. . . . . . 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 mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm 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 ----------- mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm