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. . . . . . mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm
. . . . . In dedication to
. . . . . . mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm everyone who was lost
. . . . . or lost someone
. . . . . . mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm September 11, 2001:
. . . . . Anada 432
. . . . . . mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm
mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm "Terrorism"
by Flack
mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm
09/30/01
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Someone did the unthinkable. Someone took a vehicle, an ordinary
vehicle that you wouldn't think twice about, and turned it into a weapon.
Someone destroyed a building, innocent lives, and our innocence. The year
was 1995, the vehicle was a Ryder moving truck, and the building was the
Oklahoma Murrah Building.
I was 15 miles away from the Murrah Building when it was destroyed,
yet it rattled my windows loud enough to wake me up. For some reason I
thought a passing by garbage truck was the source of the rumbling. When I
didn't see one out my window, I went outside. While I didn't see a garbage
truck, I did see smoke. A rising pillar of black smoke, coming from
downtown. To tell you the truth I didn't think much about it.
I went back inside, and turned on the news. Even the news channels
weren't sure as to what exactly had just happened, but as they raced
downtown they found the building partially missing. The Murrah Building was
located off of basically 4th and Western. My wife worked at 10th and
Western. It was probably a good 10 minutes before she was able to find a
phone with a working dial tone and called home. It goes without saying,
that was a pretty long 10 minutes.
For at least a week, nothing was normal. The TV was on constantly
that week. I didn't want to eat, or sleep, or go to work, or do much of
anything but watch that damned television and see what was happening. It
was like it was happening somewhere else, except it wasn't. You can still
ask people around here today, everyone either knew someone who worked down
there, or knew someone who knew someone who did. It took me a day or so to
remember that my cousin worked in the daycare center.
You mean... yeah. They never found her. Well, not all of her. I'm
sure they found enough of her DNA splattered on a concrete slab to identify
her remains.
Last year I worked with a guy who was one of the last people they
pulled out of the rubble alive. He said he spent four hours under a ton of
bricks and metal until they pulled him out. His leg was severely mangled,
and while he was in there he found some phone cable and made a tourniquet
for himself. The guy still freaks out when he sees Ryder trucks. Once he
skipped work because a neighbor parked a moving truck out in the street. He
physically couldn't make himself leave the house. He's 44, and told me he
spent the day hiding under his bed crying.
Things are pretty much back to normal here in Oklahoma -- as much as
possible, I guess. I don't know that you ever "get over" something like
that. I don't think about it everyday anymore. I don't think, "I work in a
federal building, that could have been me," anymore. I don't think about my
cousin that much anymore. Things get easier with time.
I've spent the last 6 years hearing about "the largest terrorist
attack ever against the United States." 169 people died that day. It's a
record (if you want to call it that) that I hoped Oklahoma would hold
forever, just so no other city would ever have to go through this.
The attack on the World Trade Center on September 11th killed almost
40x as many people.
New York, America, World; Oklahoma feels your pain.
mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm
. . .------
* * ------ by Flack (c) anada.net 09/30/01
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