Razzle Dazzle
There to Defuse Trouble

By RICHARD STEIER

The Police Department rang in the new year Dec. 31 with a ceremony honoring three officers - two of them members of the Bomb Squad - who were grievously injured 25 years earlier yet stayed active working with other wounded cops.

They had been victims of two separate explosions of bombs planted by the FALN, a group that used violence to make the case for Puerto Rican independence from the United States during an era when the Bomb Squad's greatest concern was domestic terrorist groups rather than foreign ones.

That the three men - Dets. Anthony Senft, Rocco Pascarella and Salvatore (Richie) Pastorella - survived was noteworthy; that they remained connected to the job and, even in retirement, continued their relationship with the department by counseling other injured cops is even more so.

Books Spends Year in the Life

Their willingness to do so may be traceable to the fraternity they belonged to: the small, closely-knit unit that was started 103 years ago and is the subject of "Bomb Squad," a 2007 book written by veteran police reporter Rich Esposito and his fellow producer at ABC News, Ted Gerstein.

The two men spent a year with the 33 members of the Bomb Squad, beginning on New Year's Eve in 2003 as they prepared to ensure that any fireworks being set off were strictly of the celebratory kind.

It undoubtedly seemed like 2004 would be an ideal year to spend with the squad, since New York was hosting the Republican National Convention at a time when President Bush's popularity here had plummeted amid the fallout from Iraq.

Yet nothing much happened; the year was largely uneventful for the Bomb Squad, and the only time close to the convention that an explosion occurred in a location that figured to be targeted by terrorists - the subway in Times Square - it was set off by a distraught cop who chose a bizarre way to either postpone or embellish his pending retirement.

But that merely underscored what one member of the squad meant when he stated that they weren't paid for what they actually did but for what they could do.

CLOCK DIDN'T RUN OUT FOR THEM: Det. Salvatore (Richie) Pastorella, seen here receiving the NYPD Medal of Honor from Mayor Ed Koch in 1983 after he survived a bomb blast at Police Headquarters, had a plaque dedicated in his honor last week along with his Bomb Squad partner, Det. Anthony Senft (supporting him here) and Police Officer Rocco Pascarella (not in photo), who was injured in a separate explosion on New Year's Eve in 1982. Also pictured here (in uniform) is fellow Bomb Squad Member Frank DeCecco.

Over the years, the squad has responded to an average of 2,500 calls annually. Although in one year, 1970, Bomb Squad members had to disable 384 explosive devices planted by anti-war activists, most of the calls received by the squad turn out to be uneventful, instances in which they are summoned by those erring on the side of caution after spotting a package or other device that might be suspicious. One member of the squad told the authors that he overcame his wife's protests that an assignment there put his life in jeopardy by assuring her that working there was safer than being a homicide Detective.

Statistics suggest this was not hyperbole: although one member of the squad, Claude "Danny" Richards, was among the cops killed during the World Trade Center rescue efforts, the last one who died because a bomb blew up was Det. Brian James Murray in 1976; the only other members to suffer a similar fate were Dets. Ferdinand Socha and Joseph Lynch, who were killed by a bomb at the British Pavilion during the 1940 World's Fair in Queens. About 25 others were wounded in the line of duty by explosive devices.

The authors make clear, however, that the low casualty rate is largely a function of the extensive training and the skill and courage of those detailed to the Bomb Squad, and the camaraderie built by the combination of teamwork under intense pressure and long hours spent together waiting for the next call.

Blinded, Bleeding and Still Helping

They write of then-Police Officer Pascarella after the first explosion at Police Headquarters 25 years ago, "blinded, missing a leg, bleeding profusely," telling Detectives Senft and Pastorella that the explosive device had been in a Kentucky Fried Chicken box. "Now imagine a man who's that severely injured getting on his elbows to warn someone else to be safe," Detective Senft told the authors.

His physical disabilities were accompanied by depression, until his wife, Carole, forced him to join the NYPD's Self-Support Group. There he met Angel Poggi, who in 1974 as a rookie officer had been maimed and blinded by another FALN device when he responded to a false report about a dead body in an abandoned building.

The book details the training that new squad members receive at the U.S. Army-FBI Hazardous Devices School in Huntsville, Ala., presided over by a retired Army Master Sergeant who hand-picked the school's 52 instructors. One of the best in the craft of defusing explosive devices describes himself as "pretty good," explaining that until you have made it to retirement, the challenges presented by the job are daunting enough to banish any notion that you can be considered great at your work.

Mr. Esposito and Mr. Gerstein emphasize the specialized nature of the work, and the danger posed when any organization - the NYPD included - believes there is a purpose to giving a smattering of that training to officers not assigned to it as a fulltime occupation.

'Not a Part-Time Job'

Referring to unidentified commanders of several other NYPD units who wanted to take on some of the duties performed by the Bomb Squad, they write, "They did not understand that defusing bombs was not a part-time job. It required an ethos of doing one thing, constantly and quietly and well ... In observing bomb technicians at work, well-meaning officials became confused about the skills behind what appeared to be done with such ease."

'Call Us, Then Wait'

Such misconceptions could be found among rank-and-file cops as well as their commanders. On April 28, 2004, a Transit cop patrolling a subway station at Wall and Broad Sts. decided to open a suspicious package himself rather than waiting for the Bomb Squad. Sgt. Joseph Hourihan told the authors later, "If there was a bomb inside, he would have been dead. People don't understand what a pound of C-4 [explosive] can do. They don't understand we are never going to arrive and say, 'You wasted our time.' If you thought it was suspicious enough to call us, wait."

