Technically, therefore, Cooper still may be prosecuted, so the FBI has never clos- ed its file on the case.
Las Vegan Magazine is proud to present this previously unreported evidence in the amazing story which begins in the following report. JES
THE CRIME
L ate afternoon on Thanksgiving Eve, Nov- ember 24, 1971, the sky was turning gray in Portland, Oregon. As storm clouds moved in from the Pacific coast, Northwest Orient Flight 305 was preparing for take-off to Seattle. The plane, a three-engine Boeing 727, had left Washington D.C. earlier in the day, making a series of hops across the country before arriving in Portland. So far it had been a routine flight.
But at the Portland terminal a man who signed his name as Dan Cooper and paid cash for his ticket to Seattle was causing a delay. Standing by the terminal windows, he was peering worriedly at the rear of the Boeing 727, nervously sipping a drink. He ignored the final boarding call. Stewardess Florence Schaffner approached the man and warned him that he was about to be left behind.
Stewardess Florence Schaffner approached the man and warned him that he was about to be left behind. According to later press dispatches, there was nothing remarkable about his appearance. A tall, swarthy, black-haired man who appeared to be in his mid-forties, Cooper was wearing a dark business suit, brown Oxford lace-up shoes and an unfashionably narrow tie. He carried a topcoat and briefcase, and once aboard the plane he donned a pair of dark sunglasses.
Florence Schaffner thought he was some sort of country bumpkin. Perhaps he was afraid of flying. She led him almost like a frightened little boy to his seat. As soon as the plane was in the air, Cooper pushed the stewardess call button and ordered a bourbon. When Florence Schaffner brought it to him, she was puzzled that he was wearing a pair of white gloves. She was even more puzzled when he handed her a
note in a sealed envelope, but Florence is an attractive young woman and was used to male passengers making passes at her, so she put the note in her handbag without reading it and began serving other passengers.
envelope, but Florence is an attractive young woman and was used to male passengers making passes at her, so she put the note in her handbag without reading it and began serving other passengers. Suddenly, Cooper called out to her in an angry voice, "Miss, I want you to read that note!"
She opened the envelope distractedly, and was suddenly faced with the awesome message - written in block capitals on a single sheet of paper - "MISS-I HAVE A BOMB IN MY BRIEFCASE AND I WANT YOU TO SIT BESIDE ME."
"Oh, no!" she thought, trying to compre- hend the words. "You're kidding," she stammered to him, "are you kidding?" He was not.
"You better sit down right now," he threat- ened. From his window seat he grabbed her hand and pulled her into the aisle seat. Then he opened the briefcase in the seat between them and showed her a large battery, some wiring, and several reddish-brown sticks bundled to- gether which he claimed were dynamite. "All I have to do is touch these two wires together and it's all over," he said.
Among the young anti- establishment crowd, Cooper became a heroic symbol of rebellion: he had successfully stuck it to Northwest Airlines, the banks and insurance companies,
Among the young anti- establishment crowd, Cooper became a heroic symbol of rebellion: he had successfully stuck it to Northwest Airlines, the banks and insurance companies, and also thumbed his nose at the FBI.
Florence took down Cooper's demands on the back of the envelope: he wanted four para- chutes - two sport chutes and two military backpacks - and $200,000 in cash to be de- livered to him upon landing in Seattle. Also, he wanted a fuel truck to meet the plane at the end of the runway. Otherwise, he would "blow this damn bird out of the sky." He wanted the money in $20 bills and placed in a hiker's backpack, but Florence forgot to write down these two points or to relay them to the captain. She was nearly fainting with fear.
The plane was approaching Seattle. Captain William Scott and Co-pilot Bill Rataczak were in a frenzy about what to do. They relayed Cooper's demands to Northwest Operations at Sea-Tac Airport and asked for instructions. Back came the word: cooperate fully and "do whatever he demands." Other authorities radioed Scott: "FBI and police have advised no action be taken.
Back came the word: cooperate fully and "do whatever he demands." Other authorities radioed Scott: "FBI and police have advised no action be taken. Repeat. No action be taken." Scott was forced to circle the field for two-and-a-half hours while those on the ground
frantically got together the $200,000 and four parachutes. Due to the approaching Thanks- giving holiday, they were having difficulties collecting the money. He landed the plane at Seattle at 5:40 PM, but the ransom was still not collected. The tower radioed Scott: "Impress on this man that we are not trying to stall. The money is on its way. It was picked up at more than one bank." Finally, at 6:30 PM the money and parachutes arrived, but Cooper was outraged that the ransom had been placed in a mail sack instead of a backpack. "Screw me one more time and you're a dead man," he warned Scott over the plane's intercom. Nevertheless, he allowed the thirty- six passengers and two of the stewardesses - Schaffner and Alice Hancock - to leave the plane, but at the last minute he ordered stew- ardess Tina Mucklow to remain with him as a hostage and instructed her to close all
and two of the stewardesses - Schaffner and Alice Hancock - to leave the plane, but at the last minute he ordered stew- ardess Tina Mucklow to remain with him as a hostage and instructed her to close all the window blinds in the cabin. He suspected the FBI was lining up outside to try to shoot him.
The fuel truck Cooper had ordered was taking an interminably long time to complete its task. He suspected a set-up. "I know exactly how long it takes to fuel this plane!" he barked over the intercom. "Let's get this motherf ----- show on the road!" Finally, at 7:36 PM the 727 took off again. Cooper had demanded to be flown to Mexico City, but Captain Scott pointed out to him that Mexico was beyond the range of the aircraft, so there would have to be another refueling stop. After a series of ex- changes with Northwest Flight Control in Minneapolis, Scott was given three alternatives: Reno, Phoenix, and "somewhere in between" - which had to be Las Vegas. Cooper chose Reno. There, three and a half hours after leaving Seattle, the plane landed. Since the crew had not heard from Cooper over the interphone in over three hours (Tina Mucklow was ordered into the cockpit by him shortly after
Since the crew had not heard from Cooper over the interphone in over three hours (Tina Mucklow was ordered into the cockpit by him shortly after take-off from Seattle), FBI agents, airport security personnel, and police warily closed in on the plane, firing a barrage of tear-gas can- nisters into the back. But Cooper, the money, the briefcase with the bomb, and two of the four parachutes were gone. D.B. Cooper - the name the press gave him, and the one that stuck - had gotten clean away.
"D.B. Cooper, Where Are You?" de- manded the bumper stickers. "D.B. Cooper, We Love You" proclaimed the T-shirts. There was a whimsical cartoon book about him: Skyjacker's Guide - Or Please Hold This Bomb While I Go To The Bathroom. In Seattle for a while there was even a D.B. Cooper Discotheque where patrons danced "the skyjack." Among: the young anti- establishment crowd, Cooper became a heroic symbol of rebellion: he had successfully stuck it to Northwest Airlines, the banks and insur- ance companies, and also thumbed his nose at the FBI.
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But many people, particularly FBI agents involved
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But many people, particularly FBI agents involved in the case, believed that Cooper died in the jump. "What we're looking for is a hole in the ground," said one agent. Their suspi- cions were bolstered by the fact that one of the chest packs Cooper was given turned out to be a sewn-up dummy chute used for classroom demonstration - according to George Harrison, who was Seattle transport manager for North- west Airlines at the time. Also, if Cooper had survived the jump he was obviously in no hurry to spend the money. Not one of the $20 bills he had received - all the serial numbers had been recorded - ever turned up until a small bundle of Cooper's loot was discovered by a young Oklahoma boy, Brian Ingram, on the banks of the Columbia River nine miles north of Portland in February 1980. The FBI interpreted this find as proof that Cooper died in the jump, but they had trouble accounting for why this small bundle of money ended up in a place ten miles upstream from the place they have always maintained he jumped out - the area around
died in the jump, but they had trouble accounting for why this small bundle of money ended up in a place ten miles upstream from the place they have always maintained he jumped out - the area around the town of Woodland, Washington.
According to the crew of the plane, a series of strong "pressure bumps" occurred directly over this area of broad, flat farming country about twenty miles north of Portland, which seemed the most likely place for him to have jumped. Local authorities, familiar with the geography, doubted that he jumped much far- ther south. To do so would run the risk of bailing out into the cold, rugged, densely- forested Cascades, which were already thinly covered with snow. Survival there in street clothes would be nearly impossible, especially since the Cascades had been hit by fierce storms the night of the skyjacking. On the basis . of the crew's information, a massive search was mounted. The day after Thanksgiving, when the weather cleared, a horde of official searchers invaded the Woodland area. FBI agents, local sheriffs and deputies, local police and Boy Scout troups, assisted by helicopters provided by the Army and Weyerhauser Lumber Company, searched
FBI agents, local sheriffs and deputies, local police and Boy Scout troups, assisted by helicopters provided by the Army and Weyerhauser Lumber Company, searched exhaustively. But they found nothing. In the spring another search was conducted, this time by nearly three hun- dred soldiers from Fort Lewis, Washington. They too found nothing. It seemed that D.B. Cooper had disappeared forever.
THE REVELATION
B ut now the mystery may be over. A con- fession, two eye-witnesses, and a mass of circumstantial evidence indicate that a man known to many as Bryant "Jack" Coffelt once committed a crime of such daring that it cap- tured the imagination of a nation.
The story I related to the producer in Las Vegas was this: In 1974, when I was 16, my father asked me to join him on a camping ex-
illustration by Steve Charem
"Well, I'm Cooper," he said, thumping his chest with his forefinger. "I'm D.B. Cooper!"
As soon as the plane was in the air, Cooper pushed the stewardess call button and ordered a bourbon. When Florence Schaffner brought it to him, she was puzzled that he was wearing a pair of white gloves.
When Florence Schaffner brought it to him, she was puzzled that he was wearing a pair of white gloves.
pedition to the Cascade Mountains of Oregon with an old friend of his, ostensibly so that we would have a chance to look over towns where I might decide to go to college. My father had been having a lot of trouble lately at a small beer and wine store that he ran. Recently, a county grand jury had revoked the store's license because of the many disturbances that occurred there, so my father had plenty of time on his hands to take this much-needed vacation. "Hell, I might want to move out there myself," he said, "if I can put together a little money."
We started out from our home in northeast Georgia, our truck-camper rig loaded with hiking gear, on the thousand-mile trip to Joplin, Missouri, where we were to meet his old friend. It was the third week in June. We met Jack Coffelt in Joplin as night was falling, and immediately proceeded to a seedy motel on the outskirts of town where we took a room for the night.
We met Jack Coffelt in Joplin as night was falling, and immediately proceeded to a seedy motel on the outskirts of town where we took a room for the night. In the small room, with a dim lamp il-
luminating his face, Jack Coffelt looked me steadily in the eye and asked suspiciously, "Byron, you remember that fella that sky- jacked that airplane out in Oregon a few years back? - Cooper, D.B. Cooper? You remem- ber him?"
"Sure," I replied. "All my friends at school were talking about that for weeks after it happened." I thought he would tell me we were going to look for Cooper.
"Well, I'm Cooper," he said, thumping his chest with his forefinger. "I'm D.B. Cooper!" He gave me no time to think. "I need your help, Byron. I lost my goddam money! I dropped it when the parachute opened. Your father has promised to help, but we need your help too." He could see that I was dumb- founded. His and my father's eyes fell steadily upon me. "The bastards tried to kill me," cried Coffelt. "Gave me a rotten chute - no good. It wouldn't open. I kept clawing at it but it wouldn't open.
"The bastards tried to kill me," cried Coffelt. "Gave me a rotten chute - no good. It wouldn't open. I kept clawing at it but it wouldn't open. Finally I got the other one open - the back pack - but it jolted me so bad I dropped the money! I dropped the bag of money!" The words echoed pitifully through the small room as Coffelt buried his head in his hands.
"Will you help me?" he pleaded. "You're young; we're just two old men. You can climb the mountains out there. I'm gonna give your daddy half, and we're going to buy you a brand new car." He hoisted his shorts and showed me his legs all the way up to the thighs. They were horribly discolored - purple and yellow- ish bruises blending with the pale skin. He claimed he had hit a tree limb between his legs when he crashed down on a rugged mountain
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slope in the dark. His shoes had filled with blood; he had broken a rib. "I've never re- covered," he gasped. "It ruined me. I wouldn't do it again for a million dollars."
I was astounded by his allegations, and as I retold them over a year later they seemed as outlandish as they had that night in
"
I was astounded by his allegations, and as I retold them over a year later they seemed as outlandish as they had that night in the Joplin motel. But the allegations would grow im- mensely. In one meeting at the Tropicana Hotel with writers and executives of Universal Studios, I told how Coffelt claimed he had "connections" in Las Vegas, that these persons were going to help him launder that stolen loot through the casino cage of one major Strip hotel. In lighter moments he bragged about his Las Vegas past, once dropping a name and boasting of "taking over a town" and being "the boss's right arm;" how he "always packed a gun then because business was rough" . .. the name was Howard Hughes.
At times I thought he was all blow, for as we drove along the vast western prairies he re- counted fantastic tales like a man hallucinating. But I would discover later that he indeed had connections in Las Vegas, and that the authori- ties had once kept a close eye on his actions here. By having a "trace" placed on his FBI number through a friend in the Las Vegas police department, I found that on October 7, 1959, Jack had
By having a "trace" placed on his FBI number through a friend in the Las Vegas police department, I found that on October 7, 1959, Jack had registered as an ex-felon in Phoenix, Arizona; and ten months later, on July 18, 1960, he registered as an ex-felon in Las Vegas, both places requiring known mal- contents to so register. But also, registering as an ex-felon implies that Jack stayed in the Phoenix and Las Vegas areas for a fairly long period of time. He wasn't just passing through. I was to discover that he stayed in Las Vegas long enough to find himself a woman compan- ion who remained with him - as a partner and overseer of his various shady activities - for the next 14 years.
. . .
THE COMPANION
L orraine Thompson was a pretty red-haired woman, pleasant, unassuming, and quiet. One source who knew her thought she bad "spent a lot of time in the backwoods of Tennessee collecting antiques." But somehow she migrated west. On September 23, 1955, when she was twenty-eight years old, she married Paul C. Gulas, thirty-three, in Las Vegas.
On September 23, 1955, when she was twenty-eight years old, she married Paul C. Gulas, thirty-three, in Las Vegas. Old timers in town may have heard of Gulas, a man who naturally would have associated with many types of people. Gulas had been previously married and had a son, Paul, Jr. now residing in Las Vegas.
Gulas Sr. was a Las Vegas policeman. He went on to become the Captain of Detectives in 1968, retired from the force in 1974, and died in Texas in early 1976. Lorraine and Gulas were divorced after six years, on July 26,
1961. Shortly thereafter she was constantly seen in the company of Jack Coffelt. She called herself Tave - Tave Coffelt - although they never married. The couple seemed pros- perous in those years. Jack wore expensive suits and drove a late-model Cadillac. Paul Gulas Jr. told me that he thought "Tave" had been a police dispatcher in Miami, Florida. One reliable source told me "my information is that she's FBI." Whatever her line, she was to introduce Jack Coffelt to a new and different world - a world of political intrigue under- taken in the highest circles.
" Whatever her line, she was to introduce Jack Coffelt to a new and different world - a world of political intrigue under- taken in the highest circles. A few months after her divorce from Gulas in Las Vegas, Jack and Tave set up permanent residence in Washington D.C., and Jack entered upon his new career as a government informant. He was to be seen at White House inauguration balls, He hobnobbed with Mrs. Kennedy and Lady Bird Johnson. At least twice he entered Nixon's presidential enclave with White House passes. He was often seen in the company of FBI Director J. Edgar Hoover. Indeed, as I myself witnessed in 1974, he carried an FBI identification badge, and one card identified him as an agent for the Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco and Firearms. From the years 1961 to 1974 Jack Coffelt seemed to
Coffelt seemed hurt that the true merit of his crime had never been fully appreciated. The whole idea that D.B. Cooper had just "jumped out in the night like Santa Claus" was perversely ridiculous to him.
play many roles. Sources who knew him in Washington D.
Cooper had just "jumped out in the night like Santa Claus" was perversely ridiculous to him.
play many roles. Sources who knew him in Washington D.C. link him to undercover poli- tical operations in such disparate places as Egypt, Cuba, and Mexico City. One Las Vegas FBI agent told me cryptically, "He may well have been CIA."
