The Man Who Bombed the New York Public Library

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From 1940 to 1957, George Metesky planted 33 bombs, 22 of which exploded and injured sixteen people in and around New York City. Known as the "Mad Bomber," George felt he had been given a bad deal by Consolidated Edison (Con Edison or ConEd) and unfairly denied worker's compensation. Two of those bombs found their way into the New York Public Library.

George Metesky was born in Connecticut in 1903 where he grew up with two sisters. Following World War I he joined the Marines, serving in Shanghai. He moved back to Connecticut after service, living with his sisters. He got a job with ConEd as a mechanic and lived comfortably.

In 1931 at the Hell Gate power plant, a boiler George was working on backfired and fumes filled his lungs. According to him, this led to pneumonia and tuberculosis. He was on 26 days of sick pay before he lost his job. He tried to file for worker's compensation but was denied because he waited too long, appealing twice and losing both times.

At this point, he got mad. Again, according to him, he wrote many letters (900 by his count) to the mayor of New York City, the police commissioner, and newspapers and heard nothing. He even tried to put out an ad but the newspapers denied him. So he decided to get attention to his plight another way.

His first bomb was planted on the window sill of a ConEd building in 1940. It did not go off, the police thinking it a dud. It was found in a wool sock and with a note signed "F.P." which would both become signatures of his (F.P. standing for "fair play”). A second bomb was also found later, also a dud. George claimed that many bombs were planted during this time, but they never made the papers. Something more had to be done, but not while a war was on.

After Pearl Harbor, George wrote the papers saying that he would not send any bombs while the U.S. was at war. True to his patriotic and Marine Corps heart, he would not send another bomb until 1951.

The first bomb to explode went off on March 29, 1951 at Grand Central Station. As later found by psychiatrists, his bombs were not meant to kill. They were small pipes filled with gunpowder set with timers that used flashlight batteries and watches as timers. George often put them in places to contain the explosions, like a sand urn at Grand Central or inside the heavy cushions of theater seats. Not saying that's an excuse or anything, but it's worth noting the man tried.

The second bomb was in a telephone booth at the New York Public Library. This was followed by bombs in Radio City Music Hall and the Paramount Theater. Without recounting all the bombs, here are a few notable ones:

  • On November 7, 1954, during a screening of Bing Crosby's White Christmas to a packed house of 6,200 people at Radio City Music Hall, one exploded in the 15th row inside a seat. Four people were injured and 50 evacuated. The show continued to play and an investigation was held after.

  • In 1956, someone complained of a stuck toilet at Pennsylvania Station. While trying to clear the clog with a plunger, a 74-year-old man was injured when the bomb inside exploded.

  • Also in 1956, a man found a pipe at the RCA Building at Rockefeller Center and took it home because it would fit a project he had. It exploded in his kitchen the next morning.

  • The most people injured at once was six when a bomb exploded at the Paramount Theater in late 1956. The place had 1,600 people at the time. This started the large manhunt.

  • The last NYPL bomb was also in a telephone booth. A library clerk was going to make a call (not using library phones, interesting) and dropped a coin. They saw a sock with a pipe inside held in place under the phone with a magnet. They decided to throw the thing out the window to Bryant Park and call the police. At least 60 police officers, bomb squad, and detectives arrived.

All through his reign of terror, George sent letters to police and the newspapers. He often related his hatred for ConEd and his illness. This would be his undoing.

On January 18th, 1957, a ConEd clerk Alice Kelly searched through old records of people who might have claims against the company. Police later said that they had been told records before 1940 had been destroyed, but who is to say. Kelly found George's file, matching many claims from the letters, and handed it over to the police who promptly took credit for the discovery. Newspaper reports gave Kelly full credit and the police once again looked at their shoes and said "shucks."

Three days later on January 21st, George was arrested. All the bomb making accoutrement was found in his home, and he readily admitted to his crimes. During his trial, he was assessed at Bellevue Hospital and found insane. He was placed in Matteawan Hospital for the criminally insane, having to be carried because of his ill health.

We do not end there, however. George did well at Matteawan. While he did not respond to psychiatric treatment, his health improved. He was a model patient and was visited regularly by his sisters. In 1973, the US Supreme Court said New York could not throw patients who were not a danger to others in psychiatric prison, so he was moved to Creedmoor Psychiatric Center. Doctors there found him relatively okay and free of the need for violence, so he was released on December 13th that same year with the caveat that he have regular check-ins. In an interview after release he said he would not do violence again but that he still hated ConEd.

