Timothy McVeigh and Attack on Oklahoma City

That we can learn a lot about a man from the books and films he chooses is borne out by Timothy McVeigh.

One of his favorite films: the 1984 Patrick Swayze epic Red Dawn. It follows a group of small town teens’ conversion to guerilla fighters when a foreign army invades America. 

Like McVeigh, the teens stock up on survival gear – mainly guns and ammo – in order to defend their country from annihilation.

And one of McVeigh’s favorite books: The Turner Diaries written by former American Nazi Party honcho William L. Pierce, under the pen name Andrew Macdonald.  Its hero – Earl Turner – responds to gun control by making a truck bomb and blowing up the Washington FBI Building.

Two scenarios – All too familiar.

It was April 19,1995 – a perfect, sun-drenched Oklahoma morning in springtime. Against a perfect blue-sky background, a yellow Ryder Rental truck carefully made its way through the streets of downtown Oklahoma City.

Just after 9 am, the vehicle pulled into a parking area outside the Alfred P. Murrah Building and the driver stepped down from the truck’s cab and casually walked away. A few minutes later, at 9:02, all hell broke loose as the truck’s deadly 4000-pound cargo blasted the government building with enough force to shatter one third of the seven-story structure to bits.

Glass, concrete, and steel rained down.  Indiscriminately mixed in the smoldering rubble were adults and children –alive and dead. 

The perpetrator –twenty-seven-year-old Timothy James McVeigh – by now safely away from the devastation was convinced he acted to defend the Constitution, for he saw himself as crusader, warrior avenger – and hero.

But in reality, he was little more than a misguided coward.  He never even heard clearly the sound of the initial sirens of emergency vehicles rushing to the scene.  Because, blocks away, he was wearing earplugs to protect himself from the roar of a blast so powerful it lifted pedestrians off the ground.

One Japanese tourist – no stranger to powerful earthquakes – called the blast "…worse than the worst quake.  Because there was no initial warning, no noise to say ‘something terrible is going to happen’ it just hit."

When it did, a massive ball of fire momentarily outshone the sun and the north side of the building disintegrated.  Traffic signs and parking meters were ripped from the pavement.  Glass shattered and flew like bullets, targeting – and maiming – pedestrians blocks away.

The Alfred P. Murrah building after the blast  (Associated Press©)

Inside the broken building, survival depended on location at zero hour.

Some of the lucky ones had left their usual posts to get a coffee, deliver documents or simply visit nearby offices.  As they did, their offices and fellow workers were blown away.

In the children’s day-care center directly above the mobile bomb, devastation was horrific. Upper floors collapsed on those beneath them, setting up a chain reaction that crushed everything and everyone below.

Rescue workers rushed to the scene almost immediately.  Professionals and volunteers alike clawed through the rubble to help dig out the wounded and remove the dead.  Temporary silences were observed so listening devices that can detect even human heartbeats were employed to locate anyone still living. 

In one instance, sounding devices finally located a buried woman – Dana Bradley – as she cried for help.  The twenty-year-old lay bleeding in a foot of water.  For five hours, her leg had been pinned under a pile of cement.

The massive pile of rubble trapping her could not be shifted, so the rescue team’s only hope of getting her out alive was to amputate her crushed limb. She pleaded with them to try another way, but to delay posed a double threat.  She could bleed to death, or the building could collapse on Dana and the rescue team – the rescuers had been driven out once before when the building had begun to shake.

On returning, volunteer Dr. Gary Massad faced one of the hardest decisions of his career.  Because anesthetic could trigger a fatal coma, the operation would have to be done while the patient was fully conscious.

There was no other way.  Once the operation was done, she was finally dragged from the ruins and hospitalized. Dana Bradley lost more than part of her leg in the bombing; she also lost her mother and two young children.

Hundreds of stories of tragedy and heroism were to emerge as the days passed – as were endless tales of incredible selflessness and extreme generosity.

But what may never come is a child’s ability to understand a cruelty that deprived them of a parent – or a parent’s comprehension of the bitterness that took the life of an innocent child.   

Gone in one cataclysmic blast were one hundred and sixty eight lives. Wounded were more than five hundred others.   Destroyed were the hopes and dreams of countless friends and relatives.

And lost that moment – although nobody knew it yet – was the innocence of America. Homegrown terrorism had arrived with a vengeance, and the terrorist was the kid next door.  And he was cruising away from the carnage – down Interstate 35. 

License Tag Snag

Trooper Charles Hanger (Associated Press©)

Long time Oklahoma Patrol officer – Trooper Charlie Hanger – had been dispatched to Oklahoma City.  Like many law enforcement officers, he’d been summoned to provide whatever assistance he could. 