...
THE INSPIRATION
B ryant "Jack" Coffelt was born February 20, 1916, and grew up in near poverty in the lead and zinc mining area around Joplin, Missouri. As a youth he hung around the gambling halls and brothels of Picher, Okla- homa, a few miles southwest of Joplin. Accord- ing to those who knew him there, he was a "strange" youth, always into trouble.
"He never would mind. He wouldn't mind nobody," said his sister, From the age of
fourteen on he would always be in trouble with the law, serving a total of over twenty years in reformatories, jails, and prisons. In the late 1940's, while serving a ten-year sentence for auto theft and attempted escape at Atlanta Federal Penitentiary, he was working in the print shop as a press operator one day when he met my father, who was editor of the prison magazine.
a ten-year sentence for auto theft and attempted escape at Atlanta Federal Penitentiary, he was working in the print shop as a press operator one day when he met my father, who was editor of the prison magazine.
In 1944, James Brown, the son of a Georgia lawyer, had been commissioned as a second- lieutenant in the U.S. Army-Air Force, a pilot in a transport squadron. He was expecting to be sent to England for the invasion of Europe, but instead found himself facing a court martial, charged with rape. He was sentenced to life imprisonment and sent to Atlanta Penitentiary. Brown, who always maintained his innocence, was paroled in 1952 after serving eight years, but during those years he became close friends with Jack Coffelt. The two would often spend hours together on the prison recreation yard. Like many of the inmates, Coffelt often dreamt of the perfect crime, the big job, and was fas- cinated by Brown's ability to fly an airplane. "He would ask me if it would be possible to escape by landing a plane in the prison yard," said Brown, "or if I could fly him to Mexico if he pulled a bank job."
After Brown's release in 1952, the two did not hear from each other for many years.
by landing a plane in the prison yard," said Brown, "or if I could fly him to Mexico if he pulled a bank job."
After Brown's release in 1952, the two did not hear from each other for many years. Coffelt was discharged in 1955, after being transferred to Leavenworth Penitentiary in Kansas. But their friendship during those lonely prison years was cemented. Coffelt told me that his admiration for my father's flying ability was in fact the seed which culminated in his planning the skyjacking. And he said when he dropped the money the first man he thought of to help him was James Brown.
The story of the skyjacking grew. According to Coffelt, it was an exceedingly well-planned and thoroughly rehearsed operation, He claimed he had taken Flight 305 from Portland to Seattle "two or three times" before the actual crime in order to perfect the timing of the operation. He had been trained by an engineer who was familiar with the Boeing 727 aircraft, the only plane in commercial operation which had a stairway which opened directly out the rear. He was instructed to order the pilot to fly at 15 degrees wingflaps so that the plane could go no faster than approx- imately 175 knots (200 mph).
He was instructed to order the pilot to fly at 15 degrees wingflaps so that the plane could go no faster than approx- imately 175 knots (200 mph). If it flew any faster than that, Coffelt said, he would have been killed by the tremendous suction effect at the rear opening. Moreover, he ordered the pilot to fly at 10,000 feet altitude. "That bastard flew to 10,500fear-once," he said. "I knew. I was wearing a wrist altimeter. I got on the interphone and ordered him back down."
Coffelt often scoffed at the "lousy" journal- ists who had first reported the crime. "All they did was talk to the FBI," he said. He
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illustration by Steve Charem
Jack and Tave seemed prosperous in those years, Jack wore expensive suits and drove a late- model Cadillac.
seemed hurt that the true merit - the intricate planning and deception - of his crime had never been fully appreciated. The whole idea that D.B. Cooper had just "jumped out in the night like Santa Claus" was perversely ridicu- lous to him. He claimed he had a perfect landing site - a wheat field that was plowed over in the fall of the year -
He claimed he had a perfect landing site - a wheat field that was plowed over in the fall of the year - in which to jump. There was a large beacon near the field -- "you could see the damn thing for a hundred miles" - a bright light which he ordered the pilot to fly over. As part of his getaway plan Coffelt had stashed an old army jeep a mile or two from the field with a transmitter in it, so that he heard a steady bleeping sound through a receiver that he carried in the plane. The bleeping sound grew louder and louder as he approached the jump site. "When it was two or three pitches from full intensity - that's when I needed to jump," he said, a design which would allow him room to float in the parachute to a pin-point landing. "It was the perfect crime," he lamented wistfully many times, "the perfect crime."
But of course there is no such thing as a perfect crime. Many factors which he could" not have foreseen led to Jack Coffelt's defeat. He had planned to hook the backpack contain- ing the $200,000 to one of the military back- packs and belt it securely around his waist, but since
He had planned to hook the backpack contain- ing the $200,000 to one of the military back- packs and belt it securely around his waist, but since stewardess Schaffner never relayed his request for the backpack and the money was
He explained to us, with a look of horror and pain on his face, how he had spent over 15 hours clawing his way - at times on hands and knees - through the dense underbrush of the forest and up the side of a towering rock cliff.
delivered to him in a mail sack with no hooks or belts, he was forced to open one of the para- chutes and cut the shroud lines, which he used to tie a loop for his arm to go through at the top of the mail sack. This left him two out of the three remaining chutes to choose from - and the chest pack he opted for was the one that was inoperative! As he descended the stairs, burdened by the two heavy parachutes and the 25-pound sack of money on his arm, he lost his hold on the handrail and - about a minute before he had planned - he was sucked out by the windstream, in his own words, "like a cork out of a bottle.
and the 25-pound sack of money on his arm, he lost his hold on the handrail and - about a minute before he had planned - he was sucked out by the windstream, in his own words, "like a cork out of a bottle."
He knew even as he was falling that he must
be nearly a mile too far north of his landing field. Afraid of hitting the jagged mountains which everywhere encompassed the landing area - he had planned to free-fall for almost thirty seconds - he tugged early on the rip- cord of the chest pack, but to his horror it did not open! Struggling to hold the money on his arm, he frantically reached over his shoulder and pulled the rip-cord of the military back- pack. He felt the pack release and then sensed a gentle tugging above him - it was only the guide chute opening - which he mistook for the main chute. Relieved that the back-up parachute had opened at all, he relaxed his grip on the money bag. Suddenly he was hit by a tremendous jolt as the 28-foot main canopy opened, and the bag of money slid off his dangling arm and tumbled away into the darkness.
Almost instantaneously, the billowing para- chute was tossed by ferocious winds from the thunderstorms which had moved in over the
Almost instantaneously, the billowing para- chute was tossed by ferocious winds from the thunderstorms which had moved in over the mountains earlier that night. He was helplessly tossed and thrown about. Sleet and hail pelted his face and soaked his clothes. He was unable to see any of the ground lights which he and an accomplice had set up to assist him in guiding the parachute to the landing field. Below him, somewhere in the immense darkness, waited jagged cliffs and vast forests of towering Ponderosa pines. He saw the lights of the Boeing 727 slowly disappear and, tailing about
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2
There was a large beacon near the field-"you could see the damn thing for a hundred miles"-a bright light which he ordered the pilot to fly over.
half a mile behind it, the lights of a C-130 cargo plane carrying would-be pursuers - a paratrooper squadron from McChord Air Force Base in Tacoma, Washington, But they had not seen him jump. Due to the raging storin the cargo plane's scanning radar was Tendered useless.
pursuers - a paratrooper squadron from McChord Air Force Base in Tacoma, Washington, But they had not seen him jump. Due to the raging storin the cargo plane's scanning radar was Tendered useless.
Coffelt crashed down on a mountain slope, hitting a tree limb between his legs and crushing his ankles as he plowed into the rocky surface. But even though he was in severe pain, he gathered the billowing chute around his legs, clawed a hole in the loose scree and compacted the chute into it, then sprayed it with a magnesium compound - he explained the magnesium would burn so hot it would melt even the metal harness buckles -- and set a match to it so there would be no evidence for any would-be pursuers to ever find.
Coffelt explained to us, with a look of horror and pain on his face, how he had spent over 15 hours clawing his way - at times on hands and knees - through the dense underbrush of the forest and up the side of a towering rock cliff, finally coming out the next morning into a meadow where he saw a trail that was familiar to him. He walked along the narrow logging trail until he found the hidden jeep, then, using the vehicle's two-way radio, contacted his accomplice who
He walked along the narrow logging trail until he found the hidden jeep, then, using the vehicle's two-way radio, contacted his accomplice who had been cruising a highway twenty miles away hoping to see signs of the fallen parachute. He rendezvoused with this accomplice - whom he described vaguely as "an Army man" - at an isolated point along the deep and swift-moving Deschutes River which meanders through central Oregon, and there pushed the jeep over a cliff into the rushing waters, blowing it to pieces with a charge of dynamite as it went down. Then he climbed in the back seat of the getaway car and was driven two thousand miles across back roads to a place somewhere in the Midwest, where a friendly doctor quietly treated his injuries.
...
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My father, by nature a deeply suspicious man, grew increasingly worried. "What are we getting ourselves into?" he asked me over and over again.
THE CONSPIRACY
Coffelt had returned to the Oregon area twice - in the spring and fall of 1972 - to search for the missing money, each time without success, until in desperation he decided to solicit my father's
Coffelt had returned to the Oregon area twice - in the spring and fall of 1972 - to search for the missing money, each time without success, until in desperation he decided to solicit my father's help. He further maintained that the FBI had tried to kill him in connection with the crime. "They wanted to silence me," he said. "I had to leave Washington D.C. fast." So he had moved with Tave to the Seattle area - like a true conman secretly returning to the scene of the crime - and rented an apart- ment in the middle-class suburb of Lynnwood. There, in that cold and rainy environment, his health deteriorated. He began taking nitro- glycerin tablets - a habit which he continued during our journey - to prevent clotting of his blood. He was a terribly desperate man. "That job was my last chance, " he mused. "It meant everything to me. I had nothing to lose." Nothing except his life.
Try as he might to downplay them, hints of a broad, complex conspiracy began to weave their way into Coffelt's story, and we grew more and more worried the closer we came to our destination of Oregon. According to him, there were at least three co-conspirators still
lurking about who had vested interests
According to him, there were at least three co-conspirators still
lurking about who had vested interests in the money being found. One of these men, whom Coffelt called the "ring-leader," was actually a former pilot who was "grounded because of heart trouble," and who was thus terribly embittered at life. This man, relying on his years of experience in flying over the area, had actually picked the Oregon locale as the best place in the country to pull off the sky- jacking. Also, there was the mysterious engineer whom Coffelt claimed had instructed him about the workings of the Boeing 727 air- craft, and then there was the "Army man" - the accomplice waiting on the ground for him.
To satisfy all these mysterious people, the real take was supposed to be several million dollars of used bank notes that were to be loaded onto the plane at Portland by an armored Brinks truck. "But the goddam Brinks truck never showed," said Coffelt. "I kept watching out the terminal windows for it. I almost got left behind.
"But the goddam Brinks truck never showed," said Coffelt. "I kept watching out the terminal windows for it. I almost got left behind. " It was then that he decided to put into effect "Plan B" - the demand for a $200,000 ransom. "If someone was trying to double-cross me," he explained, "I'd get my share anyway." But some, or all, of these people never believed that he lost the money and with growing impatience had beleaguered him for their cut. He had been threatened, and had counter-threatened to blow the whole story if they didn't take the heat off. "I feel like a hunted animal," he said to me many times. "You and your father are the only people I can trust anymore."
But the two old prison buddies could not recapture the past. There was a gulf between them that could not be filled. My father, who had left his prison years behind him like a bad dream, had gone on to become an engineer, and his critical mind-was thirsting for hard details about the skyjacking. He constantly quizzed Coffelt. "Who helped you plan this thing, Jack?
My father, who had left his prison years behind him like a bad dream, had gone on to become an engineer, and his critical mind-was thirsting for hard details about the skyjacking. He constantly quizzed Coffelt. "Who helped you plan this thing, Jack? What's this man's name - this engineer? What about this former pilot? You trying to tell me he was the brains behind it?"
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andrè courrèges boutique
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But Jack wasn't saying a damn word more about it. "You just help me find my money, James, and you'll get your cut.
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78 OCTOBER 1983/LAS VEGAN MAGAZINE
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But Jack wasn't saying a damn word more about it. "You just help me find my money, James, and you'll get your cut. But don't ask too many goddam questions."
A deep rift developed between the two men. My father, by nature a deeply suspicious man, grew increasingly worried. "What are we getting ourselves into?" he asked me over and over again. In a few short days the skyjacking had grown from the job of one lonely man to a conspiracy with vast tentacles. Were we al- ready, perhaps, accessories-after-the-fact to a federal crime? But Coffelt took me aside and pleaded: "You've got to keep your father with me. This is my last chance." His biggest worry was that the authorities would finally catch up with him and that he would either be killed or die in a cold prison cell.
Our journey became a battle of wits and emotions in which I was pulled between the two men - taking sides now for one, then for the other - until the loneliness of our quest and the haunting isolation of the vast western expanses began to get us down.
which I was pulled between the two men - taking sides now for one, then for the other - until the loneliness of our quest and the haunting isolation of the vast western expanses began to get us down. My father threatened to abandon the trip and return home. But the desperate Coffelt, with a sinister portent in his voice, counter-threatened: "You know too much already, James."
The end came on July 12, 1974. when we returned to camp after a long day of searching for the bag of money. We had been in the search area for about a week. Coffelt had taken us to the place where he had hit the slope and showed us the broken tree limb he had crashed into. We could still see the long skid marks where his heels had plowed into the loose rocks. Climbing back up the slope he nearly died, coughing up blood and choking horribly as he gasped for air. He and my father had a terrible fight over where we should concentrate the search. My father wanted to start from where Coffelt had landed and backtrack from there. But Coffelt was afraid we would be spotted by forest rangers - a lookout tower was visible in the distance - and he wanted to begin the search farther to the west, in the dense forests at
But Coffelt was afraid we would be spotted by forest rangers - a lookout tower was visible in the distance - and he wanted to begin the search farther to the west, in the dense forests at the base of 11,000 ft. Mount Hood. "I know my money's there," he cried angrily. "You're looking in the wrong place." But those forests were so thick with blow-down and debris and tangled underbrush that it was impossible to see one another from ten feet away. Even in broad daylight the forest floor was blanketed with darkness. The chances of spotting a faded bag of money there seemed hopeless.
Coffelt returned to Seattle, claiming he needed to recuperate for a few days. Then, the very next day an astonishing thing happened. While we prepared for dinner a car suddenly appeared on the rutted trail in front of us and sped past. Beside the driver sat a passenger cradling a rifle between his legs. The car's license plates read KANSAS - Coffelt country! Shortly down the trail the car stopped
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abruptly and doors slammed.
Shortly down the trail the car stopped
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abruptly and doors slammed. Then, as darkness enveloped us, we suddenly made out a black pickup truck through the trees behind us. Two men with guns climbed out of it. Everywhere around us we heard whispering voices and footsteps ireading the underbrush, coming in our direction. In a panic we jumped in our truck and, guided only my moonlight, sped over the trails while behind us we saw the lights of the two strange vehicles furiously careening through the forest after us. We made it to a paved road and sped south. In two days we were in Las Vegas - my father wanted to take a southerly route to throw the pursuers off our scent - and in four days we were back in Georgia. We sincerely believed that Coffeit had sent the men - perhaps his accomplices - to kill us. Whatever the case, we would never see him again. We had failed in our mission to find a pot of gold at the end of the rainbow.
.. .
The movie executives meeting in Las Vegas were fascinated by the story I told them.
We had failed in our mission to find a pot of gold at the end of the rainbow.
.. .
The movie executives meeting in Las Vegas were fascinated by the story I told them. They had plans to develop a major motion picture based upon it. But their legal counsel at that time felt that there was not enough solid evi- dence linking Jack Coffelt to the skyjacking to warrant an investment of millions of dollars. Nevertheless, they decided to press on with a full-fledged investigation and I was assigned to track down leads, interview witnesses, and search for physical evidence in the rugged mountains of the Pacific Northwest. Various trips would take me to the stark mining country of northeastern Oklahoma - Coffelt's boy- hood territory - to interview people who knew him there, to the mountains of Oregon on yet another hunt for the lost money, and to Washington D.C., where his many cloudy years spent there would baffle attempts to un- ravel them.