George went on to live a quiet life, dying at age 90 in 1994.

For no particular reason, it's interesting that in 2017 ConEd made $12 Billion in profit and controlled $62 Billion in assets.

How to Spot a Serial Killer

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Reference wanted to write a full LibGuide on the topic of serial killers, but after going over their notes we found that it was kind of a "how to" guide. Creeped out, we compromised on this listicle. The following are a few things to notice in your loved one or neighbor before the chainsaw comes ripping through the wall.

Antisocial

Look, we hate people, too. Nothing wrong with that. There's a lot of them and most of them are unpleasant. They want things, want to do things, and want you to do the same. It's bullshit. 

That's not what we're talking about. This is about that boyfriend on Reddit that got mad at the neighborhood kids playing ball in his yard so he pooped on it. That kind of antisocial, harmful wildly inappropriate behavior. When someone goes to extreme lengths to repel others, maybe listen and start packing.

Arson

Burning things is a fun activity. Even though the children's librarian is in her forties, she giggles and pokes a campfire like a raving madman loving life. However, were she to take that love of fire to, say, a dumpster, we might start to worry. Burning trash in the backyard, dangerous but just stupid. Burning a Toyota while giggling… hide the hammers.

Animal abuse

Come'on. If we had to tell you this, then maybe think about your own behavior.

Lives at a summer camp

Some folks like nature. They live out in the middle of no where and like to share that by being guides or camp medics or grow fabulous gardens of smokeable medicine while hiding from the government. We don't judge those people. 

That hermit living in a moss-covered hovel with a series of tunnels and a deep knowledge of machete maintenance ain't one of those people. Steer clear.

Victim of teenage bullying

Once again, a single item on this list is not up for concern. Everyone had some assholes in their past that were mean, said horrible shit, maybe recorded a video of you jumping off the high dive and losing your shorts and called you "library stump chump" for the rest of your high school so you leaned into that and became a librarian and fuck you, Rachel.

The key here is "victim." Some damage got done. Maybe it was the loss of a limb, loved one, or life. That person has a real reason to hunt a pack of losers down and carve them one by one like a Rachel-sized turkey. Maybe just don't laugh at someone else's bad day.

Love scorned

Kinda like the one above, but all creepy and stalkery. Look, we can't control how someone else feels. Love and lust and everything in between are very complex emotions to both give and receive. That being said, some people take a firm "no" as a challenge.

Others take a firm "no" as a violent reaction to their person. 

Yet still others take a "you must be kidding" with the same energy that the circulation librarian takes when they get stuck on the desk and everyone eats the birthday cake without saving them a piece and it was really good. Like, from the bakery down the road, the one that makes its own chocolate. She was not happy.

Point is, for most of these but the animal abuse one, be kind and compassionate to those around you. Everyone has bad days, but a few really enjoy those bad days.

How to Get Rid of a Body: Happy Spooky Season

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For as long as Grandmas have been jumping Snake River Canyon or beloved pets have been finding themselves on farms, people have been looking to get rid of a body. Sometimes, this tradition is done with somber reflection and grief. Sometimes they shoot Hunter S. Thompson out of a cannon.

Here are five ways to use the elements to vanish the dead:

Earth

Ah, burial. A classic. Dig a hole, let gravity and your little cousin do the rest. And the worms, of course. Maybe a very determined coyote depending on your or your little cousin's digging skill. Bonus points if the ground is moist or swampish to hurry along decomposition. Maybe that adds water to the mix, but it's mostly dirt.

Fire

Another wonder of human innovation: burning stuff. This can go along with a variety of methods, but the pure form is a bunch of sticks and taco seasoning. Light and wait for the ashes, gather them in a coffee can, and take your volleyball coach to the beach for one more game. Or make a diamond or ink or whatever else people do with ashes.

Wind/Sky

We thought this would be pretty hard to figure but then cultures around the world were like: yup. To be honest, this is mostly a bird thing. Some just chop the body to little bits so the birds can carry the person away in their tum tums. Others build a kinda tall bed so the birds don't have to work so hard. Or harder, I'm not a bird guy.

