At just 17 years old, David Hahn—dubbed the “Radioactive Boy Scout”—constructed a nuclear reactor in his mother’s backyard using common household materials. While this shocking feat captured headlines, the real story lies in how it all began—and the chaos that followed.
A Budding Scientist with Big Ambitions
Born in 1976 near Detroit, Michigan, David grew up in a working-class family. After his parents divorced, he spent most of his time with his father and stepmother, while weekends were reserved for his mother, Patty.
His fascination with chemistry ignited at age 10 when his step-grandfather gifted him The Golden Book of Chemistry Experiments. Unlike other kids with toy chemistry sets, David quickly graduated to real lab equipment, encyclopedias, and serious experiments.
By 14, he had already synthesized nitroglycerin. His time in the Boy Scouts provided another outlet for his scientific curiosity—often with explosive consequences. On a camping trip, he tested camphaxanthin, a tanning chemical, on himself, arriving with an orange-stained face. The same trip saw him accidentally detonate magnesium, blowing a hole through a tent.
A Dangerous Obsession with Nuclear Energy
David’s increasingly reckless experiments concerned his father and stepmother, who relocated his lab to the basement in hopes of controlling the chaos. However, after a red phosphorus explosion left him injured with glass shards embedded in his eyes, David moved his setup to his mother’s backyard shed—where his obsession with nuclear energy deepened.
When his father encouraged him to pursue an Eagle Scout rank, David chose to earn an atomic energy merit badge—an unusual choice among his peers. He built a mock reactor and compiled a pro-nuclear energy pamphlet, earning his badge in May 1991.
But David didn’t stop at a mock reactor. He was determined to build a real breeder reactor—a self-sustaining nuclear device. To achieve this, he needed highly radioactive materials. Under the guise of a physics professor, he reached out to nuclear agencies, securing critical information.
Building a Reactor from Household Items
David methodically gathered radioactive materials:
- Americium from 100 smoke detectors
- Thorium from lantern mantles
- Radium from antique clocks
- Uranium from a supplier in Czechoslovakia
- Barium sulfate from hospital staff
He assembled a neutron gun, then created a makeshift reactor core—wrapping thorium and uranium powder together with duct tape. His device worked well enough that radiation levels spiked to detectable levels five houses away.
Realizing he had created a hazardous situation, David began dismantling the reactor, stashing components in his car. However, on August 31, 1994, neighbors mistook his actions for attempted theft and called the police.
When officers arrived, David warned them his materials were radioactive. The bomb squad found no explosives—but detected radiation 1,000 times the normal level, triggering a federal investigation.
A Delayed Response with Serious Consequences
Despite the alarming discovery, authorities waited two months before inspecting his lab. Bureaucratic hurdles meant the NRC declined jurisdiction, and it wasn’t until January—five months later—that the EPA stepped in.
By then, much of David’s radioactive waste had been unknowingly discarded by his mother with regular household trash. In June 1995, the EPA dismantled his lab and buried its remains in the Great Salt Lake Desert, alongside other hazardous nuclear waste.
According to the EPA, David’s experiments exposed at least 40,000 people to dangerous radiation levels. Though the agency offered him a full medical evaluation in 1995, he declined.
David Hahn later struggled with personal and legal troubles. In 2016, at age 39, he died from alcohol poisoning.
A Lesson in Institutional Blind Spots
David’s story isn’t just about a teenager attempting to build a nuclear reactor—it highlights how institutions designed to protect public safety can overlook glaring dangers. The slow-moving response to his radioactive experiments serves as a reminder that bureaucratic delays can have far-reaching consequences.