During the next few years the twists and turns of fortune would be many. But with financial assistance from Hollywood, and in close coordination with the Las Vegas FBI.
During the next few years the twists and turns of fortune would be many. But with financial assistance from Hollywood, and in close coordination with the Las Vegas FBI. my father and I would uncover astounding evidence to confirm Jack Coffelt's bizarre tale -- but not until we learned more incredible news about the mysterious man who claimed to be D.B. Cooper!
0000
NEXT MONTH: THE INVESTIGA- TION TAKES ON DRAMATIC PROPORTIONS, ENCOUNTERING OFFICIAL RESISTANCE . WHEN NEW INFORMATION IS UNCOV- ERED ABOUT THE SKYJACKING! @by Byron H. Brown and Las Vegan Magazine
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LAS VEGAN MAGAZINE OD B. Cooper-20774D
THE DISCOVERY OF
D.B. COOPER
THE PART
II
EDITOR'S INTRODUCTION:
This month marks the 12th anniversary of a crime which Time magazine said, "rivaled Alfred Hitchcock's more baroque fantasies" - the hijacking of a Northwest Airlines Boeing 727 enroute from Portland, Oregon to Seattle, Wash- ington by a bomb-wielding man known as D.B. Cooper. After he extorted $200,000 from the airline and was delivered four parachutes, as the jet headed south from Seattle to Reno, the skyjacker boldly made good a parachute escape and was never seen again.
In our October issue Las Vegas investigative reporter Byron Brown revealed for the first time the true identity of the famous skyjacker. He was Bryant "Jack" Coffelt, a former Leavenworth Penitentiary inmate and life-long con-man, and also a friend of Byron's father, James Brown.
He was Bryant "Jack" Coffelt, a former Leavenworth Penitentiary inmate and life-long con-man, and also a friend of Byron's father, James Brown. In the summer of 1974 Coffeit asked the two to meet him in Joplin, Missouri. From there, they traveled to Oregon with him for the purpose of searching for the $200,000 ransom he had dropped when one of the parachutes he was wearing during the jump mal- functioned. The dummy chute was only one of many attempts by the authorities to foil the crime.
The three were unsuccessful in their attempt to find the money, but Byron Brown was able to learn many obscure, never-exposed details about the skyjacking from Coffelt. During the next several years he conducted an extensive investigation of his claims, one which resulted in Coffelt's being identified as D.B. Cooper by two eye-witnesses on the hijacked plane. The investigation was a lonely personal odyssey for Brown, who encountered official resistance at every step of the way, perhaps because Coffelt, it turned out, was for many years a Washington D.
The investigation was a lonely personal odyssey for Brown, who encountered official resistance at every step of the way, perhaps because Coffelt, it turned out, was for many years a Washington D.C. government informant.
Highlights from Brown's investigation, which promises to have far-reaching ramifications, are published for the first time in the following pages of Las Vegan. This month, as the town of Ariel, Washington celebrates its annual "D.B. Cooper Festival" in honor of the skyjacker, the participants should be pleased to know that he has finally been discovered. J.E.S.
EVIDENCE
by Byron H. Brown
A
photo by Jim K. Decker
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66 NOVEMBER 1983/LAS VEGAN MAGAZINE8
(above) The beautiful area around Mt. Hood, Oregon, showing the awesome forests where Cofelt dropped the bag of money. (opposite page) "Don't go to Vegas. You never win. Once when I was there I put a nickel in a parking meter and lost my car. " -- Bryant "Jack" Cofelt. Las Vegas reporter Byron Brown holds a picture of Cofelt, who has been identified as D.B. Cooper.
"So the wrong-doer cannot do wrong without the hidden will of you all.
Las Vegas reporter Byron Brown holds a picture of Cofelt, who has been identified as D.B. Cooper.
"So the wrong-doer cannot do wrong without the hidden will of you all. "-Kahlil Gibran The Prophet
America, and especially Las Vegas, is rife with legends of desperate characters who have suddenly struck it rich by forcing the odds, through skill or bluff, to turn in their favor -- but few have been as enduringly popular as the lone bandit who heroically jumped from a lumbering jetliner into universal fame and also complete oblivion in the same moment.
He was erroneously called "D.B. Cooper" by a thrilled news media, which saw in his act the fulfillment of every man's secret hopes - even though he spelt his first name as "Dan" on his flight ticket. "D.B. Cooper,Where Are You?" became a kind of call-to-arms for the rebellious young generation during the early 1970's, when "dropping out" was the current fad. Cooper bravely symbolized the new mentality and daringly captured the public fancy with his crime. In an era when traditional heroes were fast dying, Americans had finally found one in a new breed of bandit.
In an era when traditional heroes were fast dying, Americans had finally found one in a new breed of bandit.
Cooper's was the first and only successful skyjacking for ransom in American history, and largely because of the crime - which occurred on Thanksgiving Eve, November 24, 1971 -- and a rash of other skyjackings which followed in its wake, a new era of electronic passenger screening was inaugurated at the nation's airports within a year. Commandeering a plane and threatening to blow innocent people
out of the sky was not an exploit taken lightly by the authorities.
Clearly the crime could have resulted in tragedy, but since the daring skyjacker had not hurt anyone the public preferred to forget its more horrible aspects and instead remembered Cooper fondly as the man who had beat the system while thumbing his nose at authority. The skyjacking took on the aura of myth, Cooper's down-home, simple nom de guerre was honored everywhere, and it was hoped by many that he was happily enjoying his $200,000 in some secret paradisiacal haven.
took on the aura of myth, Cooper's down-home, simple nom de guerre was honored everywhere, and it was hoped by many that he was happily enjoying his $200,000 in some secret paradisiacal haven.
The most erroneous part of the myth which prevailed, it is now apparent, was that Cooper was probably a small-time businessman, or even a timid corporate ladder-climber in the mold of Walter Mitty, who grew disgruntled at the pressures of modern life and decided one day to give it all up, perform a dramatic fool- proof heist, and sail off to Tahiti to spend the rest of his days in peace. Of course he had no real plan: the crime was a lark, a spur-of-the- moment decision to enact a smoldering dream -and if he failed? Then so what? It was worth the risk.
But to many familiar with the case this popular myth seemed entirely unfeasible. There were too many indications that Cooper had planned the job with cool foresight and calculated reason. He knew to the minutest detail technical aspects of the Boeing 727 air-
craft which only a pilot or engineer could possibly know - such as the 15-degree wing- flaps configuration he ordered which restricted the plane's speed to barely 200 miles per
of the Boeing 727 air-
craft which only a pilot or engineer could possibly know - such as the 15-degree wing- flaps configuration he ordered which restricted the plane's speed to barely 200 miles per hour, and how to put into effect the complicated maneuver of lowering the 727's rear stairway compartment. Also, another aspect which revealed the skyjacker's shrewd planning became clear only after the episode was over. On that Thanksgiving Eve - the day before a major holiday and one on which Northwest Airlines expected capacity loads of vacation travellers - Flight 305, upon departing Port- land, was barely one-third full. D.B. Cooper had called in a barrage of phony reservations - fictitious people who never showed - which left virtually the entire back half of the plane all to himself. No one could overpower him and wrest the bomb away. He was in complete control. At the time, some authorities called him a "cool master criminal" and speculated that he must have been an experienced para- chutist, possibly even a Green Beret.
The leads were so threadbare - a few cigarette butts were the only personal effects the skyjacker left behind - that the authorities were completely baffled.
The leads were so threadbare - a few cigarette butts were the only personal effects the skyjacker left behind - that the authorities were completely baffled. There was not even a solid clue as to where Cooper bailed out of the plane. The crew recalled feeling a strong "pressure bump" over the Woodland, Wash- ington area twenty miles north of Portland - but even so they never bothered to peer out the cockpit door to see if the skyjacker was gone.
LAS VEGAN MAGAZINEINC
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Instead, they flew on for three more hours until landing in Reno for a refueling stop, where it was discovered that Cooper and his $200,000 ransom had already disappeared into the night.
But it would have been highly impractical for the skyjacker to jump into the Woodland, Washington vicinity, which is dotted by small communities and farms. In view of the intricate planning which had otherwise gone into the crime, it makes little sense that Cooper would bail out there - taking the absurd chance, obviously, of landing in a farmer's apple orchard or a supermarket parking lot.
In view of the intricate planning which had otherwise gone into the crime, it makes little sense that Cooper would bail out there - taking the absurd chance, obviously, of landing in a farmer's apple orchard or a supermarket parking lot. By all appearances, Cooper wanted to survive the jump and escape to spend the money. He may have been at the end of an old rope, but he was also at the beginning of a new and, he hoped, better one.
In the twelve years since the crime occurred not one shred of physical evidence about Cooper himself has ever been uncovered any- where near Woodland, Washington - not one reported sighting of the ruddy-faced villain nor the rotting remains of a dead body strapped to a parachute discovered lying in the forest there. It is only logical to assume, therefore, that Cooper had without doubt reconnaissanced a place where he could touch down safely in the parachute - a place far from scrutiny by either the authorities or amateur sleuths, and one remote enough to hide all traces of the crime or its brazen perpetrator.
Far back in the rugged hinterlands of the Pacific Northwest there exists a site which can only be described as ideal for Cooper to have .
Far back in the rugged hinterlands of the Pacific Northwest there exists a site which can only be described as ideal for Cooper to have . Landed undetected in his parachute. The plains country of central Oregon boasts some of the most beautiful yet hauntingly isolated scenery in America. To the west of the rolling plains the treacherous Cascade Mountains tower thousands of feet into the sky. Nearby, adjoin- ing the forested foothills which line the base of the range, sprawling wheat fields adorn the landscape in a checker-board fashion at random places where a juncture in the hills creates a valley or a smooth table-top plateau . suitable for farming.
A few miles west of the ghost town of Friend, Oregon, on the barren wind-swept plains in the north-central part of the state, one of these huge fields - in summer it glows like polished amber with its ripe harvest of wheat - lies abandoned every year after the autumn harvest, a mute testament to the long-ago mysterious skyjacking. In an unused farmhouse in the :, center of the field, the charred remains of bales of hay still litter the floor where someone threw them
In an unused farmhouse in the :, center of the field, the charred remains of bales of hay still litter the floor where someone threw them hastily years ago. A deputy sheriff in the area remembered it well: "About a week before that skyjacking there were strange fires up here," he told me. "Some local ranchers called me out to find out what was going on. I
THE PICTURES WHICH SPOKE A THOUSAND WORDS ... "O, that a man might know The end of this day's business, ere it come!" -William Shakespeare, Julius Caesar
Coffelt's Leavenworth Penitentiary mugshots were almost impossible to obtain. When the records clerk at that Kansas prison was contacted, he said that there was no record ever of Bryant ""Jack" Coffelt having been admitted to Leavenworth Penitentiary.
My father remembered two aliases that Coffelt had used when he knew him in Atlanta Penitentiary: "John Hardy, Jr." and "J. C. Ross." When the records clerk at Leaven- worth was asked to check his file for these aliases, he found a cross-reference under the name of "John Hardy, Jr.
" When the records clerk at Leaven- worth was asked to check his file for these aliases, he found a cross-reference under the name of "John Hardy, Jr." which directed him to the file of "J. C. Ross." Under that fictitious name, all of Jack Coffelt's records were con- tained - one might say hidden. Anyone inquiring about Cof- felt's years at Leavenworth who did not know his aliases would encounter a stone wall.
RED ROCK PASS
YOU ARE STANDING IN THE OURCE OF ANCIENT LARE MANIVILLE: A VAST PRLEISTORIC BORT OF BULK YAGRE CALL KLMAIS AM CREA) FALI LARE ANS LOUTI INON CELL TEE MAKSD CR MED.
(top) Coffelt's Leavenworth mugshots; (above) 1974 snapshots of Cofelt with Byron and James Brown.
A source close to the Carter Administration, one having intimate knowledge of the policies of the United States Attorney General's office, told me: "A federal prisoner is sentenced to the 'custody of the Attorney General of the United States.' We can put him up in a motel room for his entire sentence if we want to." This Carter Administration "insider" finally managed to retrieve for us Coffelt's files from both Atlanta Penitentiary and Leavenworth.
" This Carter Administration "insider" finally managed to retrieve for us Coffelt's files from both Atlanta Penitentiary and Leavenworth.
Seattle attorney George LeBissoniere, who also identified my 1974 snapshots, claims that he identified Coffelt's Leavenworth photos as D.B. Cooper for the FBI six weeks after the skyjacking. "The FBI never called back," LeBissoniere told me. Florence Schaffner also identified both the Leavenworth photos and my 1974 snapshots of Coffelt as Cooper, and has always believed that the FBI composite drawings of Cooper were "wrong." (See pp. 81- 82) The former stewardess, who sat beside Cooper for over two hours, said that the FBI artist who drew the composites failed to follow her instructions concerning Cooper's true features. Even before she saw my photographs of Coffelt, she described Cooper to me as having a "longer, fuller face" than the FBI composites showed, with a hairline "not nearly as receding." (LeBissoniere and Schaffner both have preserved their testimony on videotape.)
My 1974 snapshots are the only photographs (other than his prison mugshots) known to exist of Jack Coffelt.
)
My 1974 snapshots are the only photographs (other than his prison mugshots) known to exist of Jack Coffelt. He was, after all, a man who did not want his picture taken. B.H.B.
65 NOVEMBER 1983/LAS VEGAN MAGAZINE
DB Cooper-207774
found these bales of hay, and some others along the edge of the field, piled up and smoldering. I thought smugglers were running drugs in here and using the fires as ground- pattern lights for a small airplane."
But the forest trails surrounding the huge field provided impenetrable refuge for who- ever was there, and the deputy sheriff captured no one. After the skyjacking, he recalled, the mysterious fires ceased. According to Jack Coffelt, who led me to the field in 1974, the bales of hay had been set afire to help guide him to a safe landing in the parachute in the dark. He and his accomplice, he explained, had practiced their escape maneuvers during the nights immediately preceding the sky- jacking.
But the scene on those vast tundra ranges grows even more compelling.
He and his accomplice, he explained, had practiced their escape maneuvers during the nights immediately preceding the sky- jacking.
But the scene on those vast tundra ranges grows even more compelling. A few miles south of the field, near an Indian reservation, lies a small man-made lake called Pine Hollow Reservoir. On one shore of the tiny lake stand a few small, dilapidated, privately-owned cabins which have been rented out to wayworn travellers for as long as people can remember. The place is secluded and peaceful, and amidst the little group of weather-beaten buildings, with the austere peak of Mount Hood reflected in the crystalline lake nearby, one feels utterly anonymous. But there is an extraordinary and baffling curiousity here: on the porch of one of the ancient structures stands a Navy battleship beacon capable of emitting a beam of light which can be seen well over a hundred miles!
The day I discovered it the beacon's glass face - nearly three feet in diameter - was Testing on a steel swivel plate that was frozen solid with rust. Strangely, it was aimed on the ` compass reading which directed it towards Coffelt's landing field in the hills a few miles to the north!
Strangely, it was aimed on the ` compass reading which directed it towards Coffelt's landing field in the hills a few miles to the north! None of the locals recalls how the huge beacon came to arrive there, but Jack Coffelt told me in 1974 that he ordered the pilot of Flight 305 to "home in on a huge beacon" located south of the landing field - even though he never took me to where the beacon was eventually found.
The real reason I went to Pine Hollow Reservoir was because Jack informed me cagily, "The getaway car - my Cadillac - was parked beside a lake near an Indian reservation," as he pointed to the plains south of the landing site to indicate the general area. But he distinctly appeared to want to avoid that area, as if he thought someone there might recognize him. When I finally found the beacon there I was immensely impressed by the clear - indeed beautiful - design which its secret location revealed. As I gazed at the small enclave of cabins huddled together in that remote hideaway on the plains, it seemed the perfect place for his accomplice to have waited, with walkie-talkie in hand, for Jack to radio " him
As I gazed at the small enclave of cabins huddled together in that remote hideaway on the plains, it seemed the perfect place for his accomplice to have waited, with walkie-talkie in hand, for Jack to radio " him that he had finally touched down in the
The wheat field where Coffelt intended to land. He missed the field by one mile, landing in the canyon at upper right. His jeep was parked in the forests directly above the wheat field.
