The Mad Bomber of New York (30 page)

As the assemblage made its way through the booking room door, Metesky proudly raised in his hands that day's issue of the
New York Journal-American
, which prominently displayed a photograph of his own smiling face beneath the bold headline “Letters to
Journal
Trap the Mad Bomber.”

At 4:40 p.m., before a horde of police officers and journalists, George Metesky was photographed, fingerprinted, and formally charged with violations of New York State Penal Code sections 1895 and 1897, the so called Sullivan Law, alleging malicious mischief and felonious assault. The initial charges alone, which encompassed only one of the thirty-two recorded bombings, carried a possible sentence of forty-two years. Throughout the booking, Metesky's jovial smile didn't falter for a moment.

Later that evening Metesky was transported to the felony court for the Borough of Manhattan for arraignment on the charges against him. A large crowd of television, radio, and newspaper journalists who had gathered in and about the courtroom stirred as Metesky was led into the dimly lit chamber in handcuffs. Still attired in the same blue double-breasted suit, he remained calm and confident throughout the hearing despite the gravity of his situation.

City Magistrate Reuben Levy listened to the court officer announce the official statement of allegations concerning the Penn Station bombing of February 21, 1956, and upon a finding that Metesky was not yet represented by counsel to defend him on the charge, appointed Benjamin Schmier from the Legal Aid Society of New York to act as Metesky's lawyer free of charge. Schmier, a pragmatic and flamboyant defender of indigent rights, had ironically won the acquittal in 1951 for Frederick Eberhardt on the charge of sending a sugar-laden bomb to Con Ed through the mails—a crime that had actually been committed by George Metesky. Through a lengthy career at Legal Aid, Schmier would represent more than 50,000 defendants and distinguish himself as “the poor man's legal representative.”

After a short recess to allow the lawyer to consult with his client, the session was once again called to order and Schmier rose to address the court. Without hesitation, he requested that Metesky be committed to the psychiatric division of Bellevue Hospital for observation. “I must however state publically,” Schmier hesitatingly continued, “that the defendant is very interested in the newspaper
The Journal American
, which has offered to supply counsel for him for his compensation case . . . and he wishes for me to tell you that while he may not be able to communicate with them he would like
The Journal American
to send its lawyer for . . . [that] part of the case.” Knowing that Judge Levy was, of course, powerless to facilitate any such communication, Schmier had made the statement to pacify the fervent demands of his client, who would have to be satisfied with the simple placement of the matter on the record.

“Now getting to the legal application,” continued Schmier, “the defendant tells me a story of how he comes to stand before your Honor.” Noting that the case against Metesky was already a matter of well-known public record, Schmier elected not to burden the court with a recitation of the obvious and instead began to lay the foundation for what his well versed legal mind told him would almost certainly become an insanity defense. “Apparently,” observed Schmier:

He is a man who in speaking to any member of the community could easily pass for a person who could be your next-door neighbor. But with all my thousands of cases behind me, your Honor, I get to see through the defendant as I talk to him a man who is laboring under a terrific psychosis, a persecution complex, something which had bothered him for years, and he says that he finds all of his aggrievement against the public satiated by the bombings because the public treated him so poorly in his desires to . . . get his compensation case heard. So that from this compensation case, which has its incept many, many years ago, the defendant justifies himself against the general public, which is the very basis of a schizophrenic personality, your Honor . . .

You are asking me to act for this defendant and before I can act, I must be convinced in my legal mind that this defendant understands the nature of the charges against him and is able to differentiate between right and wrong. I am not sure of that. As a matter of fact, if I were forced to make a statement for the record on that score, I would say it is my humble belief at this time that this defendant is of such a state of mind as not to understand the nature of the charges against him. I would like to be fortified with a psychiatric report and I think the interest of justice would be served if your Honor would grant my application.

Judge Levy listened intently to Schmier's plea and turned to George Metesky, who was absently listening to the proceedings. “My feeling,” began Levy,

is that the manner in which Mr. Metesky gave expression to the real or fancied grievances are, well, to say the least, indicative of a deranged mind . . . and I think it is proper at this point to commit him for observation, so before he is asked to meet this charge it can be determined by experts that he is in a condition to understand the nature and quality of his acts and make a defense to the charge.

The judge paused and searched Metesky's eyes for any indication of comprehension. “Committed to Bellevue for observation,” he said with a rap of the gavel.

Metesky smiled politely and, when prompted by the officers, serenely shuffled out of the courtroom, still clinging to the
New York Journal-American.

XVIII
REWARDS, ACCOLADES, AND ACCUSATIONS

F
ROM THE MOMENT OF
G
EORGE
M
ETESKY'S ARREST,
A
LICE
K
ELLY HAD
been considered the most logical recipient of the $26,000 reward offered by the city and the Patrolmen's Benevolent Association. The newspapers touted her as the girl with the “rare photographic memory” and offers of congratulations for her fine public service poured in from all corners of the city. Admiration for Alice Kelly was so high in the days following the arrest that it was suggested by some that she be invited to the reviewing stand at the annual St. Patrick's Day parade, while one vocal shareholder of Con Ed even demanded that she be considered to fill an open seat on the company's board of directors. As the City of New York unanimously sung the praises of Alice Kelly and her employer, however, some members of the police department bristled with anger.