Soon after, however, he received another order to remain in his usual patrol area – Noble County.  He turned around and headed north on I-35.  He was about 75 miles from the disaster area when he noticed a beat-up 1977 Mercury Grand Marquis.  What caught his attention was the yellow car’s lack of a license plate.

He pulled the driver over and got out of his patrol car.  Timothy McVeigh got out of the yellow junker and went to meet him.

Hangar wanted to know why McVeigh had no license plate.  McVeigh explained he’d just bought the car.  When Hangar asked if he had insurance, registration, or a bill of sale McVeigh explained everything was being mailed to his address.  Then he handed over his driver’s license.

It was then Hangar noticed a bulge under McVeigh’s jacket. "What’s that?" the cop asked. When McVeigh said it was a gun, the trooper held his own weapon to McVeigh’s head.  Then Hangar confiscated the 9-mm Glock that McVeigh was packing, as well as an ammo clip and a knife.

McVeigh pointed out he had a legal right to carry a gun.  Hangar cuffed McVeigh, put him in the police car and phoned his base.  He asked his dispatcher to run a computer check on McVeigh’s Michigan driver’s license and the Glock.

After confirming McVeigh had no record, he explained that his New York concealed-weapon permit was not legal in Oklahoma.  With McVeigh’s permission, he searched the Mercury and found nothing but a baseball cap, some tools and a plain white envelope. The prisoner was told to leave everything in the car, which the trooper locked before taking McVeigh to the Noble County Jail in Perry, Oklahoma.

On the way there, McVeigh managed to secrete a business card in the police car. The card was to cause problems for the man who’d supplied it – military supply dealer Dave Paulson. On the card, McVeigh had written "TNT $5/stick need more" and "Call after 01 May, see if I can get some more." He left the card as payback for the way Paulson had dishonored a dynamite and blasting caps transaction.  He figured the FBI would eventually grill the weapons dealer on his connection with the bombing.  And he was right.

At the jail, McVeigh was booked on four misdemeanor charges – unlawfully carrying a weapon, transporting a loaded firearm in a motor vehicle, failing to display a current license plate, and failing to maintain proof of insurance.

Officer Marsha Moritz noted McVeigh carried miscellaneous items including earplugs, four .45-caliber bullets and $255. He was fingerprinted and photographed.  His mug shot identified him as prisoner number 95-057.  It was the first time McVeigh had been charged with anything – and his first time in a jail.

His address on his driver’s license was the Nichols family farm in Decker, Michigan. And although the charges were relatively minor, McVeigh would have to wait for his day in court.  Normally, he would have been dealt with promptly.  But because Judge Danny G. Allen was currently tied up in a protracted divorce case, McVeigh’s bail hearing was held over until Friday, May 21.

As McVeigh quietly waited in a cell, events were moving rapidly in other parts of the country. 

In Virginia, at the FBI’s behavioral science unit, profiling was underway. Whereas most investigators were convinced the bombing was the work of foreign terrorists, Clinton R. Van Zandt had other ideas.  A psychological profiler who had worked as chief FBI negotiator at Waco, Texas – site of The Branch Davidian siege, Van Zandt noted the date of the attack – April 19, 1993 – was exactly two years to the day when the deaths at Waco had occurred.

He believed the perpetrator would be white, male and in his twenties.  Furthermore, he theorized the suspect would be a military man and possibly a member of a fringe militia group. His assessment would be proven correct as the investigation progressed. Terrorism expert Louis R Mizell Jr. noticed that the date coincided with that of Patriot’s Day – anniversary of the Revolutionary War Battle of Concord, revered by the militia movement.

The rear axle of the Ryder truck had an identifying number on the 250 pound part, which had been blasted through the air and landed on a Ford Festiva.  Also found was the rear bumper from the same truck – its license plate number still legible. Both truck parts were rapidly traced to the name of the renter – Robert Kling, an alias McVeigh used on the rental agreement.

Agents raced to the Ryder Rental agency in Junction City.  There, owner Eldon Elliot and his employees assisted an FBI artist who created two pictures: one of the man who rented the truck, as well as another who’d been in the office about the same time. Labeled John Doe 1 and John Doe 2, the suspects’ portraits were shown throughout the rental agency’s area. By the evening after the bombing, manager Lea McGown of the Dreamland Motel said she recognized the man federal agents called Kling. 

But Ms. McGown said the man had registered under the name of Timothy McVeigh. And yes, he had parked a large Ryder truck in the motel lot.  It was yellow, she said, the same color as the old Marquis he arrived in.  Furthermore, when he signed in he gave the Nichols farm in Decker, Michigan as his address.  It matched the one on his driver's license – and on the charge sheet at the Perry Police Station.

Time was running out for Timothy James McVeigh.    

Innocence Lost

The pressure to find a suspect after any crime is intense - but especially so in the case of the Oklahoma bombing. 
FBI agents were concerned that foreign terrorists were at work, and that other bombings could follow.  On their minds was the World Trade Center bombing of February 26,1993.  Then, Islamic terrorists had exploded a device that killed six and injured more than a thousand others.

