The summer of 1956 was filled with 'explosive' activity. During the previous school year I had somehow become obsessed with the subject of hand grenades. I think it began with my reading George Orwell's novel, "1984". That gloomy prediction of Mankind's future, published in 1949, did not occur by 1984... in most of the world. But it had been inspired by Nazi-occupied Europe during World War II and the Soviet Union under Stalin. Some might argue that an Orwellian society exists in certain countries today; such as North Korea and a few other dictatorial nations. Perhaps even to some extent in China and Russia.
But the part of "1984" that inspired ME came early in the novel when the protagonist, who worked for "the Ministry of Truth", created for propaganda purposes a fictional character, a soldier hero patriot who died a martyr's death. But part of the fictional background of this "hero" included his devising a kind of super-lethal hand grenade guaranteed to kill anyone within a certain large radius.
For some inexplicable reason my teenage brain became fixated on the idea of making my own home-made hand grenade! I already had considerable experience with mixing various explosive concoctions. What I wanted to do was assemble a metal housing that would be readily torn apart by an explosion... flinging shrapnel in all directions!
As I had done with making rayguns and rockets, I sought out materials easily available. The key item was CO-2 cartridges. These were available as "powerlets" for use in pellet guns, or as "Sparklers" for use in a device that made fizzy soda water out of ordinary tap water. I think the "Sparkler" soda water device disappeared from store shelves a long time ago. At any rate, an empty CO-2 cartridge filled with home-made gunpowder made an excellent small bomb! Filled with a slower burning mixture, it could also make an excellent small rocket!
Looking around for an object to serve as the outer shell of my grenade, I quickly settled upon an item my mom regularly bought, used and threw out with the trash: a Welch's frozen grape juice can. These small cans comfortably filled the palm of my hand... just like the the old "pineapple" grenades I saw in World War II movies. Also, the tin skin of these cans was very thin and easily shredded by the explosive force of a CO-2 bomb inside.
However, there were technical problems to work out. The small CO-2 cartridge had to be fixed in a stable position inside the larger grape juice can. And a fusing mechanism had to be devised that would allow for a few seconds delay after the "grenade" had been activated before it would explode.
My summertime employment at the Pilliod Cabinet Company soon provided an answer for the CO-2 cartridge placement problem. As previously noted, the "Box Factory" produced silverware chests. One model of these chests utilized a small, flat piece of brushed aluminum attached to the upper lid of the chest and sticking out slightly from the front to serve as a finger-lift in opening up the chest. For esthetic reasons, the leading edge of this aluminum "finger-lift" was slightly curved. That meant the corners of the leading edge had to be trimmed off. A small stamping machine in the factory's tool shop did that, leaving small, thin, acute triangles of aluminum as scrap. These very pointy little triangles were approximately one inch long. I came across a short barrel of these scrap aluminum pieces and decided they would make good filler to pack around the CO-2 cartridge inside my grape juice can hand grenade. As an added bonus, these pointy little triangles would also make excellent shrapnel!
Properly packed with "shrapnel", the CO-2 cartridge was fairly well centered inside the can. But the narrow top of the cartridge needed to be rigidly fixed to make the fusing mechanism reliable. So I used the top of the can that had been completely removed by a can-opener. I punched a hole in the center of the top that was just big enough to slip over the narrow top of the cartridge. This "lid" also covered all the packed-in shrapnel to keep any of it from falling out. I secured the lid by driving two finishing nails through the can near the top; one nail on each side of the cartridge opening. Using pliars, I bent down the nail ends next to the sides of the can. The explosive heart and body of my grenade was now very crudely but solidly fixed in place.
Then came the fusing mechanism. Another bit of crude but functional jerry-rigging. As with all my previous bombs and rockets, I relied on Jetex fuse. But I didn't want to have to go through the motions of taking out a match, lighting it and putting it to the end of a fuse. I wanted to emulate what I saw in the war movies. Just pull a pin out of the old pineapple and give it a mighty throw!
To that end I used a simple wooden, strike-anywhere match. I just jammed the srick end of the match down the inside of the can until only the tip end of the match protruded slightly above the upper rim. The match was pinched between the fixed lid and the inner wall of the can. Before doing this, I had wrapped one end of a short piece of Jetex fuse around the match next to the flammable tip of the match. After securing the matchstick to the rim of the can, I inserted the other end of the fuse into the CO-2 cartridge filled with powder. Any rough surface scraped across the match head would ignite the match, which would ignite the fuse. Approximately three to four seconds later, the lit fuse would reach the contents of the cartridge and... BLAM!!! Three to four seconds was plenty of time to throw a grenade.
