TELEGRAM – April 19, 1995, 9:30 a.m.
TO: Nort
Johnson, Publisher & Editor, Showcase
Chicago
FR: Mad Bomber
CANCELING WACO. STOP. EXECUTING U-TURN FOR OK CITY PER
NEWS REPORTS. STOP. PHONE ON ARRIVAL / FOUR HOURS. STOP. NEW STORY OR SAME OLD STORY?
STOP. WIRE CASH AGREED TO DOWNTOWN OK CITY W.U. OFFICE. STOP. HERE WE GO AGAIN.
TELEGRAM – April 19, 1995, 2:00 p.m.
I'd been in
Dallas less than a week for a much needed vacation when I received a message
from my publishers to visit Waco (two hours to the south) to "capture the
mood of the place" two years to the date after David Koresh and his ilk
went up in flames.
Usually, a
drive across this huge and open land of ours is reassuring. But not on this
day. Today, it makes me angry. It's strange, on this day, to be moving across
and observing the beauty of a land that has spawned this newly escalated
culture of hate.
April 19, 1995
Oklahoma City is not OK.
* * *
-
Sympathy For The Devil
The "Welcome to Waco" sign came into view as
I ejected the Stevie Ray Vaughan tape playing in the massive, '70's-era Pioneer
cassette deck hanging under the dash of the Buick. It's one of those component
players that requires an external amplifier to make any noise. I've got a 40-watter
hooked up, pushing a pair of old boxed triaxial speakers that sit on the back
floorboard. No fucking way was I going to cut into a mint 1963 Riviera. So yeah
… after 100 miles of driving from Dallas to Waco this morning, it was time to
pause the "Soul to Soul" album for now and zoom in on local talk
radio – scan the dial for any hubbub about this being the second anniversary of
the Burning of Waco by David Koresh. But I got very different news – immediately
– an explosion in Oklahoma City. The first reports
had the blame being assigned to a couple of guys who "looked middle
eastern." Hmmm – that's typical. In America, we have a tendency to blame
outsiders for our woes. We've been trying to pin JFK's death on the communists
for thirty years, refusing to come to grips with the concept that it was
probably just another crazy American with a gun. Now this. Foreigners? Really?
On the 19th of April? In the middle of the goddam country? My
immediate gut reaction tells me otherwise. Which is why I'm now northbound on I-35,
approaching 90 according to the Riv's speedometer – Waco in the rearview mirror
and my new destination, only four non-stop hours away. Maybe it's time to focus
– stop thinking, stop talking, shut off this Sony tape recorder hanging around
my neck and burn for Oklahoma City. And find out what REALLY happened.
* * *
TO: Nort
Johnson, Publisher & Editor, Showcase
Chicago
FR: Mad Bomber
RE: OK City is
NOT OK
GREETINGS FROM BOMB CITY. STOP. CHAOS – DEATH – EVEN
AMONG LIVING. STOP. CASH RECEIVED - THANKS. STOP. GIVE ME A DAY OR TWO. STOP.
* * *
I hit the road
on the morning of the 19th only to arrive in Waco at 9:30 to learn
it wasn't the Branch Davidians they were talking about. It was Oklahoma City,
and the implications vis a vis the Waco connection were frightful. After an
initial inclination to head for the scene of the crime, I thought,
"Christ, no, you don't need this – better to resume the intended vacation.
But as the Dallas skyline came into view, some perverse notion in my mind said,
"keep going." So I did, straight up Interstate 35 … straight to
Oklahoma City.
Of course, by
the time I arrived, all hell was on earth in this town, and the idea of any
real and true old-fashioned print reporting was out of the question. With great
fear on the street that there may be more bombs, the survival instinct took
hold as I caught the cries of a woman passing by which forced me to get a grip
on the true implications of this insidious act.
"Why
us?" she cried as she ran by.
All I could
think was "Hell, why anyone?" But then … "Why not? Why not
anyone?" This is how easy it has become to destroy for the sake of
destruction in this country. In a nation of millions, there are bound to be a few
devils out there, running wild, uncontrolled and uncontrollable.
Two days of
Oklahoma City was all I could take; I was beyond any condition to "work"
… getting the job done. No longer being able to stand the anger boiling up in
my being, I got out of town on Friday. Just short of the Missouri border, I
stopped to check in with my publisher, who, incredulously, asked if I had a
camera with me and, if so, would I go back to Oklahoma City. I voiced an irate
"No!" and got back into the car. I just sat there for a few minutes,
thinking that no goddam photo could capture the images in my head. Images I was
hoping to soon forget forever. No camera could capture the sight of the blood
flowing, the screams of the people, the smell of the black smoke, the dust of
charred human flesh sticking to your skin …
* * *
"Other
seeds fell upon thorns, and the thorns grew up and choked them. Other seeds
fell on good soil and brought forth grain … he who has ears, let him
hear."
-
Matthew 13:7-9
Maybe George Orwell's
1984 had something, after all. For more than two hundred years, we've tried to
govern ourselves, only to prove that we are virtually incapable of doing so
peacefully. The story of Orwell's Winston Smith taught us all to fear
totalitarianism, but it could, indeed, ultimately sustain us despite ourselves.
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