The media had immediately assumed outsiders were responsible.  They speculated third-world terrorists – likely Arab extremists –were at work, and that other targets had been chosen. 

Anonymous tips flooded into papers and broadcasting stations across the nation.  Many even claimed to know exactly where and when the next explosion would occur. Even in Oklahoma City, police had received tips that other bombs had been planted in the Murrah building – cruel gestures that forced further evacuations and hampered rescue workers. So it was with a sense of satisfaction and heightened urgency that the FBI had found a lead as quickly as they had.

At Washington’s National Crime Information Center, computers generated a report: Trooper Hanger had also run a report on McVeigh.  Noble County Sheriff Jerry Cook confirmed they were holding McVeigh on unrelated charges.

The excitement intensified at the Oklahoma City command center.  Cheers of relief went up as the news that "We got him!" spread.  Immediately, agents were in choppers heading for the Noble County jail.

The media wasn’t far behind.  Soon, the world would know who the chief suspect was.

In jail, McVeigh was in a waiting area near the courtroom when the sheriff received the news the bomber was in his custody and to hold him. McVeigh’s trial was due to start soon. 

Suddenly, officers came to lead him back to his cell.  They were playing it cool; saying only, "the judge isn’t ready for you." 
Back in his cell, another inmate asked McVeigh if he was the bomber.  Reportedly, McVeigh ignored the question.

Knowing the suspect would try to contact a lawyer, the outgoing pay phone was disconnected. 

Soon, he was taken to a room where FBI Special Agents Zimms and Norman Jr. waited.  Zimms explained, "…you may have some information about the bombing…I’m going to read you your rights."

McVeigh demanded an attorney.

Outside, the noise was building as a restless crowd gathered.  The arrival of helicopters and police had signaled that someone involved in the bombing was inside. 

There, McVeigh had asked for a bulletproof vest before being led outside. His mind was filled with images of the Jack Ruby- Lee Harvey Oswald shooting.  His request was denied. He also asked if they could take him away in a helicopter. Again his request was denied – the agents explained the roof was unsuitable for chopper landing.

By now, the crowd was turning nasty – and impatient cries of "bring him out" filled the air. 

As he was led out in handcuffs and leg irons, they roared, "Scumbag!" "Murderer!" and "Baby Killer!" Wearing an orange prison jumpsuit, McVeigh looked neither left nor right.  His eyes were narrowed, his face expressionless as they took him away to screams of "Kill the creep!"

About the same time, a similar scene was being played out in another small town – Herington, Kansas – some 200 miles away. Forty-year-old Terry Nichols had driven to the local police station to talk to officers. Again, the word that someone connected with the bombing was in the station spread like wildfire.

Locals holding children, kids out of school and farmers stared in disbelief that a local who professed to be a patriotic citizen could be involved.  Like the people of Perry, some began shouting insults, and demanded he come out and show his face. He had parked his 4-wheel drive bearing an "American and Proud" symbol on its rear window.

By the time the day was over, the country was finding it difficult to accept or come to terms with the fact that the two men involved looked so much like most of them. They had spent most of the time after the blast looking outward.  Politicians, broadcasters and print media had each played a part in inflaming mainly anti-Islamic sentiment. And, in government, some were demanding the immediate passage of tough new anti-immigration laws to "keep this cancer out of America".

Suddenly, the painful realization dawned: men who looked like the guys next door had perpetrated this horrendous crime – the costliest in American history – both in human and financial terms. Even worse, terrorism within the country was suddenly an ominous reality. 

The question asked most was:  What kind of man did this and why?   

Trip to Terrorism

As a child, Timothy McVeigh was full of fun and easy to like. Born April 23,1968, he was the middle child of three, and the only boy.  He grew up in Pendleton N Y – a small town just south of the Canadian border by the Erie Canal. Mainly white, blue collar and Christian, it was the kind of place where kids could run into a neighbor's house without knocking. Young "Timmy" did just that, and was always welcome.

The town, established by Sylvester Pendleton Clark, was called after his mother’s maiden name.  It maintains a strong connection with nearby Lockport – famous before the Civil War as a departure point for slaves escaping to Canada and freedom. Clark himself was a rugged individual who had led a rebellion against government taxes in the early 1800s.  A strong independent spirit still characterizes Pendleton.

Tim’s father, Bill McVeigh, worked mainly in a local car radiator plant, but it was his grandfather Eddie McVeigh who influenced the boy most.  He taught young Tim about the outdoors, hunting and, significantly, introduced him to guns.