Mr. Esposito and Mr. Gerstein describe the squad's commander, Lieut. Mark Torre, quietly resisting suggestions that its size be expanded in preparation for the Republican Convention, because "a few dozen men and a dozen or so dogs were a far more efficient unit than one that had increased its size to encompass secondary roles." (Though overwhelming male throughout its history, the squad has had a couple of female members.)

It's noted that long after squad members have been graduated from Hazardous Devices School, "training was relentless, even though many of the NYPD bomb techs had already been hardened as Marines with tours in Afghanistan and the Gulf, or as Air Force EOD men, Army Rangers and Navy SEALS, specialties where explosives detection and defusing often were at the center of the job."

City's Unique Challenges

Such training is necessary, the authors suggest, because the unique features of the city pose challenges that are unlikely to have been encountered during the military service.

"The New York subways alone had more than 2,000 separate entrances and exits through 31,180 turnstiles at 468 stations along 230 miles of track that included 68 bridges and 14 underwater tunnels," they write. "There were few video cameras, no education of workers, and no provision of gas masks to those workers."

They say Lieutenant Torre believed "that virtually every dollar spent on Homeland Security had been a dollar wasted. Most of that money has been allocated for target-hardening, the beefing up of physical security at buildings, roads and terminals, and response equipment. Not nearly enough had been put into prevention, which simply speaking is the development of good intelligence and the training of as many law-enforcement and public safety personnel as possible on bomb awareness."

In a job where the risks taken often are life-threatening - asked why they were there, each member of the squad told the authors, "Somebody has to do it" - they also sometimes make calls that bring their professional judgment into question.

Searching for the VIN

Two days after the first World Trade Center bombing in February 1993, Detective Donald Sadowy was searching through the complex's sub-basement for evidence when he found the chassis of a vehicle that had been shattered by the explosion and felt what he concluded was its Vehicle Identification Number. He conferred with others who were present from the Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco and Firearms and the FBI and they decided to covertly move it from the rubble so that the media wouldn't report on what they were doing. Back at the NYPD lab, it became obvious that the numbers could not be read unless the chassis was straightened out, so Detective Sadowy consented when one of the technicians, Detective John Sardone, suggested unbending it and then pouring acid on to raise the VIN.

"The twisting and acid wash violated every guideline for evidence collection and preservation," the authors write. "Later that night, an FBI supervisor reamed Sadowy out at the top of his lungs ... He called Sadowy a cowboy and an idiot."

The Detective spent a sleepless night fearing his career was over, but when he came into work the next morning he was congratulated by his colleagues for uncovering the VIN that led the FBI to the New Jersey rental company from which the bombers had obtained the van and then, because one of the bombers had sought a refund of the $400 deposit he had made on the van, to him and his two accomplices.

After-Blast Work Counts

The authors note that careful post-blast forensic work is as essential to the job of Bomb Squad members as the chore that draws the greatest public attention - the dismantling or defusing of devices before they explode - stating, "just plain carelessness almost cost the government the case against the Oklahoma City Bomber, Timothy McVeigh ... The evidence collection team had failed to collect residue from the bomb itself. That night it rained ... Fortunately, one piece of metal that could be linked to the vehicle, to its underside shielded from the night's rain, held residue that could be linked to the bomb and to Timothy McVeigh."

They also capture the feelings of helplessness some squad members experienced when the North Tower of the Trade Center came crashing down, all the techniques and skills acquired over the years nullified by the magnitude of the collapse. Most of them were at home when the first plane hit, and as quickly as they got ready to report to work, they witnessed the second plane striking before they could leave.

Danny McNally, a squad member who was in the North Tower when it crumbled, recalled, "It sounded so powerful and large that I believed I was going to die. I didn't have the gall to ask God to spare me. I asked only that if He was going to take me, take me fast."

'My Lungs Were Burning'

What fell on him wasn't powerful enough to kill him, but his respirator clogged and he was choked by the dust. "I couldn't breathe," he wrote in his own account of what occurred. "I thought about how strange it would be to survive the collapse, only to suffocate. After a minute, I started to panic, my lungs were burning. I couldn't breathe and for one brief moment I considered pulling the gun from the officer in front of me and ending this painful nightmare for myself. (I had rushed out of the Bomb Squad Office without my own gun.) Then I felt ashamed, because I really felt that God had heard my prayers and that I had doubted him."

The authors suggest that it is faith that draws those who work in the Bomb Squad to an assignment that frequently asks them to risk their lives, and a different kind of faith in their own skills and those of their colleagues that allows them to act coolly when a mistake or miscalculation could cost many lives besides their own.

Those moments keep them sharp and prevent laxity even when the work turns out to be anti-climactic because there is no crisis to resolve. The authors, who work in a business where the adrenaline rushes usually travel with a certain cocoon of safety shielding them from the danger, understand that an uneventful Republican Convention may lack drama for them and their subjects, but that is not a terrible thing.

Best Case: Nothing

"The best outcome of all occurred," they write. "Nothing happened. Nothing at all: about twelve hundred arrests of demonstrators, a couple of evictions from the convention site, some unruly crowds - pretty much a run-of-the-mill New York City mass event."

The deaths of the two Bomb Squad members at the 1940 World's Fair produced the unit's first bomb-disposal truck. The serious injuries suffered by Officer Pascarella and Detectives Senft and Pastorella 42 years later resulted in the squad's obtaining better bomb suits and its first robots. In reaction to 9/11, significantly more money was provided to the unit.

Awful events produced measurable changes; in the cases in which either luck or their talents prevented or minimized a crisis, the gains - in lives saved or lessons learned from the experience - were less evident. But the living memorial plaque unveiled last week in honor of the three cops injured 25 years earlier gave deserved recognition to all the squad members who under ideal working conditions are rendered anonymous by the Kevlar suits that protect them as they try to save others.