At 9:02 a.m. on Thursday, April 19, 1995, an explosion shook the 5th grade classroom so hard that someone said, "That's one big sonic boom." Chisholm Elementary School is in Edmond, near Tinker Air Force Base, so that was a natural response. But it wasn't a sonic boom. Seven miles north of the school, a bomb had destroyed the Alfred P. Murrah Federal Building in the heart of the state's capital. One hundred and sixty-eight people died. Twenty of them lived in Edmond.
Chisholm's 5th graders, in the middle of a science lesson, were anticipating a morning concert at the Civic Center in Oklahoma City. Their teachers were making final plans to board the buses. The 5th grade team wondered what to tell the kids about the big noise, but nobody had enough information to answer any questions.
Sometimes schools are forced to cope with the despair that accompanies cataclysmic events within their communities. During those times, the school's resources may be taxed, and the skills of the local staff are critical. Here's how one school—and, in particular, a 5th grade class—dealt with a local tragedy that ultimately touched the nation.
The Tragedy Unfolds
In the administrative office, the 1st grade teacher said, "There's been a bomb at the Federal Building. My father works across the street." The music teacher phoned the Edmond Board of Education office to find out what had happened. Someone told her there had been an explosion in downtown Oklahoma City. Nobody had the details, but the message moved throughout the school causing general concern.
Phyllis Van Hemert, the school counselor and chairperson of the school's crisis management team, called the other members—Nanci Jones, Betty McNeill, and Principal Cathy McVay—to her office. They decided to (1) check the enrollment cards to identify the children whose parents worked in the Federal Building; and (2) find out whether those parents had been injured in the bombing.
Activity escalated. A few parents called to reassure their children that they were well. Some families came to pick up their children. Rumors spread. In the counselor's office, huddled around the TV, some of the staff watched the early moments of the disaster unfold. Meanwhile, in the classrooms, teachers told their students only that there had been an accident in downtown Oklahoma City.
In the 5th grade room, things remained fairly calm until a student arriving at school late from a dental appointment told the group about the bomb blast downtown. The teachers reassured their students by telling them that school staff were monitoring the activities by television and would inform them about major developments.
The rest of the morning, a general uneasiness settled across the school. Who is involved? What happened? When will I know more? Teachers and students were equally concerned. Nobody had answers, only questions.
At noon, the teachers gathered in the faculty lounge to watch TV accounts of heroic workers climbing into the rubble that covered the bodies of dozens of victims. When the teachers returned to their classes after lunch, details like homework seemed trivial. Not even talking out of turn disturbed the teachers. They gave thanks for each young life. It was OK to be sad. It became a sacred time.
That afternoon, a father who worked in the downtown area came to the school to reassure his son. He had parked his car across the street from the Murrah Building, where the blast had blown it away. When he saw his son, he said, "I'm all right." Then, he embraced the boy and wept. It was an honest, public-private moment. That scene would be repeated many times over.
How Can We Help?
As the day wore on, the 5th grade students asked to do something to help the people working at the bomb site. Their teachers suggested writing letters to Fire Chief John Hansen and the other rescue workers. That evening, a teacher gave those letters to her next-door neighbor, sportscaster Bill Teegins. Teegins passed them on to TV commentator Jennifer Reynolds, who wept while she read two of the notes on the air. This is one of the letters: Dear John Hansen and all the firefighters, volunteers, and rescue crews,I can't put into words how much I appreciate what you are doing. I want to be there to help. I know you probably wouldn't want me to see all the devastation and all the goriness down there since I'm 12, but I can't help it. Writing letters, saying prayers, sending stuff, and reading the Bible just don't seem to fill the hole in my heart that this bomb has blown in it. I know it's tough for you, and I just wanted you to know that I'm behind you 110 percent. My prayers are with you.Your supporter, Todd Bratkovich, 5th grader
By the next day, events at the bomb site were common knowledge, and everyone at the school wanted to share personal stories. The teachers let the students talk freely, and tears flowed. A common web of community emerged.
The tragedy soon became personal to Chisholm Elementary School. The father of one of the 5th graders, a police sergeant, was one of the first rescue workers to arrive at the bomb scene, where he helped remove tiny Baylee Almon from the rubble. Seconds later, he handed the child's lifeless form to fireman Chris Fields. The following day, the moment was immortalized in a picture that covered front pages around the country.
Another 5th grader was to learn that her father, a physician, contributed to the courageous rescue effort at the bomb site. He was with the workers as they pulled debris off trapped victims. They uncovered Dana Bradley, whose foot was caught under steel girders that were too heavy to move. Because rubble was still falling, the physician had to make a quick choice between two alternatives—amputate her leg, which was already crushed, or run the very real risk of her being smashed by a structural collapse. He performed the surgery on site.
It seemed that everyone was affected in a personal way. The students shared their parents' pain and uncertainty. Of course, they brought their feelings to school, where they became a part of Chisholm's collective experience.
The 5th graders responded with enough food and supplies to fill a Ford Explorer. One of their teachers took them to a local TV station, where employees were accepting contributions for the rescuers and for victims of the bombing.
The youngsters continued to express their feelings through writing. Student Lauren Kwiatkowski wrote: Please remember the children. The young innocent treasures of the earth. They take the flaming torch from the past generation, carrying it proudly for many years. Now, there is no pride. Only a sad silence. Please remember the blood-stained teddy bears, the demolished blocks, the burnt finger paintings. Please remember the children. For if we forget, all hope is lost.
The Healing Continues
A few days later, the 5th graders collected money to purchase a redbud tree and a Shumard oak tree, which they planted next to the school sign. Later they added a marble slab obtained from the Murrah Federal Building and inscribed it with a verse by student Callie Hann: There will always be a place in our hearts where we will remember the tragedy that happened on April 19, 1995, and those who embraced us with their hands and hearts, showing us that love is more powerful than hate.
Following the tree-planting ceremony, the class members shared the poems, prayers, and stories they had written about the bombing experience. The room was quiet except for sounds of sadness. Pen Power, an anthology of the students' writings, is a permanent record of the immediate meaning of the Oklahoma City bombing. The students dedicated the book to the victims, their families, the rescuers, and the people of Oklahoma.
Near the end of the year, the school held an assembly to honor Chisholm parents who had participated in the rescue effort: a nurse, a physician, a fireman, a police officer, and a media representative. And, on the last day of school, the 5th grade awards assembly closed with students and parents tying ribbons around the trees they had planted. Before leaving, they formed a circle and sang "Let There Be Peace on Earth."
On April 19, 1996, Phyllis Van Hemert, the counselor, spoke to the student body over the school's intercom. She urged them to remember the power of goodness to overcome cruelty. Although a year had passed, the pain continued. And still continues. But Chisholm Elementary School responded to a profound crisis in ways that have promoted healing. Students and staff have moved forward, but they will never forget.
