Where the Wind Comes Sweepin' Down the Plain

Perhaps the term "driving rain" is meant to be ironic, or at least oxymoronic, since being on the road in a driving rain is a very unpleasant undertaking.  In any event, it was such a rain that landed me in Waco (technically, I guess it's Hewitt) last night.  After enjoying Dallas/Fort Worth rush hour traffic in a rainstorm, and then construction with lots of semi's in a rainstorm, I was worn out so stopped short of Austin, which is my destination.  (I pulled off to get gas and saw that I was next to a Sleep Inn, which has become my favorite motel, and took that as a sign.)

But prior to the rain, it had been a great day.  Fortunately I needed to get some crazy glue to fix my favorite shoes, which led me into Guthrie, Oklahoma, rather than right back onto the interstate.  Guthrie is a really cute little town, and looked beautiful in the sunshine.  Among its attributes:  truly friendly people (everyone smiled at me), a gigantic Scottish Rite, and about a dozen blocks of well preserved old buildings, which look like this:

Guthrie was the first territorial capital of Oklahoma, and is home to the oldest Carnegie Library in the state, shown here:

Their historic downtown has a lot of markers describing the buildings.  The most interesting is at 106 Oklahoma, "Smith's 2-Story Privy."  This was built by an easterner named Nathaniel McKay in 1899 and was, in fact, a two-story brick building with toilets on both floors.  It no longer seems to exist, which is probably a good thing.

Then I drove about a half-hour to Oklahoma City and saw the nicest visitor center ever.  Ever.  It's made of stone and looks a bit like a mountain resort, although it's next to I-35 and surrounded by truck stops and parking lots.  It is staffed, of course, by very friendly people, since those are the kind of people drawn to work with tourists.  The bathroom is what really grabbed me, though:

Who knew you could (or would) turn your visitor center bathroom into a cheesy self-portrait gallery?

Armed with lots of helpful information and a $2 off coupon for the Oklahoma City National Memorial and Museum, I headed into town.

In the 1990's I was active in the national trade group for community development officials.  In that capacity I had met the community development director for Edmonds, Oklahoma.  In 1995, she told me about a meeting with HUD (U.S. Department of Housing and Urban Development, which oversees federal community development programs) that was to be at 9 a.m. on April 19 at the HUD office.  The HUD office, of course, was in the A.P. Murrah Federal Building in Oklahoma City.  My colleague had stopped to get gas on the way and was therefore running about 5 minutes late, which frustrated her until she got near and realized that her tardiness had caused her not to be in the building at 9:02 when the bomb went off.

That story still gives me goosebumps.

About 12 years ago I had seen the memorial, and it had the same impact on me this time.  Lots of tears.  The site is where the building was, so it's about one city block square.  You enter through an arch on either side.  On the eastern side it reads 9:01 and on the west, 9:03.  In between is a very large reflecting pool and 168 simple chairs representing the 168 people who lost their lives in the explosion.  Many of those chairs are small, since part of the building that was completely destroyed was the daycare center.  Both times I've been there I just start sobbing, and when I stop, I start up again.

The museum wasn't around when I was here before, and it was a really good (and powerful) addition.  More sobbing.  The exhibit starts with a description of the day, which was (they point out) just like any other.  People going to work, meetings beginning, nothing out of the ordinary.  Across the street from the Federal Building was the Oklahoma Water Resources Board, which, among other things, holds hearings on various water permits.  Such a hearing began at 9 a.m. sharp on Wednesday, April 19, and was audio-taped for the official record.  The tape began like many other administrative hearings I've sat through:  an introduction by the hearing officer with an explanation of the process and timeline.  If this is your first hearing, you're nervous.  If it's your 10th, you know exactly what is going to happen.  Except not this hearing, not today.  Two minutes into the tape, there is an explosion across the street that knocks out lights and causes chaos.  The hearing officer tells everyone to evacuate.  Then the tape ends.  It's chilling.

I could write for days about this.  Perhaps because I worked for the government for so long, or perhaps because the impact is so random (deciding at the last minute to stop for gas can save your life, while making a visit to the credit union in the building cost someone his), or perhaps because of all the babies killed, or the stories of heroism (one nurse entered the building to help others and was killed, the blind man who ran the snack bar led many people to safety), but the story and the site really touch me.

The wall of the building next door, which has been turned into the museum, has been preserved as it was on April 19.  One of the rescue workers wrote this on the wall:

And as you know, the criminals were caught fairly quickly and brought to justice.  (If you haven't read the story of Timothy McVeigh's random arrest, it's interesting.  He was picked up by a police officer just north of Oklahoma City for driving a car without a license plate, and held for two misdemeanors since he was carrying a gun without a permit.  He ended up being held in Noble County lock-up about a day longer than normal due to the time of day of his arrest and a couple of unusual events, which meant that by the time the FBI knew who he was and where he was, they could arrest him without having to track him down.)

The nice lady at the visitor center had gotten me set to wander through the Brick Town shopping area, but after the museum and memorial I wasn't in the mood, so I got back on the interstate and drove for a while to El Reno.

El Reno (named after someone named Reno; I went there because the Road Food people said there were four great hamburger places there and it is on the old Route 66) is another cute little town, although not as nice as Guthrie.  It is home to the oldest VFW in the state.  There used to be cable cars through the town, which is evidenced by the tracks in the streets and a large mural on a wall downtown.  I ate at Robert's Grill and enjoyed both an onion burger (hamburger with onions fried into it) and a slaw-topped coney dog.  Yummy.

On the way to Austin I drove through Minco, which claims to be "The Land of Milk and Honey," although I saw evidence of neither.  This area is near the Chisholm Trail, and I saw several signs to that effect. 

Beyond that, the trip south was uneventful other than increasingly annoying driving conditions which is why I stopped short of Austin.  But I finished a chapter in the LBJ book and got to sleep early, both of which I needed.  This morning it's still raining in Waco but at least it's light outside.

Onward, to Austin!