even though many people believed when he took office shortly before his 70th birthday that there was no way a man of that age could survive the crushing responsibilities of the presidency.
  
  But he did. And, in the two decades since Reagan left the White House, it has become almost routine for a president to serve eight years.


• Exactly one year after Reagan, an outspoken advocate of deregulation, accepted the GOP nomination, tragedy struck the city where Reagan narrowly lost the nomination to Ford in 1976.
  
  During a tea dance, a walkway at the Hyatt Regency collapsed because of a structural failure. More than 100 people were killed. More than 200 were injured.
  
  The hotel had a distinctive lobby, with a multistory atrium with suspended concrete walkways on the second, third and fourth floors. The fourth floor's walkway was directly over the second floor's walkway. The third floor's was off to the side. Because of a design flaw, the fourth–floor walkway collapsed on to the second–floor walkway, and then both fell to the lobby, resulting in the casualties.
  
  The Missouri Board of Architects, Professional Engineers and Land Surveyors found the engineers who had signed off on the plans guilty of negligence and misconduct. No criminal charges were ever filed, but those engineers were stripped of their licenses.

Reversal of Fortune

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In its own way, at its own pace, history fills in the blanks for us.

On this day 15 years ago, the pain and the grief was intense in Oklahoma City and the rest of Oklahoma. Four days had passed since the horrific bombing that took 168 lives, and President Bill Clinton came to the Oklahoma State Fairgrounds that Sunday to speak at the memorial prayer service. He came to fulfill his presidential role as Comforter in Chief, but I am convinced the ever–pragmatic Clinton must have come with at least some political objectives in mind as well.

Clinton's party had just lost control of both houses of Congress about six months earlier, and the president's future was uncertain. In general, polls showed that there were about as many Americans who disapproved of Clinton's job performance as there were those who approved.

History tells us that Clinton went on to be re–elected the following year. He carried 31 states and D.C., receiving more than 47 million popular votes and 379 electoral votes. No one heard of Monica Lewinsky until well after the election. The Republicans in Congress did not try to have Clinton removed from office until that second term was half over. No doubt there were many who thought, in 1995, the voters would take care of that for them.

In 1995, there was still some doubt that Clinton would win a second term — and part of that doubt was based on the perception in the country that Clinton was wishy–washy, that he wasn't tough enough for a nation that had gleefully re–elected Ronald Reagan a decade earlier.

On that Sunday in April 1995 — almost exactly a year after Clinton delivered one of the eulogies for Richard Nixon — I was living in central Oklahoma, and I recall no conversations I had with anyone else who was living there nor do I recall any discussions on the Sunday morning news shows that dealt with Clinton's political prospects.

I guess it would have been astonishing if local attention had focused on Clinton, even though the presidential entourage was coming to the state that day. Everyone's attention was still on the bombing site. The waning hope that survivors might still be found was mentioned, even though conditions had been unseasonably cool and wet in the days after the bombing, and experts warned listeners that the odds were against finding any more survivors buried in the rubble. Although Timothy McVeigh was in custody, there was some talk of the search for "John Doe #2," McVeigh's alleged accomplice, but if he ever existed, he was never found. I've only heard him mentioned once in nearly 10 years.

And there were still those who clung to the rumors (which had been discredited within hours of the bombing) that Middle Eastern terrorists had been involved. It's hard to remember now, but, at the time, the first (and unsuccessful) attack on the World Trade Center was a not–so–distant memory, and the American public, then as now, was more prepared to blame a foreign terrorist than a domestic one.

For the most part, my recollection of that day is that the people of Oklahoma were still in shock, and Clinton came to help them come to terms with their loss. His visit was mentioned respectfully by the local media, but there was none of the excitement that a place like Oklahoma City would be expected to show — under normal circumstances — for a presidential visit.

Part of that may have had to do with the fact that Clinton is a Democrat and Oklahoma hasn't voted for a Democrat for president since Clinton was a teenager.

Oklahoma hasn't always been the Republican state that it is today. For the first four decades of its existence as a state, Oklahoma voted for Democratic candidates for president most of the time. But since 1952, Oklahoma has voted Democratic only once.

