The Mad Bomber of New York (25 page)

At 4:37 that afternoon Captain Pakul forwarded a detailed teletype reply to the New York City Police Department, confirming that a well-proportioned, chronically ill, unmarried man by the name of George P. Metesky, a/k/a George P. Milauskas, described by neighbors as “strange” and “aloof,” did, in fact, reside alone with his two sisters at 17 Fourth Street, Waterbury, Connecticut. Unsure of the significance of his officer's findings, Pakul promised to keep the property under surveillance.

That Saturday night at approximately eight o'clock, the Bomber's letters arrived at the
Journal-American
city desk, and though Commissioner Kennedy and his immediate circle was directly advised of the important revelations contained in the letters, the team had previously agreed upon a protective posture of silence to thwart any unauthorized publication of the sensitive disclosures. The pivotal date of injury that could, in the right hands, solve the case thus remained haplessly concealed for the next thirty-six hours.

Whether the result of overcautious restraint or simple gaffe, a series of investigative missteps had conspired against the police. Commissioner Kennedy would later protest that the Metesky file was simply “one of a number” of promising leads the police had been working on, but he knew that the department's failure to immediately retrieve the record would be viewed as a monumental blunder at the pinnacle of a long and frustrating investigation. Though a full explanation was never formally provided, it is evident that after his meeting with the
Journal-American
editors on Sunday, January 20, either Kennedy had failed to communicate to his detectives the critical information contained in the Bomber's letters or, armed with such information, the detectives had failed to appreciate the need to match it to the promising Con Ed file. Either way, two separate and decisive pieces of evidence that together would have likely lead to an arrest remained overlooked for the better part of that cold winter weekend.

At 9:00 a.m. on Monday, January 21, Detective Bertram Scott was finally directed to take the ten-minute ride from police headquarters to the Irving Street offices of Con Ed to retrieve the compensation file of one George P. Metesky. In the patrol car, Detective Scott read through the file with mounting interest and, whether he was aware at that time of the September 5, 1931, date of Metesky's fateful injury or he learned of it shortly thereafter, Scott hurriedly put a call into his commanding officer, Deputy Chief Inspector Edward Byrnes, and exclaimed, “This sounds an awful lot like our man.”

XVI
“THE PRICE OF PEACE”

T
HOUGH
D
WIGHT
D
AVID
E
ISENHOWER HAD BEEN ACCUSED OF HAVING A
fervent belief in a “very vague religion,” he would follow conviction and perhaps a modicum of political judgment in holding the events of his second inauguration not on Sunday, January 20, as mandated by the twentieth amendment to the U.S. Constitution, but on the following day so as not to offend the public conscience. The official oath of office had been administered on Sunday morning in a quiet ceremony in the East Room of the White House, but the formal observance at the U.S. Capitol would be delayed so as not to run afoul of the traditional day of rest.

To a gathering of more than 750,000 citizens amassed before the East Portico on January 21, 1957, Eisenhower warned that “[n]ew forces . . . stir across the earth, with power to bring, by their fate, great good or great evil to the free world's future.” With hope and determination, he proclaimed, “. . . we can help to heal this divided world. Thus may the nations cease to live in trembling before the menace of force. Thus may the weight of fear and the weight of arms be taken from the burdened shoulders of mankind.” And in a concluding appeal to the better angels of mankind, the thirty-fourth president implored, “May the turbulence of our age yield to a true time of peace, when men and nations shall share a life that honors the dignity of each, the brotherhood of all.”

As President Eisenhower boldly implored the nation to grant his clarion “Price of Peace,” as the speech was titled, a chilling fog had begun to gather along the inclines of the Naugatuck Valley and into the decaying crevices of Waterbury, Connecticut.

By Monday morning, the connections between the injury date contained in the Bomber's letters and the Con Ed file on George Metesky had been made. The description compiled by Waterbury police had squared closely with the profile drawn by Dr. Brussel, and the evidence finally seemed to point to one suspect.

At 3:00 p.m. the first of several waves of New York bomb squad detectives began their trek out of the city and into Waterbury's Brooklyn district. Under the direction of Chief Edward Byrnes, detectives Michael Lynch, Richard Rowan, Edward Lehane, and James Martin converged upon the Waterbury Police Department and began compiling further evidence on George Metesky. In conjunction with local officers, the New York detectives searched city directories to again confirm Metesky's address, checked motor vehicle bureau records for possible handwriting samples, and began discussion on the logistics of a possible confrontation and arrest. As evening approached, the detectives drove to the Fourth Street neighborhood to case the area and plan their approach.