Author Richard A. Sorrano, in his book - One of Ours: Timothy McVeigh and the Oklahoma City Bombing - found former neighbors remembered the young McVeigh with affection. One told Sorrano that McVeigh was "a clown, always a happy person," and that he always found a way to make a little money.  Some Halloweens he could run up a haunted house and charge admission. "The kids in the neighborhood thought it was great." 

When he was nine years old, a crippling blizzard hit town.  Out for drinks at a local hotel, his mother phoned to say they were snowbound, and that she wouldn’t make it home that night.  It was a blizzard where people froze to death, were buried in cars and generally trapped.  By the time it let up, days had passed and many had run out of basic supplies.  As Tim helped shovel neighbors’ roadways, he learned about survival.  The family began stockpiling food, water and other necessities to cope with the enemy – weather.

At age thirteen, his Grandpa Eddie presented Tim with a .22 caliber rifle.  It was the first of many guns he would own.  He was so into firearms that he answered the question "What do you want to be when you grow up?" with "gun shop owner." Furthermore, he used to take one of his guns to school sometimes to impress the other guys.  It worked.

At home, the family experienced continued turbulence.  His mother, Mickey liked to socialize and stay out late. She was torn between fun and family. Finally, when Tim was in his teens, she left for good and in 1986 she and Bill finally divorced. It was the same year Tim graduated from high school with honors. 

Richard A Sarrano says Spanish teacher Deborah Carballo called Tim "…a nice kid...  You’ll never find a person at Starpoint who can say a bad thing about him."  

On graduating, Tim quit his high school job at Burger King, sold his Commodore 64 computer and spent much of his time researching the Second Amendment. He was developing an intense interest in the rights of gun owners.  At his father’s insistence, he did a stint at business college, but found it too monotonous.  His days of formal education were over.

It was at this time that he discovered The Turner Diaries.  He obsessed over this novel by former American Nazi Party official William Pierce.  Writing under the name Andrew Macdonald, Pierce pumps out a litany of hate through the main character – Earl Turner.  This "hero" demonstrates his contempt for gun control laws by truck-bombing the Washington FBI headquarters.  He also appears to favor Adolf Hitler and dismiss blacks and Jews as worthy of annihilation.

About the same time, the movie Red Dawn helped convince McVeigh it was time to become a survivalist like Jedd – the film’s hero played by Patrick Swayze.  In the movie, Jedd leads his band of followers into the woods with seemingly endless rounds of ammo and supplies they’ll need to survive.  Their mission is to destroy an invading Communist army.

Because McVeigh needed funds to finance his growing fantasies, he went back to work for Burger King while he looked for a better paying job.  Soon he was employed as an armed security guard with the Burke Armored Car Service, where he’s remembered as a diligent employee.

By now, he was twenty years old.  He had a uniform, a gun and an armored vehicle to drive around in.  But he longed for better targets, bigger guns and real tanks.

So, on May 24, 1988 Tim McVeigh joined the Army.  There, he’d meet two men who would join him on his trip to terrorism.

Soldiers of Misfortune

McVeigh had finally found his calling.  The Army was everything he wanted in life, and more.  When he joined, he was no leader, but an eager follower.  There was discipline, a sense of order, and all the training a man could want in survivalist techniques.  Most of all, there was an endless supply of weapons, and instruction on how to use and maintain them. 

A army photograph with McVeigh in the back row  - see inset (Associated Press©)

The tough basic training at Fort Benning, Georgia saw him determined to excel – if he did, he could earn entrance into the Army’s elite Special Forces club.  His sights were set on the Green Beret.  Had he stayed focused, he likely would have made it.

But fate derailed his ambitions in many ways.

In basic training, he met two other soldiers who were to support his obsessive journey into crime:  Terry Lynn Nichols and Michael Fortier.

For the Army, Terry Nichols joined up at a relatively mature age.  Called "the old man" by the other recruits, he was twelve years older than McVeigh.  They connected on the rifle range at Fort Benning and quickly formed a bond. Initially, McVeigh looked up to Nichols, but the balance shifted as their friendship grew. Nichols, who was married with a son did not warm to the strict Army regimen, although he liked the weaponry.  He had joined only because his other attempts at holding down a job had failed.  He didn’t last, finally taking a hardship discharge after his wife had left him – he felt required to go home to raise his son.

Fortier, like McVeigh, was young, and his profile very different.  He was a pill-popping, pot-smoking man who probably signed up because of his family’s military background. Fortier and McVeigh became closer after Nichols had opted out of the service.

The three went from basic training to Fort Riley, Kansas.  There, McVeigh became a gunner on the Bradley fighting vehicle.  He’d already excelled in marksmanship and he exhibited an unusually high level of skill with every weapon he encountered.  As a result, he quickly advanced and was remembered as "an excellent soldier."

His military prowess earned him an invitation to try out for the Special Forces and he trained hard on his own time to ensure his chance to wear the Green Beret. But before he was due to be evaluated, Saddam Hussein cast a shadow over his plans.

