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OKC Memorial

23 · Apr · 2001

I don’t know how to introduce this letter below except to tell you what happened to me last Thursday.

A few months ago my boss told me about a leadership seminar that was coming to Nashville. Barbara Bush, George Bush, Zig Zigglar and Mikhail Gorbechaev were just a few of the speakers that would address the thousands of people at the Gaylord Arena downtown. I was excited to go until I looked at the date – April 19, the anniversary of the Oklahoma City bombing murder of 168 friends, neighbors, children & classmates. Oklahoma City. My hometown.

I wasn’t home when the bomb exploded our lives that day in 1995. I was here in Nashville and got news of my friends who died by reading the lists in the local paper. When I finally did get home and was brave enough to go downtown to survey the damage, it changed me in a way that only other victims of such a crime can understand.

So, when I saw that this large event was to be held on April 19 in Nashville something strange happened. I was scared to go. I know it’s unreasonable, but I was angry, at first, for the Success 2001 company for being so stupid to plan for such major world leaders to get together on that day and without proper security. But what was I to do? Stay home April 19 of every year?

At 8:50 AM, as I sat there looking at the thousands of Nashvillians crowded in the arena, I began to get pretty nervous. The only thing I could think of to do was to walk to the back of the room and talk to God. There was no way I could leave the building. If something did happen, I’d never forgive myself. So I stood in the walkway on the bottom floor and reminded God that I never want to see such heartache again, that I would do anything he wanted me to do if it meant 9 AM passed without incident.

It’s silly, isn’t it? Yes, it probably is. But the result of Timothy McVeigh carefully choosing April 19 is my fear. It made me realise that anything can happen. Good or bad. Anything. I hate that he made me afraid.

At 9:10 AM, I looked down at my watch. Nothing. We were all still there, watching Barbara Mandrell pace the stage talking about her mamma. As I walked back to my seat it dawned on me that it was the first time since 1995 that I did not stand in a completely silent room while taking part in some type of memorial ceremony at 9:00 AM.

In the last six years people often ask me about this subject, the conspiracy, and McVeigh’s book . And recently, they have wanted to know how I feel about the upcoming execution of Timothy McVeigh. Anything I might say would be speculation, opinion and it would change nothing. I don’t want to stare at a clock every April 19 while my chest tightens. But I do want the rest of the world to know the important things that happened that day and why I am proud to be an Okie. Donna Prattler’s letter says it all. She worked the bombing site and she recently received an excerpt of Timothy McVeigh's book. This is her response:

Dear Friends,

I will not forward the excerpt from the book that has been written by two reporters and a couple of shrinks about Tim McVeigh. It was sent to me by someone I respect, and I have checked it out to be sure that the quote was accurate. And, it was.

I fully expected to read this book. I wanted to know a lot of things. And, I believe that the book is an accurate account of what Tim McVeigh has said. I wanted to know why he picked Oklahoma City. I wanted to know if he implicated anyone else. I wanted to know if he took responsibility. But, I won't read the book. After reading the excerpt I know that it doesn't matter. It won't change a thing. I have to address this. So, buckle up, because here goes. And, before I start this tirade, I want to say that what follows I know to be fact because I saw it.

My husband sat up a tent across the street from the building, right next to Little Caesar's pizza, who also sat up a tent and made pizza's on the spot. Jim's company donated all the coffee and tea and equipment, and we funneled the water and cokes and other supplies that were donated through that little blue tent and to the rescuers, and the workers. So, we saw what happened, and we know. My husband, whose heart is so soft he swerves to miss a turtle on the highway, stood in that carnage, unflinching, on a knee the size of a basketball and did everything he could. This,to me, is the measure of a man.

Tim McVeigh says, and this is the only quote from the man you'll get from me "It was my choice and my control to hit that building when it was full. ....I understand what they felt in Oklahoma City. I have no sympathy for them."

First of all, I don't think Tim McVeigh feels at all, and second, no one in Oklahoma City asked for any sympathy of any kind. Least of all Tim McVeigh's. While he was cowering away from the scene, with ear plugs in his ears, the people of my town were running toward the mess he had created. There were not just 168 bodies to be recovered. There were almost 1000 injured people to be triaged and helped. That was done. And, it was done with a speed and an accuracy that stunned the people who came later to help us.

Our construction companies had cranes in place within the first hour. Our hardware companies turned their shelves over to the effort. Vets came to help with the rescue animals. Doctors came and worked along side construction workers and lay people. Engineers kept that wreck standing until all but three bodies were recovered. And no matter what the conspiracy people say, that was a damned miracle. When the wind blew, even a little, that building swayed and groaned so loud it was audible for blocks.

When other States sent rescue units to help us, my town fed them, clothed them, held their heads when they vomited at the carnage and comforted them when they cried.

Being close to that building wasn't easy during those 19 days. It was bloody, it stank, and it was dangerous. And, in spite of this, we had trouble getting people to stand down and take a rest. Thank you, New York Urban, and Phoenix, and Fairfax, and Dade County, and Denver, and Everyone else who came. You showed up on our door step like a good neighbor, with your equipment, and tears in your eyes, and we will forever be in your debt. You are heroes to the person, and always in my prayers. Saint Michael's heart beats in you all. Buildings around the site stood wide open. Their foundations sprung to the extent that their doors wouldn't lock. But, locking the doors wouldn't have mattered anyway, since the windows were all gone. There was not one incident of looting. Not one.

