The Bankrobber I Knew - Part Seven

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We were told to stop using all radios, cell phones, and electronic devices using radio or infra frequencies, including garage door openers.  A bomb had exploded in the center of the city and the Murrah Building was destroyed and authorities had no idea what the trigger had been.  They weren't taking any chances. Our plant closed down and everyone went home.

On the way home I listened to the news on the radio and word was that some kind of Middle Eastern terrorist group had blown up the building in an act of defiance against America.  That was the story that was repeated for at least a day on national news, and for many more days locally.  The seething hatred of those Khomeni thugs by phone-in callers was broadcast over Oklahoma airwaves complete with death threats and plans to nuke Tehran.

When I got back to the apartment Westley wasn't there.  His car wasn't there.  Not that I was surprised, but it's the first thing I checked.  Maybe he hadn't gone in, maybe he'd been sick, maybe, maybe, maybe. 

There were no calls on the answering machine and the phone system was overwhelmed.  The only sound in my receiver was static that whole first day.  I knew my family would be worried, but I had no way to contact them.  The only thing I could do was watch the news, which I did with the volume off so I could also listen to the radio.  If you pay attention to everything you might find out the truth.  I believed that then.  I'm more cynical today.

By midnight, I figured Westley was dead.  There just wasn't any other option so far as I could see.  His parole appointment was at 9:00 and the bomb went off at either 9:02 or 9:03 according to reports.  Even taking into account him being a few minutes late, he'd have been in the parking lot, in front of the building, or at the entrance.  The bomb had taken all of that out.

Thursday a half-crew showed up for work and they called it off.  The city was in shock, and mourning. Nothing was happening.  The schools were closed, the stores were making a half-hearted effort.  Rescue and recovery crews from all over the country were arriving and the President had declared an emergency in a national address the day before.  Clinton may have had a thing for chubby interns, but he was Johnny on the Spot in times of national crisis.  There was no expense spared for the rescue effort, the city, and its people during that time.  Vice-President Gore arrived a week later and all the red-tape was waived.

The plant manager made a decision to close until Monday and told those of us who showed up Thursday that we'd get paid if we volunteered in the relief effort.  That was all I needed to push me to scene. 

I left my car at the plant and walked to the city center where the worst carnage I'd ever witnessed awaited me.  I understand that there was devastation in Iraq when I was there and that there are atrocities and horrors that greet people all over the globe daily, but for me this was the first up close and personal examination I'd had of a pure act of evil. 

The crews from all the stations followed an unspoken rule to not point their news cameras downward.  If you look at scenes from that explosion, you see the side of the building and other upward angles.  The only downward pictures were aerial and not close-up enough for detail.  Downward was where the shock was. A crater twenty to thirty feet deep lie at the opening of the building and inside that crater were bodies, blood, parts and stench. Rescue crews were climbing downward for the most part because the building itself had been relatively easy to empty, it was half standing.

The building across the street had housed the newspaper, the Daily Oklahoman.  It was a block-long concrete structure and had been forced backward right over its foundation between six inches and two feet along the block.  There were fires burning in that building still, twenty-four hours later. People were bringing hands, fingers, and other pieces back to the blast site from as far away as a car dealership a mile to the north. They were arriving with their gruesome packages wrapped in towels, newspapers, or even on ice in coolers.

I walked up to the Red Cross tent and asked if I could help.  I was shoved to a table, given a badge, signed a form and put in a tent where I hauled pans, moved cots, and ran errands for anyone who needed anything.  No one asked about experience or qualifications and no one was turning away helpers who could watch mangled people and worse, horribly mangled people parts without panicking or vomiting.  I have a strong stomach and the Norwegian ability to bury my emotions. 

That night I collapsed back at my apartment.  Someone gave me a ride when they left.  I don't remember what time it was or how long I'd been there, but as soon as I awoke I hitchhiked right back out to the site and started again.  It was my own memorial to those people and to Westley.  If I worked myself to exhaustion, perhaps I'd make some kind of difference.

Sometime during the day on Saturday I was unloading a truck of supplies when a soot-stained hand grabbed my shoulder.

I turned, dropped a case of bottled water, and stood in shock.  Westley was standing there, shirt torn, hands and face blackened, but looking none the worse for wear.  He smiled, the first smile I'd seen in days, and said,

“What're you doing, Rick?”

- rick, seeing a ghost?

Comments

[mark]

how come I knew that somehow he'd survive? But what a nice way to start the day, knowing he did.

[Cherise]

Woo Hoo and Yay! Love Westley!

[a rose is a rose]

i STILL cried (and AM crying) damn you

[bex]

Aw, snap! Personally, I always wanted an opportunity to say, "The rumors of my death have been greatly exaggerated."

[Cele]

Rick, your writing is riveting. You carry your readers with you, opening a vista to the horrors of the past in 3D Technicolor while feeling your emotions.

Thank you for the sights and insights.

[Sister Mary Lisa]

How awful such an experience must have been. That's horrible. I'm glad Westley didn't die such a gruesome death.

[Sideon]

"Clinton may have had a thing for chubby interns, but he was Johnny on the Spot in times of national crisis."

"No one asked about experience or qualifications and no one was turning away helpers who could watch mangled people and worse, horribly mangled people parts without panicking or vomiting."

"If I worked myself to exhaustion, perhaps I'd make some kind of difference."

I love following this story!