The Mad Bomber and the Birth of Criminal Profiling
Even before the pandemic, many Americans didn’t feel safe in public, thanks to the rise in mass shootings and other acts of domestic terrorism. Movie theaters, malls, even churches and schools could become crime scenes in the blink of an eye.
But this was not the first time that random acts of terrorism kept a city on edge. Nearly 80 years ago, a mysterious “Mad Bomber” kept New Yorkers in a state of fear for over a decade.
Oddly, his first attempt didn’t gain much attention. On Nov. 16, 1940, workers at a Consolidated Edison (ConEd) building found a wooden toolbox on a windowsill. Inside was a short pipe filled with gunpowder and an ignition mechanism made from batteries and sugar. With it was a meticulously hand-written note, in all caps: “CON EDISON CROOKS THIS IS FOR YOU / THERE IS NO SHORTAGE OF POWDER BOYS — F.P.”
It wasn’t until almost a year later — in September 1941 — that another bomb was found. It was constructed very similarly to the first one, and was found lying on the street only a few blocks away from the ConEd offices. This one had no note with it.
Then in December, shortly after the attack on Pearl Harbor, a note arrived at the NYPD’s offices. In the same neat, all-caps handwriting, it read, “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.”
True to his word, “F.P.” sent no more bombs. He did, however, continue to send threatening letters to ConEd, newspapers, and the police. Investigators had few clues to go on. Based on the way he drew his letters and his phrasing, they deduced he’d been educated in Europe.
They also knew from the content of his letters that he was likely a disgruntled former employee or customer of ConEd. They searched through court records and attempted to search through ConEd’s employee files. However, the electricity giant was not entirely cooperative with their efforts, first claiming that the records of employees terminated before 1940 had been destroyed, then hiding behind “legal issues” for over two years.
Then, in late March of 1951, another pipe bomb — this time, no dud — exploded in Grand Central Station. Thankfully no one was hurt. Soon after the explosion, a call came in to one of the pay phones there. On the other end, a man with a foreign accent asked, “Is there much damage, boys?”
A month later, another bomb exploded in a phone booth at the New York Public Library. Again, thankfully, there were no injuries. After that, bombs began detonating (and being found) in rapid succession. They were all placed in busy public places like the Port Authority bus terminal, Radio City Music Hall, movie theaters, phone booths, and Grand Central Station (multiple times).
This reign of terror continued for five more years. A total of 33 bombs were set, of which 22 exploded. Though no one was killed, 15 people were injured. One newspaper called him “the greatest individual menace New York City ever faced.”
Throughout, the Mad Bomber continued to send notes to the police and newspapers, explaining his grievances against ConEd and demanding justice.
In response, the NYPD created a special task force to find him. The newly created team was called the New York Bomb Squad, the first of its kind. Using money approved from the city operating budget along with other donations, they offered a reward of $26,000 to whoever could help them apprehend the Mad Bomber.
But they were using the same gumshoe techniques used to find everyday criminals, and since there were no eyewitnesses or fingerprints, their efforts went nowhere.
At the same time, they were being deluged with hundreds of false leads and fake bomb scares, including simulated bombs being left in public places and, in one case, sent to a ConEd executive. Not only did this drain time and resources away from the real case, it turned up the volume on a city already in fear.
Then, on Dec. 2, 1956, another bomb went off, this time at the Paramount Movie Palace, where 1,500 people were seated watching War and Peace. Six people were injured, one seriously. The next day, Police Commissioner Stephen P. Kennedy ordered what he called the “greatest manhunt in the history of the Police Department.”
Desperate and out of ideas, Capt. John Cronin decided to try something new. He went to the office of his friend Dr. James Brussel, a psychiatrist and assistant commissioner of the New York Department of Mental Hygiene, where he worked with the criminally insane. Brussel had also done counterintelligence profiling during the Korean Conflict. Inspired by the Edgar Allan Poe character C. Auguste Dupin and informed by his experiences in the field, he had developed a theoretical technique he called “reverse psychology,” what today is known as criminal profiling.
Cronin asked Brussel to meet with Capt. Howard Finney, head of the NY Bomb Squad. Brussel was reluctant at first. He had an extremely heavy caseload of patients, for one. For another, he knew his “reverse psychology” technique was only theoretical; if he made a mistake, there were real lives at stake.
But in the end, he agreed to help. Finney gave Brussel the entire case file. Brussel looked it over for about two hours, pouring over every detail and constructing an image of the criminal in his mind. After he was done, he offered Finney a surprisingly detailed profile.
Among other things, he diagnosed the bomber as a paranoid schizophreniac (as it was understood in those days), someone who could seem normal by outward appearances, but who harbored delusions of persecution. He would hold a grudge for a long time.
He would also be “a very neat, proper man…an exemplary employee.” Punctual, methodical, and sober. Based on his handwriting and fondness for bombs, Brussel believed he would be Slavic. He also deduced that he would live in Connecticut, since that state had a large Slavic community, and the notes had been sent from Westchester County, which is halfway between Connecticut and New York City.
