In this episode of Stuff You Should Know, the hosts explore the story of David Hahn, a teenage Boy Scout who built a functioning nuclear breeder reactor in his mother's potting shed during the 1990s. Driven by an early fascination with science and radioactive materials, David used deceptive tactics and creative resourcefulness to acquire dangerous radioactive elements from everyday sources like smoke detectors, gas lantern mantles, and gun sights.
The episode covers David's progression from curious experimenter to nuclear hobbyist, detailing how he obtained materials, constructed his reactor, and eventually triggered a federal emergency response when authorities discovered his activities. The hosts also discuss the aftermath of the incident, including the environmental cleanup operation and David's subsequent struggles with mental health and addiction that led to his death at thirty-nine.

Sign up for Shortform to access the whole episode summary along with additional materials like counterarguments and context.
At age ten, David Hahn received "The Golden Book of Chemistry Experiments" from his step-grandfather, sparking a lifelong fascination with science and radioactive materials, particularly the stories of Marie and Pierre Curie. Within two years, he was reading college-level chemistry textbooks, though he would later struggle academically in school. His teenage experiments grew increasingly dangerous—he made [restricted term] at fourteen, accidentally burned a Boy Scout tent with homemade fireworks, and turned his skin bright orange experimenting with self-tanning formulas. His bedroom bore the scars of his pursuits, with damaged walls and permanently stained carpets.
When David chose the rare Atomic Energy merit badge for Boy Scouts, he received a 1963 pamphlet produced with the nuclear industry that served as a practical guide for sourcing radioactive elements and even building reactors. While the badge asked scouts to build a model—typically cardboard or papier-mâché—David interpreted this creatively, deciding to construct an actual nuclear reactor in his mother's potting shed. His father, worried about David's increasingly hazardous experiments and suspecting drug manufacturing, had pushed him toward earning his Eagle Scout rank, inadvertently leading David to this challenging and unusual badge choice.
David assumed the false identity of "Professor Hahn," claiming to be a physics teacher, and corresponded with nuclear professionals and agencies seeking information and materials. Despite spelling and grammatical errors in his letters, recipients believed his claims and eagerly assisted. Donald Erb of the Nuclear Regulatory Commission became his most significant helper, providing advice on constructing a neutron gun and suggesting tritium when David's thorium conversion wasn't working as expected.
To gather materials, David extracted Americium-241 from 100 smoke detectors purchased from companies he'd convinced he needed them for a school project. He obtained thorium-232 from thousands of gas lantern mantles, spending about $1,000 from his after-school job to purify it—producing thorium 9,000 times more radioactive than its natural state. He scoured Michigan junkyards and antique shops for radium-painted items and exploited return policies to obtain tritium from gun sights, repeatedly ordering scopes, scraping off the tritium, and returning them for replacement under various pseudonyms.
David's ambition evolved from building a neutron gun—essentially a lead block with radioactive material and aluminum foil designed to direct neutrons at targets—to constructing a breeder reactor when he realized he lacked sufficient uranium for a chain reaction. Inspired by 1950s-era blueprints from his father's textbooks, he built a reactor designed to create more fissile fuel than it consumed. His homemade reactor core combined americium, radium, aluminum shavings, and beryllium wrapped in aluminum foil, assembled in his mother's potting shed.
David monitored the reactor daily with a Geiger counter, observing increasing radiation levels that indicated growing chain reactions. When he discovered he could detect elevated radiation from five houses away, he grew alarmed. Experiencing a moment similar to Matthew Broderick's character in "War Games," David dismantled the reactor out of concern for escalating danger, distributing the radioactive components to different locations to reduce contamination on his mother's property.
At seventeen, David was pulled over on suspicion of stealing tires and warned officers not to open his toolbox, claiming it contained highly radioactive materials. This admission triggered the Federal Radiological Emergency Response Plan, mobilizing the EPA, FBI, NRC, Department of Energy, and state and local authorities. Months later, when the full scope of his experiments was revealed, authorities discovered David's mother had already disposed of much radioactive material in standard trash, spreading contamination to a local landfill. Testing revealed a vegetable can reading radiation at a thousand times background level.
Between June 26 and 28, 1995, federal teams executed a $60,000 cleanup operation, designating the potting shed a Superfund site and burying all contaminated materials in the Great Salt Lake Desert. Fortunately, no cases of radiation sickness emerged among David's family, neighbors, or the broader community, though classmates cruelly nicknamed him "Radioactive Boy," leaving lasting psychological scars.
