Roanoke Times
Copyright (c) 1995, Landmark Communications, Inc.
DATE: MONDAY, April 24, 1995 TAG: 9504240072
SECTION: NATL/INTL PAGE: A1 EDITION: METRO
SOURCE: LOS ANGELES TIMES
DATELINE: OKLAHOMA CITY LENGTH: Medium
Declaring it a day of national mourning, President Clinton and Hillary Rodham Clinton planted a flowering dogwood tree on the White House lawn, then flew to the Oklahoma State Fair Arena, where they joined the Rev. Billy Graham in a stirring eulogy beamed live to an overflow crowd in the city's baseball stadium.
``You have lost too much, but you have not lost everything, and you certainly have not lost America,'' said Clinton, his voice raw, as the audience vacillated between cheers and tears. ``Today, our nation joins with you in grief. We mourn with you. We share your hope against hope that some may still survive.''
The cavernous arena, which had been the site of a horse show last week, was transformed into a garden of pink and white and yellow bouquets, which were taken home afterward by relatives of those who perished in Wednesday's blast. Many in the crowd clutched stuffed animals and single roses in their hands. Most wore the multicolored ribbons that have become the city's ubiquitous symbol of support.
One woman carried a hand-lettered sign that thanked the world for its prayers. Another cradled her daughter, a tiny girl with pigtails, who slept through the ceremony sucking her thumb. Robert Rayburn, a local food wholesaler, came because he has done nothing but watch the disaster on television.
``You feel so helpless,'' he said, shivering in the long line that began forming eight hours before the 3 p.m. service. ``This is a way to at least get up off the couch.''
Officially dubbed ``A Time of Healing'' by Gov. Frank Keating's wife, it was a cathartic pause after a week of stunned agony, a moment of reflection for a city that remains on a 24-hour-a-day search for survivors who almost nobody believes still exist.
Befitting a community whose newspaper features a prayer on the front page every morning, the service was grounded deeply in religious verse. A Baptist minister, a Jewish rabbi and the Catholic archbishop all offered succor, although the only representative of the Muslim faith appeared to be Abraham Ahmad, the Jordanian immigrant detained on the first night after the bombing.
An Oklahoma City resident for the last 13 years, he sat near reporters, explaining that he had come to pay his respects, not vent his resentment over being an early target of suspicions.
``It's very important for me to be here, to share the sadness and the feeling with these people,'' said Ahmad, who had been on his way to the Middle East last Wednesday with a telephone, fax machine and VCR as gifts for his family. ``Of course, I'm angry. ... But forget what they did to me. These are human lives. People died.''
As much as a spiritual salve, Sunday's service was a pep rally for an oft-overlooked region that required tragedy to get a date on the international stage. Throughout the day, Oklahomans were told they represent all that is good about America, that in suffering they have become a model for the rest of the world.
``If anybody thinks Americans are mostly mean and selfish, they ought to come to Oklahoma,'' Clinton told the crowd. ``If anybody believes Americans have lost the capacity for love and caring and courage, they ought to come to Oklahoma.''
Since the blast, which killed 74 and left another 150 still missing, thousands of people have waited in lines to donate blood and money. Gifts of food and clothing and toiletries, even canine booties for the search-and-rescue dogs, have flooded relief centers. On Saturday, more than 3,000 volunteers offered to help sweep and mop the fairgrounds, still soiled from last week's Centennial Horse Show.
``There is something special about our wonderful state,'' Keating said to thundering applause. ``We have always known that. Now America does. Now the world does.''
Security was extremely tight at the fair arena, which was evacuated earlier in the day so that bomb-sniffing K-9 teams could comb every corner. Secret Service agents wore black patches over their badges, homage to their Oklahoma City-based colleagues - who would have been guarding Clinton during his visit had they not been lost in the blast.
Inside the arena, heartstrings were gently tugged as a children's chorus sang in a high-pitched whisper, followed later by a touching rendition of ``Tears in Heaven,'' Eric Clapton's tribute to his dead son. Eyeglasses gave way to tissues. A small boy buried his head in his mother's arm.
``Some kids don't have their mommies and daddies no more,'' Rhonda Ross, 27, explained to her 4-year-old daughter, Leslie. ``We can't bring their losses back, but we can show that we care.''
by CNB