In 1991, the Gulf War erupted and McVeigh’s First Infantry Division was dispatched to the Persian Gulf to serve in Desert Storm.  Again, McVeigh excelled as a soldier and served with distinction.  He became lead gunner on the Bradley Fighting Vehicle in the first platoon.  In the Army, Tim had become a VIP.

When he returned home, he’d earned a fistful of decorations including the coveted Bronze Star.

Now, he renewed his attempt to gain acceptance into the Special Forces.  But against advice to wait until he built up the stamina lost in Desert Storm, he tried out anyway. He was simply not fit enough to cut it.  This failure triggered a waning interest in military life and he quit the Army.

Life as a civilian was disillusioning.  It seemed nobody was interested in welcoming a war hero back into the workforce, and he became increasingly embittered with the system.  He’d traded his Army uniform for that of security guard.

Now, The Turner Diaries assumed an even greater importance.  Without the Army – and its discipline – he’d lost his identity, and his loathing for government festered. He sounded off daily to workmate Carl Lebron, Jr. He railed against the Army and government that had failed him, gun control and the abuse of power.  He also spouted conspiracy theories and seemed to believe in UFOs. He even told Lebron he’d seen documented evidence the government was importing drugs from Canada in mini-subs. When Lebron asked to see a copy of the document, McVeigh claimed it was on secret paper that couldn’t be copied. But what concerned Lebron most – to the point where he wrote it down – was McVeigh’s statement that he knew how to steal guns from the military.  McVeigh had said it would be "very easy to rob a base of guns…two people could easily get away with it."  He also claimed to have an Army post in mind where M-16 rifles could be confiscated.

Finally McVeigh left his rent-a-cop job and the Buffalo area saying, "I gotta get out of this place, it’s all liberals here."  Then, early in 1993, he took off with everything he owned, and began driving around America, hoping to find some meaning in his life. 

But he began by looking in all the wrong places.  

Tim in Transit

He decided to seek out his old Army buddies.  He wanted to spend some time with Michael Fortier in Kingman Arizona, then visit Michigan to see Terry Nichols – now staying on a farm owned by his brother James Nichols. With the prospect of Fortier and Nichols back in his life, McVeigh felt like he could belong again.  They were kindred spirits who welcomed his anti-government rhetoric.

One of the events that triggered his final drastic act had begun on February 28, 1993 when federal agents raided the property of the religious group called the Branch Davidians, headed by the charismatic David Koresh. When the ATF (Alcohol, Tobacco and Firearms) agents charged the Branch Davidian compound, lives were lost and many wounded.  The Branch Davidians held their ground and the standoff continued.

Sensing that the rights of the group to bear arms were being violated, McVeigh headed for Waco to lend support – and make a few bucks at the same time.  He stocked up on items he could hand out or sell – including anti-government leaflets and bumper stickers bearing messages like "Politicians Love Gun Control," "Fear the Government That Fears Your Gun," "A Man With a Gun Is A Citizen, A Man Without A Gun Is A Subject. When he arrived, he wanted to see the compound where the standoff was continuing, but agents blocked his way. When he returned to an area where he could park and distribute his wares, student reporter Michelle Rauch talked McVeigh into an interview.

He told Rauch, "The government is afraid of the guns people have because they have to have control of the people at all times.  Once you take away the guns, you can do anything to the people," and "The government is continually growing bigger and more powerful, and the people need to prepare to defend themselves against government control."

He left Waco a few days later and went to stay with Michael Fortier and his wife Lori in their mobile home in Kingman.  But although he and Fortier were indeed soul mates when it came to politics, Fortier’s drug habits bored McVeigh to the point where he soon moved on to Tulsa, Oklahoma and Wanenmacher’s World’s largest Gun and Knife Show – just one of many gun shows he visited on his travels. 

These events buoyed McVeigh’s spirits tremendously.  Gun show people thought the way he did.  One in particular – Roger Moore – had invited McVeigh to visit his Arkansas ranch.  Moore often went by the name "Bob Miller" at the shows.  He didn’t want people to know too much about him. When McVeigh arrived at the Moore ranch, he understood why.  When Moore showed McVeigh around, it was obvious the place was loaded with weapons, explosive materials and other valuables. And security was almost non-existent. Moore would live to regret McVeigh’s visit.  As would Terry Nichols, whose home was Tim’s next port of call.

When McVeigh arrived at the Nichols’ Decker, Michigan farm, the reports coming out of Waco dominated the airwaves.  In between watching the standoff on TV, the Nichols brothers introduced Tim to the art of making explosives out of readily available materials. Tim was interested, but not yet ready to act on the information. Then, on April 19, 1993 they watched in horror as the Branch Davidians’ compound was battered and burned into oblivion.

