Memories Never Fade

[Ed. Note: Among the survivors of the Murrah Building bombing was the former Terri Yost, daughter of Johnny and Carole Yost of Moore and granddaughter of the late Herman and Betty Yost of Omega. She agreed to share her remembrance of the bombing and its aftermath with the Times & Free Press.]

The first time Terri Shaw regained consciousness in a dark and alien environment amid a deafening cacophony of sounds, she thought she must be in the middle of a horrible dream and if she could just go back to sleep, it would all be gone when she woke up.

The second time the 27-year-old came to, unable to move or see, barely able to breathe, trapped under a crushing weight and hearing the sound of running water amid a continuing shower of dust and debris, she thought surely she’d been in a horrible car accident.

Just an Ordinary Day

What felt like moments earlier, Terri had been at her job of nearly eight years at the Federal Employees Credit Union, located on the third floor of the Murrah Federal Building in Oklahoma City.

It was a Wednesday, her first day back after two days of jury duty.

“I was trying to catch up after being gone from work and I was also covering someone else’s desk – it was just a crazy, busy time,” she said. Even 25 years later, it’s a day that Terri (whose last name is now Talley) remembers with startling clarity.

“One of my coworkers had been promoted into management and was going to her first manager’s meeting and wanted to look nice,” Talley remembered. “She had worn a bright yellow suit and her sister had told her that morning that she looked like a giant sunflower and so she was really nervous about the meeting.”

Talley reassured the coworker she looked fine and after talking to her a few more minutes, she stopped by the desk of her friend Karan to talk about lunch plans.

“We had lunch together every day,” Talley said. “She was busy and gave me that look of ‘I’ll call you later,’ so I went to the desk I was covering and sat down,” Talley said.

She remembers very clearly sitting down and – “like I often did when I was younger” – hooking her feet around the base of the chair.

A Waking Nightmare

That’s the last thing she remembers before waking up from what she thought was a “very bad dream,” losing consciousness again and waking up once more in what she was certain was a bad car crash.

“It happened so fast I honestly had no idea I was in a bombing,” she said.

The running water she was hearing was not from a “busted car radiator” as she first thought and the weight on her chest and limbs was not what remained of her car.

Instead, the front of the federal building had literally been blown away and she and her office chair had dropped from the third floor to about the basement level as the six floors above her pancaked down on top.

The running water she could hear was from the building’s collapsed plumbing and heating and cooling systems, adding to the harsh, discordant mixture of noise that included the staccato patter of falling dirt and debris, the screams and cries for help of the injured and dying and the blaring sirens of emergency vehicles racing to the scene.

Help Arrives

Rescue personnel arrived at the scene within minutes from dozens of area fire departments and ambulance services, believing at first that they were responding to a natural gas explosion.

But ironically, Talley’s rescuer was a retired fireman who had come downtown for an entirely different reason – Rowdy Baxter was getting a hunting and fishing license when the rental truck loaded with 4,000 pounds of fuel oil and fertilizer blew off the front of the federal building.

“Once a fire guy, always a fire guy,” Talley said. “He just waded in and started walking through the building trying to find survivors.”

Even so, Baxter nearly walked right past Talley, at first mistaking his view of a small square of her houndstooth suit for a couch cushion.

“But something made him go back and when he reached in and touched me, I said ‘get me out of here,’ and he started yelling ‘I’ve got a live one!’” Talley said.

A crew from the Nichols Hills Fire Department came to help but no one had any specialized equipment to start moving the tons of debris trapping Talley inside.

“They just started chipping away at that small hole and while they were doing that, they started talking to me,” she said. “They asked me my name and then they asked the names of my coworkers who were working near me.”

As they worked, the rescuers shouted the names of Talley’s coworkers to see if they could locate them as well.

At one point, rescue workers were ordered back from the building because of another bomb scare, but Baxter talked the other firemen intoto staying and continuing to help free Talley.

“I don’t know if anyone else stayed in the building (during the second bomb scare),” she said. “I think the guys helping me were the only ones.

“They worked harder and faster until they could see my waist and then they said ‘let’s see if we can just grab her and pull her out,’” she said. “I could hardly breathe by that time. I know if they had left me and evacuated with the others, I would not have made it.”

Talley said when she was pulled out, she was still seated in the office chair she had wrapped her feet around – a subconscious reflex that probably saved her life since the chair not only broke her fall but also protected her from the weight of debris that otherwise would have crushed her.

Her catalog of injuries included temporary blindness from the sand and debris coating her eyes, a cracked vertebrae in her neck, a broken right ankle and portion of her foot torn off when she was pulled from the building.