Coffelt suspected chase planes would follow the skyjacked jetliner, and his hunch was right. Military fighter jets from McChord Air Force Base tailed the aircraft, but kept overshooting it and finally had to turn back.
parachute. The confederate would then merely shut off the signal light, drive the few short miles to the landing site where he would pick up Jack, and from there the two would speed east across the plains.
In case something fouled up, however, there was an alternate plan. Coffelt suspected chase planes would follow the skyjacked jetliner, and his hunch was right. Military fighter jets from MeChord Air Force Base in Tacoma, Washington tailed the aircraft, but kept over- shooting it and finally had to turn back.
Military fighter jets from MeChord Air Force Base in Tacoma, Washington tailed the aircraft, but kept over- shooting it and finally had to turn back. Also, a C-130 cargo plane loaded with paratroopers lumbered behind hoping to see the skyjacker bail out - at which point the paratroopers planned to follow suit and try to capture him on the ground. But the cargo plane's radar
failed to pick up the falling skyjacker.
Nevertheless, in anticipation of possible ground pursuit, Coffelt had stashed a World War Two Army jeep in the woods. The jeep was equipped with food and water, and was stationed high in the foothills a few miles west of the landing field. In case he was pursued on the ground he would bury the money, make his way to the jeep and from there maneuver the vehicle far down obscure forest trails to a cave-like hideout, lying low until the heat was off. The accomplice operating the Cadillac would stand by, passing the days quietly as just another tourist at the lonesome but tranquil cabins at Pine Hollow Reservoir - until the time was ripe for their escape.
operating the Cadillac would stand by, passing the days quietly as just another tourist at the lonesome but tranquil cabins at Pine Hollow Reservoir - until the time was ripe for their escape. Then the two would rendezvous, retrieve the buried money, discard the jeep into a nearby river and set out in the Cadillac for their Midwestern haven. "It was the perfect crime," Coffelt told me. "We planned for every possibility."
Accordingly, the Army jeep served a dual
At Pine Hollow Reservoir, James Brown sits beside the beacon which directed the plane to the remote landing site.
purpose. In addition to serving as a back-up getaway vehicle, the jeep was stationed strate- gically to aid in the jump itself - it carried an electronic beeper which emitted a signal on a special radio frequency. As the skyjacked plane headed south from Seattle, Coffelt, listening through a receiver strapped to his wrist for the signal coming from the jeep, planned to jump when it was two or three pitches from its loudest intensity -- a point at which he would be roughly a mile due north of the jeep itself, and from there he could easily float down-wind in the parachute to a pin-point landing on the
coming from the jeep, planned to jump when it was two or three pitches from its loudest intensity -- a point at which he would be roughly a mile due north of the jeep itself, and from there he could easily float down-wind in the parachute to a pin-point landing on the field at the edge of the plains.
No trace of the jeep has ever been found. The Deschutes River, where according to Coffelt it was plunged into the waters and de- stroyed with dynamite, is extremely treacher- ous to divers due to its raging currents and rocky bottom, so the possibility of finding its remains there is remote. But a fascinating shred of evidence that such a jeep existed and was used in the skyjacking has been uncovered like a rare archaeological find.
LAS VEGAN MAGAZINEIN DB Cooper-207785
A retired U.S. Forest Service agent ac- companied me to the place where Coffelt showed me he had stashed the World War Two Army jeep in the dense forests at the base of Mount Hood. Faded tire tracks were still visible where a vehicle had been backed into a stand of small maple trees years ago. A pile of rotted brushwood lay off to one side - the maple branches which Coffelt claimed he had used to camouflage the jeep.
A pile of rotted brushwood lay off to one side - the maple branches which Coffelt claimed he had used to camouflage the jeep. The expert forester immediately noticed a young tree growing through one of the tire tracks which revealed a past injury - an elbow hook dis- figuration at its base which indicated the tree had been severely crushed by a heavy object years earlier. He sawed through the disfigured area and later analyzed the small segment at the agency laboratory. Amazingly, the annual growth rings - which record every event in a tree's life in a kind of fossilized record - re- vealed that the sapling had been damaged in the autumn of 1971-the time of the skyjacking!
. . .
Even though such intricate planning was in- volved in the heist - Coffelt claimed he had spent eleven months and $10,000 of his own money just setting it up - the crime ended in abysmal failure and nearly death for Coffelt himself! He could not possibly have foreseen, however, the raging intensity of the thunder- storms which descended upon the Cascades that night when he boarded the plane in Port- land.
He could not possibly have foreseen, however, the raging intensity of the thunder- storms which descended upon the Cascades that night when he boarded the plane in Port- land. In the Pacific Northwest, thunderhead clouds often rush inland from the ocean and envelope the mountains in a matter of minutes with violent force. Because of the storms, he was forced to descend the rear stairwell of the . 727 earlier than planned in order to try to spot the signal fires on the landing field below him through the swirling cloud mass. The plane, plunging through the night like a battleship at a mere 200 miles per hour, and maintaining the 10,000 feet altitude he had ordered the pilot to stick to, was being buffeted by severe tur- bulence.
Coffelt, burdened by the two parachutes and the 25-pound sack of money looped over his arm, was having trouble holding onto the wide-flanged handrail of the stairway. He was craning his neck, peering under the starboard wing into the darkness ahead while struggling to hear the beeper signal from the hidden jeep through the radio receiver strapped to his wrist when all of a sudden, before he was fully pre- pared, the plane jolted in
ahead while struggling to hear the beeper signal from the hidden jeep through the radio receiver strapped to his wrist when all of a sudden, before he was fully pre- pared, the plane jolted in turbulence, he stumbled helplessly and was violently sucked out by the ferocious windstream, desperately trying to hold onto the money while falling head over heels into the murky oblivion!
Unknown to him, the authorities at Seattle had provided him with an inoperative chute - a sport-type demonstration model that had been sewn up. It was the one he was now wearing on his chest! After repeated attempts
A cross-section of the maple sapling which was found at the place where Coffelt's jeep was parked. The growth rings reveal that the tree was damaged in the fall of 1971.
He hit the slope blindly at nearly thirty miles per hour and was dashed into the rocks! But he had made it. He was down. And as he told me later: "I wanted desperately to live!"
to deploy this chest pack failed, he finally managed to get the military parachute on his back to open, but when the reserve chute's large 28-foot canopy billowed into the cross- current winds (in fact, according to experienced parachutists it
this chest pack failed, he finally managed to get the military parachute on his back to open, but when the reserve chute's large 28-foot canopy billowed into the cross- current winds (in fact, according to experienced parachutists it was a miracle that it opened at all) he was hit by such a severe jolt that the bag of money slipped om of his arms and tumbled away into the darkness. To cap his awesome misfortune - the signal fires on the landing field below were nowhere to be seen! He had dived from the plane far too early. The landing field was still miles ahead! Far in the distance, through the dark sea of clouds, he could see the bright swath cut by the huge beacon light at Pine Hollow Reservoir - where his accomplice waited in vain, But soon, as he descended into a canyon, even that light disappeared.
Completely enveloped in a nightmare of darkness, he only realized he was at last hitting the ground when he crashed through the splin- tering, phantom-like branches of a hillside tree. He hit the slope blindly at nearly thirty miles per hour and was dashed into the rocks! But he had made it. He was down. And as he told me
later: "I came back to life at that first shocked breath.
But he had made it. He was down. And as he told me
later: "I came back to life at that first shocked breath. I wanted desperately to live!"
Almost semi-conscious, he had terrifying visions of paratroopers from the C-130 cargo pursuit plane alighting like ghosts on the slope around him. Before he had tumbled from the 727 he had seen the chase plane's search lights scanning the cloud mass behind him. Frantical- ly, he gathered the surging folds of the para- chute's wind-tossed canopy around his bleeding legs - the bright material was flapping wildly like a huge crippled moth straining to free it- self - and compacted the reckless mass into a shallow depression he had clawed in the dirt. Then he placed the sport-type chest chute on top of this mass and sprayed the pile with a magnesium compound from an aerosol can and set it afire with a cigarette lighter. The nylon fabric was instantly consumed by the flames, melting like a mirage into the ground before his dazed eyes. Groping his way, he stumbled down the pitch-black slope in severe pain because, upon landing, he had squarely hit a tree limb
Groping his way, he stumbled down the pitch-black slope in severe pain because, upon landing, he had squarely hit a tree limb between his legs and punctured his chest on one of the tree's sharp branches.
It took him fifteen hours to make his way out of the vast canyon lined with sheer rock-faced cliffs that he had fallen into. He spent the longest and most arduous night of his life desperately clawing his way through tangled underbrush and climbing over jutting boulders to finally see brilliant sunshine on a clear Thanksgiving Day morning, and feel "to the depths of my spirit" as he told me later, "a new appreciation for everything around me that was alive." The eerie neon glow of startled eyes revealing lurking cougars and timber wolves, and the ferocious menacing cries of the wild animals terrified him that night like demons, he told me. The experience in that awesome necropolis of nature would haunt him always.
.. .
Today, the canyon remains as remote and undisturbed as it has been for centuries. Twenty miles to the east farmlands begin, where wheat and alfalfa grow peacefully under turquoise summer skies.
Twenty miles to the east farmlands begin, where wheat and alfalfa grow peacefully under turquoise summer skies. Occasionally a tractor can be made out against the magnificent backdrop of verdant mountain forests by the dust it raises while furrowing a field on the plains nearby. No one knows the incredible drama which took place in those rugged hinterlands over a decade ago. Life goes on there as placidly, it seems, as the ageless mountains themselves.
The lost bag containing $200,000 still lies somewhere in those vast and secretive forests waiting for the day when some treasure hunter may stumble across it. Coffelt said that before he leaped from the plane - in case he himself were killed in the jump so that his accomplice would be able to find his body and retrieve the loot - he had stuffed a small elec- tronic transmitter inside the bag before tying it
DB Cooper-20779
70 NOVEMBER 1983/LAS VEGAN MAGAZINE6
up. All through that long desperate night he had been haunted by the weakening signal coming through his wrist receiver from the bag of money.
All through that long desperate night he had been haunted by the weakening signal coming through his wrist receiver from the bag of money. Once even, succumbing to merciless hallucinations that the bag was lying just over a nearby ridge, he backtracked think- ing he must try to find it. But then he came to his senses and continued on towards the in- creasing clarity of the other signal, the one droning steadily from the hidden jeep, which now provided his only opportunity for a safe getaway.
Time seems ageless in the mountains. After years have passed the same landmarks still appear unchanged. When the money finally is found it will be by chance and not design, for Nature reveals her secrets sparingly as I have learned before. In the spring of 1977 I jour- neyed to that remote area once again and wit- nessed time itself standing still, as if it had been waiting forever for my visit! I came, with my father and two other men, to search for any remains that may have been left from the hasty and obscure events which occurred on that barren mountainside so long ago.
I came, with my father and two other men, to search for any remains that may have been left from the hasty and obscure events which occurred on that barren mountainside so long ago. The wind howis forever in that canyon, even when there are no storms. A mood of failure perpetually lingers there.
We searched the slope for half a day, but found nothing. The late afternoon sun, rapidly falling behind the surrounding cliffs, was casting an eerie orange glow through the trees as it suddenly turned bitterly cold. Finally, just before leaving, I tilled one last shovel-full of dirt when I suddenly realized that I was standing over the very spot where three years earlier, in 1974, Jack Coffelt showed me he had destroyed his parachute. Something in the fading sky felt hauntingly unreal to me as I noticed lying in the freshly-exposed dirt a white piece of cord about the length of a cigarette! I reached down to pick up the cord, but when I touched the edges three-quarters of it blew away instantly! The fine white ashes melted into the darkening sky like filaments of a seeding dandelion.
I reached down to pick up the cord, but when I touched the edges three-quarters of it blew away instantly! The fine white ashes melted into the darkening sky like filaments of a seeding dandelion. Everything was silent but the wind. As if in a dream, I realized that I was holding a tiny piece of the cord in my fingertips.
My companions and I began furiously digging in stark amazement. We immediately found a larger patch of the same type fabric (which looked somewhat like snake skin, and must have been a fold of the parachute) lying just beneath the topsoil, but it too turned to ashes and melted in the churning wind! The canyon echoed the surging gusts like an ampitheater, drowning out the faint whisper of the past that had been so fleetingly revealed to me by the mountains. Jack Coffelt, a man who always strived to cover his tracks, had apparently stepped in one of them on that night long ago, crushing a parachute shroud line into the dirt beneath his boot where it escaped total de- struction by the flames. Indeed, the cord I re- trieved still shows charred markings from that
moment in 1971 when Jack briefly illuminated the night sky with his fire.
Indeed, the cord I re- trieved still shows charred markings from that
moment in 1971 when Jack briefly illuminated the night sky with his fire.
After our return to Las Vegas, my father and I submitted the tiny piece of material to a local forensic lab used by the police and FBI - Atlas Chemical Testing Laboratories on High- land Drive in Las Vegas. There, under 300- times magnification the piece of material was identified as "NYLON CORDING"-identical to the type used in parachutes!
1
2
A
The fragment of parachute cord which Byron Brown found in the remote canyon where Cofelt landed. The cord was burned and contains carbon deposits.
I noticed lying in the dirt a white piece of cord about the length of a cigarette. I reached down to pick up the cord, but when I touched the edges three-quarters of it blew away instantly!
In 1974, as my father and I travelled with Jack through remote areas of the West (we took backroads, staying away from major cities because Jack said "law people" were on the lookout for him) we were forced to pry infor- mation from him against his will.
remote areas of the West (we took backroads, staying away from major cities because Jack said "law people" were on the lookout for him) we were forced to pry infor- mation from him against his will. He had only one design for us, to lead us to the place where he lost the money so that we could search for it, if need be for the entire summer. But as we
pressured him for more information about the crime, details which were starkly different from published accounts of the skyjacking, we began to fear that we were merely pawns in a dangerous game conducted by sinister ele- ments. Parts of his story were so far-fetched - he threw out many red-herrings to steer us away from the truth, and claimed that a vast cover-up of the crime was being conducted by the government - that we grew increasingly paranoid as we travelled through rugged mountains and across lonesome canyonlands with the raggedly-desperate man. But as the trip wore on we learned many new and startling details about the crime that would later be verified by witnesses.
One of the most obscure features of his nar- rative concerned Coffelt's insistence that our search was for a green bag filled with money- not the white
One of the most obscure features of his nar- rative concerned Coffelt's insistence that our search was for a green bag filled with money- not the white canvas mail bag which, according to news accounts, the authorities had delivered to him at Seattle-Tacoma Airport. When pressed to explain this discrepancy, Jack said that he took the green bag out of the briefcase which contained his bomb, and hoping that this green "rubberized" bag, as he called it, would prevent the money from getting wet and rotting in case he were pursued on the ground and had to bury it, slipped the canvas mail sack full of money into it. Then he selected one of the four parachutes which appeared the least trustworthy and tore it open, cutting the shroud lines off of it with a long, thin-bladed knife. He then wrapped the shroud lines tightly around the top of the green protective bag, leaving a loop in the cords for his arm to go through. He would hold the money in the crook of his elbow as he leaped from the plane.
At this point the jetliner had left Seattle and was heading south toward Reno.
He would hold the money in the crook of his elbow as he leaped from the plane.
At this point the jetliner had left Seattle and was heading south toward Reno. At Seattle he had allowed all of the passengers and two of the stewardesses to leave the plane, keeping a sole hostage - stewardess Tina Mucklow - with him in the back. As soon as the plane took flight he reached in the bag of money, he boastingly recounted, and grabbing a handful of the loot offered it to Tina Mucklow. "Take it, Honey," he cajoled, "they don't pay you enough!" - playing his tough-guy Bogart role, romantic and wry at the same time with just a trace of embarrassed compassion. But "the pretty little blonde, "as Jack described her, refused the loot, telling him she almost certainly would be given a lie detector test.
Nevertheless, Jack placed the money on a nearby seat, thinking she might change her mind and later take it. She didn't, and shortly afterwards, just a few minutes before jumping, he threw the small:bundle of money out the back of the plane along with his briefcase and other items that he no longer needed.
She didn't, and shortly afterwards, just a few minutes before jumping, he threw the small:bundle of money out the back of the plane along with his briefcase and other items that he no longer needed. By then he had already tied up the bag of money, and since he was wearing thick thermal underwear there was nowhere to stuff the small bundle of cash into his tight-fitting clothes, so he reluc-
LAS VEGAN MAGAZINE/NOVEMBER 1983 71
DB Cooper-207801
THE PRINCE AND THE PAUPER, AND A SMOKING GUN ...