And, Joe Q. American did everything else. By midnight, that first day, we had an ample supply of blood for all. I saw people lined up around the Oklahoma Blood institute. Hundreds of people lined up, waiting for hours, to donate their blood. Business men in suits talked casually to homeless people who felt the blast and came. And, the rescuers didn't just exist on dry sandwiches. Oh no. Little Cesar's, and the Outback, and Subway, and local Barbecue and Steak houses, and Hooter's, and Taco Bell, and Sonic, and other's too numerous to mention, some from Texas and Kansas fed everyone well. And for free. And this wasn't easy. Food had to labeled as to date, origin, and time of arrival, and kept clean and cold in a very inhospitable environment. And, this was done. Everyone at the site was sick, but it was never because of the food.

And, by the way, this was all done with a finesse that preserved ample evidence to get Tim McVeigh's sorry ass strapped to a gurney and taken care of. That coward won't kill anyone else's babies.

While we tended to the needs of the rescuers, the FBI, the ATF, FEMA, and the Oklahoma City Police Department worked around us, and under our feet, sometimes with tweezers, and plastic bags, picking up minute pieces of the barrels that held the explosives, and pieces as big as the axle of the Ryder Rental truck. They were professionals all, and sensitive to our feelings.

When the authors wanted to donate a portion of the proceeds from the book to our Memorial, the memorial committee quietly said "no thank you." I am so glad, and so proud of them. No sympathy, or no money needed here. We'll handle it, thank you.

Don't buy the book. Send the $20. to the Memorial, or to the Red Cross, or to the Education fund for the children of the victims, or to the Oklahoma City Fire Department, or the Phoenix Fire Department, or Dade County, or to Feed the Children.

This is not about Tim McVeigh. It's about the human spirit. And, it's here, and it thrives, and it asks no sympathy.

Love to All,

Donna Prather

Posted by Penny Rene at 12:08 PM

Careful What You Wish For

16 · Apr · 2001

This being the 50th memo, I wanted it to be special. A couple of weeks ago a friend of mine finished up some changes to his JUNKRISING.COM web site which supports independent, struggling artists and part of that web site is the writings of this humble writer. So, I thought that would be a cool thing to send you to the site as a little surprise. But while I was patting myself on the back for finally doing some proper web promotion of my work, it didn’t occur to me to let you in on something really wonderful that’s going on with me right now.

Maybe I’ve gotten so much into trying to be witty, and useful that I forgot that, really, sharing my words with you should just be fun. And even the most serious, talented artists did have a bit of fun now and then. Or maybe it’s just that if I told you that I am in love, you’d think that I’ve lost my edge, that I couldn’t really understand whatever angst you might want to share with me. Thing is, the story that I’m about to tell you started so long ago and is so unbelievable, I might be accused of being delusional. Then again, after all I’ve told you, why should I start to censor myself now? whatever. I’ll risk it.

About 5 years ago I met David and we became friends. Unfortunately he lived in Scotland and I lived in the US. We hung out while we were in Romania and parted, figuring that we would never see each other again. I’m a pretty tough girl when it comes to parting company, as I’m sure anyone who’s had a relationship with me can testify. But I went home and the worst thing happened to me. I realised that I had finally met someone I was better with than without.

No, I never thought I’d die without him, I never thought he needed me to survive. There was no threat to be miserable if we couldn’t be together. I lived my life and he went on with his and over the years, we truly have become great friends. Thing is, we just always WANTED to live near each other. It runs through your mind, of course. All the What ifs. In the hard times I’ve had I have just wished he was here. And in the really good times I wished he was here too. Life hasn’t been so horrible. I know I am very blessed. But for whatever reason, since I met David, all the best days I’ve spent without him have been a little like pie without cream.

Well, as the saying goes: Be careful what you wish for.

Last Saturday, on my parents wedding anniversary, I drove to Atlanta International airport picked up dear David and we drove home.
For those of you who’ve never experienced something like this, let me tell you.... It’s exhausting work being better than I was just days ago. Though I am quite sure this is a good thing, there is that little fear that I am still just a simple girl from Oklahoma with unrealistic ideas about what love is capable of. I am still disbelieving that I’ve been given yet another chance at love.

Life is so silly, you know. Just when you are sure that you can throw a kicking fit from all the just punishment you’re getting, something brilliant and terrifying happens to you. I’m scared. I’m thrilled. If I don’t have a nervous breakdown, it could be that a very good part of my life is just begining.

For David, my beloved

Our Turn

maybe you’ve been feelin kinda angry
maybe it’s hard to get to sleep
you think the price for being honest
is the love you cannot keep

maybe they told you this is how
the strong ones live their lives
but deep down you know their words
are well arranged white lies

(chorus)
well, for you I am polishing the moon
for us the stars have just begun to burn
you wonder if God forgot about us
but now it’s our turn baby it’s our turn

so what if the road is unfamiliar
so what if we don’t have a map
I know where we should begin
and that’s right here where we’re at

so, for you I am polishing the moon
for us the stars have just begun to burn
you wonder if God forgot about us
but now it’s our turn baby it’s our turn

so you say you’re not perfect
that you’ve got some things to learn
and I’m scared I’m not so strong
but baby, it’s our turn. it’s our turn

Penny Rene’

To check out the web site mentioned, go to www.junkrising.com/pennyrene’
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Posted by Penny Rene at 04:48 PM