“. . . [W]e say it's not so,” said Deputy Commissioner Walter Arm upon his return from Waterbury at a hastily convened press conference held at the Centre Street police headquarters. His voice quivered with emphatic emphasis. “The physical act of picking . . . out [the file] was done at the request of the Police Department.” Arm explained that on Friday night, January 18, detectives from the Bomb Investigation Unit had finished their work at the Hester Street warehouse and then continued their search at the Con Ed main offices upon being advised of the existence of the so-called troublesome company files. Later that evening or early Saturday morning, he insisted, his officer, Detective Bertram Scott, came upon the Metesky file and recognized the characteristic handwriting and use of language. Though Arm acknowledged that he did not yet have a full report on the issue and that there still existed a “difference of opinion” as to who actually located the revered file, he insisted that “[a]s far as we know now it was one of our men.” As if to emphasize the pivotal role of the department in the apprehension and arrest of the Bomber, the next morning Commissioner Kennedy called the entire membership of the BIU into his office to thank and congratulate them for their part in tracking the man down. Kennedy made special public mention of Bertram Scott as well as the four New York detectives who made the arrest in Waterbury, and promised that as a result of their “excellent work” promotions of both grade and assignment would be forthcoming. There was no mention of Con Ed at the commissioner's meeting.

The tiff over who actually found the Metesky file at Con Ed's main offices was, in reality, one of form rather than substance. A simple interview of the detectives assigned to the matter would quickly reveal that the department, in fact, had no direct role in locating the file, and on January 23 Commissioner Kennedy reluctantly conceded the point to a gathering of twenty feisty reporters who had persistently demanded a meeting while posted outside of his door. Seated at the same mahogany desk used by Theodore Roosevelt during his term as commissioner sixty years earlier, Kennedy explained that Arm's statements as to who had found the so-called “hot” file had been made on the basis of incomplete information supplied by tired and overworked detectives, and though they were made in good faith, the assertions were, in fact, mistaken. In making the admission, however, Kennedy had opened an inevitable firestorm of controversy. Noting that detectives had been notified of the Metesky file on Friday evening and had communicated with Waterbury police on Saturday, the gritty reporters pointedly inquired why the department had waited until Monday to make the arrest in Waterbury. The befuddled commissioner could only stammer that detectives were working hard on other similarly promising leads at the time. “The main thing is that we got the man,” he said with a feigned grin.

“This was not good police work, was it, Commissioner?” asked one of the reporters sharply.

“A man has been arrested who was at liberty for sixteen years,” he defensively responded. “His dangerous potentialities have been nullified. Yes.”

The reporters persisted on the point, arguing that the commissioner could not possibly have been satisfied with his department's slow reaction to Con Ed's recovery of the Metesky file. Kennedy hesitated for a pregnant moment and then, feeling cornered, responded with the true crux of his anger. Slowly he began, “Police were working for five or six years and did not know of such a file.” He folded his hands in front of his breast, restraining a bitter tone that now enveloped his voice. The reporters furiously scribbled their notes on pads of tousled yellow paper. “We have no power over Con-Ed to force them to give over their files—to know that there was such a file.” What Commissioner Kennedy did not tell reporters was that a growing suspicion had taken root among police brass and BIU detectives implicating Con Ed personnel in a years-long, systematic scheme to fraudulently withhold the Metesky file from their view.

For years, despite persistent requests from police investigators, Con Ed lawyers and administrators had consistently maintained that all employee files dated prior to 1940 were no longer in existence. Frustrated, but understanding of the company's policy of records retention and destruction, detectives limited their search to what was known and available. On January 14, 1957, however, just days prior to Alice Kelly's find, detectives received what they called a “confidential tip” that Con Ed did, in fact, possess those earlier files and had purposely withheld them for more than two years of the investigation. Though the identity of the informant was never disclosed, later facts would bear out its reliability.

The explosive allegations did not remain secret for long. By Friday, January 25, fierce charges and arrogant denials were publically exchanged through the New York media. Statements from unnamed police sources were published accusing Con Ed of obstructing the search for employee records and charging that if the relevant files had been produced by Con Ed upon their original request, Metesky would, in all likelihood, have been apprehended sooner. As specific files of interest did emerge, police alleged that Con Ed protested and stalled at every instance, claiming that the records contained sensitive legal matters that would have to be reviewed by company lawyers prior to their release.

The Con Ed response to the allegations was swift and indignant. “Our employees have worked around the clock going into files and making information available to the police,” erupted William Brady, a Con Ed public relations official at a hastily arranged press conference. “If any charge is to be made, let them take off their masks. Let the man making the charges identify himself and tell us what the charges are . . . We are not police. We sell electricity,” he hissed. “When the police asked for information or names, or access to files, we gave it.” Harland Forbes, the president of Con Ed, announced simply, “As far as I know, they had complete access to our files and went through them many times.”