More than any other area in Atlanta, International Boulevard, the lively thoroughfare that leads into Centennial Olympic Park, symbolized the first week of the Games. Packed with vendors, street bands, food booths and nearly 15,000 people around the clock, it's three blocks of commercialized cacophony made it the main artery of this city—and the Olympics. (For video of Centennial Olympic Park the afternoon before the bomb, choose: Windows .avi format or Apple Quicktime [.mov] format) At least that's the way it was until 1:25 a.m. Saturday morning when a pipe bomb packaged with nails and screws exploded, killing two and injuring 110, less than a hundred yards from the park entrance on the corner of International and Techwood.
Now, the sloping street is utterly deserted, blocked off by police barricades and fire trucks and filled with soldiers who patrol it's sidewalks, checking and double checking ID's and searching backpacks, giving this area the eerie look of a de-militarized zone. I walked out onto International Saturday—a block away FBI agents combed the scarred ground just in front of the stage at the AT&T Global Village for clues to the bombing—and while a soldier dressed in fatigues with a sidearm searched my bag, all I could think was, this is it? Oklahoma City, TWA Flight 800, the Centennial Park bombing, this is what we've done to ourselves? The largest peacetime gathering in the history of man can now only safely take place inside something that resembles an Army base?
"We live in a society where violence occurs," said Francois Carrard, director general of the International Olympic Committee. "This is the sort of incident which, in our society, can happen anywhere at any time."
You could see the realization of Carrard's words on people's faces all day Saturday in the shadow of a police force that had appeared to quadruple overnight. The enthusiasm and festival spirit of just 12 hours earlier was replaced by smaller crowds and complete somberness. People moved in and out of the train stations and venues with heads held low, moving quickly, not talking. The bomb sweep of the boxing venue at Alexander Memorial Coliseum ran late, causing waits of more than 40 minutes as guards announced that all pocket knives and any phones, cameras or beepers that wouldn't turn on would be confiscated. No questions asked. "Find the person who planted that bomb," one women in a red, white and blue hat told a cop, "and dispose of them."
Inside, American boxer David Reid pummeled his opponent in the second preliminary round of the 71 kilogram class. And the crowd, sitting on its hands for most of the matches, finally had something to cheer about after a night of terror. They nearly rocked the roof off its hinges with chants of USA, USA, USA. You wake to the sickening news of a bomb exploding less than 50 feet from where you were the night before and it feels like a gaping wound has been torn into these Games, possibly forever. Then, quicker than you think, the spirit of the athletes and the essence of the Olympics begins to heal it right before your very eyes.
"I remember (the murders at the Munich Games in) 1972," said boxing coach Al Mitchell, with his fists clenched. "And anytime someone dies I think everything else is gone. The Olympics don't mean anything if someone dies. But, you know what, it's a cowardice act. And that's exactly what they want to do is stop the Olympics. They don't want you to feel comfortable in your own country. Well, I'm gonna purposefully get out and enjoy these Games. And I hope more people come out and show them that cowards can't stop the Olympics."
That renewed spirit bubbled up occasionally on Saturday through the fear that permeated inside the Olympic Ring. At Olympic Stadium, where the flags were all at half mast, people helped each other get through the two hour wait due to the heightened security and then were treated to a world record by Canada's Donovan Bailey in the 100 meter final and an Olympic record and gold medal in the triple jump by American Kenny Harrison who scooped up souvenir sand from the long-jump pit like a gleeful child in a sandbox while the stadium seemed to give itself a big hug by doing the wave over and over.
People still posed for pictures next to the Olympic flame. Dads still lifted their kids onto their shoulders for the long walk back to the MARTA station. Vendors still held twisting contests with five hoola hoops in the colors of the Olympic rings. People still traded pins. And girls dressed in the USA basketball jerseys of their heroes still danced in their seats when music came on during timeouts inside the Georgia Dome.
"It's important that we continue the Olympic spirit," said USA basketball player Teresa Edwards, after her team defeated Australia Saturday. "We need to go out and play. And hopefully the spirit of the Games will stay alive."
