The many faces of a tragedy

August 29, 1995

From Correspondent Susan Candiotti

CNN sent many reporters to cover one of the most horrific events in American history. Reporter Susan Candiotti was one of those people who not only went to do her job but could not help but be affected by what she saw. Here is her personal account of how the bombing was much more than just another assignment.

OKLAHOMA CITY (CNN) -- I arrived in Oklahoma City about two weeks after the bombing and stayed on for six weeks. Like the thousands of Oklahomans drawn to the site of the bombing at the Alfred E. Murrah Building, I was anxious to see for myself the place where so many remained entombed.

While those images, now familiar to us all, remain sketched in my mind, it is the living, the constant flow of visitors who felt compelled to come to the federal building daily, that are among those I remember most.

As a rule, those who stand and gawk at traffic accidents and crime scenes, especially parents toting small children, never cease to amaze me. But for once, here was an example of curiosity seekers which was not grotesque, not so odd for the most part. More on that later.

These were Americans and others sharing a common human tragedy, one unparalleled on U.S. soil. Among those I met along the way: An elderly couple I happened upon quite innocently during the time when city officials were deciding how to take down the federal building. The question being pondered was whether to use a wrecking ball or to set off explosives and implode the structure. I was taking a random sample of opinion.

The woman listened politely to my questions off camera. As she explained, she had not really thought about the issue because she had been preoccupied. Almost wearily, and without a hint of annoyance, she said: "You see, my daughter was killed in the bombing and this is the first time my husband and I have been able to bring ourselves to come down here to see the site." (Mind you, a few weeks had passed)

She went on to say (without prodding) that authorities had invited them to join other families and see the destruction up close, however, she and her husband declined and were content to view it along with everyone else, from a vantage point a few blocks away. I'll never forget watching them standing there on a quiet sunny weekday morning. Just staring. Staring at the spot where their daughter was killed. A few weeks before she was to be married.

Then there was Bud Welch. His daughter Julie worked in the Social Security office. A recent college graduate, Julie meant everything to her father. Every day since the bombing, he made a pilgrimage to the site. Julie was buried but he said he felt compelled to come until the building was gone. He did not want to forget.

At the gas station he managed, he told me he still looked at a wall clock each day at the time she used to stop by each day after work. Not anymore.

Now for some folks who still make me wonder. Such as the little tike brought by his mom. O.K. Until a still photographer approached and asked his mom for permission to shoot the youngster posed next to a fence where people had left mementos. "Why sure,' mom exclaimed. 'Smile, honey!"

Or the woman who, when I inquired as to why she had taken her four children to the bomb site, pointed happily to her left ring finger and explained that this was her wedding day and she thought it would be a wonderful experience to tote her youngsters (the oldest about 10) there. "It looks different on TV. I thought this would be much more meaningful for them," she said.

Another image. This one of a group of people raising money to send thank you packages consisting of T-shirts, etc, to volunteers. (I suspect those kind-hearted people expected nothing in return.)

Posters were being sold. Some emergency workers had evidently agreed to sit at tables to sign the posters if requested. The folks selling the posters had taken to shouting to passersby: "Step right up! Get your poster signed by a genuine hero!" Ouch.

On the other hand, I shall always have fond memories of a police officer who stopped by our CNN office one afternoon just to talk. Talk about the days he spent in the ruins of the Murrah Building looking for survivors. Graphically describing the minutes after the bombing. Finding headless children. Severed limbs. Crushed remains. Images he would never forget. Because of him, I won't either.

Nor the mental picture painted for me by a local surgeon who described a survivor who stood patiently for at least three hours in the nude while an intern painstakingly pulled glass shavings from the survivor's body.

I was there when the Murrah Building was imploded, when the final bodies were found, and when those charged so far in the Oklahoma bombing were indicted and arraigned.

The disaster site is gone. Memorials are still being attached to fences blocks away. Visitors still come and stare. Perhaps remembering what once was. Recalling images of their own.

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The many faces of a tragedy

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