I devised a portable "pin" for my grenades in the form of a short, flat piece of wood with a strip of sandpaper glued to one side. A quick swipe of the sandpapered strip across the rim of the can to light the match and the grenade was activated. Just like pulling a pin! Better get rid of it fast!!
Now, to be sure, my home-made grenades were not nearly as powerful as actual military hand grenades. When my grenades exploded they would throw shrapnel about 40 or 50 feet... and anything outside of a 10 or 15 foot radius would not sustain any significant impact from shrapnel. But up close, serious injury could be done. If one had ever exploded early - while I was still holding it - I wouldn't have much of a hand left! Fortunately, I had the luck of fools and never suffered such a mishap. And my grenades were gloriously LOUD!
For the next few weeks in my spare time I went into grenade production. I would be regularly "testing" them, of course, by taking a couple back into the woods and tossing them into bushes or thickets... terrorizing the local rabbits and birds.
Another favorite destination back in those days was the town dump located in deep woods off of County Rd. 2, a few miles south of Airport Highway. It was also a ways past the Gladfelter Mink Farm; so Cy. Rd. 2 was commonly referred to as "Mink Farm Road".
Back in the mid-1950s the town dump was open for use by anyone wanting to unload a pickup truck or trailer filled with trash. A narrow dirt road between the trees led back a hundred yards or so into a clearing where a slowly expanding heap of stinking trash and garbage piled up against the tree line. Naturally, this site was also crawling with thousands of rats and mice and other critters. So on warm days I liked to bicycle back to the dump with my pellet rifle to see how many rats and mice I could pick off.
I also thought the town dump would be an excellent place to test a few grenades. I took to wearing a light jacket with a juice-can grenade in one pocket on such trips. Whenever I bicycled into the dump clearing, I had to check around to make sure no one else was there. Usually there wasn't since my visits always happened after work hours or on Sunday afternoons.
Such was the case when I wheeled into the clearing one evening. No other vehicles, or bicycles, to be seen. All was quiet with the exception of an occasional can or other debris being shifted by the movements of rats. That was an ongoing small sound constantly occurring at the dump.
I parked my bike and quietly walked toward one side of the trash heap near the tree line. That was the area where I seemed to hear the most debris rustling going on. I pulled a grenade from one jacket pocket and my trusty sandpaper "pin" from the other. I stood stock still for a few moments trying to vector in with my ears just where the most rustling was taking place on the other side of the trash heap. Finally I swiped the sandpaper strip across the match-head rim of the grenade and watched the flaring match ignite the Jetex fuse. I then lightly tossed the grenade over the top of the trash to the other side. I didn't worry about being too close to the explosion since there was all that trash to absorb it.
With rising excitement, I imagined my grenade going off close to a few rats... maybe even killing one! A very loud and gratifying, "BLAM!" was almost immediately followed by a shriek.
"GAWD DAYAM!!!"
I was rooted in shock where I stood. Someone was on the other side of the trash! I was afraid to look; nasty scenarios racing through my head. Then I heard the sound of scrambling through trash - much noisier than rats shifting debris. A moment later I saw a head pop up above the trash hill off to my right. A little relief came over me as I realized this person had been further away from my grenade than I was. A fairly tall, thin boy emerged from the trash with eyes the size of ping pong balls. He stared at me for a few seconds then asked:
"What the hell was THAT!"
I looked at him quietly for a moment while I regained my composure. The kid was wearing dirty jeans and a tee shirt and appeared to be about junior high age. I didn't know him and guessed he lived nearby. I didn't care to introduce myself.
"Oh.." I said as casually as I could. "That was just a home-made firecracker."
The kid continued gawking at me. "A FIRECRACKER?!!"
I turned and walked back to my bike, mounted it and pedaled out of the dump and back home. I just felt relieved that no one was hurt and glad that the kid and I didn't know each other. But if he was still around the following summer, he would learn who I was.
As I look back on my grenade tossing activities some sixty years ago, which continued throughout my senior year in high school, I am dismayed by the recklessness and profound lack of judgement I exhibited. But I also marvel at how long I was able to indulge in this stupid behavior before landing myself in hot water in the summer of 1957.