This so outraged McVeigh and Nichols that they decided someone had to stop the ATF. Someone would have to make a stand. 

 Like the heroes in Red Dawn.

 Like the hero in The Turner Diaries

The Branch Davidian complex ablaze (Associated Press©)

The bombed-out exterior of the Alfred P. Murrah building (Timepix©)

One of the country’s most expensive trials opened with a media fanfare on April 24, 1997.  In many ways, it was redundant. Lead defense attorney, Stephen Jones, had represented many unpopular clients in his time, but McVeigh was probably the most loathed individual he ever defended. Valiantly, he worked against overwhelming odds and damning evidence. He would need all the powerful cross-examination skills for which he was famous. His second in command – Robert Nigh – would try valiantly to soften the images of many of the crime’s perpetrators and friends.

But lead government lawyer, Joseph Hartzler, would easily overwhelm the defense team. A natural choice for the prosecution, he had previously won convictions against terrorists who plotted the bombing of a Chicago building.  His reputation for building powerful cases on circumstantial evidence would be crucial – after all, no witness had actually placed McVeigh at the crime scene.

However, the defense had a mountain of facts to present.

Judge Robert Matsch, chief district judge for the District of Colorado, is famous for running a very tight ship.  Impatient with ill-prepared attorneys, Matsch is respected for his intellect and fairness.  Against government protest, he decreed McVeigh and Nichols would have separate trials – to ensure they were treated fairly.

To that end, the trial was moved from Oklahoma, where public sentiment could have precluded a fair trial, to Colorado. Nonetheless, sheer numbers were on the side of the prosecution – and ultimately, justice.  There were 141 witnesses for the prosecution, opposed to just 27 for the defense.

Prosecutor Hartzler’s opening statement summarized the events of the day the explosion destroyed the Murrah Building, and the loss of innocent lives.  He honed in on the Ryder truck and its deadly purpose: "The truck was there also to impose the will of Timothy McVeigh on the rest of America in the hopes of seeing blood flow in the streets of America."

He quoted the message on the T-shirt McVeigh wore that day: 
"The tree of liberty must be refreshed from time to time with the blood of patriots and tyrants." And he noted McVeigh’s reason for choosing the Murrah Building for his attack: "He thought the ATF agents, whom he blamed for the Waco tragedy, had their offices in that building.  As it turns out, he was wrong…And second, he described that building as, quote, ‘an easy target’…"

After Hartzler had laid out the motive in further detail, it was Jones's turn to speak for the defense. The thrust of Jones’s argument centered on conspirators in a plot far exceeding McVeigh’s involvement.  Presenting the defendant as a political student of history, he claimed McVeigh was a strong supporter of the founding fathers and their beliefs. 

In weeks to come, Jones would concentrate on mistaken identities and try to negate the credibility of witnesses for the prosecution – among them three people McVeigh had trusted most – his sister Jennifer and friends Lori and Michael Fortier.  The Fortiers had been so close that McVeigh had been best man at their wedding.  Their testimonies turned out to be the most damning.

Lori Fortier told how McVeigh had arranged cans of soup to show how he could construct a truck bomb.  And she told how she had laminated a fake driver’s license for McVeigh – the one in the name of Robert Kling McVeigh used to rent the Ryder truck. Hartzler reviewed the day of the bombing. Part of the exchange: 

Lori Fortier:      "We turned the news on early that morning…and we seen what happened…we saw that the building had been blown up, and I knew right away that it was Tim".

Hartzler:   "He told you what his target was.  Is that correct?"

L Fortier:  "Yes".

• Hartzler:    "You recognize today that you could have stopped this from happening, do you not?"

L. Fortier:  "Yes I do."

When Jones cross-examined the Fortiers, he showed them in the worst possible light.  Their credibility was indeed suspect – after all, they had betrayed Tim in the hope that Michael Fortier would receive a lighter sentence.

When McVeigh’s sister Jennifer appeared, she did so under the same terms as Lori Fortier.  A government witness, nothing she told the court could be used against her. Robert Nigh, for the defense, attempted to humanize Tim McVeigh by asking about Tim’s war record.  He also tried to show Jennifer had been treated harshly when the FBI subjected her to questioning.  She told Nigh that, during the questioning, she’d been told Tim was guilty and that "he was going to fry".

Jennifer McVeigh admitted under cross-examination, however, that she had not been coerced into lying – every negative thing she’d told the FBI about Tim was true.

Most damaging to McVeigh at the trial was Michael Fortier.  Out of his cell for the occasion, he told in detail of events leading up to the bombing.  His appearance was emotional, Fortier full of contrition.  When reminded that all the Fortiers had to do to stop the carnage was to lift the phone and warn authorities, Michael agreed. Fortier’s hero-worship of McVeigh was evident when he told the court: "If you don’t consider what happened in Oklahoma, Tim is a good person".

