I had a rough plan of making my way south to see what Texas was all about, but I thought I’d swing through Oklahoma first, another state that I had never visited and knew nothing about.  I drove across it for hours to reach Oklahoma City, but have almost no pictures to show for it.  It wasn’t that it wasn’t lovely, it actually was a very nice and peaceful landscape of rolling green hills and farms, as well as smaller cities, but it was all just very comfortable and cohesive, nothing jumped out and said ‘take my picture!’  I did spend some time driving along Route 66 again instead of following the main highways, which seemed to fit the general character of the easy landscape.  This was a scene passing through a cotton field.  I’ve discovered that Route 66 is often not clearly marked, and the best way to find it is to get in the general vicinity and look for the most poorly maintained road… that’s bound to be it.

When I got to Oklahoma City, there was one main site that I really wanted to see.  The Oklahoma City Memorial for the victims and survivors of the April 19, 1995 bombing.  I generally try to remain upbeat in the places that I visit and the things that I do, but I think that it’s also important to get a well rounded view of places and people, perhaps particularly at this politically charged time.    I approached expecting and probably dreading the emotional impact a site like this can have, and the large black gate to the site did little to allay my fears.  The inscription on it read, “We come here to remember those who were killed, those who survived, and those changed forever.  May all who leave here know the impact of violence.  May this memorial offer comfort, strength, peace, hope, and serenity.”

Inside the gate is a long reflecting pool, with a similar gate at the other end.  The times 9:01 AM and 9:03 AM are inscribed on the inside of the two gates, framing the moment of time within, 9:02 AM, the moment of destruction.  9:01 AM symbolizes the last moment of innocence, and 9:03 AM is the moment when healing began.

The reflecting pool marks the footprint of the Alfred P Murrah Federal Building.

To one side is a field of empty chairs, one each for those who were killed, aligned in nine rows according to the floor of the building where they were working or visiting.

The chairs are inscribed with the victims’ names, and at night they are illuminated.

There are 168 empty chairs, including smaller ones like this one, for the 19 children killed.

On the other side of the reflecting pool is the Rescuers’ Orchard, planted with flower and nut bearing trees, and protectively surrounding the Survivor Tree which sits within the circular wall.  The Survivor Tree is a 90+ year old American Elm that survived the carnage of the bombing, and is seen as a symbol of resilience.  The inscription around the circular wall reads, “To the courageous and caring who responded from near and far, we offer our eternal gratitude.”

In recognition of the huge number of children all over the world who sent letters of encouragement in the aftermath of the bombing, particularly to the rescuers, there is a children’s’ area at the memorial.  It includes a wall with handprint tiles sent to Oklahoma City in 1995, and a chalkboard area where children (and many adults, I noticed) can continue to share their feelings, considered a necessary step in healing.

There was also a museum at the memorial, but I chose not to go in.  It apparently leads the visitor through 19 chapters in the event, from the day preceding to the rebuilding of hope.

My overall impression?  This is actually some of the most potent and effective symbolism I’ve ever seen.  The gates box off this moment in time and space, to remember and acknowledge that it happened, to learn from it and make it a place that can be visited again, but to isolate it from everyday life, saying that this event was an anomaly.  People in general are not evil, and the world is not a dangerous place, even though bad things like this do happen.  It honors the people who died needlessly, and all others who were involved in the rescue and rebuilding efforts, but without allowing one man’s ideology to have any more lasting impact on the life of the city.  In spite of the black gates, actually because of what they symbolize, this is not a place of mourning, but of understanding and acceptance.

Or at least that’s the feeling and the message that I walked away with.  I suppose everyone finds their own…

[Note: In case you’re wondering, I’ve intentionally left out the name of the bomber, his motivation, and the details of the event.  Those details are easy enough to find if you’re interested.  Instead I chose to focus on the resilience and lack of bitterness in the response of the people here.  That’s truly worth learning about and replicating.]