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Olympic security: 'The green men are scary,' says the little girl By
Nicole Rusher The military were everywhere. They surrounded every intersection and entrance. They lined the building. Police officers stood motionless in perfect attention like machines waiting for orders. Traffic was chaotic; drivers were confused about where they could and could not go. Some cars were parked at green lights and others were running red ones. People were going the wrong way down one-way streets. Security guards and police officers quickly approached vehicles coming close to unauthorized entrances. Soldiers were moving up and down the roads trying to keep any organization they could. If I hadn't already been warned and expecting this kind of security, I would have thought we were under attack right then. I had a legitimately marked official vehicle that came straight out of their garage. I had an accreditation I.D. with my name and photograph on it. I was wearing the uniform that they provided for me. But it didn't matter. They were not going to let me in. Yes, security was tight at the Olympics. How tight? I parked about three blocks away and walked to the International Broadcasting Center in Salt Lake City because even IBC vehicles were not allowed to approach. It took about 40 minutes to find an unlocked entrance without at least three guards blocking it. After I got through the narrow maze of fenced walkways I entered through double doors into 12 soldiers, three security guards and four police officers. They asked me to remove all my winter clothing, to empty my pockets and to open each bag so they could search. I finally got in, got what I needed. Now time to get out. No, I can't get out the same way I got in. Here I go again. Each door I tried to exit was only a different place to get yelled at. But nobody had time to show me which direction to go. There were several people having the same problem as I, and each time the guards would get a little tenser and the public would get a little more anxious. Finally, two soldiers led me to a parking lot that was fenced on all four sides. They let me leave from the west gate where I was left to walk six blocks around the Salt Palace back to my vehicle. I was more than happy to be leaving the hell I had just experienced. This is one experience from Jan. 25 that introduced the 2002 Winter Olympic security. Like so many others, I wondered if excitement and fascination would be lost to some degree because an atmosphere of paranoia was being created. It was disappointing because people who should be working together were fighting. Children were crying on the sidewalks because of the chaos. Rochelle Simms, 27, from Salt Lake said, "I'm more uneasy with the army walking the streets then I would be if everyone would just relax." Her 6-year-old daughter, Jenneca, was crying as she told me, "The green men are scary." It made me wonder which was more important. Now that the 2002 Winter Olympics are finished and the world has left Utah cities, it's easier to see how that first experience was necessary to the safe completion of all the events. Within a week, the public and security became more comfortable with each other and respected that it was one organization working toward the same goal. By the end of it all, there was still so much excitement -- no fascination was lost due to precautions. John Thompson, 26, an employee for International Sports Broadcasting, said, "You hardly notice security as an obstacle anymore but at the same time you still feel safe." So I guess this answers the question. What is important can usually work itself out so long as it has time to come together.
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