#WeRemember: the 25th anniversary of the Oklahoma City bombing

When I first arrived at the site of the Alfred P. Murrah Federal Building on April 19, 1995, to report on the Oklahoma City bombing for Catholic News Service, police lines and makeshift shelters had already been drawn by emergency crews.

Budding spring gardens downtown had instantly succumbed to military tents, hastily erected to serve as temporary morgue, as ATF/FBI evidence gathering sites, and as a canteen for rescue workers. 

Law enforcement and fully armed military personnel lined the streets, carefully eyeing every approaching person. Breathing masks, bloodied bandages, and much broken glass testified to the human carnage that had taken place there just a few hours earlier. Thick grey dust covered everything.

Overhead, helicopters circled the downtown perimeter, accusingly pointing a flood light at the streets.

The sounds of sirens, voices, and motors blended with the humming of drilling equipment at the site—where workers used lighted cranes to cautiously proceed with rescue operations around the clock.

Northwest of the building, a block-long square area had instantaneously become an international media center, camera crews mixing with fallen debris, van food vendors, and smashed up cars demolished by the blast. 

Reporters talked on mobile phones to frantic editors; photographers pointed their high-powered telephoto lenses at rescue operations on the site; and television crews staked out their live, on-the-spot, reporting areas.

When I first saw the building, I stood speechless before the sight of human evil.

"It's worse than the most horrible Friday the 13th movie you can imagine… You can't walk out of this theatre," 25-year-old Steve Mavros told me as he sat on the sidewalk. 

Mavros and his trained dog Bucephalos, members of the Oklahoma Canine Search and Rescue out of Tulsa, were some of the first deployed to the site to identify the location of victims.

"We would have a hit—a human find—but only find a piece of a body,” described Mavros, silently petting Bucephalos.

On that fateful spring morning, 168 people died—19 of them children, in addition to three babies still in utero. Hundreds of survivors were maimed, injured, forever scarred.

For the first few weeks after the bombing, Oklahoma City held its breath. Functions were canceled. Businesses silently closed. Professors discharged classes. Students attended prayer services. A week after the bombing, a tire shop owner declared, “businness is just dead. No one is going anywhere.”

Several days after the around-the-clock coverage, a local sportscaster, faced with the nightly litany of scores, verbalized everybody’s feelings when he spontaneously admitted, “I’m sorry. I just can’t do scores tonight. It just seems meaningless.”

It is important that we remember April 19, 1995. 

Remember the lives of those who died, not only where they died. Remember the victims' families. Remember those who survived, and those still struggling to heal. 

Remember the tireless rescue workers who risked their lives in the still-trembling building to find survivors, and eventually, to bring the dead home. Remember how they would silently bow their heads in impromptu prayer before leaving the bomb site.

Remember TV and radio journalists openly sharing their faith on the air; volunteers serving food to weary teary-eyed firefighters; ‘Thank you for your work of love’ scribbled on a boarded up window near the site.

Remember how there was no looting in that wrecked downtown, and how crime was virtually non-existent for several days in this city of 500,000. “Pray” silently proclaimed on billboards throughout the city.

Remember how the money turned in after the blast from the Federal Employees Credit Union vault housed in the Murrah building exceeded the money originally held in that vault. 

We must always remember— remember that the stories of human goodness, generosity, and compassion overwhelmed and conquered one despicable act of evil.  

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Want to hear more stories of HOPE?  Check out my first book — "Their Faith Has Touched Us: The Legacies of Three Young Oklahoma City Bombing Victims" 

April 19, 1995: why we must never forget

When I first arrived at the site of the Alfred P. Murrah Federal Building on April 19, 1995, to report on the Oklahoma City bombing for Catholic News Service, police lines and makeshift shelters had already been drawn.

Budding spring gardens had instantly succumbed to military tents, hastily erected to serve as temporary morgue, as ATF/FBI evidence gathering sites, and as a canteen for rescue workers. Law enforcement and fully armed military personnel lined the streets. Breathing masks, bloodied bandages, and much broken glass testified to the human carnage that had taken place there hours before. Thick grey dust covered everything.

Northwest of the building, a block-long square area had instantaneously become an international media center, camera crews mixing with fallen debris, van food vendors, and cars demolished by the blast. Overhead, helicopters circled the downtown radius accusingly pointing flood lights at the empty streets. The sounds of sirens, voices, and motors blended effectively with the humming of drilling equipment at the site, where workers used lighted cranes to continue rescue operations around the clock.

On that fateful spring morning, 168 people died (171 counting theunborn) and hundreds of survivors were maimed and injured, forever scarred. The hundreds of rescuers from all over the world that came those first few weeks will be eternally haunted by what they saw at the site: debris, twisted metal, and shards of broken glass mingled with the smell of death and reminders of those who worked there-purses, pieces of clothing, toys, shoes, and grisly body parts.