She also had a number of marks all over that were first mistaken for chemical burns but later were determined to be caused by contact with the exposed rebar on her fall from the third floor.

Baxter and the other firemen started screaming for medical assistance as soon as Talley was free, catching the attention of Ryan Woodard, at that time an ambulance worker for EMSA, who helped lift Talley onto a backboard and load her into an ambulance.

“Ryan said later that the day was bittersweet because most of the people he’d helped move up to that point were already deceased,” she said. “He was so excited to hear that they pulled a survivor out that he just came running in.”

By that time, more than two hours had elapsed since the explosion.

Heartache and Loss

She found out later that she lost 18 of her coworkers in the blast, including the last two she spoke to that morning.

Of the surviving 15, five walked out of the building on their own, five were hospitalized and five were not at work that day, Talley said.

After about a week in the hospital, Talley was released to her parents’ house in Moore to recuperate, along with her son and daughter, then ages 6 and 4.

Oklahoma Standard

Even in the midst of her physical and emotional pain, Talley said she was struck by the outpouring of concern and the almost universal willingness of her fellow Oklahomans to aid in the relief effort.

“When I was released from the hospital, everyone had their headlights on and so many people called Mom and Dad’s house to see what they could do for me,” she said. “For something so bad happening to me, I felt so lucky to be from Oklahoma.

“People talk about the Oklahoma Standard and it’s really true. It wasn’t just in isolated places. It was the whole state. It was everywhere.”

Talley and three of her surviving coworkers eventually went back to work at the relocated credit union, which is now renamed Allegiance.

One of the four has since retired, but Amy Downs, who was seated just 20 feet from Talley when the bomb went off and trapped about the same distance away in the basement, went on to become CEO of the company. Downs was trapped for more than six hours and was the third from the last survivor to be removed from the rubble, Talley said.

“There were ladies who were seated between us whose bodies were not recovered until they imploded the building,” Talley said, referring to the demolition of the Murrah building on May 23, more than a month later. "The way it was explained to me is, a bomb explodes in waves and some of us rode those waves to land in different parts of the building."

Wanted No Part of Trial

Downs and Talley took different approaches toward the trial, eventual conviction and execution of domestic terrorist Timothy McVeigh, as well as the federal and state trials of co-conspirator Terry Nichols, who is serving life in prison without the possibility of parole, after two juries deadlocked on the issue of punishment.

Downs attended every day of McVeigh’s federal trial in Denver, Colo., and spoke as a witness during the penalty phase, later crediting that event as the last piece of her healing process.

Talley, on the other hand, said she wanted no part of the criminal proceedings, which she saw as a no-win situation.

“If they found McVeigh guilty and put him to death he got what he wanted. If he was guilty and was in prison the rest of his life, my taxes are going to pay for him.

“At the end of the day, what could they do to him to make me feel better? Nothing.”

Long, Slow Road

A naturally positive and upbeat person, Talley at first resisted therapy as unnecessary, but eventually came to see that she needed help with the emotional trauma of her experience.

“At first, I never wanted to admit that I needed help. If you say you need help, you’re weak, right?” she said.

Eventually she found her way to the offices of two different therapists – two counselors "that I went to for a long time.”

Although she did not participate in McVeigh’s trial, Talley at some point realized that she had to make room for forgiveness – not for his benefit, but for hers.

“That didn’t happen overnight,” she said. “It took lots of therapy.”

She’s also found help and hope in keeping in touch with her rescuers, retired fireman Baxter and Woodard the EMSA driver who has since become a fireman, a sharpshooter and sheriff’s office reservist.

“I love those guys and I feel so lucky to have them in my life,” she said.

Talley also is involved with the Oklahoma City Bombing Memorial, serving on the board and participating in the memorial marathon and 5K.

She shares her story frequently and often with students – another type of therapy that helps her get through the rough patches.

“Every year is a struggle,” she said. “Every year there are going to be things that happen that you just don’t realize will trigger those memories – changes in the weather, trees sprouting their leaves – you never know.”

Unexpected Challenges

Normally Talley can rely on the support of her fellow survivors and coworkers to get through the toughest times.

“It makes it better because you always have someone who really understands what you’re going through,” she said.

But unfortunately another national crisis – the coronavirus pandemic – has separated Talley and her coworkers during the most difficult anniversary so far.

“It’s so much harder because we’re not together right now,” she said.

Inspite of everything, it’s hard to talk to Talley – even over the phone – and not hear her effervescent personality and engaging sense of humor shine through. When this interviewer mentioned in a text that Talley sounds like a joyful person who has found much to love about her life, her response was immediate, direct and followed by a smiley face emoji: “Yes, I have.”