I really doubt that Clinton came to Oklahoma City 15 years ago today with the idea that he could win over Oklahoma with a lot of posturing and tough talk. But he used the kind of language ("evil," "terrible sin") that resonated in deeply religious Oklahoma and spoke of how healing the grief and pain was "God's work."

I think he came to Oklahoma City hoping to win over enough locals to make him the most competitive Democratic nominee Oklahoma had seen in awhile — and, in the process, revive his own political fortunes.

"You have lost too much," Clinton told his listeners, "but you have not lost everything. And you have certainly not lost America, for we will stand with you for as many tomorrows as it takes."

He quoted Scripture, telling the people of Oklahoma City that the dogwood he and his wife had planted at the White House in memory of the lost lives "embodies the lesson of the Psalms — that the life of a good person is like a tree whose leaf does not wither."

"[A] tree takes a long time to grow," Clinton said, "and wounds take a long time to heal. But we must begin."

When I sat in my Norman, Okla., apartment that day and watched Clinton deliver that speech, I felt that what he was beginning was his campaign for re–election. To me, he had seemed rather silent in that spring of 1995, metaphorically licking his wounds and biding his time while the Republican majorities in Congress reveled in their newly acquired power.

Oklahoma City was Clinton's triumphant return to the national stage — and that, to me, is the great irony of the Oklahoma City bombing.

McVeigh said he was retaliating for — even said he chose the date because of — the siege on the Branch Davidian compound in Waco, Texas, two years earlier. That siege began very early in Clinton's presidency. He hadn't had time to accomplish anything, really, but it could be said that the Oklahoma City bombing was aimed at Clinton.

We've all heard McVeigh's comments about "collateral damage." Clinton may have been part of that, even though he was in another time zone. It just may have been intended to hurt Clinton more than it hurt anyone else, even those who were killed.

Yet Clinton turned the tables on McVeigh and may well have won his second term because of what he said 15 years ago today.

Ironic, huh?

Remembering Oklahoma City

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It's really hard for me to believe — for several reasons — that it has been 15 years since the Oklahoma City bombing.

On the day it happened, I was living about 25 miles from Oklahoma City. At the time, I was on the journalism faculty at the University of Oklahoma. I was in my office shortly after 9 a.m. that day, conversing with a colleague. I've heard some people say that they could hear the explosion from 50 miles away. Maybe they did, but I cannot truthfully say that I heard the explosion. Of course, I was inside when it happened. Maybe those who say they heard it from 50 miles away were outside.

If, from that distance, being outside would make that much difference.

Anyway, I learned about the explosion the same way most people did — from a TV report. I was about to go upstairs to teach an editing class, and I walked past the student newspaper's newsroom. There was a TV in there, and a few students were already in the newsroom, even though their workdays didn't typically begin until the afternoon, and they were watching the initial reports.

I stopped to watch the report — and wound up being a few minutes late for my class. That was OK, though. Most of the students had been detained by news reports as well.

We were all a bit dazed by the news. One of my students observed that there was likely to be a great need for blood and asked if class could be dismissed so they could donate blood for the injured. I agreed.

(In case you're wondering, I never asked my students to confirm that they donated blood that day. Many no doubt did give blood. That is something I will always remember about the students with whom I worked at OU, especially the ones in my classes that semester — their generosity and unselfishness. Some may well have treated it as an unexpected day off from class but not many, and it really doesn't matter. I never made them account for their activities. I guess it would have come across as unseemly under the circumstances.)

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Everyone was touched that day but especially people like my students, most of whom had grown up in Oklahoma City or in nearby towns. The bombing literally took place in their backyard.

Not all of the students actually knew someone who was killed or injured that day — but one of my students did lose her father. And ripples of loss continue to be felt. Yesterday, The Oklahoman ran an article of a young woman who was 4 when her mother was killed in the bombing. She says she has very few memories of her mother that are truly her own, that most of what she knows of her mother is what family and friends have told her. But, in one of the ironies of life, she is sort of following in her mother's footsteps. It may not be her permanent career choice, but she is working for the DEA — her mother's employer 15 years ago.