That statement probably did more to diminish Fortier than Jones could ever do. On his side, Jones had FBI wiretaps and phone recordings where Fortier exposed himself as a buffoon and liar. No doubt Jones hoped to have the jury think, "Well, if this guy lied to the FBI and so many others, why believe him now?" In any case, Fortier’s testimony had effectively nailed McVeigh.

Less dramatic events during the trial had already shown how phone cards consistently tracked McVeigh’s location. Fingerprints on receipts proved his purchase of bomb ingredients. Explosives residue on his clothing and earplugs confirmed his involvement. 

It all added up to one reality: Timothy McVeigh – for all his braggadocio and posturing as some sort of intellectual patriot – was just another contemptible felon.

The jury took three days to decide:  Timothy James McVeigh had indeed bombed the Murrah Building.

For his sins, he would pay the ultimate price.

Supermax Superstars

In his new Florence, Colorado home – the federal prison known as "The Supermax" – McVeigh had time enough to reflect on his last days in court. His last days there had seen the jury unanimous in their decision – Timothy McVeigh must die.

Some two months later, Judge Matsch formally sentenced McVeigh.  He kept it simple, concluding with:  "… it is the judgment of the Court that the defendant, Timothy James McVeigh, is sentenced to death on each of the eleven counts of the indictment".

Shortly, a chopper whisked McVeigh to the Supermax, and a new set of neighbors. They were all high profilers:

Ramzi Yousef, who masterminded the World Trade Center bombing on February 26, 1993 – a crime that killed six and injured more than 1000.  His sentence approached 250 years.  It was his crime that initially led investigators to assume the Murrah building was an act of foreign terrorists.

Ted Kaczynski – the notorious Unabomber – serving 4 life sentences for mail bombings.  He was the intellectual in the group.

The last member of this unsavory quartet was the only non-bomber –Cuban born Luis Filipe. Dubbed "King Blood, he’d headed a notoriously grisly NYC street gang. 

But it was only McVeigh and Kaczynski that had more than crime in common.  They both espoused personal freedom – something this quartet has no hope of knowing again.

They lived in relative harmony, although communication between them was extremely limited.

Eventually, Terry Nichols joined the other hard-liners.  But was bitter, seeing McVeigh as having bullied him into participating in the bomb plot.  Sentenced for life for his part in the Murrah Building Bombing, he has – so far – escaped the death penalty. Oklahoma wanted to try him on state murder charges, but his lawyers argued he can’t be charged twice for the same crime.

But Oklahoma claims Nichols had only been charged – and found guilty – on purely federal crimes of conspiracy and manslaughter.  His appeal for a new trial was rejected on April 16, 2001, and he now awaits trial in Oklahoma on the other charges. If convicted – like McVeigh – Nichols may face the death penalty.  

Reportedly, Nichols eschewed any communication with McVeigh in prison.

The other player in the bomb plot – Michael Fortier – also showed up at Supermax.  He’d received a twelve year prison sentence for failing to warn police that McVeigh planned the Oklahoma City bombing – a relatively light punishment, probably because he’d agreed to cooperate with the prosecution at the trial.

On July 13, 1999, McVeigh was invited to a grand opening – that of the only federal death row institute for men now operating.  The U.S. Bureau of Prisons’ media release read:

"On July 13, the United States Penitentiary (USP) Terre Haute, Indiana opened a Special Confinement Unit to provide safe and secure confinement of male offenders who have been sentenced to death by the Federal courts…inmates with Federal death sentences have been transferred from other Federal and State facilities to USP Terre Haute.

"The physical design of this two-story renovated housing unit includes 50 single cells, upper tier and lower tier corridors, an industrial workshop, indoor and outdoor recreation areas, a property room, a food preparation area, attorney and family visiting rooms and a video teleconferencing area that is used to facilitate inmate access to the courts and their attorneys".

McVeigh thought the place looked like a "dump," report Michel and Herbeck – he hated the place on sight.

Along with nineteen others awaiting death, McVeigh had found a new home – one none of them will enjoy for long – if at all.  Life at Terre Haute is far from social.  There’s little to do except exercise in a confined space, eat at unusual hours, sleep, watch TV and brood over the past.

Perhaps that is why he failed to meet a deadline on February 13, 2001: It was his last chance to appeal for clemency.  His lawyer – Robert Nigh – had drafted the petition on the chance McVeigh chose to sign.

At that time, the book American Terrorist by Michel and Herbeck had not been released.  But McVeigh would have known that - on publication – this definitive work would include McVeigh’s first public admission of guilt.  

As a man who enjoyed the freedom of the outdoors, McVeigh is resigned – perhaps looking forward – to being done with life.  On May 16, 2001, he will make his final exit.

And, for the last time, Tim McVeigh will be the center of attention – when a select group of invitees will get to watch him die.

