#this man brought over an ENTIRE TOOLBOX just for me because I cannot for the life of me find where the old one went and just. fixed the des

[tin-can-iron-man]

I just. I love my dad so much guys

[chiseler]

Dastardly Deeds

If you happened to find yourself wandering around New York in the late Sixties, especially if you were up near the Columbia University campus, chances are good you might have encountered the graffito “George Metesky Was Here” spray painted on walls and sidewalks and store fronts. Even if you had seen it, though, chances are equally good it made no impression. Most people who saw the cliched slogan likely thought little of it, assuming it had been left by some poor, desperate soul named George Metesky in a pathetic bid for attention.” But those people would’ve been wrong on two counts.

First, although Metesky was still alive at the time, the graffitos had been left by a radical activist named Sam Melville, not Metesky himself. And second, as pathetic and desperate as Metesky may have been, he had more important things to do than spray paint his own name on walls all over Manhattan.

Sam Melville, who detonated eight pipe bombs in government and corporate office buildings around Manhattan in 1969, is today remembered as one of the radical Left’s first  bomb makers of the late Sixties, presaging the likes of the Weathermen and the Armed Resistance Unit. He was eventually arrested, convicted, and shipped off to Attica, where he died in the 1971 uprising. Even though Metesky had no apparent interest in politics, radical Left or otherwise, he was still Melville’s hero and role model. After you learn a bit about Metesky’s story, you have to wonder why, exactly, Melville latched onto him instead of, say, an early 20th century explosives maestro like anarchist Mario Boda, but there you go.

Metesky was born in Connecticut in 1903. In his teens, he enlisted in the Marines and was shipped off to the U.S. consulate in Shanghai, where he served as an electrician. When his stint was up, he returned to the States and moved in with his two sisters in Waterbury, Connecticut. He also took a job as a mechanic with Consolidated Edison.

By 1930, Metesky had been assigned to ConEd’s Hellgate generating plant. While he was wiping down a generator one day in September of 1931, a nearby boiler exploded. Not only was Metesky blown to the ground, but he inhaled a plume of scalding, noxious gas which seared his lungs. He lay on the plant’s cement floor for hours, he said, receiving no medical assistance whatsoever. As he would later claim, breathing those industrial fumes resulted in a case of pneumonia which then developed into tuberculosis, leaving him bedridden and unable to work.

After Metesky collected six months worth of sick pay, ConEd terminated his employment. His worker’s compensation claim was denied because he’d missed the filing deadline. Three subsequent appeals of the decision were also denied, in part thanks to testimony delivered by three former co-workers, who, perhaps with some encouragement from ConEd brass, insisted Metesky’s injuries weren’t as bad as he claimed. Metesky, who was only 33 when his final appeal was denied, suddenly found himself sickly, unemployable, and very, very angry.

Five years later, it’s safe to say that everyone at ConEd had completely forgotten about George Metesky. George Metesky, however, had not forgotten about them. On the morning of November 16th, 1940, he placed a small pipe bomb inside a wooden toolbox, strolled into a ConEd substation on West 64th St. in Manhattan, and left it on a windowsill.

It was a primitive device, just a short length of brass pipe packed with gunpowder with a sugar and battery detonator. Such bombs rarely detonate as planned, which may be a moot point, as Metesky’s was discovered before anything happened. That may have been at least partially intentional, as wrapped around the bomb was a slip of paper. In a block-lettered handwriting (which would become familiar to investigators in later years) he’d written: 

“CON EDISON CROOKS – THIS IS FOR YOU.”

The would-be bomb was shrugged off by the ConEd crooks, and ignored by everyone else. The same was true nearly a year later, in September of 1941, when another bomb with a similar design was found on the sidewalk several blocks away from the Irving Place building that housed ConEd’s headquarters. There was no note, the bomb did not explode, and few gave it a thought.

Despite two duds which made no mark whatsoever on the public consciousness (let alone ConEd), Metesky apparently had a grossly inflated sense of the impact he was having. That would explain the note received by a (very confused) NYPD shortly after the U.S. entered WWII in December of 1941. Metesky, an ex-Marine, wrote in that same block lettering:

“I WILL MAKE NO MORE BOMB UNITS FOR THE DURATION OF THE WAR – MY PATRIOTIC FEELINGS HAVE MADE ME DECIDE THIS – LATER I WILL BRING THE CON EDISON TO JUSTICE – THEY WILL PAY FOR THEIR DASTARDLY DEEDS... F.P.”

The “FP” signature was a mysterious new addition, but what’s not to love about someone who, apparently in all seriousness, uses the term “dastardly deeds”? The NYPD promptly filed the letter away in their “Crank Letters from Would-Be Cartoon Villains” drawer.

