Teddy bears and angels in Oklahoma City Teddy bears and angels in Oklahoma City (December 31, 2004)

by Jeb Bing

O klahoma City and Little Rock aren't vacation or business destinations for most of us, which is why my daughter Jenny and I took time to stop there when we drove to her new home in Nashville last month. We particularly wanted to see the National Memorial and Museum that are dedicated to those killed, injured and orphaned in the devastating bombing of the Alfred P. Murrah Federal Building on April 19, 1995, in downtown Oklahoma City

We arrived at the Murrah Building memorial about 8 p.m. on a crisp, cool night, parking near St. Paul's Episcopal Cathedral across Northwest 7th Street from the building site. At the church, which, itself, was heavily damaged by the blast, is a large illuminated statue of Christ weeping, designed by the sculptor to show His arms outstretched in anguish over the horrendous carnage that snuffed out the lives of 168 people. Across the street, starting with a block-long chain link fence and then what's left of the first floor wall of a nine-story federal building is a memorial garden and reflecting pool where the building once stood. Among its most striking features are the Gates of Time and Memorial Chairs. Rising 50 feet into the air at both ends of the pool are the stone gates clad in bronze. On their inner surface, facing the pool, are carved 9:01 on one side, 9:03 on the other, thus framing the moment of explosion at 9:02 a.m. Walking along a gentle slope on one side of the pool, I saw the 168 white stone chairs, arranged in nine rows for each floor of the building with the names of those killed listed on the bronze backs of each chair. The chairs for the 19 children killed in the bombing, most of them at a daycare center that had just opened that Wednesday morning, are the same, only smaller.

Even more sobering is the eight-foot-high fence that runs the length of the building's wall along 7th Avenue. Originally built to protect the site during demolition of the Murrah building, the fence has become a place where thousands have left behind their messages and mementos of sorrow, tributes and hope. Because it became a focal point for those wanting to express their sorrow, family members of those lost in the bombing, survivors and rescue workers asked that the fence be kept as part of the memorial park. Walking along the fence, I saw special postings, including: Ą The fading photo of David Burkett, a financial analyst for the Housing and Urban Development Department, who was 47 when he died in the collapse of the sixth floor, where he was working. Below his picture is an undated note from his family: "Happy Birthday. We love and miss you. Mother, Debbi and family." Ą Teresa Lauderdale was 41. On her last birthday, her parents left a message: "We're thankful for the many blessings you brought to our lives." A wreath, that includes a teddy bear and an angel, surrounds the photo. Ą Rick Tomlin, 46, a Transportation Department planner, was on the fourth floor when the bomb went off. Below his fading photo is a note from his granddaughter, Ricki Lee: "Grandpa, although I'll never get to greet you or place my small hand in yours, I know I can look up to heaven and see you smiling down at me."

The three-story Memorial Museum displays hundreds of photographs and videos of the bombing and the rescue efforts that followed. Most poignant is a tape of a meeting of the Oklahoma City Water Board that had just convened on the second floor of its own building next door. Just two minutes into the meeting, you hear the first of a two-minute-long rolling explosion that was tearing apart the front of the Murrah Building. Although this was domestic terrorism, it marked, as we know now, the end of an age of innocence for Americans from these kinds of senseless attacks. If ever in Oklahoma City, don't miss this national memorial that vividly and compassionately memorializes this 1995 tragedy. Next week: A look at the new William J. Clinton Presidential Center in Little Rock. >

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