But the profile didn’t stop there. Brussel predicted the bomber would never have married, and probably lived with an older female relative. He would be reclusive and anti-social. He gave Finney one last detail as he was about to leave: when arrested, the bomber would be wearing a double-breasted jacket.
At first, the police wanted to keep the profile confidential, but Brussel convinced them to publish it. He knew the bomber would not be able to resist responding to it, particularly if any details were wrong.
So on Christmas Day, 1956, all the major New York papers published the summarized version of Brussel’s profile.
The next day, Seymour Berkson, the publisher of the New York Journal newspaper, decided to try and engage the bomber directly. Working with the police, he published an open letter to the bomber, promising him good treatment and a fair trial if he would turn himself in.
Though he declined to turn himself in, the bomber, true to Brussel’s prediction, began to correspond with Berkson through notes sent to the paper. Berkson worked with police to fashion his responses, being careful to draw more information out of him while at the same time, not doing anything to cause him to set another bomb. It worked — the bomber promised a “truce” until March 1.
Through this correspondence, the bomber revealed that he blamed ConEd for a workplace accident that had made him permanently disabled, and that they had denied him Worker’s Compensation. Asked for more details, so that he could get a “fair trial” for his injustice, the Mad Bomber wrote that the accident had taken place on Sept. 5, 1931.
This was a key piece of evidence. ConEd had finally agreed to open its files for investigators, and one of its clerks, Alice Kelly, was going through files for people who had been terminated prior to 1940 and were “troublesome” Worker’s Compensation cases. She came across a file with the words “injustice” and “disability” in red — the same words used in many of the Mad Bomber’s letters. As she read through the file, she found more words and phrases that echoed those used in the bomber’s letters.
The worker had survived a boiler explosion, which had caused him to develop pneumonia. His Worker’s Compensation case had been denied and appealed multiple times.
The date of the explosion was Sept. 5, 1931. The worker’s name: George Metesky.
Kelly gave the file to the police.
On Jan. 21, 1957, police arrived at Metesky’s Waterbury, Connecticut, home with a search warrant. He greeted them not in a double-breasted suit, but in buttoned-up pajamas with a robe over them. Just as the profile had predicted, he was clean and neat, almost fussy. He also lived with his two older sisters.
He told the police, “I know why you fellows are here. You think I’m the Mad Bomber.”
Police had Metesky give them a writing sample, which he did. He had the same distinctive handwriting as the bomber. He had been raised by Lithuanian parents, who had taught him that distinctive style of writing.
The police wanted to question him further, so they told him that he should go get dressed. When Metesky returned, he was wearing a double-breasted jacket.
Police were shocked at how much he fit Brussel’s profile. They were becoming certain they had the Mad Bomber, so they asked him a question only he would know: what the initials “F.P.” stood for.
“F.P. stands for fair play” was his answer. He then led them to his garage, where he had a lathe, pipes, and other bomb-making materials.
At the police station, he readily admitted his guilt. He gave great detail about each of the 32 bombs the police knew about, as well as 15 others they didn’t. Those unreported bombs had all been planted at ConEd buildings, but since they didn’t get any coverage, he had begun placing them in public places.
His reasoning was that he wanted to publicize the great injustice he had suffered at the hands of ConEd. After the boiler explosion where he was injured, he was only given 20 weeks sick pay. Because he had inhaled boiling fumes, he had developed pneumonia, which later, he believed, developed into tuberculosis. ConEd had fired him and refused to pay his Worker’s Compensation claim because of a technicality — Metesky had missed the deadline to file his claim. Though he had appealed his case three times, it had been denied each time. Because of his tuberculosis, he was never able to work again.
Since the normal avenues for attaining justice had been denied to him, he reasoned, he would vent his anger at ConEd in the most public way possible.
A grand jury indicted him on 47 charges including attempted murder, damaging a building by explosion, maliciously endangering life, and carrying concealed weapons.
While the grand jury was deliberating, Metesky was in Bellevue Hospital undergoing a psychiatric evaluation. He was given a diagnosis of paranoid schizophrenia; later he was judged incompetent to stand trial. On April 18, 1957, the judge committed Metesky to the Matteawan Hospital for the Criminally Insane in Beacon, New York.
Though he didn’t respond to psychiatric treatment, he was a model patient. Thanks to the treatment he was given for his TB, his health improved a great deal while he was in prison.
As for Brussel, the case of the Mad Bomber, and his involvement with it, was a turning point in his career. He began touring and speaking about his technique of “reverse psychology,” eventually writing a book, Casebook of a Crime Psychiatrist, which is now considered the seminal text of modern criminal profiling. By the 1970s he was called the founding father of profiling, his eerily accurate profiles earning him near folk-hero status among criminologists. He remained active in the field, and continued to work for the Department of Mental Hygiene, until his death in 1982 at the age of 77.
He did visit Metesky, once, in Matteawan. Brussel described him as “calm, smiling, and condescending.” For his part, Metesky insisted he had made the bombs purposefully so that they could never kill anyone.
By the end of 1973, doctors declared Metesky harmless, and since he had already served two-thirds of his sentence, he was released. He went back to Connecticut, where he lived to the age of 90.
