15 years ago, Timothy McVeigh and Terry Nichols blew up a truck bomb outside the Murrah Federal Building in downtown Oklahoma City, killing almost 170 people and destroying the building.
At the time, I was nearing the end of my last year in law school and had been in communication with Judge Holloway of the Tenth Circuit about a judicial clerkship to follow my federal district court clerkship for the upcoming year. After hearing about the awful carnage in OKC, I initially wasn't even sure if the judge had survived, since I didn't know that there was a separate federal courthouse. Within a week of so, however, the judge got back in touch with me, let me know that he was uninjured (thank goodness), and offered me the clerkship, which I eventually accepted.
I moved out to Oklahoma City in August 1996, shipping a few boxes of books and CDs and packing everything else I owned into my Acura Integra.
A year after the explosion, there was still a constant reminder of McVeigh's heinous act. The federal building had been razed quickly down to its foundation, but its remains still occupied that entire block -- necessary, since the entrance to the once-shared federal building & courthouse parking lot was in the foundation. A fence encircled the federal building, with only an opening for the parking entrance. The fence was covered with signs, letters, stuffed animals, and the like, all left as monuments to the victims.
McVeigh had parked his truck on 5th Street. The Murrah Federal Building sat between 4th and 5th streets, and the federal courthouse was on the other side of 4th Street. If McVeigh had parked his truck on 4th instead, he would have destroyed the federal building and the courthouse. As it was, the federal building shielded the courthouse from most of the concussive damage in the blast. Still, my office, which looked out at the blown-up building, had glass fragments still embedded in the door.
I'm told that the replacement windows were bulletproof.
When I got to Oklahoma City, I opened a bank account with the federal credit union. This used to be located in the federal building, but was relocated to a nearby commercial office building. You have to wonder how the tellers felt about having their jobs because their predecessors had been killed in the 1995 blast. . . .
While I was clerking, Timothy McVeigh's and Terry Nichols' criminal trials were getting underway. All the Oklahoma City (W.D. Okla.) judges had recused themselves because of their proximity to the blast, so the case was assigned to Judge Matsch, who sat in Denver but had planned on trying the case in Oklahoma City. So some of the pre-trial motions were argued in the Oklahoma City federal courthouse. I got to see Michael Tigar, law professor and criminal defense lawyer extraordinaire, have to take his cowboy boots and belt off to get past the magnetometer.
Eventually, Judge Matsch moved the trial out of Oklahoma City due to concerns about jury prejudice and the like.
The verdict came down while I was still clerking: guilty. When the verdict for the penalty phase was due to be announced, one of the law clerks for Judge Henry (the other circuit judge in town) asked me what I thought the outcome would be. "Death," I said confidently. My reasoning (objective, not normative) was that if you were going to have a death penalty, who would deserve it more than McVeigh?
Indeed, it was a death sentence for him. When I left the courthouse that day, I mentioned this to the court security officers, who had not heard the news. One of them smiled broadly and told me that I'd made his day, his week even. It seemed mildly ghoulish to say that, but then, I wasn't there in 1995 to experience the terror of the day.