Metesky meant what he said about laying low in deference to the war effort, however, waiting an entire decade before planting his next bomb, satisfying himself in the interim by sending angry notes in ALL CAPS to ConEd and the cops. When he did finally get around to planting bombs again in 1951, two things had changed. First, his designs had grown slightly more sophisticated, meaning this next generation of pipe bombs actually exploded most of the time. And second, although at heart ConEd was still his target, the actual placement of the bombs had become decidedly more random. Also, whether it was intentional or the result of an increasingly unstable Metesky merely losing track, throughout the 1950s he bombed several buildings multiple times.

In March of 1951, the first of Metesky’s pipe bombs to actually detonate was dropped in a trash can outside the Grand Central Oyster Bar on the first level of Grand Central Station. No one was injured. About three weeks later he blew up a phone booth in the New York Public Library, followed by another phone booth in Grand Central.

Between 1951 and 1956, he blew up several phone booths, bathrooms, storage lockers and trash cans. He left bombs in the subway, the RCA building, Macy’s, and several movie theaters. He hit the New York Public Library twice, Grand Central five times, Radio City three times, the Port Authority twice, and Penn Station five times. He also finally got one inside ConEd headquarters, and tried mailing another to his nemesis, though it turned out to be a dud. 

In most cases he would place a warning call to the targeted building in question, letting them know there was a bomb on the premises so the building could be evacuated. Considering the minimal damage his bombs generally caused, it’s also conceivable he made the warning calls to let people in the targeted buildings know the loud “bang” they thought they heard in the bathroom was in fact a terrorist attack.

Sadly for Metesky, despite all his hard work the NYPD dismissed his reign of terror as merely the work of juvenile delinquent pranksters. The press didn’t treat him any better, if they took any notice at all. These were, after all, very small pipe bombs.

Perhaps out of frustration, in October of 1951 he mailed a letter to the New York Herald Tribune which read:

“BOMBS WILL CONTINUE UNTIL THE CONSOLIDATED EDISON COMPANY IS BROUGHT TO JUSTICE FOR THEIR DASTARDLY ACTS AGAINST ME. I HAVE EXHAUSTED ALL OTHER MEANS. I INTEND WITH BOMBS TO CAUSE OTHERS TO CRY OUT FOR JUSTICE FOR ME.”

You do have to feel sorry for Medesky. After being fucked over by ConEd, and after learning all the usual channels of redress were stacked against him, he was forced to take drastic measures. But try as he might, even then he was ignored. He was nobody. All he wanted was a little attention, for someone to listen to his gripe. He clearly wasn’t out to hurt people—he just wanted a little justice. You can sense his growing aggravation in a follow-up letter to the Herald Tribune, which arrived in late December:

“HAVE YOU NOTICED THE BOMBS IN YOUR CITY – IF YOU ARE WORRIED, I AM SORRY – AND ALSO IF ANYONE IS INJURED. BUT IT CANNOT BE HELPED – FOR JUSTICE WILL BE SERVED. I AM NOT WELL, AND FOR THIS I WILL MAKE THE CON EDISON SORRY – YES, THEY WILL REGRET THEIR DASTARDLY DEEDS – I WILL BRING THEM BEFORE THE BAR OF JUSTICE – PUBLIC OPINION WILL CONDEMN THEM – FOR BEWARE, I WILL PLACE MORE UNITS UNDER THEATER SEATS IN THE NEAR FUTURE. F.P.”

Finally, the NYPD and others began putting the pieces together. Yes, as a matter of fact, there had been more bombings than usual in the city these past months, hadn’t there? And if these letters were any proof, the man responsible was completely bonkers. Sounds like he has some kind of beef with ConEd, but hey, who doesn’t?

Still, it says something that in November of 1954, a bomb Metesky had sewn into the cushion of a seat in Radio City Music Hall exploded as a sold out house of over 6,000 people watched a screening of White Christmas. Three people sitting near the seat in question were mildly injured and taken to the first aid station, 50 other people in the immediate vicinity were asked to move to different seats, and the rest were allowed to continue enjoying the film and the state show that followed. Only after the audience filed out an hour and a half later did cops move in to start collecting evidence. Bombs had been going off all over Manhattan for three years, but they were still being treated like backfiring cars or manhole fires.

It was only in 1956, after an elderly bathroom attendant at Penn Station and an audience member at the Paramount theater in Brooklyn were seriously injured that Metesky’s bombing campaign finally received the kind of banner headlines he’d been after. After years of trying, he’d finally been recognized in the tabloids as “The Mad Bomber.” 

Suddenly under pressure from newspapers and the public, NYPD captain John Cronin publicly announced, perhaps tongue-in cheek, that he was launching “the largest manhunt the city’s police department had ever undertaken” to capture the Mad Bomber. He even created the NYPD’s first Bomb Investigation unit.

Although none of the hundreds of officers working the case were able to come up with a single solid clue, the campaign did have one immediate effect. Suddenly people all over the city began turning in neighbors and co-workers they felt had been behaving strangely. And the number of delusional types anxious to take credit for the bombing spree jumped precipitously. The cops found they were spending far more time and manpower fending off the cranks and crackpots than they were actually trying to find the bomber.

Essentially on a whim given nothing else was happening, Cronin contacted the assistant commissioner of the New York State Commission for Mental Hygiene, James A. Brussel, and asked if he had any ideas. Brussel, a psychiatrist and criminologist, agreed to take a look at the evidence to see what he could glean. Apart from the obvious—that the bomber was a paranoid with a serious gripe against ConEd—he also produced what is considered among the first )non-fictional) examples of criminal profiling.

Brussel came up with a 13-point list of attributes investigators should be looking for in a suspect, which in retrospect turned out to be surprisingly accurate. The bomber, he said, would likely be a male in his forties. He’d be of medium build, a good and meticulous worker, probably of Slavic origin. He was likely a loner with no wife, not much interest in women, living in Connecticut with an older sister. He was on the arrogant side, and probably didn’t respond well to criticism. And oh, when he was arrested he would likely be wearing a buttoned double-breasted suit.

(It’s unclear how he came up with that last one.)

At Brussels suggestion, the NYPD distributed the profile to all the local papers, asking them to give it a big push. The thinking was, if there was anything in the profile Brussel got horribly wrong, the Mad Bomber, being an arrogant paranoid, would feel compelled to step forward to insist on a correction.  So on Christmas Day, 1956, the profile was plastered across the front pages of every paper in town.

The next day, the New York Journal-American (in cooperation with the cops) took it a step further, running a front-page plea directly to the Mad Bomber, asking that he turn himself in, promising not only that he’d get a fair trial, but that the paper would publish his side of the story.

The ploy worked about as well as could’ve been hoped. The very next day, December 27th, Metesky’s response arrived at the Journal-American’s offices:

“My days on earth are numbered – most of my adult life has been spent in bed – my one consolation is – that I can strike back – even from my grave – for the dastardly acts against me.”

He also included a detailed list of all the places he’d planted bombs thus far (some of which hadn’t been found yet), and stated he had no intention of giving himself up. The note, as usual, was signed “FP.”

Now that they had him on the hook, the cops and the Journal-American decided to play him a little. They ran his letter along with another plea that he explain a bit more clearly how his beef with ConEd arose.

Unable to resist now that he finally had an audience, Metesky immediately wrote back, explaining he’d been left permanently disabled because of a workplace injury while employed by ConEd, and that they’d refused his worker’s compensation claim.

“When a motorist injures a dog – he must report it – not so with an injured workman – he rates less than a dog – I tried to get my story to the press – I tried hundreds of others – I typed tens of thousands of words (about 800,000) – nobody cared – [...] – I determined to make these dastardly acts known – I have had plenty of time to think – I decided on bombs.”

A quarter century after the fact, having finally found an audience eager to hear his story, Medesky couldn’t stop himself, and penned yet another letter. He wrote at length about the circumstances surrounding his injury and his fight for worker’s comp, including the exact date the accident took place. The letter contained pretty much every bit of information any detective worth a damn would need, save for Metesky’s full name and a map to his house.

Well, despite ConEd’s best efforts to block access to their employment files, a clerk named Alice Kelly took it upon herself to do a little digging through the worker’s comp cases, eventually stumbling upon Metesky’s file, which had been clearly labeled “permanently disabled.” The real tip-off, though, were the letters from Metesky included in the file, many of which used the term “dastardly deeds.”

Around midnight on January 21st, 1957, a group of NYPD  and Waterbury officers showed up on Metesky’s front step. He seemed to have been expecting them. He let them in, answered their questions, gave them a writing sample, showed them his workshop and all his bomb making tools, and explained that “FP” stood for “Fair Play.” When the officers sent him upstairs to get dressed for the drive to the station where he’d be booked, Metesky—and you saw this coming—returned a few minutes later in a buttoned-down double-breasted suit.

Over the course of seventeen years, Metesky planted 33 bombs around New York, 22 of which detonated. A handful of people were injured, but no one was killed. Given his motivation, you have to believe he was looking foerrward to a trial in which he’d be able to air his grievances with ConEd in a public forum that would undoubtedly receive a mountain of press coverage. And looking back now, you have to believe both the press and a jury would be sympathetic to the poor schlub’s plight. No doubt ConEd realized this too.

Before the proceedings got underway in the spring of 1957, though, a judge declared Metesky legally insane and unfit to stand trial. So there went his public forum. On April 18th, 1957, Medesky was remanded to the Matteawan Hospital for the Criminally Insane. Given the state of his health, it was expected he wouldn’t last six months.

In December, 1973, having been determined to no longer be a threat to anyone, the still very much alive 70-year-old Metesky was released. He returned home to Waterbury, where he lived a quiet life until his death in 1994 at age 90. 

While he was institutionalized, the Journal-American retained a worker’s compensation attorney in an attempt to get Metesky’s claim re-opened. The hope was they might be able to force ConEd to cough up the decades worth of back pay Metesky was owed. The appeal was denied.

by Jim Knipfel