Timothy McVeigh (Associated Press©)

Death Bed

The McVeigh execution at Terre Haute bears the grisly hallmarks of an event anything but somber.

McVeigh himself set the tone of the occasion by insisting his death be televised.  In his continuing quest for martyrdom, he wants to prove that the people who despised him for killing were willing to endorse his death.  He penned:

 "Because the closed-circuit telecast of my execution raises these fundamental equal access concerns, and because I am otherwise not opposed to such a telecast, a reasonable solution seems to be obvious: hold a true public execution – allow a public broadcast."

McVeigh has support, and networks have tried for the rights.  Web site operator ENI was suing the U.S. government over the right to broadcast the execution.  But the feds said it would be unconstitutional.

It is likely only bombing survivors and relatives of those killed may watch over an encrypted closed circuit TV system.  About thirty others will personally watch the ritual in the execution chamber.

Before McVeigh enters the chamber, he will have had a meal of his choice – which must not include alcohol or cost more than $20. He will then have about four final hours to wait.

In keeping with his wishes, there will be no autopsy, providing he then signs an agreement that reads:

I, Timothy McVeigh, hereby certify; that no abuse has been inflicted upon me while I have been in the custody of the U.S. Bureau of Prisons.  I hereby waive any claim of such abuse.

That done, he will be physically examined, removed from his cell and marched to the chamber.  There, he will be strapped to the deathbed and a lethal IV line will be attached to a needle inserted into a vein.  Three injections will follow.

First, sodium pentothal, to render him unconscious.  Then, pancuronium bromide to collapse his lungs. And finally, potassium chloride to arrest his heart.  The entire process should be over in less than 10 minutes. It will be viewed "live" by 30 witnesses, including ten selected media reps. 

For the privilege of being there, reporters can choose superior service.  For $1,146.50, they get golf cart transportation around the grounds, a phone, ice water, and a comfy chair for three days. They get to sit in a tent, but all they’ll see is the main building.  Those who can’t afford the price also get admission to plain tents provided by the government.  If they want tables and chairs they’ll have to bring their own.

An area has been set aside for demonstrators from a variety of groups – the largest comprising those against the death penalty.  Others will include pro-death penalty advocates and animal liberationists.  The latter have already attempted to force the government to provide McVeigh with a vegetarian meal only. They argue no more blood – including that of animals – should be spilled.

Whether the event will bring closure or open old wounds has been debated since the death penalty was handed down.

Many have chosen not to watch the closed circuit broadcast – including Timothy McVeigh’s father.  Although he would be allowed to attend the live event, he will honor his only son’s request to stay away.  In any case, it’s not in his character to be involved in the execution – in an interview with USA TODAY he said, "What good would it do for me to go out there?  Would you want to see your son die?" The elder McVeigh wishes his son would at least express remorse and prefers to remember him as a smiling toddler.  He constantly asks himself "why?"

Dan Eggen and Lois Romano wrote in the Washington Post, "Of the approximately 2,000 relatives and survivors of the April 19,1995 bombing who legally qualify to witness the execution, only about 15 percent have expressed a desire to do so". One woman said that until she saw McVeigh breathe his last, she would be unable to put the event behind her.  The National Organization for Victim Assistance backs her belief, citing anecdotal evidence that many find it a "satisfying experience."

Bud Welsh, who lost a daughter, told Romano and Eggan, "I went through a period of vengeance for 10 months after Julie was killed…I didn’t even want trials; I just wanted them fried.  But you can’t reconcile anything if you’re consumed with rage…How can watching someone being strapped down with needles in him bring any peace or make anyone feel good?"

But the issue is too emotive for an easy solution.

For many, any reminder of the event inflames anger.  Many advocate banning books touching on the subject – the most recent example being Lou Michel and Dan Herbeck’s American Terrorist.  In the book, the authors interviewed McVeigh extensively, and it was here he publicly admitted to the bombing and verified its history.

His tiresome rantings and self-aggrandizement as patriot and hero simply verify his delusional persona. But banning this book could be counter-productive.  That McVeigh finally admitted his guilt ends any shadow of a doubt, and curtails the endless conspiracy theories.  This in itself should reinforce our faith in the authorities that brought him so swiftly to justice. 

And, because the book exposed the workings of his twisted thinking, criminal profilers have gained more valuable insights into the mind of a terrorist. Hopefully, this will help others identify potential terrorists before they strike.  As President Bush observed at the opening of the commemorative Oklahoma museum:

"We all have a duty to watch for and report troubling signs."

If peace is to be found in Oklahoma City, it is here – at the hauntingly beautiful memorial commemorating the victims of Oklahoma City. At night, the chairs – one for each of those lost – appear to float in air. Like hopes for solace.  

The memorial in Oklahoma City which commemorates the victims  (Associated Press©)