The bridges linking Manhattan Island with the outside world began blowing at precisely twelve minutes after three in the predawn darkness of Saturday, August 30.
The first to go was the Manhattan Bridge between lower Manhattan and Brooklyn. Carefully placed charges dropped wreckage inot the East River. Within seconds another explosion wrecked the center span of the Brooklyn Bridge, then the Williamsburg Bridge shuddered under a third impact and splashed down into the outgoing tide. Part of the span crashed onto a small shack near one edge of the handball court in East River Park. Sleeping in it was a forty-eight-year-old vagrant who had wandered eastward from his usual haunts on the Bowery. His name was Harry Dunn, and as the twisted girders of the Williamsburg Bridge crushed the life from his body, he became the first Manhattan casualty of the Three-Day Revolution.
By three-thirty, every bridge linking the island with the mainland and the other boroughs had been blasted. But the George Washington still spanned the Hudson. Charges failed to sever its suspension cables. An air strike had also failed. The mighty bridge swayed and leaned in the brisk breeze that funneled down the edge of the Palisades – but it still stood.
The demolition experts of the rebel army were busy men that August night. In addition to bridges, there were tunnels to take care of, seven in lower Manhattan alone: the Brooklyn-Battery Tunnel, which carried automobile traffic from the island to Brooklyn; five others that linked Manhattan's subway system with Brooklyn; plus the Tubes under the Hudson River to Jersey City. The Holland Tunnel was left open, mined and defended with heavy machine gun emplacements.
Farther uptown, the Lincoln Tunnel was open, but the Queens-Midtown Tunnel was blasted through its roof. The East River flooded in. No one will ever know how many died in the first thirty minutes of the revolution. Most of the guards and maintenance men in the tunnels were either shot or crushed in the explosions. Those who survived drowned when the water rushed in. Not all the casualties were noncombatants. Rebel demolitions men lost their lives too: some by accident when they misjudged the blasts' effects, some shot down by alert police.
But despite confusion and miscalculation and missed signals, at twenty minutes to four in the darkness of the morning of August 30th, the island of Manhattan was cut off from the outside world and dominated by rebel forces. They held nearly a million hostages, many of them still soundly asleep in their beds and consequently unaware of the events exploding outside their apartment doors. They would wake up in the morning to discover, when they turned on their radios or TV sets, that they were unwilling pawns in what was then being announced as the Afro-American War of Liberation.
Prologue
"Siege"
Edwin Corley
Copyright 1969
Stein and Day