The time was February, 1980.
The prince was eight-year- old Brian Ingram. While on a fishing expedition and cookout with his parents, young Ingram was sent to fetch some sticks to start a fire. Instead, he found a few thousand dollars worth of rotted $20 bills. The boy had discovered them lying on a sand bar beside the Columbia River a few miles north of Portland, Oregon. The FBI later determined that the serial numbers of the bills matched some of those given D.B. Cooper!
The pauper was Jack Coffell, who unfortunately dropped ' the bulk of his $200,000 farther to the south- east, near Mt. Hood, How did over $5,000 worth of his stolen loot end up on the banks of the Columbia River near
Hood, How did over $5,000 worth of his stolen loot end up on the banks of the Columbia River near Portland? Like everything else about this bizarre case, the leads proved as mysterious as the crime itself. Portland FBI Agent Ralph Himmels- bach, in overall charge of the D.B. Cooper investigation, said, "It is mind-boggling where the money was located." Indeed.
"And yet, my dear Watson, there is so very close a connection that the one is extracted out of the other."
-Sherlock Holmes The Hound Of The Baskervilles
SEATTLE
Cooper dellrered tout parecbules med $200.000 raasom
Plane heads south, landing In Rano 31% hours ister
N
W
KELSO
WASHINGTON
Columbia R.
Kalama R.
ARIEL
Lake Merwin
WOODLAND
FBI CONDUCTS FRUITLESS SEARCH FOR COOPER HERE
PATH OF FLIGHT 305
MONEY FOUND HERE, 1980
Hwy 1-5
COFFELT THROWS PART OF MONEY OUT HERE
Washougal A.
VANCOUVER
Dam
Bonneville
PORTLAND
Cooper bljacke plane caroule to Sestut, November 24, 1971
Mt. Hood Area: 4
COFFELT JUMPS KERE: BYRON BROWN GISCOV- ERS PARACHUTE RE- MAINS HERE, MAY 1977
C
OREGON
UTO RENO
Ever since the skyjacking occurred in late
Hood Area: 4
COFFELT JUMPS KERE: BYRON BROWN GISCOV- ERS PARACHUTE RE- MAINS HERE, MAY 1977
C
OREGON
UTO RENO
Ever since the skyjacking occurred in late 1971, the FBI concentrated its search for Cooper around the town of Woodland, Washington - an area between 10 and 25 miles north of where young Ingram found the badly decomposed bills. The crew of the skyjacked plane had informed the FBI that a series of strong "pressure bumps" occurred directly over Woodland, suggesting that Cooper bailed out there. Also, a red warning light had gone on in the cabin, indicating that the 727's rear stairway had been lowered. But after Brian Ingram's find, according to UPI press dispatches, "the location of the money . . . caused the FBI to reconsider its calculations."
Cooper, it became clear, could not possibly have bailed out over Woodland since part of his money was later discovered far south of there! The perplexed authorities were forced to admit that they spent years conducting a wild goose chase. As Jack Coffelt often used to say, "If I'm lying, God's a possum.
The perplexed authorities were forced to admit that they spent years conducting a wild goose chase. As Jack Coffelt often used to say, "If I'm lying, God's a possum."
But there was another problem. Originally, it was thought that the plane had veered west of Portland on its southbound flight, but the location of the rotted money, which FBI Agent Himmelsbach shrewdly noted "must have tumbled and rolled along the bottom of the Columbia River," proved without a doubt that the plane flew east of Portland - exactly as Jack Coffelt insisted! The wide and sedate Columbia flows from east to west; the money could not possibly have floated against the current.
Jack Coffelt claimed that he threw a few bundles - perhaps $4,000 or $5,000 worth, he said - of the ransom money out the back of the plane over the Bonneville Dam on the Columbia River, after stewardess Tina Mucklow refused to accept it. Nine years later, Brian Ingram apparently had found that money. But he was unaware of the importance of his discovery. The find at last provided proof that the plane had flown east of Portland, and also shot a gaping hole right through the FBI's belief that Cooper
The find at last provided proof that the plane had flown east of Portland, and also shot a gaping hole right through the FBI's belief that Cooper never made it to Oregon!
On that sand bar beside the river, the astonished boy did not realize that he was holding a white-hot smoking gun ... B.H.B.
tantly tossed it out over a "brightly-lit hydro- electric dam" - the Bonneville Dam on the Columbia River. Incredibly, nine years later, in February 1980, the bundle of cash would be discovered lying in a sand bar beside the river - the soggy bills revealing serial numbers which matched the ones given D.B. Cooper! (See sidebar)
But Jack was not yet through with the frightened young woman, who to this day still appears mesmerized by the skyjacker. Standing with only her in the empty corridor at the rear of the plane, he approached her and, as Jack put it, "felt her up a bit." She sensed his ione- liness and fear and whispered consoling words, trying to calm him, but he told her, sadly, "I have nothing to lose." His swaggering account to us: "She was the last woman I may have seen in my life!
" She sensed his ione- liness and fear and whispered consoling words, trying to calm him, but he told her, sadly, "I have nothing to lose." His swaggering account to us: "She was the last woman I may have seen in my life! I wanted her to have something, you know, to remember me by."
Original press accounts of the skyjacking, and public statements by the FBI, never re- ported these intricate details: nothing about a green bag, nothing about Cooper offering Tina Mucklow part of the ransom money or his using a knife with a long, thin blade to cut up the shroud lines from one of the parachutes was ever mentioned - except by Jack Coffelt. The authorities did reveal however (as if they were puzzled by the find) that cut-up parachute shroud lines were discovered lying on the floor in the back of the plane when it landed in Reno.
But at a meeting with her in San Diego in 1977, Tina Mucklow confirmed each one of these obscure details - especially noting the green bag, which she thought was made of glossy paper or plastic, folded in a comer of Cooper's briefcase. Before he slipped the mail sack full of money into the green bag he ordered her forward into the cockpit.
Before he slipped the mail sack full of money into the green bag he ordered her forward into the cockpit. He did not want her to observe this move in case she informed the authorities, who might then be able to de- cipher his actions, which were designed to confuse any ground pursuers. Jack said that in case he were chased on the ground he would
Stewardess Tina Mucklow sits beside Captain Wil- liam Scott of Flight 305. Mucklow confirmed every one of Coffelt's details about the crime.
DB Cooper-20781
72 NOVEMBER 1983/LAS VEGAN MAGAZINE8
Coffelt placed the money in a green bag like the one shown above, then tied up the bag with parachute shroud lines.
pretend to be one of the searchers, flashing his government ID to anyone who might question him, a green FBI badge with his name on it, in fact, which he showed me in 1974!
Tina watched him tear open one of the para- chutes and cut the shroud lines off of it using a long, thin-bladed knife which according to her "looked like a dagger." She recalled that he nervously chain-smoked Raleigh cigarettes (Raleighs were Coffeit's favorite brand) and
" She recalled that he nervously chain-smoked Raleigh cigarettes (Raleighs were Coffeit's favorite brand) and also admitted that Cooper offered her a handful of the loot, digging into the bag of money and shoving the small bundle at her, insisting that she take it. But when she was delicately prompted about whether the skyjacker had touched her "in any way," she flushed heavily and averted her eyes before answering faintly, "He may have made a pass at me." Many years had passed, but scars still remained from this ugly incident involving the desperate bandit who briefly but dramatically entered her life, then disappeared into total mystery again. She clearly remembered his hushed words, though, words which seemed to haunt her still- "I have nothing to lose" - the same phrase that Jack Coffelt repeated to me many times during our lonely journey together in 1974.
Even though Tina Mucklow confirmed every one of Coffelt's details about these hectic and obscure events which occurred as the plane headed south from Seattle, she was not in fact the person who had observed him most care- fully that
every one of Coffelt's details about these hectic and obscure events which occurred as the plane headed south from Seattle, she was not in fact the person who had observed him most care- fully that night. As his sole hostage at that point, she remained with Cooper for only a few short minutes as he frantically prepared to jump and attempted to lower the 727's rear stairway compartment, a period in which she was scared half to death. Since he had de- manded four parachutes, the terrified crew, especially Tina herself, thought that he was planning to force at least one of them to bail out with him! Tina remembers these horrifying moments like the sordid images of a long- (continued on p. 80)
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LAS VEGAN MAGAZINE/NDB Cooper-20782 9
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Florence Schaffner, the stewardess who accepted Cooper's ransom note, was a complete enigma to me. For years, she remained unavailable to the news media. She claimed that she had been warned never to talk to anyone about the skyjacking.
lingering nightmare. Since she never saw the ruddy-faced, heavy-accented skyjacker with- out his dark sun glasses on, she was unable to identify my 1974 snapshots of Coffelt.
There was another stewardess, however, who during the long flight from Portland to Seattle before she was released there by him (the plane circled high above Sea-Tac Airport for nearly two-and-a-half hours waiting for the ransom and four parachutes to be collected) was able to observe
before she was released there by him (the plane circled high above Sea-Tac Airport for nearly two-and-a-half hours waiting for the ransom and four parachutes to be collected) was able to observe Cooper very closely, indeed intimately. In fact, the two even carried on a casual and sometimes enraptured conver- sation for much of that time.
Florence Schaffner, the stewardess who initially accepted Cooper's ransom note, (naively believing it to be a proposition) was a complete enigma to me. For years, judging from various news accounts of the skyjacking that I had researched, she remained completely unavailable to the newsmedia. Indeed, I had the distinct impression that she was being kept under some sort of "wraps" by the authorities. Even reporters from Time magazine and the Washington Post had been unable to contact her. She always remained mysteriously aloof from the wave of publicity generated in the skyjacking's aftermath.
Immediately after the crime she dropped completely out of sight and the public soon forgot, or was never even aware, that for over two hours that night she dutifully attended the "terribly lonesome man," as she described Cooper to me, rushing to bring him
after the crime she dropped completely out of sight and the public soon forgot, or was never even aware, that for over two hours that night she dutifully attended the "terribly lonesome man," as she described Cooper to me, rushing to bring him coffee and snacks, listening politely to his sad, vague ramblings suggestive of a checkered past and innocently wishing.chim, "Good luck . . . I hope you make it."
"Is there anything more that I can do for you?" she remembers asking Cooper when the plane finally touched down in Seattle. "Do you want me to leave now, or would you like
DB Cooper-20783
80 NOVEMBER 1983/LAS VEGAN MAGAZINE10
So even though some ominous mystique still hangs over Henderson within the cloud (for even if it's totally safe, it still is there and people are ever aware of its presence), it apparently is no more than a distraction. Gary Johnson, executive director of the Chamber of Commerce, who has been a Henderson resident for 15 years and helped develop Clark County air quality information as a member of the County Citizens' Environmental Advisory Board, indicates that all studies done to date that list air alert areas in Southern Nevada don't even mention Henderson.
resident for 15 years and helped develop Clark County air quality information as a member of the County Citizens' Environmental Advisory Board, indicates that all studies done to date that list air alert areas in Southern Nevada don't even mention Henderson.
Now discussions of this seemingly tiny community (it actually is the largest city in Nevada, area-wise covering 70 square miles) revolve around the growth taking place there.
Henderson started out as a mining town called Basic Townsite, built by the government just prior to World War II to support the miners working at a plant constructed in a joint effort between the U.S. and England to manufacture magnesium. The town is now a thriving Las Vegas suburb.
The area was first selected for the plant in the carly 1940's because of its proximity to hydro-power from Lake Mead and Hoover Dam, Nearby was an ore-mining site, as was the newly flourishing city of Las Vegas and the Las Vegas Gunnery Range (now Nellis Air Force Base). The spot was also a watering stop for the Union Pacific Railroad,
After the war, the magnesium stock-piled and the plant was closed. The Federal Govern- ment was ready to dismantle the little town around it.
spot was also a watering stop for the Union Pacific Railroad,
After the war, the magnesium stock-piled and the plant was closed. The Federal Govern- ment was ready to dismantle the little town around it. Local businessmen who had made a home there decided to establish a Chamber of Commerce and keep the community alive. They renamed it Henderson for Nevada's U.S. Senator Charles B. Henderson, in January of 1944.
Henderson's largest period of growth took place in the 1960's and 70's, until the economy slowed down. In fact, one local bank ran an article in its in-house publication that contained a study by the Federal Government predicting that Henderson, if the growth pattern of the city of 30,000 continued on its course, would come within 12,000 of the population of Las Vegas by the year 2,000. That prediction might have to be updated though, as the study was done before the economic slowdown of the late 70's.
With the economy now improving however, Henderson is once again on its quiet growth surge. Prior to the slowdown the largest section of growth was the western portion of the town with the flourishing Green Valley area supply- ing beautiful housing and much of the shopping
Prior to the slowdown the largest section of growth was the western portion of the town with the flourishing Green Valley area supply- ing beautiful housing and much of the shopping facilities for local residents.
That area has also been the most prestigious, due to established businesses like Nick's Supper Club, the Boulder City Theater, and Timet, which have been joined in recent years by big name industries including Levi Straus,
Stauffer, Dick Blick Art Supplies, Ethel M, and GTE.
The northern area is most recently beginning to grow rapidly, with U.S. Homes doing a great deal of building, a new shopping mall going up with a new Senior Citizens Center adjacent to it, and the Henderson Convalescent Center with a 120-bed facility under con- struction.
With the recent completion of the new Convention Center, Henderson is also about to embark upon a $5 million Boulder Highway beautification project, which will benefit surrounding local communities as well.
The highway project includes planting greenery along the sides and center of the roadway from Sunset Road to Horizon Drive.
The highway project includes planting greenery along the sides and center of the roadway from Sunset Road to Horizon Drive.
Parks and bicycle and pedestrian paths are also in the plans.
It is reported that the Funk family of Arizona, owners of Las Vegas Downs dog racing track, is planning to reopen the facility.
There is also a rumor going around Hender- son that seems to be more than just idle talk. It concerns the possibility of building a large hotel/casino in Henderson, something the town fathers know is the most needed com- modity there. And, the names mentioned of those possibly interested are impressive indeed, with the Sahara/Hacienda Hotels' Paul Lowden included among them.
If that were to happen, it could only mean more growth and prosperity in the biggest little town in Nevada: Henderson . .. of course!
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DB Cooper-2078411
me to stay with you?" Almost no one was aware that Florence actually believed that she herself, instead of Tina Mucklow, should have remained with Cooper as his hostage when the plane headed south from Seattle towards Reno because she felt that she had grown to know and understand him, in however strange a way. "He told me, like a spirit," she said with poignant nostalgia in her voice, "that I probably sat beside him somewhere else a hundred years ago." Florence, it is true, developed a profound sympathy for the lonely man while trying to comfort him in the back of the plane.
Dr. Dick Simmons, a psychologist special- izing in the field of abnormal perceptions, was on the flight but stole only a cursory glance at Cooper. Simmons pointed out that the further people get away from an event the more they are inclined to remember it the way they think it should have been. This is why some people reported Cooper as being no more than 45 years old, he felt, since skyjacking is not regarded as an occupation for
This is why some people reported Cooper as being no more than 45 years old, he felt, since skyjacking is not regarded as an occupation for the middle-aged. But this qualification would not necessarily apply in the case of Florence Schaffner, since she had spent so much time with Cooper and had obviously seen him clearly. Indeed, Florence would be an ideal witness, especially in view of her compassionate feelings for Cooper and her rapt attention to even minor details about him.
After weeks of searching for her I finally found Florence Schaffner, and after winning her confidence (she claimed that she had been warned never to talk to anyone about the sky- jacking and reluctantly declined to allow us to publish her photograph with this article) was "able to learn many new and surprising facts about the crime, startling details which proved increasingly disturbing. To begin with, according to Florence, the FBI composite
The FBI composite drawing of D.B. Cooper showing him veiled behind the dark sun glasses he wore part of the time.
To begin with, according to Florence, the FBI composite
The FBI composite drawing of D.B. Cooper showing him veiled behind the dark sun glasses he wore part of the time.
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According to Florence, the FBI drawings of Cooper were "misleading" and "erroneous." ... The pretty half-Filipino stewardess took one look at my photographs of Jack Coffelt and gasped, "It's him! My God, it's him!"
