Oklahoma City is not OK.

TELEGRAM – April 19, 1995, 9:30 a.m.
TO:  Nort Johnson, Publisher & Editor, Showcase Chicago
FR:  Mad Bomber
RE:  OK City
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.

* * *

 "I shouted out 'who killed the Kennedys' - when after all, it was you and me."

-          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 19^th 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.

* * *

TELEGRAM – April 19, 1995, 2:00 p.m.

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'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.

I hit the road on the morning of the 19^th 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 …

* * *

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.

"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.