LECTURING ON BOMBS, AGENTS HAVE A BLAST

Thursday, Nov. 29, 2007 | 7:05 a.m.

SAM MORRIS / LAS VEGAS SUN

Two car tires filled with explosives are launched into the air by Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco, Firearms and Explosives agents as part of a demonstration on Wednesday. The tires returned to earth as rubbish.

This is Don York's idea of a funny joke: When giving a lecture about the dangers of explosives, throw what looks like a stick of dynamite at the feet of a TV news reporter and watch her freak as it mimics the sound of detonation.

"See," York says, laughing with the audience, "don't run near explosives. And don't smoke." The reporter giggles.

York, the federal Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco, Firearms and Explosives agent in charge in greater Las Vegas, turns to a buddy surveilling us smiling media rubes gathered for this explosives show-and-tell and says, "We're gonna hug at the end of this."

But before that hug: pipe bombs, TNT, military-grade plastic explosives by the pound, grenades shaped like little metal fruits - pineapple, lemon, tangerine - and something called "sausage explosives."

Yes there's nothing, nothing quite like the heady smell of detonation in the morning.

Clark County's secretive tribe of ATF agents let down its guard Tuesday to demonstrate the dangers of explosives for TV viewers at home. The real payoff, however, for a reporter is a glimpse into the seldom-seen world of lighthearted explosives humor. Agents in their natural (highly controlled) element (a shooting range) sharing their handed-down-through-generations expertise (in bombs).

"Look at it now," York yells, pointing at a pair of tires that have been stacked and filled with explosives, " 'cause you won't see it after."

Behold the sonic boom: Both tires fly into the air, flaming, and return to earth, rubbish.

A Metro Police officer standing with his friends can't resist: "I'm going to have to change my underwear."

But this is nothing compared with the anti-theft opera that follows. When the ATF agents detonate a 16-inch stick of dynamite, car alarms for a quarter-mile go off.

Next comes a particularly satisfying explosion, one that pelts debris all over the audience. ATF agent Tony May can barely contain himself. He throws his arms into the air and screams "field goal!"

Car alarms go off again.

For the finale, 10 pounds of ammonium nitrate (for reference, the 1995 Oklahoma City bombing involved 4,800 pounds) is stashed on the passenger-side floor of an old Buick. The switch is flipped, there's a brief delay, and then the car vaults into the air, splits in two, and falls to earth flaming.

"That's the Hollywood shot," York says. "And that concludes our demonstration."