That young woman is the same age now as many of my students were that day. And many of my former students have children who are the same age today that young woman was 15 years ago. The cycle of life goes on.

As I remember, KOCO's Sky 5 was one of the first on the scene with aerial footage of the devastation. Within minutes, central Oklahoma (and, I assume, the rest of the nation) saw the destruction that had unexpectedly been visited upon it on what had seemed to be an ordinary spring morning.

I must admit, I thought of that six years later when the terrorists hijacked four commercial airplanes and crashed three of them into the World Trade Center and the Pentagon. It was the same kind of morning — my memory is that it was a clear–blue sky like the one on 9–11, and unseasonably mild with not the slightest hint that hell was about to make an appearance on earth.

The Oklahoma City bombing resembled 9–11 in more than just the weather. In the days after the event, there was an uncommon sense of courtesy among all the people in the area, much like what I observed in the days following 9–11.

And, unfortunately, there was an "atmosphere of hostility" in the land, as President Clinton wrote in his presidential memoir. Clinton rightly observed the role that right–wing radio played in fanning the flames, and there were reports of troublesome websites, but I always felt he gave too much credit to the influence of sites that encouraged civil disobedience and offered instructions in bomb making.

The internet did exist in 1995, and so, apparently, did such sites, but there were far fewer computers in private homes in those days, and web addresses tended to be much more complicated. A child can maneuver through the internet today with little or no trouble, but, in 1995, even adults with advanced college degrees had problems.

The internet has spread to more homes in 15 years, and it is unquestionably easier than ever for people to communicate online so I wouldn't casually dismiss the potential link between computers and evil acts when Clinton warns of parallels between those days and these. I'd listen to what he says.

As I say, I didn't hear the explosion, but I knew that area of Oklahoma City reasonably well. I can't say that I regularly spent much time there, but there had been times when I walked along the sidewalk in front of the Murrah Building. It is possible that I walked across the very spot where the Ryder truck was parked before it was detonated. I'm sure I must have looked across the area that is now a permanent memorial to those who were killed — but, whenever I was in that area, the building stood in that spot. I'm sure I wouldn't recognize it today.

I remained in central Oklahoma for another year after the bombing, but I don't think I ever returned to Oklahoma City. I never really had a reason to, I guess, but the truth is that I never felt the desire to return.

Perhaps if I had, I would have learned what The Oklahoman refers to in today's editorial — that April 19, 1995, was a minute in time. It was a painful moment, to be sure, a moment in which "lives were brutally stolen" and "[t]he lives of hundreds of others were forever changed." But it also was — and is — a defining moment.

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"We are all 15 years older now, each of us moving, minute by minute, imperceptibly, toward the sunset of our own lives. Moments in time, both the marvelous and the horrible, will one day not matter.

"Until then, it is apt that we remember how a moment in time became the moment of eternity for 168 of our fellow citizens."

The Oklahoman

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Someone — at The Oklahoman, perhaps — has calculated that nearly 8 million minutes have passed since that fateful moment in 1995. Oklahoma City is a better place today than it was 15 years ago, The Oklahoman says, but how much better would it be if those 168 people who died in that explosion had been allowed to live?

Certainly, if one asks that question, it is impossible not to wonder if any of the 19 children who died might have been the one to find a cure for cancer — or if one of them might have produced some other benefit for mankind. We mourned the loss of life many years ago. We grieve today for the potential that was lost.

Well, those are questions that can't be answered — and are probably best left not pondered. No amount of musing can produce satisfactory answers.

We may be unable to keep ourselves from wondering how different our nation and our world might have been if the Murrah building had not been blown up 15 years ago today — or if those four airplanes had not been hijacked in 2001 or if other acts of terrorism had not been committed — but, when the questions have been asked and the wondering is done, nothing is changed. Oklahoma City remains one of history's what–ifs.

It is fitting, as The Oklahoman writes, that we honor those who died.

But the responsibility for the future rests with the living.

For good or ill, the dead have made their contributions.