----------
pictures of D.B. Cooper that had been widely circulated in the press were, in fact, misleading and erroneous drawings. As she explained with a hint of lingering scornfulness, "The man had much fuller cheeks, and his hairline was not nearly as receding as shown by the composite pictures. I kept telling that FBI artist that his pictures were wrong . . . but he would not listen to me!"
This startling claim was the first hint ever by an unwilling participant in the skyjacking that the official version of the crime has been erroneous from the beginning.
"
This startling claim was the first hint ever by an unwilling participant in the skyjacking that the official version of the crime has been erroneous from the beginning. Florence then went on to confirm another aspect of Jack Coffelt's story that had long puzzled me. "Cooper took off his street shoes and put on a pair of boots," she affirmed. Jack Coffelt, in 1974, had insisted that he changed into a pair of boots on the plane. But press accounts, quoting the FBI, had long ridiculed the "hill- billy skyjacker" for jumping out in normal
This FBI composite drawing of D.B. Cooper, and the one on the preceding page, were widely circu- Lated in the press.
DB Cooper-2078613
street clothes. In fact, much of the FBI's long- standing belief that Cooper died in the jump is based on exactly this point, for after all, wearing only thin oxford slippers, how could he possibly survive the gruelling landing some- where in the rugged forests of the Pacific Northwest? But the FBI never even bothered, it seems, to question Florence Schaffner thoroughly.
The stewardess related many other relatively minor points which nevertheless confirmed to the last detail Jack
The stewardess related many other relatively minor points which nevertheless confirmed to the last detail Jack Coffelt's version of the crime. According to Florence, Cooper was - just as Coffelt had said - the last person to board the plane at Portland. Florence said that she actually had to fetch him from where he was peering out the terminal windows and lead him to the entrance-way of the plane. Coffelt told me that as he was peering out the terminal windows, watching for a Brinks truck that was supposed to deliver several million dollars - the real target of the skyjacking - in unmarked currency to the cargo hold of the 727, he ** almost got left behind." In fact, when the Brinks truck failed to arrive as scheduled he was standing there deliberating whether or not to go ahead with the skyjacking when the girl approached him. It was then that he decided to demand the $200,000 for himself, his modest cut of the few million dollars that was to have been divided among other conspirators. Florence remembered that Cooper was well- dressed, wearing an old-fashioned black suit as Coffelt had
Florence remembered that Cooper was well- dressed, wearing an old-fashioned black suit as Coffelt had claimed, not a "brown" or "dark" one as press accounts have always reported. And she also recalled that he wore white gloves, verifying Coffeit's claim that he wore gloves to avoid leaving fingerprints.
Her memory of that night was so clear, in fact, that in a most surprising development Florence insisted that she forgot to relay Cooper's request that the ransom money be collected in $20 bills; he refused to accept any other denomination. "I completely forgot about that part," she said. "1 was so scared at the beginning of the whole thing." However, if no denomination is specified it is standard procedure for the FBI to deliver such ransom money in larger bills, 50's or 100's, since they are much easier to trace. But even though Florence forgot to tell anyone, Cooper was nevertheless delivered the ransom money in $20 bills by those on the ground!
These perplexing and darkly disturbing de- tails faded into the background, however, when Florence at last provided major new evidence in
These perplexing and darkly disturbing de- tails faded into the background, however, when Florence at last provided major new evidence in the case. When I finally found her in July of 1977, the pretty, half-Filipino stewardess, who was then working for Frontier Airlines in Denver, took one look at my photo- graphs of Jack Coffelt, her mouth dropped open, and she gasped, "Oh my God! Where did you get those? I never thought I would see that face again! It's him! My God, it's him!"
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At various times, FBI agents close to the case have expressed the opinion that Jack Coffelt's story was too littered with "James Bondery" to be given any credibility. All his "wild bluster" about beepers sending out homing signals from a hidden jeep, fires set up on the ground as signal lights, and accomplices standing by with walkie-talkies evoked too much of a Hollywood aura. Why not just hide the parachutes instead of spraying them with a magnesium compound and torching them, as Coffelt claimed he did?
Even after Florence Schaffner identified Coffelt as the skyjacker, the FBI insisted that he was nowhere near Oregon when the crime took place, saying instead that he was then in the Washington D.C. area. But they wouldn't tell us where. "We've narrowed it down to days and hours," one agent told me flatly.
But they wouldn't tell us where. "We've narrowed it down to days and hours," one agent told me flatly. "You've got the wrong man."
But one of Coffelt's most intimate acquain- tances, his best friend and trusted confidant, in fact, for nearly twenty years, Memphis attorney Robert Dobbs, who provided the old con-man with legal help more than once when Jack was in trouble, told me: "Jack was meticulous enough to have planned all the things" neces- sary to pull off the skyjacking. And for anyone who doubted it: ". . . then they don't know the real Jack Coffelt! You'd have to know Coffelt personally to be able to appreciate the significance of all of it!"
As tantalizing proof of his claim, Dobbs went to his library and brought back two valu- able relics straight from the dusky corridors of American history: the exquisitely carved ivory riding crop (a gift to the 16th President from the Emperor of Japan) and the gold pocket- watch and fob of Abraham Lincoln! "Jack gave me these once as payment for my legal services," he explained with a wink.
of American history: the exquisitely carved ivory riding crop (a gift to the 16th President from the Emperor of Japan) and the gold pocket- watch and fob of Abraham Lincoln! "Jack gave me these once as payment for my legal services," he explained with a wink. The amazing story of how Jack came to acquire
84 NOVEMBER 1983/LAS VEGAN MAGAZINE
DB Cooper-20788
----1
these relics reveals yet another one of the intri- cate and sophisticated scams which were clearly his modus operandi before he undertook the boldest of them all and the crown of his career: the skyjacking.
I had learned about Robert Dobbs and his association with Coffelt in a curious fashion. A friend of his had once received a cookbook from Jack as a gift. This friend, upon being interviewed during our long investigation of Coffelt, produced the cookbook. Inside was discovered a crumpled letter meshed between two pages. It was a 1969 correspondence to Jack from Robert Dobbs! Dobbs had written Jack, who was then involved in a particularly shady affair in Washington D.C., to warn him: "I think it would be ill-advised to meet with you at this time unless we could be absolutely certain that you were not being followed.
, to warn him: "I think it would be ill-advised to meet with you at this time unless we could be absolutely certain that you were not being followed." He then closed with the stark advice: "Burn this letter."
Prominent Memphis attorney Robert L. Dobbs, Coffelt's best friend for nearly twenty years, placed Jack in Portland at the time of the skyjacking.
When I tracked him down and told him that Jack had forgotten to burn his letter, Dobbs nevertheless managed a hearty laugh. "We never put much in writing to each other," he mused. "Perhaps Jack wanted to keep that letter as a souvenir." Half-expecting a denial, I informed Dobbs that Jack had confessed to being D.B. Cooper. The cagey attorney flashed a knowing smile. "I had a feeling he was in- volved in that thing," he replied without a trace of surprise in his voice. "You see, Jack would often call me, even from as far away as Europe or the Caribbean, wherever he was, to tell me that he was into something and if he didn't call back at a certain time for me to start checking. Well, when that thing happened I suspected Jack was involved in it .
wherever he was, to tell me that he was into something and if he didn't call back at a certain time for me to start checking. Well, when that thing happened I suspected Jack was involved in it . . . because right before the skyjacking he called me from Portland, Oregon!"
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(top) A Northwest Boeing 727 with arrow pointing to the rear stairway ramp. (above) Mt. Hood, Oregon. Coffelt returned twice to this area to search for the lost money before his 1974 trip with the Browns.
Myriad leads connected over the years like the silken strands of a spider's web, one thin trail joining another at obscure crossroads along a pattern of seemingly infinite design. My father and I were able to find witnesses in Oregon who positively identified Jack as the man who came to their gas station and recrea- tion business twice, in the spring and fall of 1972, the year after the skyjacking. Along with another to this day unidentified man, Jack rented snowmobiles from them, driving the vehicles into the hills behind their station near the isolated jump site. These witnesses finally confirmed Coffelt's claim that our trip with him in 1974 to search for the lost money was not the first time he had been back to that remote place.
And finally, in a check of all the passengers on Flight 305 as it left Portland Airport that stormy
And finally, in a check of all the passengers on Flight 305 as it left Portland Airport that stormy Thanksgiving Eve, I discovered that a prominent Seattle attorney, George LeBissoniere, had sat only three seats away from D.B. Cooper, so close that even the FBI told him that he was one of their best eye-witnesses. When Mr. LeBissoniere was shown photo- graphs of Jack Coffelt, he calmly identified the face as that of D.B. Cooper, unaware that stewardess Florence Schaffner had already identified the pictures. "That Leavenworth guy - right?" he asked, as if trying to refresh his own memory. "I identified these same pictures for the FBI six weeks after the sky- jacking. " (refer to sidebar p. 68)
DB Cooper-20790"There's a somebody I'm longing to see . . . Someone who'll watch over me."
-Ira Gershwin
Jack Coffelt proudly called himself a "Jay- hawker" after a fictitious bird imagined by the Indians to possess the haughty pride of a Blue Jay and the cunning determination of a hawk. But in truth he was a Caucasian harboring an ornery supply of Cherokee blood which made his nature turn
But in truth he was a Caucasian harboring an ornery supply of Cherokee blood which made his nature turn restless and rebellious.
He was born in that part of the Midwest known as "the Badlands" because of the robbers who have blossomed there like weeds in mud-filled creek beds. Jesse James and the Dalton Boys and Billy the Kid are only a few of the colorful criminals who once plundered this dust-ridden locale, which is also the major home in America of the proud Cherokee Indians - the bitter end of the Trail Of Tears. According to Jack Coffelt and my father, who wrote a book about the place while in Atlanta Penitentiary together, life there in the 1920's was picturesque but also incredibly bleak. I quote from their book:
"Stranger, you are entering the Tri-State District, a mining patch covering the corners of three states - Oklahoma, Missouri, Kansas. The land is a flat stovelid. The sky is a pale blue liquid. Clouds drift in circles. Rays of the sun bounce and play tricks on the eyes. And in mid-July dust is instep deep and the creeks are shallow and ugly.
Rays of the sun bounce and play tricks on the eyes. And in mid-July dust is instep deep and the creeks are shallow and ugly.
"The town of Picher is the hub of this district. Powder-monkeys send groans and rumbles through the earth and view with suspicion any man who receives more than two letters a week. Sidewashed lead and zinc glitter bold across jig tables. Mines and chatpiles crowd each other around the town. On the chatpiles children scavenge for empty bottles and used condoms. Renniker the junk dealer pays two cents each for short pints and half pints, a cent for beer and home brew, thirty cents a pound for washed rubbers. Vern Wilders runs the big game. A whorehouse sits on Main Street. That's it, Stranger. Picher, Oklahoma, has been sent for, went, and qualified."
Coffelt was born under an ill-star on Febru- ary 20, 1916, to a poverty-stricken family. In this inauspicious environment he quickly learned the benefits of a fast tongue and a slip- pery hand as he worked the booming lead and zinc mines by day and hung around the gam- bling halls and brothels at night as a mere youngster.
learned the benefits of a fast tongue and a slip- pery hand as he worked the booming lead and zinc mines by day and hung around the gam- bling halls and brothels at night as a mere youngster. When he was eight years old his father, Walter Coffelt, who had once owned a mine but lost it to booze, died of alcoholism,
leaving his widow Ottie and Jack and his two sisters destitute. Ottie took up with another man called Ben Wooldridge who, according to Jack's sister, "was horribly mean to us kids." The children fled. The two young girls - ages sixteen and fourteen - married off as soon as possible. Jack continued in school, according
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to one prison record, through the seventh grade or to about 1929. Then he dropped out for good when he was about thirteen years old. His common-law stepfather, Ben Wooldridge, was also dead by that time, another victim of the bottle.
When Jack was only fifteen he broke into his grandfather's grocery store in nearby Baxter Springs, Kansas with a "false key" and, according to the courthouse records there, "stole diverse bars of candy and packages of gum and $10 in silver." His irate grandfather insisted on pressing charges and on May 20, 1932, Jack was convicted of burglary and larceny, third degree, and sentenced to the Kansas State Industrial Reformatory at Hutch- inson for a term "not to exceed five years.
charges and on May 20, 1932, Jack was convicted of burglary and larceny, third degree, and sentenced to the Kansas State Industrial Reformatory at Hutch- inson for a term "not to exceed five years." He was just sixteen years old. This was the beginning of the 20 years, eight months, and 13 days of his life that he was to spend in various jails and prisons. Two years later, when he was eighteen, he arrived at the for- bidding rock-walled fortress of MeAlester prison in dreary southeastern Oklahoma for a three-year stretch upon being convicted for yet another burglary after his parole from the Kansas reformatory. His path in life - that of a hardened criminal - was already well- formed.
None of the charges he was ever convicted on, however, were for crimes of violence - unless you count grabbing a deputy's pistol in an escape attempt. "Jack said prison was awful. They'd never keep him locked up again - he'd escape," remembers his sister. Incar- ceration must have been terrible to him. One prison medical report states that in 1947 Jack underwent "two operations ten weeks apart" for being cruelly kicked in the "left groin," and the same report later states obliquely that "this
One prison medical report states that in 1947 Jack underwent "two operations ten weeks apart" for being cruelly kicked in the "left groin," and the same report later states obliquely that "this prisoner has history of gunshot wound left foot." Had he been shot there? In 1974 Jack expressed nothing but hatred for the prison authorities, telling me vengefully, "I always wanted to get them back for what they did to me!"
His prison "rap sheet" was nearly impossible to obtain. At one point in our investigation, after we had secretly procured a copy of it, the government even tried to confiscate it on grounds that it was "federal property." But it makes long and often humorous reading, in- cluding items such as this one contained in his Atlanta Penitentiary Admissions Summary: "Presently he got into a reform school in Kansas where he was further disillusioned by indications of corruptions on the part of some of the officials and employees of the institu- tion!" On May 19, 1949, Jack began a ten-year sentence at Atlanta Penitentiary for interstate auto theft and attempted escape upon being rudely caught, and by that time he was un- swervingly bitter towards "the system.
Jack began a ten-year sentence at Atlanta Penitentiary for interstate auto theft and attempted escape upon being rudely caught, and by that time he was un- swervingly bitter towards "the system." His dossier then best explains his state of mind:
DB Cooper-20792A
19
"He claims that he has been a professional gambler for years and in fact that he has never earned an honest dollar. He denies guilt on the current charge and states that fully half of his prison sentences have been based purely upon his record and were therefore unjust."
At Atlanta Pen Coffelt met my father, James Brown, a former Air Force pilot. Brown had worked as a reporter during his younger days and was a good writer, often compiling and editing the prison magazine single-handedly, while Coffelt was the press operator who " printed it. They became good friends and spent three years filling the dreary days together by working on a long writing project about Coffelt's early life. My father was paroled in 1952. After his friend was gone, Coffelt trans- ferred to Leavenworth Penitentiary in Kansas to finish out his sentence, and there, on July 20, 1955, he was "conditionally released" - pending parole restrictions.
After his friend was gone, Coffelt trans- ferred to Leavenworth Penitentiary in Kansas to finish out his sentence, and there, on July 20, 1955, he was "conditionally released" - pending parole restrictions. He would be in a few small-town jails after that, but never another "awful" penitentiary.
In his new life on the outside Jack Coffelt emerged for the first time as a human being rather than a number. He was immensely proud of the book he had written with my father. Entitled Cleave The Liquid Sky, the novel, a colorful and spellbinding account of Coffelt's boyhood years in Oklahoma, was never pub- lished. But nevertheless, "with a book under my belt," as Jack told people, he had "finally achieved something." He had greatly matured and no longer wanted to be merely a petty thief. Instead, he would become a shrewd con-man.
As a result of one scam in Memphis, Tennessee, in the late 1950's, Jack came into a pile of money - around $50,000 - and with a healthy bank account to bolster his ego he grew courteous and extremely generous. He always grabbed the check when he took friends out to expensive restaurants and plush night- spots.
