Description:
The following is reproduced from the library’s staff news letter AdLibs published on August 25, 1995 and was written by then Public Information Officer Julia Fresonke.
On April 19, 1995 a bomb exploded on the north side of the Alfred P. Murrah Federal Building, destroying the nine-story structure and killing 168 men, women and children. At this writing, Timothy McVeigh and Terry Nichols have been charged with causing this senseless tragedy. Jailed at the federal prison in EI Reno, they are awaiting trial. Like thousands, the library family also suffered. One of our valued Booksale volunteers, Jean Thompson, lost her son Michael, who worked in the Social Security office located on the building's second floor. Jean Latham, Downtown Library security officer, lost several friends. The library staff lost those federal employees who spent their lunch hours in the Downtown Library and the day care center children who so loved our story times. Presented here is the library's story.
On the morning of April 19 life at the Downtown Library began as it had many mornings for several years. At about 7 a.m. maintenance mechanic Billy Loudermilk arrived to turn on lights and brew coffee in the staff lounge. Trailing in after him were behind-the-scenes people -- business office personnel, materials selectors, the two women who handle the interlibrary loan department, others. On the way to their desks they stopped by the lounge for some of Billy's coffee.
About 8 a.m. the public service staff, those who work on the first floor in the public library portion of the building, began arriving. Many of them, like the office staff, stopped in the lounge for coffee. Many of them, like the office staff, parked their cars either in a garage at Fourth and Harvey, catty-corner from the Alfred P. Murrah Federal Building, or just east of it in a lot at Fifth and Robinson.
Louise Howard of the materials selection office used the Fourth and Harvey garage that morning. During her walk from there to the library, she rejoiced in what promised to be a beautiful spring day.
By 9 a.m. most of the 56 people who spend their workday in the library were deeply involved in some task or other. The public service staff had spent their first hour preparing to open the library and were ready to unlock the front doors for our patrons. On the upper three floors and in the basement, the office staffs, particularly those who had arrived before 7:30, were already considering a mid-morning break and a return to the lounge for more coffee.
In my office, in the northwest corner of the fourth floor, public information office assistant Nancy Lytle was busy at her desk. Staff artist Wanda Scott was at her computer-it's on the north side of the room by windows that provided an unobstructed view of the federal building. I had just concluded a phone call, spoken with Nancy and gone to the rest room. I was leaving the rest room at 9:02 a.m. when the bomb went off.
The sound was ear-shattering, louder and more frightening than anything describable. It rocked the building and the thrust of it snapped the heavy bathroom door out of my hand. As it did, I heard glass breaking. My initial thought was that something in the library had blown up. My instincts told me to get out. Quick.
I tugged open the bathroom door and ran back to my office for Nancy and Wanda. Just as I reached my office door, it slammed shut in my face. It's a thick wooden door that locks automatically. Of course, I did not have my key. I pounded and yelled. No one answered. I decided Nancy and Wanda had been knocked out cold by falling fixtures - fixtures were popping out of the ceiling in the hallway, which led me to believe the ones in my office were doing the same. I kept pounding anyway. Finally, after what seemed an eternity but was actually less than a minute, Nancy opened the door.
She was fine. Her desk is in the interior of the room away from the windows which were, by then, broken; and the ceiling fan almost directly above her head had, thankfully, held fast.
Why Wanda was not hurt we will never know.
Nancy said later, "The glass blasted all over Wanda, the computer, the floor, her table, everything. I asked her, 'Are you okay? Are you okay?' She was down on the floor, arms covering her head. She slowly emerged from under the glass. She was unharmed. Looking back, it was miraculous."
I yelled at them, "Let's go! Let's get out, now!" We snatched our purses, headed down the back stair- way and out the back door.
Not far behind us was executive director Lee Brawner, helping television program coordinator BJ Williams. BJ's office, one story below mine, has two walls of glass, one on the north side, the other on an interior south wall. Both walls shattered and BJ was struck in the head. As Lee evacuated his office, he found BJ on the floor outside the door of hers, huddled there with benefits officer Karyn Miller. Outside, it was chilling to see BJ on the ground cradled in Karyn's lap, her hair matted with blood. Thankfully, the injury was not severe and she was treated and released from Bethany Hospital that afternoon.
Later we learned only four staffers were injured, and only in minor ways.
"We were damn lucky."
Lee said it. All of us thought it.
