Early in the morning of July 30, 1916, an explosion shook Black Tom, a small island used as a munitions depot, located in New York Harbor. The island, nicknamed for its resemblance to an angry black cat arching its back, was located near Jersey City. All over the city, glass was blasted from windows and into the streets. A water main broke in Times Square. Shrapnel peppered the Statue of Liberty and Ellis Island. People, terrified but fascinated, came out of their homes to look at the conflagration in the harbor. Meanwhile, tremors from the explosion were felt as far away as Philadelphia and Maryland.
Damage to the island, material stored there, and the surrounding area was estimated at $75,000,000. Initially it was suspected that improperly stored munitions had caused the explosion; this resulted in officials from various companies with property on the island being hauled into court to be charged with negligence. Then a man named Michael Kristoff was brought in for questioning by the Bayonne, NJ, police, but he eventually was released and not charged. The Black Tom case was not resolved until almost thirty years had passed.
Chad Millman brings this almost forgotten piece of history to light in The Detonators: The Secret Plot to Destroy America and an Epic Hunt for Justice. The first half of the book reveals the efforts of a lively network of German spies to sabotage American aid to France and Britain in the years before the US entered World War I. Made up of diplomats, German businessmen, and first and second-generation German-Americans, the saboteurs set fires and small bombs in munitions factories. One enterprising doctor inoculated horses and other animals destined for Britain and France with diseases. There were an estimated fifty acts of sabotage in the US from 1916-18; the Black Tom plot was only the loudest and biggest project (and yes, Kristoff, the man the Bayonne police let go was the one who set the explosion on Black Tom, but he was only the trigger man at the bottom of a complex, multilayered plot).
A New York Times article about the Black Tom explosion.
After World War I had ended and the Treaty of Versailles signed, the US made a separate pact with Germany. Versailles had been centered around British and French demands for reparations, German disarmament, and admissions of responsibility by Germany. The Treaty of Berlin, signed in 1921, was meant to resolve economic issues and claims between the US and Germany. No responsibility was assigned in the cases—the point was to award money and eliminate anger between the two countries; Germany hoped that solving these cases amicably would help them establish positive relations with the US.
The Mixed Claims Commission was formed, consisting of a German official, an American official, and an American “umpire” who would arbitrate and have the last word on cases. The MCC settled almost 20,000 claims, in amounts from $75 to thousands. In 1924 (date not definite), though, the MCC received a claim from the Lehigh Valley Railroad, suing the German government for millions in damages (not 100% sure of exact amount as I no longer have the book) related to the explosion on the island Black Tom, which the railroad had owned, as well as the depot and warehouses on it.
This time Germany didn’t want to settle. The whole point of the MCC had been to solve claims without dealing with the matter of responsibility of the war. If Germany settled with the Lehigh Valley Railroad, they would be admitting that they had attacked the United States before the US had entered the war, that they were, in fact, instigators.
The case dragged back and forth. At one point Germany was absolved of responsibility for damages caused by the Black Tom explosion. Then the case was re-opened, and the MCC umpire went the way of the US. The case was appealed, but finally the verdict stood up, and in 1941, the railroad was awarded $50 million in damages. In 1944, the last of the claims related to the case were resolved. Along the way, numerous MCC umpires died, different lawyers took over the case, the Germans and Americans almost settled, governments changed, and war broke out. The case more or less came to an end when the last most competent lawyer was standing and the events of history had overtaken the importance of who was to blame for WW I.
Millman’s book is fine. It’s clear and the story moves along well. I was puzzled, okay, suspicious, when he threw in details along the lines of “he pulled up the collar of his coat against the cold breeze blowing in from the harbor as he walked to the meeting.” Really? Was that in someone’s diary or a letter, an actual mention of what the person was doing with his coat collar while walking down a street? It’s nitpicking on my part, but I’d rather not have the pretty detail if it’s just as assumption rather than an actual fact. To be fair, I didn’t check the notes at the end before I had to return this book, so maybe there is attribution for this kind of thing (several other similar instances appeared throughout the book), but if there isn’t I’m disappointed it’s included. I know, I’m no fun.
There’s nothing wrong with this book, and I’m usually a fan of finding out about a little piece of history that may not be well-known. Those little pieces are what make up the whole picture, after all. But for some reason the entire time I was reading this book, I kept having this feeling of “isn’t there something more important I should be reading?” This felt too trivial—yet it isn’t. This was a very important incident, and a reminder that terrorist attacks on this country didn’t begin in the year 2001. But no matter how much I told myself that, I just didn’t buy it. It is a short book, so I can’t say I wasted a lot of time reading it, only about two days. Yet I did feel restless and wished I was reading something else, something grander, something greater, something that would teach me more, more, more.
I’m in a bit of a post-play funk, I suppose. You get into such a routine when you are doing a show. First there are rehearsals all the time, and then it opens and you settle into a routine for performance days and off days. Then when it’s over, you find yourself at loose ends with all that structure gone. This was a particularly nice cast, too, so I’m sorry to see them go. Well, most of them—there was the one person who I just couldn’t stand and who I was paired with at many points during the play, unfortunately. The last night I told the director that if the pompous idiot tried to put a hand on me one more time, the next sound the audience heard would be Mr. Spray On Tan going down (that was one of the reasons I didn’t want him even close to me—the horrific, sweaty dripping spray on tan. The other was that I was worried that really bad acting was contagious). Other than that, though, things were often a lot of fun. Singing is always fun (okay, dancing…never fun). So now I need to find another show quickly. Or oh yeah, I could put my intricately planned avoidance tactics away and try writing something. And yes, Mr. Millman, I better make damn sure it’s important and good. I hope. Oh, I really hope.
Wreckage from the Black Tom explosion.
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