He always grabbed the check when he took friends out to expensive restaurants and plush night- spots. He was charming, a "hell of a salesman" said one companion. He drank and smoked heavily. He often fascinated and regaled people with preposterous accounts of his past criminal exploits: wild tales of blowing open safes with nitroglycerin (carrying it in a vial around his neck so it would stay at body temperature). and dramatic holdups during drunken sprees of cross-country travelling. ("I'm gonna put you in the news - bang !** )
Coffelt was always a chameleon - wonder- fully gifted in producing a vast range of personalities to suit the mood of any occasion. Referring to the same period of time, one person who knew him remembered, "He was really a remarkable man. Very kind, very generous, very colorful, almost like a kindly uncle," while another recalled, "I always had the feeling he could easily tear the room apart!" But he was steadfastly hypnotic. "The average person had no defense to him.
generous, very colorful, almost like a kindly uncle," while another recalled, "I always had the feeling he could easily tear the room apart!" But he was steadfastly hypnotic. "The average person had no defense to him. He just
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mesmerized people," said his old friend Robert Dobbs, the Memphis attorney who re- ceived a call from Jack from Portland, Oregon, days before the skyjacking. Among these crowds, however, Jack always seemed to be ashamed of his prairie roots and the bitter poverty he experienced in
Among these crowds, however, Jack always seemed to be ashamed of his prairie roots and the bitter poverty he experienced in his youth, poverty which had led him irreversibly, he believed, into a life of crime.
In carly February of 1960 Jack's mother Ottie died a horrible death when her home burned to the ground in Baxter Springs, Kansas. Jack attended the funeral. He wore expensive suits and drove a late-model Cadillac, evasively telling relatives that he was "working back East somewhere." Where is not certain, but a year later, after meeting his red-haired confi- dante Tave in Las Vegas, Jack became per- manently established in the Washington D.C. area.
He never held a steady job there, but at various times he managed to come into "large sums of money" according to Tave herself - tens of thousands of dollars at the drop of a hat, To close friends he hinted that he was a "bag- man," someone hired by the Mafia to distribute bribes among crooked politicians. But then, one of his old Kansas cronies who visited him in Washington in the late 1960's watched J.
But then, one of his old Kansas cronies who visited him in Washington in the late 1960's watched J. Edgar Hoover, the FBI Director, throw a warm and friendly bearhug around Jack. Coffelt, it seems, had learned to play both sides of the fence shrewdly and with great finesse. He had finally become a valuable commodity.
Whatever murky substrata of society his operations belonged to, they were never, it seems, restricted entirely to the nation's capital. As one intimate source wrote, "I don't know if you are aware of the long 'tentacles' Jack had . . . in other parts of the world," It was a dark hint at the vast Rosicrucian circles which the shrewd con-man had learned to move in during those years of especially shady "power politics" when internationally moti- vated plots of intrigue ran rife in the capital. "That part of your letter where you said you weren't sure that I was real tickled me," Coffelt responded to one enthralled disbeliever. "I'm as real as I appear."
But this "modern Indian warrior," as my father and others often thought of Jack, finally fell prey to the white man's
"
But this "modern Indian warrior," as my father and others often thought of Jack, finally fell prey to the white man's fated disease - Love. Those who knew Jack and Tave said he always referred to her as his "sister" or "cousin," never anything more. Most were of this opinion, summed up by one: "She always seemed to be watching him, like a plastic doll, in some sort of official capacity."
But then, in the latter half of the 1960's, along came another girl - a beautiful German blonde who was a research scientist. Jack "procured" her, as he himself described it. Her version: "I do everything Jack orders.
DB Cooper-20794
90 NOVEMBER 1983/LAS VEGAN MAGAZINE 21
Whatever he tells me to do, I do." What they did was set into operation a bizarre plot to wrest away the fortune from a famous multi- millionaire jet-setter! But this incredible scam which involved an illegitimate child, court- ordered blood tests, hush-money paid to poli- ticians, and scaled court testimony describing activities bordering on the occult, backfired ignominiously.
which involved an illegitimate child, court- ordered blood tests, hush-money paid to poli- ticians, and scaled court testimony describing activities bordering on the occult, backfired ignominiously.
Jack came under intense pressure by the early 1970's to get out of Washington D.C. or face the threat of another long prison sentence, or even worse punishment at the hands of those who sought to keep a lid on the scam! The beautiful German girl secretly set sail for Europe on an ocean-liner. She would hide out in France and Germany, finally neutral Switzerland where American agents were un- able to bribe that government's politicians into turning her over. Jack, from afar, constantly supplied her with money, draining his own re- sources to the end.
"I never loved anyone like I loved her," Coffelt told me in 1974 as tears welled in his eyes. By 1971 his luck had at last run dry. The days of free spending and high living were over, leaving him more embittered than ever before. More than one person who knew him then recalled, "He said he was going to 'get the government. "" To me, his constant refrain about the skyjacking - "I had nothing to lose" - always became deeply intertwined
"" To me, his constant refrain about the skyjacking - "I had nothing to lose" - always became deeply intertwined around the story of his passionate love for the beautiful German geisha!
Henry James once wrote, stretching irony to its furthest limit: "It is far better to be killed than to be destroyed." The colorful and fasci- nating Jack Coffelt was plotting, however, one last way to beat the "system." In November 1971, as Nixon's White House flourished and the Vietnam War raged on, Bryant "Jack" Coffelt became an American legend by para- chuting from an airplane with a bag of stolen money.
...
A bland grey stone lying in an obscure comer of a Hawaiian cemetery bears the simple legend: Bryant Coffelt - {born] February 20, 1916; [died] June 19, 1975. But the stone - which may one day prove as cryptic as Rosetta's - tells nothing more about the dark circum- stances surrounding Jack's days in Hawaii, why he went there, or what he did. It is known, however, among other things, that his death certificate has been secretly altered.
But the stone - which may one day prove as cryptic as Rosetta's - tells nothing more about the dark circum- stances surrounding Jack's days in Hawaii, why he went there, or what he did. It is known, however, among other things, that his death certificate has been secretly altered.
In Hawaii, the palm fans sway in gentle breezes, mangos and pineapples fill the air with tropical aromas, and the emerald ocean fades before sunset to what Jack would fondly call "indigo blue." Peaceful surfs splash the sand-swept beaches like time itself coming home to rest. At last, perhaps, Jack has found a serenity that he never knew in life.
The FBI has finally admitted that Jack was a
THE MYSTERIOUS DEATH CERTIFICATE ...
"Your nationality and your politics did not show when you were dead."
-Ernest Hemingway, For Whom The Bell Tolls
#1 The date of Cotfett's death Is listed as Juna 19, 1975.
#2 Tava Coffelt was the "Informant."
#3 Strangely, he was not butled until one week later. on June 24th.
#4 The certificate was altered 11 days after the date of death.
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During the course of our investigation my father and I hired a Las Vegas private detective agency to procure a copy of Jack Coffelt's death certificate from the Research and Statistics Office at the Hawaii Department of Health. But we were promptly informed by the detective agency that the Hawaii FBI had been somehow "alerted" by its inquiry there - a very strange occurrence indeed. Why would the Bureau be alerted?
Tave Coffelt, who is listed as the "informant," apparently stated at the top of the docu- ment (item #10) that she and Jack "never married.
Tave Coffelt, who is listed as the "informant," apparently stated at the top of the docu- ment (item #10) that she and Jack "never married." Note the addition marked "ALTERED June 30, 1975" in the lower right half of the certificate. To alter a death certificate requires at least a number of official signatures from various government agencies, if not a court order. Why was the certificate changed (and by whom?) II days after it was issued to show that Coffelt died on June 19 at 12:40 AM rather than on June 18 at 11:25 PM? It is a differ- ence of not quite an hour, but legally it shifts the death one day later. Even though no autopsy was performed (item #19a), the body was not buried until one week after that, on June 24th. Did Coffelt's friends fly in from around the world for an extended wake before the funeral? It seems highly unlikely.
Only weeks before June 19, 1975, Jack Coffelt was seen by old friends of his 5000 miles away - back in Kansas! And in a letter to my father dated September 20, 1976, nearly a year and a half after Jack's alleged death, Tave Coffelt used a strange verb tense in referring to him: "Jack
And in a letter to my father dated September 20, 1976, nearly a year and a half after Jack's alleged death, Tave Coffelt used a strange verb tense in referring to him: "Jack knows," she eerily began, "so many people throughout the world and so many would be interested ... in information which they think I might provide them, it would only result in their coming here to see me, which I do not want."
Many unanswered questions still linger . . .
-
In another letter just one week after that, responding to a direct inquiry about whether she knew for certain if Jack was D.B. Cooper, Tave did not deny that he was, but instead replied with the cryptic warning: "The subject to which you referred to [the skyjacking]. . . in my opinion is a can of worms - and could only result in trouble in the future!" B.H.B.
LAS VEGAN MAGAZINENOD BC Doper-2079522
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major suspect in the skyjacking all along. Out of 933 suspects in the D.B. Cooper case, Coffelt was "in the top 20" of those the Bureau had spent the most man-hours working on - according to Agent Gary Penrith, then in charge of the FBI's anti-hijacking unit at headquarters in Washington D.C. "We can't rule him out," Penrith admitted.
It is virtually certain that Coffelt was the skyjacker. Solely because of our efforts, two people have identified him as D.B. Cooper, he has been placed in Portland when the crime occurred, physical evidence has been found confirming where he jumped, and a mass
Cooper, he has been placed in Portland when the crime occurred, physical evidence has been found confirming where he jumped, and a mass of circumstantial evidence overwhelmingly supports all the details of his story. More than anything, Jack was afraid of slow destruction. After spending half of his adult life that way, he wanted no more of poverty or lonely prison cells. He was stunned to the very essence of his being by the crime's horrible failure - this perverse modern tragedy which so miserably revealed the fatal flaw of rabid pride which stained his character. As Robert Dobbs, Coffelt's trusted Memphis confidant put it: "He would laugh Death in the face if he thought he could pull something over on somebody . . . and Jack always wanted to do one big thing before he left here!"
0000
BRYANT COFFELT. . FEBRUARY 20. 1916 JUNE 19. 1975
Daily I search the realms of Hades For the soul of the hawk, That I may offer him the friendship Of one whom life wounded and caged.
-Edgar Lee Masters "The Unknown"
BYRON BROWN'S BOOK ON THE SKY- JACKING IS CURRENTLY UNDER NEGOTIATION FOR SALE.
-Edgar Lee Masters "The Unknown"
BYRON BROWN'S BOOK ON THE SKY- JACKING IS CURRENTLY UNDER NEGOTIATION FOR SALE. LAS VEGAN MAGAZINE WILL REPORT FUTURE DEVELOPMENTS IN THIS EXTRAOR- DINARY CASE AS THEY OCCUR.
@by Byron H. Brown and Los Vegan Magazine
92 NOVEMBER 1983/LAS VEGAN MAGAZINE
DB Cooper-20796THE SEARCH FOR D.B. COOPER
The hundreds of anxious spectators wycinbled near the t- In November 1971, Cooper had been the focus of A small logging town of Ariel, Washington, had beca tilf headline making drama that captured: the , public's ing their heads skyward for almost an hour. Standing in Poimagination. He had threatened to blow up an airliner, a wide clearing on the east bank of Lake Merwin and se beld angry FBI agents at bay, parachuted from the plane
sipping cans of Olympia Lite while awaiting a break in the misty overcast, they had come for the occasion from as far away as California, Texas and Maryland.
Suddenly a red-and-white Cessna 172 pulled out of a banking turn and leveled off at 6,000 feet.
the misty overcast, they had come for the occasion from as far away as California, Texas and Maryland.
Suddenly a red-and-white Cessna 172 pulled out of a banking turn and leveled off at 6,000 feet. Then, one by "one, sky divers began plunging from the plane, each of them wearing a conservative business suit and carrying an attache case. As their colorful parachutes opened, onlookers cheered this symbolic reenactment of a leg- endary jump performed eight years before by D. B. Cooper-the absent guest of honor.
with $200,000 in ansom money and disappeared into the night.
Despite the largest manhunt in FBI history, Coo was never found."His hazardous escapade. remaitt ftodeyt as the only unsolved skyjacking In 'American history Since then the gutsy adventurer who got away with one of the most daring crimes on record has achieved the status of popular folk hero.
That accounted for the exuberant spectatori snow singing along with a bluegrass band's rousing version .`of The Ballad of D. B. Cooper-a tune honoring the
ARTICLE BY BRUCE HENDERSON
Illustration by John Andrews
DB Cooper-20797DB Cooper-20798memory of this American Robin Hood, It was a rainy day in Washington /When Cooper made
Cooper-a tune honoring the
ARTICLE BY BRUCE HENDERSON
Illustration by John Andrews
DB Cooper-20797DB Cooper-20798memory of this American Robin Hood, It was a rainy day in Washington /When Cooper made his move,/Taking the flight he took before,/Hopin' the weather would improve.
Somewhere over Ariel/He made his fa- mous jump./With 200 thou, a parachute:/A . wild card and a trump.
Well, listen to the people talk,/The FBI is stumped./Some people say he died in the fall,/ Some people say he didn't jump./But of all the possibilities/That are tattered and worn,/No matter what you say, my friend,/A legend has been born.
Well, they searched and searched the countryside,/A clue they could not find./The FBI, the State Police,/The Boy Scouts were all blind./Now, D. B., you clever one,/You got 'em on the run./We hope that you survived that jump/Into the settin' sun."
"Most of us 'round these parts like to think he made it," says Dave Fisher, owner of the Ariel Store and Tavern and organizer of the festival held every year around Thanksgiving time. "And a lot of them don't think of him as a criminal for what he did.
it," says Dave Fisher, owner of the Ariel Store and Tavern and organizer of the festival held every year around Thanksgiving time. "And a lot of them don't think of him as a criminal for what he did. He's a hero. And he sure put this part of the country on the map."
At a recent festival Fisher sold 108 T. shirts bearing the hero's FBI composite image and slogans like "D. B. Cooper,
"By Richard Purdy. Copyright º 1976 by Cabin Fever Music. Used by permission.
Where Are You?" Neck-chains, bumper stickers, posters and other trinkets honoring the skyjacker were also popu- lar items. "This year we're expectin' 'bout 500 or 600 people 'cause of the money being found," says Fisher, refer- ring to a $4,000 cache of decaying ran- som bills discovered 25 miles from Ari- el in February. "Findin' the money didn't solve anything though. We like to think that D. B. got away with the rest of it."
The daring scheme that would inspire the legend unfolded on Thanksgiving Eve 1971, 30 miles southeast of Ariel at the busy Portland International Airport. Everyone seemed to want to be some- where else that dark, stormy day, preferably with family and loved ones contemplating the next day's turkey
Everyone seemed to want to be some- where else that dark, stormy day, preferably with family and loved ones contemplating the next day's turkey dinner and marathon schedule of televised football games.
Shortly before 3:30 p.m. a Northwest Orient Airlines ticket agent sold a one- way fare on Flight 305 to a well-dressed man who paid cash and gave his name as Dan Cooper (later found to be an alias). The agent hastily punched the wrong key, however, and the passenger's name printed out as D. B. Cooper. By 4 o'clock Cooper was seated in the rear of the three-engine Boeing 727, patient- ly waiting to implement his carefully planned, boldly executed caper.
Stewardess Florence (Flo) Schaffner thought it odd that there were so many
TALKING
PLAYFONE
And then I'm gonna rip off your panties and shove my fist into your cunt up to my elbow.
78 AUGUST HUSTLER
no-shows on the holiday-season flight. Nearly 80 seats were vacant. She also seemed puzzled when Cooper passed her a handwritten note soon after take- off. Flo had long been accustomed to amorous travelers.
She also seemed puzzled when Cooper passed her a handwritten note soon after take- off. Flo had long been accustomed to amorous travelers. Her small, trim figure and jet-black hair attracted bankers and college football players alike. They were always flirting and passing her little love notes. Some of these messages were cute. Others were funny. A few were sexy. But this one was different.
It said nothing about later tonight or I know we're made for each other, sweetie. It didn't even have the man's name and phone number. The words just didn't make sense: Bomb in briefcase ... will blow up plane. . . come sit with me.
Schaffner looked again at the swarthy passenger who had handed her the slip of paper. He seemed to be in his 40s, with a receding hairline, about six feet tall and of medium build. Dressed in a reddish-brown business suit, white shirt, flashy alligator shoes, a narrow black tie and a stickpin, he wasn't a bad-looking guy. But he seemed sort of distant.
