Going Out Without a Bang
Last Class Graduating From Bomb Disposal School at Maryland Naval Base
By Steve Vogel
Washington Post Staff Writer
Tuesday, April 20, 1999; Page B03

Petty Officer Robert Frew studied the 750-pound bomb buried halfway into the ground at the Indian Head naval base and carefully rigged a tripod and rope he would use to try to pull the fuse out of the device.

"If he jars the bomb, it's going to be a very short problem," said Air Force Staff Sgt. Garet Vannes, the instructor monitoring the work.

The bomb, like the dozens of missiles and other explosives scattered about the surreal wooded field, was inert, but Frew and his fellow students at the Explosive Ordnance Disposal School had been trained to treat them as if they were live.

The dozen students are the last of an elite band of military specialists and federal agents who have been sent to the naval base at Indian Head over the last half-century to learn a largely classified skill: how to disarm almost any weapon in the book, among them land mines, booby traps, grenades, torpedoes, guided missiles and nuclear weapons.

Today, the final class will graduate from the Naval Explosive Ordnance Disposal School at Indian Head. The somewhat secretive school is moving from the banks of the Potomac River in Charles County to the greater expanses of Eglin Air Force Base in the Florida Panhandle, where virtually all training with live explosives has been done since the late 1980s.

Thousands of bomb disposal technicians trained by the military during the last 50 years have gone through Indian Head. The school, which graduates roughly 425 students a year, has trained agents from the FBI, the Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco and Firearms and the Secret Service as well as military personnel from more than 63 nations.

Students tackled an array of bombs, missiles and aircraft scattered on wooded fields around the school. They dove to reach dummy mines in the Potomac and in a half-million gallon pool on the base. And they tinkered with simulated nuclear weapons behind closed doors of school buildings.

"These youngsters are responsible for everything from Civil War ordnance to Tomahawk missiles," said Norman Case, a retired instructor.

"Anything that can blow up, we have to learn how to get rid of," said Petty Officer Ken Anderson, an instructor at the school.

Before graduating, Frew would have to know them all. "There are a billion things you can do wrong," Frew said, "and you've got to know them."

One day this month, on a wooded field, Frew discovered a new one. He set the tripod, ran to a safe distance and pulled the rope. The tripod collapsed in a heap but miraculously did not strike the bomb.

Instructor Vannes shook his head. "This is one of those times luck counts," Vannes said, outlining for Frew the mistakes he had made in rigging the line.

The school was born from bitter experience during World War II. Many lives were lost in England trying to defuse unexploded German bombs and missiles.  The heavy casualties convinced the British of the need to train a corps of skilled technicians to defuse bombs, and the Americans soon signed on to the program.

Schools in mine and bomb disposal were established at the Washington Navy Yard in 1941 and later moved to American University. In November 1945, the two schools were combined and moved to Indian Head.

The school became an institution at Indian Head, legendary for its rigorous program. Typically, about a quarter of the students fail to make it through.  "It's very high stress, very high risk," said Navy Capt. John Fraser, commander of the school. "You have to have your mind and soul in this business or you won't last."

"It's the toughest thing I've ever done," said Petty Officer Lee Miracle, a student. "They say it's the toughest job in the military. But you get to do a lot of fun stuff--blow things up, dive, jump out of airplanes."

On the school grounds, aircraft were scattered about the woods in various states of disrepair, including the cockpit from a Vietnam-era F-4 Phantom, an A-7 Corsair, a Huey helicopter and, until recently, a Soviet MiG jet.  They were used by students to practice removing munitions from damaged planes.

The school's move, which has been in the works for years, was prompted by a variety of issues. The Navy, which runs the school on behalf of all the services, says it will save more than $4 million a year by consolidating at Eglin, where about half the training already takes place. Increasing development in surrounding Charles County has curtailed activities at Indian Head.  And there were environmental concerns about toxic runoff into the Potomac.

Despite the school's move, a limited amount of specialized explosives training will continue at the base, which is a division of the Naval Surface Warfare Center.

About three-quarters of the school's ordnance and training material already has been shipped to Eglin.   The movement has caused consternation for commuters.

Last week, at the start of the morning rush hour, police escorted a military convoy carrying what school officials describe as classified material from Indian Head to Andrews Air Force Base. Infuriated motorists were not allowed to pass the convoy, which was traveling at 30 mph, for its 20-mile journey up Route 210.

Others view the passing with sadness. "This is the end of the road," said Gordon Miller, 83, a World War II, Korea and Vietnam veteran who served as an instructor at the school in the 1950s and 1960s and now lives outside the base gates.

"It was my family," Miller said, "and that's the reason I'm living in Indian Head."