By Joy Akande, Gaylord College Class of 2025
April 19th, 1995, was a day that changed Oklahoma forever. Most Oklahomans can remember exactly where they were at 9:02 a.m., a time that for any other day would pass. Where 168 people lost their lives and over 650 were injured. For those who died, their families, friends, colleagues, and their community lost someone. This was the day of the Murrah Building bombing in downtown Oklahoma City.
About five blocks away from the site of the bombing stood St. Anthony's, Oklahoma's oldest hospital. Due to its proximity, this is where many of the victims were taken. In ambulances, on the backs of trucks and in cars, or on foot, these victims made their way to this hospital.
Debbie Atterberry, the supervisor of radiology at the time, recalls being called in for a “Dr. Christopher.” This was a term the hospital had used for an external disaster. What was initially categorized as a stage one situation soon became a stage four, signifying the highest level of disaster. Upon receiving the call, Atterberry had no idea what had happened, just that she was quickly needed at the hospital. As she was reaching her destination, she saw people walking aimlessly in the streets, covered in blood, holding parts of their bodies, quickly realizing that they were part of the disaster she had been called in for.
Once arriving at the hospital, Atterberry was briefed without any time to process the event taking place and had to get to work as most of the medical staff that day did. St. Anthony’s called every available technologist to aid the situation and the emergency room was filled with people in need of help. Groups of people were placed into hospital rooms that were meant for two, cementing it as a situation they had never quite prepared for.
In another part of the hospital was Sylvia Lyles, also lovingly known as Miss Peaches, who worked in food services at the time. When the bomb went off, she and the others within that department had not yet realized what happened. They thought one of the elevators in the building had fallen. However, they quickly learned it was not that at all. Sirens started going off in the kitchen, calling the “Dr. Christopher” code. Following the sirens, everyone had been told to exit the kitchen and go outside.
“You could just see all this smoke coming from where the Murrah Building was,” she recalled.
They watched as trucks and cars full of bloody and unconscious people started to flood the hospital parking lot in need of medical attention. When they eventually were allowed back into the hospital, it was time for them to get to work. They had hundreds of people to feed. Meals were prepped for those who made it to the hospital, and feeding tubes were assembled for those in critical condition. In the face of this disaster, those working in food services were on call for the next 24 hours for the growing needs of the hospital patients and staff.
Raymond Langston and Sharon Walker worked as printers in the print shop, located in the hospital's basement. Even from there, they could tell something had happened, but did not know what. Walker had thought the same thing that the food services workers thought had happened, an elevator had fallen.
Langston’s initial thought was that the building being constructed next door was about to collapse and would fall onto the hospital. He ran up to the first floor to see if that was the case, but by the time he got there, the alarms had started going off. But the code had not been used. When he made it up the stairs, he saw tiles hanging down from the ceiling, and dust filling the air. He heard people saying that an airplane had hit the hospital. He ran back downstairs to the print shop and went through the back door, followed by everyone else working there. That is when they realized the truth.
“All of this happened within two minutes, and when we went outside, you could just see a big mushroom,” he remembered, “that’s how big the bomb was.”
All these people mentioned knew someone who died that day. When Atterberry finally made it home from this shift, she watched on TV as the search and rescue continued and just broke down in tears. Lyles and her family had just moved into a neighborhood that housed an older population. A portion of them were lost that day, after going in to plan for their retirement.
Twenty-nine years later and the events are still fresh in their minds. It was something that no one could have ever expected or imagined. It left people wondering how this could happen in Oklahoma, but it also demonstrated the strength and unity of Oklahomans. Upon sharing their experiences, one common thread was community. The community came together to support each other through this difficult time -- from supporting the victims, families, and survivors, to providing meals for the first responders and hospital workers. Because of this tragedy, and the way Oklahomans showed up and supported each other, we now know this to be the Oklahoma Standard.
The Gaylord College of Journalism and Mass Communication at the University of Oklahoma is proud to unveil its new television set—a transformational gift from Griffin Media.
Gaylord College faculty and doctoral students have recently developed “Public Relations Principles, Origins, and Practice,” a textbook designed to provide students with foundational and practical knowledge in public relations.
Dr. Loarre Andreu Perez, a recent graduate of Gaylord College Graduate Studies' doctoral program, has begun a tenure-track position as assistant professor of Latinx eMedia at San Diego State University's School of Journalism and Media Studies.
Armand McCoy, advertising instructor and executive director of Lindsey + Asp at Gaylord College, has been elected vice chair of the American Advertising Federation’s (AAF) National Education Executive Council (NEEC).
Colleen Thurston, Assistant Professor in Creative Media Production at Gaylord College has been named a 2024 recipient of the Anonymous Was A Woman (AWAW) Environmental Art Grants for her feature-length documentary Drowned Land.