Following the incident, David struggled with depression and social stigma. He briefly pursued college and served in both the Navy and Marines aboard the USS Enterprise, though he never worked with nuclear systems. By 2007, unemployed and struggling with mental health issues that mirrored his mother's paranoid schizophrenia, David faced renewed scrutiny when dismantled smoke detectors were found near his garage, though no radioactivity was detected.
FBI documents from 2010 revealed David wasn't taking prescribed medications and was using cocaine heavily. That year he faced drug charges and entered rehabilitation. In 2016, at age thirty-nine, David was found dead in a Walmart bathroom from a combination of alcohol, [restricted term], and Benadryl. Official reports confirmed no link to past radiation exposure, underscoring a tragic story of untreated mental illness overshadowing a powerful intellect.
1-Page Summary
At age ten, David Hahn’s fascination with science was ignited when his step-grandfather, an engineer at General Motors, gave him "The Golden Book of Chemistry Experiments." This highly illustrated book, which featured instructions reminiscent of Ripley's Believe It or Not comic strips, captivated young David—especially the stories of Marie and Pierre Curie and their discovery of radium. The idea of glowing radioactive materials mesmerized him, and his imagination filled in the gaps when the monochrome illustrations couldn’t.
Within two years of receiving "The Golden Book of Chemistry Experiments," David was devouring his father’s college-level chemistry textbooks at just twelve years old. Despite this early display of exceptional capability, David would struggle academically, barely passing essential math and English exams needed to graduate. He didn't excel in school but continued passionately with his self-directed experiments.
David’s experiments grew increasingly dangerous as he entered his teens. At fourteen, he managed to make [restricted term], a highly volatile substance, on his own. He also brought powdered magnesium to Boy Scout camp to make homemade fireworks, which caught fire and burned a tent. He tried developing a self-tanning formula using Canthaxanthin, resulting in his skin turning bright orange—something he displayed at scout meetings. Frequently, his bedroom became a casualty of his pursuits: walls were damaged, the carpets permanently stained and ultimately removed.
When the time came for merit badge selection in the Boy Scouts, David chose the Atomic Energy merit badge—a rare choice in his troop. This badge, introduced in 1963, included a pamphlet produced with the nuclear energy industry that functioned as a practical guide filled with information on sourcing radioactive elements and even building one's own nuclear reactor. One project in the pamphlet, for example, was to construct a Geiger counter, underscoring the seriousness of the badge’s content.
Although the requirements asked scouts to build a model ...
Fascination With Science and Atomic Energy Merit Badge
David Hahn adopted the persona of "Professor Hahn," claiming to be a physics teacher at Chippewa Valley High School. He began writing to nuclear professionals and agencies in search of information, materials, and schematics related to nuclear energy. Despite his letters being riddled with spelling and grammatical errors—uncharacteristic for a professor—recipients nonetheless accepted his claims. Adults in the nuclear field believed they were corresponding with an enthusiastic high school educator and were eager to assist. The only deception was David’s claim to be a professor rather than a high school student; his questions and interactions about nuclear science were otherwise genuine.
Among those he corresponded with most frequently was Donald Erb of the Nuclear Regulatory Commission, who headed the department responsible for producing isotopes. Donald Erb unwittingly became David’s most significant helper, providing advice and encouragement that allowed David to acquire radioactive materials and improve his experimental techniques, such as constructing a neutron gun. Erb even advised David on technical issues—when David found his thorium wasn't converting as expected, Erb suggested he try slowing down the neutrons, recommending tritium as a solution.
To build his neutron gun and conduct his experiments, David sought out Americium-241, which he learned could be sourced from smoke detectors. He initially tried to steal smoke detectors from his Boy Scout camp but was caught and sent home early. Pivoting to less risky methods, he wrote to smoke detector companies, claiming he needed large quantities for a school project. One company sold him 100 broken smoke detectors for $100. When he struggled to locate the americium inside, another company helpfully told him exactly where to find it, enabling him to extract and then weld together the americium using a blowtorch.
David also learned to obtain thorium-232 from gas lantern mantles. He purchased thousands of these mantles from surplus stores and spent about $1,000 of his after-school job money on lithium batteries. He used the lithium to purify the thorium he extracted from the mantles—a process that required significant time and effort. His work produced thorium that was 9,000 times more radioactive than its natural state and 170 times the regulatory ...
Deceptive and Creative Sourcing of Radioactive Materials
David began his nuclear experiments motivated by curiosity about atomic science, not by any intent to cause harm. His earliest goal was to build a neutron gun, which, according to Josh Clark, is a misleading term since its construction was neither threatening nor destructive. David's neutron gun was a block of lead with a cavity hollowed out for radioactive material. This material was then covered with aluminum foil, and the neutron-emitting side would be pointed at targets to irradiate them in hopes of starting nuclear reactions. He was mainly interested in seeing if he could trigger a chain reaction, inspired by science-fiction and chemistry interests, and using guidance from an Eagle Scout merit badge pamphlet.
