Tapping EmotionsCentennial park reopened on a somber tone, but not for longby Gerry Callahan
The choir had just wrapped up its closing hymn when a line began to form outside Bud World, one of the cornerstones of Centennial Olympic Park and home of Atlanta's longest bar. For the first time in three unforgettable days, cool water sprayed from the fountains, and the cold beer was not far behind, moms and dads diving back into the celebration as enthusiastically as the children.
Flowers were left scattered
It was just after 10:30 yesterday morning, an odd time to be bellying up to the bar, perhaps, but somehow the actions of these thirsty revelers seemed strangely out of step with those of the hordes that flocked to the other side of the park. It was, sadly but not surprisingly, the hottest attraction yet of the Summer Games. Carl Lewis could jump over the Dream Team with Kerri Strug on his shoulders and still he could not match the interest that was generated by ... the Hole.
The Hole, fortunately, had been filled in and the tragic spot shielded by an aluminum partition, but that didn't stop the gawkers from stampeding past the pile of flowers laid near the site of Saturday-morning's explosion. Tourists with disposable cameras stood shoulder to shoulder with news photographers, all battling for the best shot of the scene of the crime. Some bystanders broke down in tears, which, of course, made for better sound bites.
Professional athletes in the Olympics is one thing, but professional interviewees may be going too far. At least two of the people giving interviews at the bomb site yesterday morning had been seen telling their stories to the cameras immediately after the attack Saturday morning. Hey, it's cheaper than a postcard.
A TV reporter walked near the site with a cameraman in tow, shouting, "Is anyone here from Boston?" Jesse Jackson took questions from reporters and signed autographs, and a few feet away, actor Emmanuel Lewis of the old sitcom Webster did the same. Clearly, a bomb cannot halt the Olympic Games—or their bizarre sideshow.
Centennial Olympic Park was reopened a few minutes after eight o'clock yesterday morning, and you shouldn't have to ask who was first through the gates. "I'd say the first 20 people were all photographers and cameramen," said Air Force Sgt. Bobby Robeson, who was stationed at the International Boulevard entrance. "They were all out here by 6 a.m. The people got in line behind them."
An estimated 3,000 people were waiting when the gates opened. U.S. superheavyweight wrestler and publicity hound Matt Ghaffari, who vowed to be first in the park, didn't stand a chance. He followed the media crowd and placed a basket of flowers and a replica of his silver medal in front of the tower where the bomb exploded.
While the idea of asking a stranger to take your picture in front of the damaged tower may seem morbid, it was hard to blame some of the rubbernecked gawkers for their curiosity. This was, after all, more than just a place where a terrorist's bomb exploded, leading to the deaths of two people and injuring more than 100. It was also the set of a live network TV show. The Today show broadcast live yesterday from the grassy hill in front of the tower, not more than 30 feet from the Hole. We can only assume that it was not logistically possible to do a remote from a boat off of East Moriches, Long Island. As if this programming decision were not embarrassing enough, a group of onlookers broke into the chant "Bry-ANT! Bry-ANT!" It was enough to drive a person to Bud World.
Two hours after the official opening, a memorial service was held from the stage that had last been occupied by Jack Mack and the Heart Attack. A moment of silence was led by a group of Olympic dignitaries, including Andrew Young, Billy Payne, Juan Antonio Samaranch and, of course, Janet (Zelig) Evans. They raised their clasped hands and rededicated the park. The word peace was flashed on the screen in many languages, and water burst from the fountain.
The memorial service was brief and so, it seemed, was the somber tone. Until the bombing, the park had served as a kind of wide-open block party at the heart of the Games, a place where people could go without tickets or credentials to dance and drink and run through the fountain. It was a place without the pretension or the dignity of the official Olympic venues, and once the prayers were said and the hymns were sung, Centennial Olympic Park was back to its old crowded and crazy ways, if not quite back to normal.
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