"It's worse than the most horrible Friday the 13^th movie you can imagine-you can't walk out of this theatre," told me 25-year-old Steve Mavros from the Oklahoma Canine Search and Rescue out of Tulsa. Mavros and his specially trained dog, Bucephalos, were one of the first deployed to the site to identify the location of humans and human remains. "We would have a hit-a human find-but only find a piece of a body."

I have no doubt in my heart that in those moments of such massive death and suffering, the veil between heaven and earth becomes so thin that we can, literally, recognize God’s Presence in our midst.

So it is important that we remember... that we never forget days like April 19, 1995.

Remember the lives of those who died, not only where they died. Remember the victims' families. Remember those who survived and are still struggling to heal. Remember the stories of tireless rescue workers (many who traveled here from states all over the country!) who risked their lives in the still-trembling building to find survivors, and eventually, to bring the dead home.

Remember how there was no looting in that wrecked downtown, and how crime was virtually non-existent for several days in this city of half a million people. Remember the thousands of devoted community volunteers. Remember how the money turned in after the blast from the Federal Employees Credit Union vault housed in the Murrah building exceeded the money originally held in that vault.

We will always remember that the stories of human goodness, generosity, and compassion overwhelmed and conquered one despicable act of evil.  

Note: I have written before about April 19, 1995. The above is an edited version of various posts, in this blog and others.  And the photos here are mine, © María Ruiz Scaperlanda. 

For more stories of hope, check out my first book, "Their Faith Has Touched Us: The Legacies of Three Young Oklahoma City Bombing Victims." 

we remember... April 19, 1995

For those of us who live in Oklahoma, it is difficult to believe it’s already been 20 years since that fateful April 19^th morning when a bomb exploited in downtown Oklahoma City, taking the lives of 168 people and injuring hundreds more.

Everybody here knows exactly where he or she was that Wednesday morning at 9:02. The sound and trembling from the blast. The plum of smoke. Everyone knows someone who was killed, injured, or forever marked and haunted by that one moment in history.

So many of the victims and survivors have become intricate to our shared community narrative—like those family stories that are so intimate, so familiar, that any member can finish another’s sentence,

The baby girl carried out by a first responder and into the arms of fireman rescuer. The woman whose leg was amputated in the midst of the Murrah building rubble. The miraculous moment when the final survivor was pulled out of the rubble 13 hours after the explosion. The mom pleading on television for help finding her baby. The children from the daycare.

It is heartbreaking to say, but I know that the people of New York City and Boston now understand how one incomprehensible evil act can and does forever alter the spirit and essence of one community. There are so many others, like Newton, CT... Littleton, Colorado... Virginia Tech...Killeen, Texas. 

I have no doubt in my heart that in those moments of such massive death and suffering, the veil between heaven and earth becomes so thin that we can, literally, recognize God’s Presence in our midst.

It is important that we remember... that we never forget days like April 19, 1995.

Remember the lives of those who died, not only where they died. Remember the victims' families. Remember those who survived and are still struggling to heal. Remember the stories of tireless rescue workers (many who traveled from other states!) who risked their lives in the still-trembling building to find survivors, and eventually, to bring the dead home.

Remember how there was no looting in that wrecked Oklahoma City downtown—and how crime was virtually non-existent for several days in this city of 500,000. Remember the thousands of devoted community volunteers. Remember how the money turned in after the blast from the Federal Employees Credit Union vault housed in the Murrah building exceeded the money originally held in that vault.

It is important that we remember that the stories of human goodness, generosity, and compassion will always overwhelm and conquer one despicable act of evil. 

Oklahoma City National Memorial

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Five years ago I wrote a blog post on my experience as a journalist covering the Oklahoma City bombing for Catholic News Service.

Here is how it begins:

When I first arrived at the site of the Alfred P. Murrah FederalBuilding on April 19, 1995, to report on the Oklahoma City bombing for Catholic News Service, police lines and makeshift shelters had already been drawn. 

Budding spring gardens had instantly succumbed to military tents, hastily erected to serve as temporary morgue, as ATF/FBI evidence gathering sites, and as a canteen for rescue workers. Law enforcement and fully armed military personnel lined the streets. Breathing masks, bloodied bandages, and broken glass testified to the human carnage that had taken place there hours before. Thick grey dust covered everything. 