Back at the Waterbury Police headquarters, Captain Pakul had been conducting his own investigation. He called a relative who lived across the street from Metesky, and, though he had been interviewed earlier in the day by another officer, Pakul asked him to once again describe his neighbor. “Queer,” came the response. The relative further recommended that Pakul consult with a former tenant in the Metesky home—Miles Kelly—if he needed further verification. Pakul telephoned Kelly and, together with the four New York detectives, went to his home to conduct an interview. Kelly, recollecting his prior rancorous dealings with Metesky, portrayed the man as “unstable” and described the strange and vindictive behavior that began in 1942 with Metesky's enlistment rejection at the draft board and continued through their time at the Waterbury Tool Company. Kelly had endured complaint after bitter complaint from Metesky to the company owners and had been the subject of letters to the draft board and even the president of the United States, petitioning for Kelly's induction into the armed service. Now, as Kelly huddled with the officers and learned of Metesky's possible involvement in the Mad Bomber case, he was only too pleased to draw a diagram of the Metesky home for the men.

By the time the group returned to Waterbury headquarters, there had been broad agreement that the threshold probable cause requirements for a search warrant had been met, and Captain Pakul telephoned the local district attorney and presiding judge, informing both of the evolving state of the investigation. By 10:30 p.m., the warrant had been executed and Detective Lynch telephoned Chief Byrnes for authorization to proceed. Byrnes informed the detective that on the basis of a preliminary comparison of handwriting conducted earlier that day, a match of George Metesky appeared to be “a good bet.”

Byrnes directed Detective Lynch and his team to move in.

As the four New York detectives accompanied by Captain Pakul and three of his own men stealthily pulled their unmarked vehicles up the steep incline of Fourth Street, the murky fog that had shrouded the region now roiled in their headlights like a ubiquitous ashen spirit. The mood was tense and the huddled men repeatedly reviewed the logistics of their expected confrontation and the possible contingencies they may face. Satisfied with the soundness of their plan, they eased to a halt in front of the gray, weather-beaten home, emerged from their cars, and silently advanced into the midnight gloom.

Several of the detectives scurried to the back of the structure to guard any rear exits, while one remained at the unkempt front yard. The remaining contingent climbed the groaning steps of the wooden porch and knocked solidly at the front door, hands firmly clasping loaded service revolvers stowed within the side pockets of their overcoats. The men stiffened with anticipation as instantly—almost expectantly—a small threshold light went on, and the front door creaked open. There, revealed by the dim light, stood a stocky yet inoffensive-looking middle-aged man dressed in claret-colored pajamas smartly buttoned to the collar, a bathrobe, and slippers. “It was almost like the guy was waiting for us,” Detective Lehane would later remark. “His hair was neatly combed; his eyeglasses were spotless, sparkling.”

“George Metesky?” asked Captain Pakul.

“Yes.”

“These gentlemen are New York City Detectives.” Metesky glanced down at the badges that each now flashed before him, his sunken chin innocuously receding into the folds of his neck. He regarded the officers with an unconcerned, almost amused look etched across his face.

“We're checking on an auto accident. Do you own an automobile?”

“Yes I do,” said Metesky. “A Daimler.” The men exchanged furtive glances, aware of the corresponding registration documents obtained earlier from the Connecticut Motor Vehicle Bureau.

“We'd like to come in and have a look around. We have a search warrant, Mr. Metesky,” said Detective Lynch. “Would you like to see it?” Metesky flashed an amiable grin, his blue eyes sparkling in the muted light.

“Oh that won't be necessary. If you say so I believe you. Come in.”

The men filed past the small parlor and peered at the worn furniture and faded wallpaper of the first floor apartment. Lace curtains trimmed the windows and the hallway contained photographs of small children and a print of the baby Jesus. Metesky notified the officers that his sisters were asleep and he asked that they not be disturbed. Agreeing, Detective Lynch suggested that they begin the search with Metesky's bedroom.

The room was small but meticulously ordered. Clothing, folded to military precision, was placed according to style and type in even rows within an oak dresser, and, like in the hallway, several children's photographs and a religious image hung neatly on the wall. The carefully made bed with its brass frame was squarely positioned in the room, and to the left, a wooden Zenith radio sat atop a table within arm's reach. The detectives immediately spotted two New York City subway tokens and some flashlight bulbs sitting on the dresser, and in the closet was a loaded .38-caliber revolver, the possession of which, Captain Pakul notified the group, was not a crime in Connecticut.