Water

When I first saw this, I was like: fire right? Body goes in the boat, boat goes in the water, fire arrow goes in the boat. Our boat. But this is another bird thing, for the most part. Just set your dead guy on a boat in a river or ocean, push off, and make it someone else's problem. Bird, maybe fish, get a meal and everyone can pretend they left for the summer. Good deal.

Spirit

For those of you that will miss your loved one or those who went to Arizona State, we have the spiritual burial. Does this mean a lot of church shit? Nope. We mean party. With the dead folk. Dress that body up for a night out (sunglasses help cause creepy), and drink and toast to them all night. Maybe put them by the door like the world's worst bouncer. The point, at the end of the night maybe they go home with someone and problem solved.

Going Behind Zork

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The first PC game I really got into was Zork. Really it was an Infocom variety pack of twenty or so games my dad bought. Probably thought… I have no idea what he thought they were other than a way for his son to get off the Nintendo and out of books. Little did he know I would spend hours reading text from a screen while immersed in the Great Underground Empire.

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The High Bar

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Picture this: A sixteen year old kid, lanky wearing a spiked bracelet and a shirt of the punk band Rancid, stands outside a college lecture hall. He's having a cigarette, waiting for the last possible moment to go inside where his friends are because he's awkward around lots of people. An old man with curly brown hair, some gray finding its way, stands off to the side with a group of stuffy academics. The old man walks to the punk kid and bums a cigarette, then moves back to the professors. The child goes inside to find his friends. A few minutes later, the lights go down and the old man walks onto the stage. The lecture does not change the boy's life, but it blew his damn mind.

     So that's how I met Kurt Vonnegut, albeit briefly. Seemed like a nice man.

     I've been thinking about that this week. Two people united by a bad habit passing in the night. One of them is an acclaimed author and humanitarian. The other a kid who wanted to write but did not know how. 

     That was my first time hearing a published author speak. High bar, right? His lecture on storytelling and the happiness of the characters rocked me, as did his books when I inhaled several of them. Hearing him speak, Vonnegut either loved or hated storytelling because those are the only emotions I can conceive that would produce the depth of thought on the subject. 

     Since then, I have heard many authors speak. In a small bookshop in Utah, I heard Dennis Lehane talk about his process. I drove all night and most of the next day from Mississippi to Arizona to get Christopher Moore to take a picture with my friend's lawn gnome. Just the other night, I saw Neil Gaiman read and speak in Seattle. 

     I love them all, but none will touch the first. The greatest of high bars. 

     Maybe I was too dumb to know better. 

     I do wonder why the hell he did not have a cigarette on him, though.

Villains Plan

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What would the world look like if it was remade how the library saw fit? Probably fucked up. We tend to have issues with plans if we think too far ahead.

     A lot of stories are like that. The hero's journey is based on the fact that the hero is wrong about the way their life works out. They want something, like to get away from the humble dirt farm they grew up on, all the while the audience sees that they just need companionship and purpose. Stop trying to kill the Empire and hug your friends, Luke Skywalker.

     The tragic version of this comes out in movies like The Northman. Based on the story of Amleth that was the basis of Shakespeare's Hamlet, it's about a kid who has his dad killed and vows revenge. Where Hamlet's revenge comes in a slow poison death for all involved, the Northman ends with a naked volcano sword fight after a period of violent magic sword hackery. The journey of both heroes is the same, however, to learn that revenge is much more petty than tearing down the whole system. Sad to say that as a part of the system of betrayals and violence, the hero of those stories must also be torn down. The tortured hero cannot live in a utopia.

     Villains plan. By their nature, they create chaos by any means to get what they want. The majority of stories start with some evil nerd trying to get money or an evil stepmom trying to get the house cleaned. Then some hapless cop or poor dirty girl have to get involved, spending half the time reacting while the villain tears shit up until they gain the skills, equipment, and friends to start kicking ass. Or some random prince rolls in with a fancy shoe and kicks stepmom to the curb.

     What can we learn from all this? How can the library plan without becoming the villain? How can we react with any surety of the future? How can we learn from the stories we tell ourselves, we humans, that compassion and empathy give way to rich lives without sounding like assholes?

     Fuck, got lost in another rabbit hole.

     Come down to the library for story time this week. We're talking American Hippo by Sarah Gailey and how the world can be different sometimes based on how you look at it. Alternate histories abound in the forever fields of the human mind.