By Dale Russakoff and Serge F. Kovaleski, Washington Post Staff Writers
Sunday, July 2, 1995; Page A01, Copyright The Washington Post
Thirty years after the Oklahoma City bombing, Timothy McVeigh’s story still chills—it’s Middle America’s shadow, a kid warped by divorce, economic drift, and gun fetish into a domestic terrorist. This 1995 piece, paired with a 1998 appeal update, nails his ordinariness as the real terror. In 2025, his militia echoes linger in online “patriot” forums and January 6th’s fallout—same rage, new tech. As a Classical Deist, I see McVeigh’s spiral as faith gone rogue: rejecting reason and nature’s order for a paranoid god of vengeance. His bomb didn’t fix society—it exposed its cracks. —Lewis Loflin
In disturbing ways, Timothy James McVeigh mirrors his generation. Born in 1968, he was 10 when his parents split in 1978—a casualty of the divorce revolution, citing irreconcilable differences. An underachiever in high school, college held no appeal. He hit the job market in the mid-1980s as blue-collar slots shrank, dwarfed by automation and outsourcing. Aware of affirmative action, he festered as a white male feeling edged out.
Dead-end jobs piled up—security guard, armored truck driver—each stoking fears of stagnation. He tried the Army, a classic escape, but bailed as it downsized post-communism. Like millions, he landed back home, a man in a boy’s room, headed nowhere. When charged with the Oklahoma City bombing, friends blamed the Army or Desert Storm—anything but the wholesome Pendleton, N.Y., where he grew up under an American flag.
Yet his extremism’s roots trace to that youth. By junior high, guns were an obsession; by high school, he armed for an apocalyptic solo war; by 20, he built bombs and shotguns on a “survivalist bunker” lot. The April 19, 1995, blast—168 dead, hundreds injured—wasn’t Beirut or Baghdad-born but possibly brewed in Michigan’s backwoods with Terry and James Nichols. Middle America birthed this rage, raising questions about its social fabric.
McVeigh’s life was so average—divorce, ennui—that no one predicted catastrophe. Acquaintances struggled to recall him; his gun fixation stayed among like-minded pals. “He’s the scariest man in the world,” a prison visitor said post-arrest. “Nothing alarming—polite, respectful. Rush Limbaugh’s scarier. If he’s this normal, others are out there. This isn’t an end; it’s a beginning.”
Psychologists flagged his cohort—late ‘60s kids of fractured families, economically adrift—as ripe for fringe groups. “A kid from America’s heart who feels let down can be dangerous with quirks,” said forensic psychologist Charles Bahn. “In the Midwest, it’s cults, gun culture, militias.” McVeigh’s mother, Mildred, wrote in 1995: “Sounds like any of our children, right? It could happen to your family.”
McVeigh’s Pendleton roots were unremarkable—white, conservative, rural. His father, Bill, a union auto worker, was a community fixture; his mother, Mickey, chafed at his tame life, leaving in 1978. Tim stayed with Bill, weathering it quietly. “He didn’t seem crushed,” said Father Paul Belzer. “Same house, same friends.” But alone with his sisters, he built a social hub—skate ramps, haunted houses—showing entrepreneurial spark.
Guns hooked him at 10—a bid for attention, kin said. Bill bought him a .22 rifle; soon he had a 15-shot BB gun, posing police-style at school. By 14, he stockpiled for nuclear or communist threats, a patriot’s fantasy of solo defense. High school showed smarts—winning a Regents scholarship—but no drive, listing “staying away from school” as an activity. Girls? Off his radar.
The Rust Belt’s decline hit as McVeigh turned teen—Buffalo’s plants slashed jobs, stoking fears of a lost American Dream. Affirmative action bred resentment: “Minorities get apprenticeships over white males,” classmates griped. College wasn’t his path; he quit business school, bored, and drove an armored truck, loving the uniform and gun. Co-workers saw wildness—speeding, brandishing shotguns—beneath his bland shell.
In 1988, he bought land for hunting, soon a “bunker” where he detonated explosives. Dead-end work fueled despair; the Army beckoned as a fix. “He wanted to shoot,” a co-worker said. Friends puzzled—bright, yet optionless—he leapt in.
At Fort Benning in 1988, McVeigh shone—acing tests, perfecting uniforms—bonding with Terry Nichols over guns and survivalism. He stockpiled MREs, broke rules with barracks arsenals, and prepped for “when the crap hit the fan.” Race irked him; he slighted Black soldiers, though peers downplayed it. Desert Storm was a letdown—one shot, medals—but Green Beret failure crushed him. He quit in 1991, spirit broken.
Post-Army, McVeigh drifted—security guard, gun trader—clinging to uniforms, railing at government overreach. Letters to newspapers in 1992 decried taxes and decline, hinting at bloodshed. Waco and Ruby Ridge radicalized him; he visited both sites, certain of federal malice. With Nichols, he formed a paramilitary cell, hitting gun shows as “Tim Tuttle,” obsessed with April 19’s revolutionary echo.
Arrested April 19, 1995, post-bombing, McVeigh stunned DA Mark Gibson: polite, emotionless, a soldier done with his mission. Charged with destroying the Murrah Building, he faced Terry Nichols as co-conspirator, James Nichols on lesser counts, and Michael Fortier as a witness. All pleaded not guilty. The toll: 168 dead, search ended May 30.
By Steven K. Paulson, Associated Press Writer, September 9, 1998
The 10th U.S. Circuit Court upheld McVeigh’s 1997 murder and conspiracy convictions, rejecting claims that emotional victim testimony skewed the death sentence. “Devastating effects on families are part of the crime,” the court ruled. Appeals on publicity and juror bias failed. Attorney Rob Nigh vowed to fight on, eyeing the Supreme Court. Victim Kathleen Treanor demanded execution: “Straight to the chair.” McVeigh, 30, faced lethal injection, executed June 11, 2001.
Acknowledgment: Originally by Dale Russakoff and Serge F. Kovaleski (Washington Post, 1995), updated by Steven K. Paulson (AP, 1998), hosted and expanded by Lewis Loflin with thanks to Grok (xAI) for assistance.
