The current article is intended to be an extension of Remembering the bombing.
Odds are that most Oklahomans over the age of 40 can tell you where they were when they heard that the Oklahoma City federal building had been bombed. It is also fair to presume that anyone under 40 has no recollection of it whatsoever, provided they were even born before April 19, 1995.
As someone who extensively covered that tragedy and its aftermath as a reporter for this publication, I have a hard time wrapping my head around the fact that an entire generation likely has no connection to the bombing. Like many Oklahoma Citizens of a certain age, the moment I learned of the explosion remains painfully vivid — in the same way President Kennedy’s assassination is stamped into the collective memory of Baby Boomers and the preceding generation.
The bombing had an indelible impact on me and defined a big chunk of my life. Consequently, my watching a documentary on the subject, no matter how well-crafted or sensitively told, tends to dredge up an array of emotions. But it is important for us to remember, especially considering that so many Oklahomans — and Americans, for that matter — weren’t even born when a 26-year-old drifter named Timothy McVeigh ignited a truck bomb in front of the Alfred P. Murrah Federal Building. The deadliest act of homegrown terrorism in U.S. history killed 168 people and grievously injured hundreds more, all because they happened to work for a government that McVeigh had come to hate.
The 30th anniversary of the bombing this month seems a resonant time to reflect upon or, in the case of younger Oklahomans, learn about the darkest day in our state’s history. A trio of documentary films available for streaming explores what led to the bombing, how the state and nation responded, and what lessons we can take away from it. That last point feels particularly urgent. If anything, the anti-government vitriol that spawned McVeigh has metastasized into the mainstream.
One Day in America
Earlier this month, National Geographic unveiled Oklahoma City Bombing: One Day in America, a three-part docuseries now streaming on Hulu and Disney. It is an exceptional work that employs interviews and archival footage to tackle the horror and ramifications of April 19, 1995. The first and most compelling episode, “Explosion,” expertly conveys the chaos unleashed at 9:02 a.m. that morning. Director Ceri Isfryn focuses on a handful of firsthand accounts, most notably Edye Raines, whose sons Chase and Colton were among the 19 children killed; Amy Downs, a survivor who worked for Federal Employees Credit Union; KWTV Channel 9 anchor/reporter Robin Marsh; and Oklahoma City FBI Special Agent in Charge Bob Ricks.
The filmmakers make the smart decision to let information unfold bit by bit, replicating how investigators and reporters experienced that day. Mike Shannon, among the first firefighters to the bomb site, recounts how a dazed woman in the rubble grabbed him by the collar and said, “‘Young man, there are babies on the second floor.’ She shook me and said, ‘You’ve gotta get up there and get those babies. There’s a daycare center.’”
Particularly riveting is the detailing of a bomb scare that occurred a little more than an hour after the blast, when someone spotted what appeared to be a second explosive; it eventually proved to be a dummy belonging to a law enforcement agency housed in the building. A stampede of people at the scene (including me) rushed away in terror. One Day in America juxtaposes that panic with Downs’ gut-wrenching ordeal when her rescuers were forced to evacuate.
The criminal investigation takes center stage in the second episode, “Manhunt.” Right out of the gate is a gripping account from former state trooper Charlie Hanger. He stopped McVeigh in Noble County some 80 minutes after the bombing for not having a registration tag. McVeigh volunteered to Hanger that he was armed, adding, “My weapon is loaded.” The trooper drew his gun. “So is mine,” he answered.
As with the first episode, “Manhunt” benefits from a treasure trove of rarely seen archival footage that ranges from everyday workplace life inside the Murrah building to the treacherous wreckage that greeted first responders. Behind-the-scenes video offers a glimpse inside the KWTV newsroom the morning of the bomb blast. In one remarkable moment, a news producer takes a phone call from a viewer who said April 19 was the two-year anniversary of the siege on the Branch Davidian cult compound.
That 51-day standoff in Waco, Texas, between federal law enforcement and Davidian cultists culminated on April 19, 1993, with a massive fire that killed 76 cult members, including more than 20 children. Despite audio recordings that indicate cult members started the fire at the behest of Davidian leader David Koresh, the deadly blaze ignited conspiracy theories of FBI culpability and inspired McVeigh to seek retribution.
“Justice” chronicles how Oklahoma and the nation mourned the tragedy. In contrast to the previous installments, this final episode is a bit less focused, the invariable result of so much material. President Bill Clinton discusses the citywide prayer service held in Oklahoma City the Sunday after the bombing. McVeigh defense attorney Stephen Jones muses on what motivated his infamous client. FBI lead investigator Jon Hersley and others address McVeigh’s eventual conviction and death sentence.
One of the more unique perspectives in “Justice” comes from Bud Welch, whose 23-year-old daughter Julie died in the bombing. Knowing how Julie had been against capital punishment, Welch publicly opposed the death penalty for McVeigh. The bomber was executed in the summer of 2001, four months before his monstrous act would be eclipsed by the 9/11 terrorist attacks.
Also worth seeing …
In addition to the National Geographic series, two excellent documentaries, Oklahoma City (streaming on Kanopy) and An American Bombing: The Road to April 19th (available on Max), weave McVeigh’s radicalization into the broader context of anti-government extremism.
Oklahoma City, produced in 2017 for PBS’ American Experience series, burrows into the chilling rhetoric that inspired the bombing. “It wasn’t the start of the war,” McVeigh tells his biographers in an audio recording. “It was a counterattack. The war had already been started.”
Writer-director Barak Goodman methodically builds the case that McVeigh was no anomaly, but the inevitable product of fears and resentments that began with the farming crisis of the 1980s. Economic collapse spurred a desire for scapegoats, and that need was effectively exploited by white supremacist groups.
A 1992 standoff in Ruby Ridge, Idaho, between federal agents and white separatist Randy Weaver resulted in the shooting deaths of Weaver’s wife and teenaged son. A federal marshal was also killed, but almost immediately, Ruby Ridge became a fulcrum for extremists who believed gun rights were in peril. That anger reached a crescendo with the Waco inferno.
An American Bombing: The Road to April 19th is arguably more ambitious, packing a lot of narrative threads in its 107-minute running time. It is a testament to documentary makers Marc Levin and Daphne Pinkerson that the storytelling remains so cogent. Along the way, An American Bombing offers some fascinating side stories. Of note is how the Murrah federal building had once come to the attention of an Arkansas extremist group from the 1980s called The Covenant, the Sword, and the Arm of the Lord. (Disclosure: I worked with Pinkerson on a 1996 Bill Moyers’ documentary about the bombing.)
Taken together, these three documentaries tell a story that needs to be told and retold — if only before the lessons of that horrific event are lost to time.
This article appears in OKC Ballet Shorts.