After experimenting with neutron guns, David realized he did not have enough uranium—enriched or otherwise—to generate a sustainable chain reaction in a standard reactor. This limitation made him pivot to constructing a breeder reactor, inspired by blueprints from one of his father's textbooks. Breeder reactors, first developed in the 1950s, are designed to create more fissile fuel than they consume, allowing sustained reactions with limited initial nuclear material.
Unlike regular reactors which extract energy from a fixed amount of fuel, breeder reactors use uranium-238 (the most naturally abundant uranium) to produce new fuel. Josh Clark likens this to leaving home with a car with half a tank of gas and returning to find the tank full—breeder reactors can end up with more usable fuel. David sought to replicate this principle on a small scale, using whatever radioactive materials he could gather.
Using the knowledge he had gathered, David crafted a very small reactor core by combining americium, radium (both harvested from his neutron guns), aluminum shavings, and beryllium. These materials were wrapped in aluminum foil. This improvised core, assembled in his mother's potting shed, functioned as a miniature breeder reactor, or atomic pile—mirroring on a far smaller scale the first controlled chain reaction achieved by Fermi.
David closely monitored his reactor’s radioactivity using a Geiger counter, checking levels daily. He noted that radiation readings were increasing over time, a sign that his reactor was indeed creating and sustaining nuclear reactions.
The runaway success of his setup became evident when David found he could ...
Construction and Operation of a Functional Nuclear Reactor
David Hahn, just 17, attracts law enforcement attention after disassembling his homemade nuclear reactor. Pulled over on suspicion of stealing tires and wheels, David warns the officers not to open his toolbox, insisting it contains highly radioactive materials. This unusual admission prompts the bomb squad's involvement. Upon inspection, officers find that much of the car is contaminated with radiation, leading to immediate activation of the Federal Radiological Emergency Response Plan.
This protocol mobilizes the Environmental Protection Agency (EPA), Federal Bureau of Investigation (FBI), Nuclear Regulatory Commission (NRC), Department of Energy, and state and local authorities—none of whom have ever dealt with a situation quite like a teenager dabbling with nuclear materials in suburban Michigan. The radioactive substances found during the stop include thorium in a shoebox in the trunk, with radium and americium secured back at David's mother’s potting shed. Early investigations focus exclusively on David’s car, as he does not initially reveal the existence of the shed or the full scope of his experiments.
Several months after David’s arrest, a more thorough interview with an expert from the State Department of Public Health reveals the potting shed laboratory and the extent of his nuclear work. By then, David's mother has already disposed of much of the radioactive material—likely in standard trash destined for a local landfill—an act that spreads contamination far beyond the original site. David later remarks, “the authorities got the garbage and the garbage got the good stuff,” referencing that lumps of americium and radium ended up somewhere in a garbage pile outside Clinton Commerce Township.
Testing at the family property still reveals substantial radiation, including a vegetable can reading radiation at a thousand times background level, prompting authorities to designate the potting shed a Superfund site. Between June 26 and 28, 1995, federal response teams execute a $60,000 operation to dismantle the shed, excavate surrounding dirt, and pack everything—now considered low-level radioactive waste—into sealed barrels marked with radiation hazard symbols. All contaminated materials are transported and buried in ...
Discovery of Contamination and Cleanup Operation
After the investigation and resulting publicity, David struggled with depression. Classmates taunted him, calling him "Radioactive Boy," and he endured deep stigma from being labeled the "Radioactive Boy Scout." In the years following the incident, David sought a new path by briefly pursuing an associate's degree in college before serving in both the Navy and the Marines. While he was honorably discharged in both cases and notably served on the USS Enterprise, a nuclear submarine, he never worked with the nuclear systems aboard. Despite these efforts, stability eluded him.
By 2007, David was unemployed, and his mental health had deteriorated, echoing the challenges faced by his mother, who also struggled with paranoid schizophrenia and depression. Throughout his 30s, the FBI and local police responded to tips that David might be attempting reactor experiments again. A landlord reported missing smoke detectors, later found dismantled near his garage, prompting concern, but no radioactivity was detected, and David denied any recent reactor activities, insisting he hadn't engaged in such work for over a decade.
FBI documents from 2010 show troubling signs: David was not taking his prescribed medications, was using cocaine heavily, and displayed increasing paranoia. That year, he faced m ...
Aftermath: Mental Illness, Substance Abuse, Early Death
Download the Shortform Chrome extension for your browser