Windows 90% Shattered
As the rest of us departed for home, Lee and the maintenance crew stayed behind to assess damages to the library. They discovered that more than 90 percent of the windows were shattered, that ceiling tiles had fallen and that light fixtures had been shaken from their mountings. Covering the gapping holes where window glass had been became a top priority. The group retreated to the maintenance center, three miles from downtown, and conducted a search for industrial weight plastic and plywood. It was uncanny how quickly both items became scarce.
Alas, our friends at the Oklahoma City Zoo offered what wood they had; and with it, Lee and maintenance boarded up windows on the first floor, adjacent to a portion of the collection. Plastic went up elsewhere. The crew worked until 9:30 p.m., when a cur- few went into effect and everyone except police and rescue teams were ushered out of the downtown.
An Emotional Morning
No one expected to laugh when we gathered at the Belle Isle Library Thursday morning, April 20. But we did as Lee described what occurred in his office at the time of the explosion.
He and Ernestine had just settled down to a meeting when Paula Stella, Lee's administrative secretary, stuck her head in the door to ask one quick question. Lee and Ernestine both turned to listen; and as they did, the bomb went off.
"We were catapulted across the room. I never thought I'd share a door jam with Paula and Ernestine-it was kind of fun in a way!" Lee dead-panned.
The rest of his words were not so funny, and at one point he had to stop speaking altogether and get a grip on his emotions.
Later in the morning, psychologist Dr. Vernon Enlow arrived and spent an hour with us. He talked about the disaster and ways to handle our reactions, then encouraged those of us who wanted, to share our experiences and our feelings. Lots of concerns were expressed and lots of tears were shed. Judith King, library assistant, said she was "angry." Pamela Kosted, with interlibrary loan, said she was agonizing about a picture of her son she had perched by a window in her office. "It's silly. I have lots of pictures of him. But, for some reason, the thought of that particular one being ruined is really bothering me."
At some point in the discussion Vernon said, "You're going to have to cope with a loss of normalcy. The 'normal' that you had yesterday doesn't exist anymore. Part of the recovery process is finding a new 'normal'."
Jane Bernier, children's librarian, was absent from that Thursday morning session. Our hearts went out to her. For by then we knew that the day care center in the Murrah Building had been one of the places hardest hit and that the death toll was expected to be high. We also knew that Jane loved the children who spent their days in that center. Many times during the last few years they had attended her story times. They had come to the library in groups, grinning and holding hands, eager to see 'Miss Jane' and Rusty, her pet guinea pig. For them, she had dressed up like Mother Goose. For them, she had read aloud. For them, she had shown videos, told stories and served refreshments. On the morning of April 19 story times were to have taken place; and the meeting room on the fourth floor had been made ready for Miss Jane, Rusty the guinea pig and the children.
Implosion Causes Delay
It took until Wednesday, May 24, to reopen the library to the public because every magazine had to be wiped clean of filth and glass; and the books, though not damaged, were a mess. By then, all the windows on the first floor had been replaced.
Our original target date for reopening had been Tuesday, May 23. That changed when the authorities chose that day to implode the federal building.
Because the library was within the restricted area designated for the final demolition, on May 23 we started our work day at noon, five hours after the implosion and after the restricted area had been reduced to within one-half block of the demolition site. Shortly after 1 p.m., I walked over to the north side of my office and found Kay Bauman, manager of the Downtown Library, gazing out the window at the spot where the federal building had been.
"You know, I hadn't cried at all until this morning," she said. "Then, for some reason, when I watched the building coming down on the TV, I bawled. It just seems so sad."
Library Reopens
Opening the library the next morning seemed to lift Kay's and everyone else's spirits. We hung a banner above the entrance proclaiming we were open. We took pictures. Our regulars sent flowers and rushed in to tell us, "We're glad you're back!" For them we had candy and three special displays: one exhibiting the correspondence and donations the library received in the days following April 19 and two others - one about humor, the other about gardening - intended to give them a reprieve from the bombing and the lives it stole, the federal building that is no more, the boarded up windows and the shattered glass that still littered the landscape.
By 10:30 a.m. the library was teeming with people, some in business suits, others who had obviously slept the night before in the streets. It was a hodge-podge of humanity and we loved it. Late in the day I encountered library assistant Judith King raiding the candy machine in the staff lounge. A smile spread across her face as she confided, "This day has certainly gone by more quickly than any day in recent memory. It feels good - I like it."