Relatives want McVeigh's victims remembered, too

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By Danny Boyd
Associated Press

For the latest developments in the Timothy McVeigh story, see a special online report from Associated Press.

Despite the photos and stories, the little girl is more familiar with Timothy McVeigh, the man executed yesterday for the worst act of terrorism on U.S. soil.

"She's seen him on TV, she's seen him in interviews, she's heard him talk and all she gets to see of her grandmother are these pictures," said Sawyer, a Waterloo, Ill., resident whose mother-in-law, Dolores Stratton, was among the 168 people who died April 19, 1995, when McVeigh detonated his 7,000-pound bomb.

McVeigh, 33, a decorated Gulf War veteran, died by chemical injection without uttering a word. His eyes rolled back, his lips turned slightly blue and his gaunt face was calm as he was pronounced dead at the U.S. Penitentiary, the first federal prisoner executed in 38 years.

"He can never hurt us again. He can never call our children `collateral damage' again," said Amy Stiers, who lost her stepmother and a cousin in the blast.

Some 232 survivors and victims' relatives gathered in Oklahoma City to watch the closed-circuit broadcast of McVeigh's death. Some met at the Oklahoma City National Memorial, where the federal building once stood. Others ignored the execution altogether, adamant they would not let McVeigh steal another moment.

"I must have been clearing away the kitchen dishes," said Rob Roddy, a survivor who was home at 8:14 a.m. EDT when McVeigh was pronounced dead. "They were intended to be distractions. I mean, if I saw a piece of lint on a perfectly clean floor, I would have picked it up."

Some expressed sympathy for McVeigh's father, Bill McVeigh, of Pendleton, N.Y. But for many, the day was reserved for thoughts of lost loved ones.

"Remember the names of the people who gave their lives, who were slaughtered by one man who proclaimed himself judge, jury and executioner," pleaded Kathleen Treanor, who lost a 4-year-old daughter and her husband's parents in the explosion.

"I don't think anything can bring me any peace or anything from this. I'll always face the loss of my daughter. I'll never get over that," she said.

Within an hour of McVeigh's death, a plaque marking his execution was installed at the museum dedicated to his victims.

It reads: "McVeigh is executed by lethal injection on June 11, 2001, at the federal penitentiary in Terre Haute, Indiana."

The bombing was a turning point in the nation's consciousness: America learned terrorism could be homegrown and committed by anybody — even the boy next door, back from the war with a Bronze Star and a cold rage.

Only in recent months did McVeigh publicly admit to the bombing, telling the authors of a book that it was necessary to teach the U.S. government a lesson. "I did it for the larger good," he said.

At his execution Monday, rather than speak his last words, McVeigh released a handwritten copy of the 1875 poem "Invictus," which concludes with the lines: "I am the master of my fate; I am the captain of my soul."

Cate McCauley, a former member of his defense team who witnessed the execution, said a tear appeared to form in one of McVeigh's eyes — a view echoed by another witness, Buffalo News reporter Lou Michel. Michel said the tear could have been the result of the chemical injection, however.

McVeigh, who was raised a Catholic, was given Last Rites by a prison chaplain, said the Rev. Ron Ashmore, who met with McVeigh over the last year. The sacrament usually requires an admission of sorrow for past sins.

His body was later cremated and the ashes given to one of McVeigh's attorneys, Ashmore said.

Sue Ashford, one of the Terre Haute witnesses, called McVeigh's death too easy.

"He didn't suffer at all," said Ashford, a federal court employee who was uninjured in the bombing. "The man just went to sleep or, as I said, the monster did. I think they should have done the same thing to him as he did in Oklahoma."

McVeigh was originally scheduled to die May 16. The federal government postponed the execution after it was disclosed the FBI withheld nearly 4,500 pages of documents from his defense team before his 1997 trial on murder, conspiracy and mass weapons charges.

"I don't think this kind of thing makes anybody feel good. It's a very odd kind of feeling. I do feel the death penalty was a logical conclusion to such a heinous crime," said Martha Hite of Denver, one of the jurors who convicted McVeigh.

McVeigh's co-conspirator, Terry Nichols, sits in an Oklahoma City jail. Nichols, 46, was convicted on federal charges of involuntary manslaughter and conspiracy, and was sentenced to life in prison. He now faces state murder charges.

Yesterday, the suppressed FBI documents were turned over to Oklahoma prosecutors, who are seeking the death penalty against Nichols. His preliminary hearing, postponed when the documents surfaced in May, has not yet been rescheduled.