Northwest of the building, a block-long square area had instantaneously become an international media center, camera crews mixing with fallen debris, van food vendors, and cars demolished by the blast. Overhead, helicopters circled the downtown radius accusingly pointing floodlights at the empty streets. The sounds of sirens, voices, and motors blended effectively with the humming of drilling equipment at the site, where workers used lighted cranes to continue rescue operations around the clock.

Click here to read the rest.

my Camino, 10 years later: remembering Estella

Ten years ago today, my friend Pat and I arrived by foot to the 1,000 year old town of Estella--after walking 14.5 miles on the Camino de Santiago that day.

a butterfly wing that I found and taped to my journal, 

and a rough sketch of a church steeple that I played with during a break in our walk

A 10-year-anniversary is a significant landmark—and I find myself remembering, reflecting, and feeling thankful for further things about the Camino, even now.

Since Pat and I began our walk in Pamplona, this was early on in our pilgrimage. Yet that day I noted in my journal two things: I already had “big blisters,” and it was our “first internet access!”

Some people, like my husband Michael, can walk the entire 500 miles of the Camino and never get a significant blister. But as we made our way across northern Spain, I struggled with sores covering my toes for basically the entire month of June.

Here’s what I wrote in my journal:

“The albergue has 38 beds and a beautiful mural of St. Michael painted on the wall of the back patio. Our hospitalero is a guy with strict rules, big tattoos, and bad skin. 

With every painful step today, I offered my walk, my pain and my tears for the people I know who hurt even to stand everyday—Shirley, Lonnie, JoAnn’s friend who lost a leg in the [Oklahoma City] bombing, all who hurt every day. God bless them. When we arrived here we saw a man with a fake leg on a bike! God be with him.”

a traffic sign that I didn't recognize, 

and copied to my journal after I learned that it means: "unclear or undefined danger"! 

I’m convinced that no matter how much one prepares and trains in order to “successfully” walk this historic pilgrimage, the Camino will still be what it needs to be for every peregrino. It’s a personal experience.

As is true of life, we can’t predict what the pilgrimage will entail. And for me, that meant blisters and learning to walk daily with chronic pain, as well as having the opportunity to offer this struggle as prayer for others in need.

Never would I have dreamt that this experience would come back to help me and guide me years later as I began to face my own chronic physical struggles.

we will never forget: April 19, 1995

When I first arrived at the site of the Alfred P. Murrah Federal Building on April 19, 1995, to report on the Oklahoma City bombing for Catholic News Service, police lines and makeshift shelters had already been drawn. Budding spring gardens had instantly succumbed to military tents, hastily erected to serve as temporary morgue, as ATF/FBI evidence gathering sites, and as a canteen for rescue workers. Law enforcement and fully armed military personnel lined the streets.

Breathing masks, bloodied bandages, and much broken glass testified to the human carnage that had taken place there hours before. Thick grey dust covered everything. Northwest of the building, a block-long square area had instantaneously become an international media center, camera crews mixing with fallen debris, van food vendors, and cars demolished by the blast. Overhead, helicopters circled the downtown radius accusingly pointing flood lights at the empty streets. The sounds of sirens, voices, and motors blended effectively with the humming of drilling equipment at the site, where workers used lighted cranes to continue rescue operations around the clock.

On that fateful spring morning, 171 people (counting the unborn) died, and hundreds of survivors were maimed and injured, forever scarred.  The hundreds of rescuers from all over the world that came those first few weeks will be eternally haunted by what they saw at the site: debris, twisted metal, and shards of broken glass mingled with the smell of death and reminders of those who worked there—purses, pieces of clothing, toys, shoes, and grisly body parts.

“It’s worse than the most horrible Friday the 13^th movie you can imagine—you can’t walk out of this theatre,” told me 25-year-old Steve Mavros from the Oklahoma Canine Search and Rescue out of Tulsa. Mavros and his specially trained dog, Bucephalos, were one of the first deployed to the site to identify the location of humans and human remains. “We would have a hit—a human find—but only find a piece of a body.”

"And Jesus Wept" statue 

across the street from the OKC Memorial site

It is important that we remember April 19^th, 1995.  Remember the lives of those who died, not only where they died. Remember the victims’ families. Remember those who survived and are still struggling to heal. Remember the stories of tireless rescue workers who risked their lives in the still-trembling building to find survivors, and eventually, to bring the dead home.

Remember how there was no looting in that wrecked downtown, and how crime was virtually non-existent for several days in this city of 500,000. Remember the thousands of devoted community volunteers. Remember how the money turned in after the blast from the Federal Employees Credit Union vault housed in the Murrah building exceeded the money originally held in that vault. We will always remember that the stories of human goodness, generosity and compassion overwhelmed and conquered one despicable act of evil.   

"the fence," where people from all over the world have left personal items, 

uniting themselves to the city and those who suffered here