Earlier, when the plane was ready for takeoff, the stewardess had had to go down the ramp to summon Cooper, who was watching the baggage being loaded.
Earlier, when the plane was ready for takeoff, the stewardess had had to go down the ramp to summon Cooper, who was watching the baggage being loaded. He boarded only after the cargo doors were closed, removing his hat and dark glasses while Schaffner served him a double bourbon-on-the-rocks. He quick- ly gulped it down. Sitting in the win- dow seat with a briefcase in his lap, he looked for all the world like any other businessman.
He must be a prankster, Schaffner thought. Some men would do just any- thing to get her attention. She stuffed the note into her jacket pocket and started to move forward in the cabin to serve the other passengers. But when she looked at Cooper, the fierce determina- tion in his narrow-set eyes stopped her cold. His head jerked, angrily, toward the briefcase he held open. Inside she saw a large battery, several red sticks and a tangle of wires.
"Sit down here, please," he ordered in a firm voice.
She quickly concluded that the red sticks were dynamite and that the bat- tery was part of a bomb. This wasn't a joke, after all.
She quickly concluded that the red sticks were dynamite and that the bat- tery was part of a bomb. This wasn't a joke, after all. Her pulse quickened and her stomach churned as she ap- proached Cooper cautiously.
Within minutes the stewardess had relayed his demands to the cockpit, and copilot William Rataczak was in com- munication with Seattle-Tacoma Inter- national Airport tower officials. "We have a problem with a passenger," said the experienced flier, his voice cool and controlled. He explained that a man was threatening to explode a bomb
DB Cooper-20799if he didn't receive $200,000 and four parachutes as soon as the plane landed at Seattle.
Tense airport personnel notified Northwest Airlines officials and the FBI, who decided to meet the skyjacker's demands. When Flight 305 reached Seattle, it circled in the vicinity for two- and-a-half hours while airline represen- tatives gathered the money from four banks-all in $20 bills-and recorded the serial numbers.
"We were told there was a minor me- chanical problem," remembers Seattle attorney George LaBissoniere, who was seated two rows in front of Cooper.
"We were told there was a minor me- chanical problem," remembers Seattle attorney George LaBissoniere, who was seated two rows in front of Cooper. "I walked to the bathroom a couple of times and passed him, but at no time did we know there was a hijacker aboard. Everyone remained calm, and the drinks were on the house."
When the plane finally landed at Seattle, Cooper's 36 fellow passengers and Flo Schaffner and another steward- ess disembarked. Cooper had demanded that one stewardess remain on board as a hostage. Tina Muchlow didn't consid- er herself especially brave, but some- body had to volunteer. Now she was on her own.
Also remaining on the plane was the three-man flight crew, headed by Cap- tain William Scott. Four sport parachutes were delivered and left just inside one of the cabin doors. A short time later an FBI agent walked slowly up the ramp and silently handed Muchlow a heavy canvas mailbag containing the ran- som money.
Struggling to get a better grip on the 46-pound moneybag, she turned into the darkened cabin. The shades had been pulled shut on all the porthole- shaped windows.
Struggling to get a better grip on the 46-pound moneybag, she turned into the darkened cabin. The shades had been pulled shut on all the porthole- shaped windows. Cooper was too smart to let himself be picked off by police sharpshooters. Behind Muchlow, in the cockpit, the flight crew waited for fur- ther instructions now that the plane had been refueled. In front of her, hidden somewhere in the shadows of the empty seats, was D. B. Cooper-and his bomb.
As she walked slowly down the aisle, Muchlow's foot struck a strange object. For a frightening instant she thought she might have kicked the bomb. She lost her balance and was starting to fall when Cooper caught her from the side. As the bag fell to the floor, she found herself steadied in his strong arms.
One reporter has learned that he held the woman for several seconds, but she didn't back away. She could feel his warmth, power and confidence. He wasn't sweaty or nervous. Days, weeks, even years later, whenever Muchlow remembered this scary night, she would recall this moment-when she first (continued on page 86)
$200.
Days, weeks, even years later, whenever Muchlow remembered this scary night, she would recall this moment-when she first (continued on page 86)
$200.000 ransom and fout parachutes supplied 21 Seattle-Tacoma International Airport.
SEATTLE
WASHINGTON
Route of Flight 305
Cascade Mountains, Oregon, Jack Coffelt says he landed here.
CASCADE.
RANGE
COLUMBIA
RIVER
Lake Marwin, Washington. FBI says Cooper bailed out over this eight-milo- long body of water.
Site of annual D. B. Cooper Festival
Brian Ingram discovers $4.000 in decomposed ransom money.
Willamette River Valley, Primary wilderness search area.
PORTLAND
Cooper buys a ticket on Northwest Orien! Airlines Flight 305.
OREGON
CASCADE RANGE
THE FLIGHT
OF D.B COOPER
Filght 305 files on to Reno, Nevada, alter Cooper bails out.
HUSTLER AU(DB Cooper-20800D. B. COOPER
(continued from page 79)
sensed the man was somehow going to get away with his bold plan.
Still holding the stewardess, Cooper's hand slipped down to the swell of her hips. She sucked in her breath and remained motionless as his fingers ex- plored the shape of her round, firm ass.
She sucked in her breath and remained motionless as his fingers ex- plored the shape of her round, firm ass. His other hand started to reach for the proud peaks of her bosom. But suddenly he seemed to change his mind.
Releasing her, he bent down and picked up the mailbag.
"Yep, it's all here," Cooper said, plop- ping the satchel onto the nearest cushioned seat.
"Aren't you going to count it?" Muchlow asked, straightening her skirt and jacket, relieved to be free from him.
"I trust 'em," he smiled. Opening the bag, he pulled out a fistful of twenties and offered them to her. "Here," he said. "Call it a tip."
"Oh, no," she stammered, "we're not allowed to accept gratuities."
Cooper shrugged, and dropped the money back into the bag. "Are the chutes aboard?"
"They're up front."
"Bring them back here, then shut the door. We're getting outa here. Fast!"
Grabbing a microphone at the stew- ardesses' station, Cooper ordered the crew to fly him to Mexico City. Pilot William Scott explained that that destination was outside the aircraft's range; they would have to stop to refuel.
Pilot William Scott explained that that destination was outside the aircraft's range; they would have to stop to refuel.
"Then make it Reno," the skyjacker snapped. "And let's get this motherfuck- ing show on the road!"
Shortly after takeoff he ordered the pilots to unlock the 727's rear passenger ramp, remain at exactly 10,000 feet altitude, fly at a 200-mph cruising speed with wing flaps down at a 15-degree an- gle and maintain a particular compass setting. Obviously, Cooper knew exact- ly what he was doing.
After instructing the pilot to fly the direct course to Reno, he gave the stewardess a final smile and closed her inside the cockpit with the flight crew.
The last thing she remembers seeing was Cooper removing his street shoes and putting on a pair of heavy work boots, which he had taken from a paper bag. Cooper monitored the flight with a com- pass and wrist altimeter. Since the rear exit door had been left open on his orders, the cabin pressurization was broken, and an altimeter could thereby function.
Since the rear exit door had been left open on his orders, the cabin pressurization was broken, and an altimeter could thereby function.
At one point, when the plane drifted slightly above the instructed altitude, he barked to the cockpit over the intercom: "You son of a bitch, you better keep on
86 AUGUST HUSTLER
WAS HE D.B.COOPER?
B
The FBI composite sketch of the al- leged skyjacker (above), drawn from eyewitness descriptions sup- plied by Flight 305 crew members, was widely circulated -in 1971- 72 ... to no avail. Three years later, mystery man Byron ( Jack) Cotfelt- shown in a 1953 photograph (below) -provided believable evi- dence that he was the elusive D. B. Cooper. Before his 1975 death, :Coffelt enlisted the aid of a former convict friend, but failed to find the : missing $200,000 ransom money.
course!" He also ordered the pilot to tell three Air Force jets trailing behind to back off; he could see their lights.
What happened next only D. B Cooper knows for certain. Just as North- west Flight 305 was passing over Lake Merwin, instruments in the cockpit indicated that the rear exit had been
opened.
Just as North- west Flight 305 was passing over Lake Merwin, instruments in the cockpit indicated that the rear exit had been
opened. No personnel entered the cabin until the plane landed in Reno three hours later. By then Cooper, two parachutes, the mailbag and the attache case had vanished. All he left behind were some lengths of cut-up parachute shroud line-and reams of speculation concerning his fate.
The FBI claims it expended thou- sands of man-hours tracking down leads on some 900 suspects, without success. Its conclusion is that Cooper, or what- ever his real name was, probably per- ished in the jump. Official line aside, many observers familiar with the case suggest that Cooper was actually an ex- convict named Byron ( Jack) Coffelt. They cite, in part, convincing evidence supplied by James Brown-a former Army officer who shared a cell with Coffelt at the Atlanta Federal Penitenti- ary. At various intervals from June 1973 until his death in June 1975, Coffelt told Brown intimate details of the skyjacking and its aftermath that nobody except someone with firsthand knowledge of the incident could possibly
At various intervals from June 1973 until his death in June 1975, Coffelt told Brown intimate details of the skyjacking and its aftermath that nobody except someone with firsthand knowledge of the incident could possibly have known.
Until then Brown knew surprisingly little about his old cellmate's past histo- ry. Coffelt, a hard drinker who stood six feet tall and weighed 190 pounds, was always shrouded in mystery. And un- doubtedly that's the way he wanted it. Born in 1916, he spent much of his first 30 years in Midwestern jails for a variety of minor crimes. In 1949 he received a ten-year sentence for interstate transpor- tation of a stolen automobile. Over the years his cellmates in the Atlanta and Leavenworth federal prisons reportedly included Colonel Jack Durant, who was convicted of stealing the Hesse crown jewels during World War II, and James Earl Ray, who is presently serving a life sentence for killing Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr.
During those prison years Coffelt ap- parently made contact with the FBI. A source who requests anonymity men- tions a letter signed by J. Edgar Hoover asking the prison warden for infor- mation about Coffelt.
A source who requests anonymity men- tions a letter signed by J. Edgar Hoover asking the prison warden for infor- mation about Coffelt. The source also says that the agent in charge of the At- lanta FBI office was Coffelt's sole visitor for five years.
Some believe that he became an FBI informant in prison, secretly turning over information damaging to his cell- mates. To Brown, Coffelt described his time behind bars as a "revolving door"- meaning that he would be let out for a few days of weeks at a time to carry out "hit jobs" for the government.
Years later Coffelt was known to carry FBI and Department of Agriculture cre- dentials, as well as passes for the White House and the Pentagon. A college professor reports that he was once riding
DB Cooper-20801with Coffelt in Washington, D.C., when Coffelt picked up General Creighton Abrams-then U.S. Army Chief of Staff-and drove him to the Pentagon. The professor says he saw Coffelt flash FBI credentials.
Naturally, the FBI refuses to comment on these revelations or on any other as- pect of Coffelt's life.
Naturally, the FBI refuses to comment on these revelations or on any other as- pect of Coffelt's life.
Records show that he was paroled from Leavenworth in 1955 after serving just six years of his ten-year sentence. Then, in the mid-1960s, he became the trusted aide of wealthy Robert Todd Lincoln Beckwith-the great-grandson and last living relative of Abraham Lin- coln. Beckwith has heavily financed several right-wing causes, such as the John Birch Society.
In 1974 Coffelt boasted to Brown that he had "helped kill a nigger" in Mem- phis, Tennessee. He mentioned being in "one of the white cars" that had deliber- ately caused traffic congestion imme- diately after Dr. King was assassinated.
Where much of the preceding may seem rather sketchy, Coffelt's story of the Northwest Airlines skyjacking-as recounted by James Brown-is detailed and believable.
From the outset of the meetings that began in 1973, Brown played a deter- mined devil's-advocate role with Coffelt-asking tough questions. At
times Coffelt would be cooperative and come forward with more details.
From the outset of the meetings that began in 1973, Brown played a deter- mined devil's-advocate role with Coffelt-asking tough questions. At
times Coffelt would be cooperative and come forward with more details. Other times Coffelt would shut off completely, saying he was tired of talking about it all. But inevitably, during the days they spent together searching for the missing money and at Brown's home in Oregon, they would come back to the skyjacking.
Coffelt said he had first planned to steal several million dollars, which he thought would be aboard Flight 305, headed for the Federal Reserve Bank in Seattle. But after watching the loading of the plane and realizing the bank money had failed to arrive, he carried out an alternate plan to demand the $200,000 ransom.
He told Brown he had called the air- line numerous times to make phony reservations for Flight 305 so there would be fewer people on board. He saw no sense in creating unnecessary problems.
Before jumping from the plane's rear exit door, Coffelt said, he put the moneybag and an electronic receiver in- side a green plastic bag he had carried aboard in his briefcase.
Before jumping from the plane's rear exit door, Coffelt said, he put the moneybag and an electronic receiver in- side a green plastic bag he had carried aboard in his briefcase. After throwing the briefcase overboard, he tied a line around the moneybag and made a loop for his arm.
Coffelt said his bail-out point was not the Lake Merwin vicinity, as stated by the FBI. He claims to have landed 70 miles farther southeast, in the Cascade
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Mountains of Oregon-on almost a di- rect line from Seattle to Reno. An accomplice with a Jeep waited for him in the brush. The four-wheel-drive vehi- cle was equipped with an electronic "beeper." Another vehicle, a white Cad- illac, was hidden close to a paved road.
Spotting a beacon on Mount Hood, Coffelt was able to sight a triangle of three small runway lights located east of the mountain, set in place by his accomplice. He put his arm through the moneybag and waited for a signal from the Jeep beeper. Preparing to jump directly over the beacon lights, he was suddenly swept off balance by swirling winds and sucked down into the darkness.
Preparing to jump directly over the beacon lights, he was suddenly swept off balance by swirling winds and sucked down into the darkness.
At the 10,000-foot altitude Coffelt figured it would be safe to count to 50 before opening the chute. But as he free- fell into the black night, he counted only to 30 before instinctively pulling on his chest-pack rip cord. Nothing happened.
Desperately, he pulled at the D-ring on the seat-pack chute. It opened with a jolt. At that moment, relieved that he wouldn't hit the earth at more than 100 miles per hour and die, he made the mis- take of relaxing his grip on the money- bag. It slipped off his arm and disap- peared beneath him.
He would never see the S200,000 again.
The combination of a strong wind and the early chute opening caused him to drift far from the target meadow. Coffeit hit the ground hard at more than 30 mph, was dragged along by the para- chute and smacked into a dead tree.
Despite the pain from injuries to his rib cage, genitals, feet and legs, he man- aged to remove the chutes.
Despite the pain from injuries to his rib cage, genitals, feet and legs, he man- aged to remove the chutes. To avoid possible detection, he melted them with an aerosol can of solvent spray. Then he buried what was left of the chutes- mostly metal snaps and buckles-next to a large rock, on which he scratched large X's and O's.
Coffelt now considered his very real dilemma. He could hear the signals from the beepers in both the Jeep and the lost moneybag, but the latter was weak and beginning to fade. He thought about going after the money, but quickly dis- missed the plan when he realized he would have a difficult enough time reaching the Jeep from this steep, inac- cessible area. Resignedly, he mustered his remaining strength and began his trek through the pitch-dark forest, hom- ing in on the Jeep beeper.
When the sun came up, Coffelt was still miles away from the Jeep. At one point he crossed a road and was aston- ished to see a bulldozer at work nearby. He turned his face so the driver couldn't (continued on page 124)
DB Cooper-20802
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D. B. COOPER
(continued from page 88)
identify him later. Around noontime, some 15 hours after his landing, he reached the Jeep.
Then he and his accomplice drove to near where the Cadillac was hidden. Eventually they loaded the Jeep with an explosive charge, rolled it into a lake and blew it up.
Coffelt said he then entered the back- seat of the Cadillac, and his partner drove him to Kansas City, where he received medical attention.
Eleven days after the skyjacking, Coffelt began working as a surgical tech- nician at a northern Virginia hospital. His superior there says that he had diffi- culty walking and at one point showed her his "badly discolored legs"-in- juries that some believe he sustained in the parachute jump.
The following spring, after the snow had melted, Coffelt said he chartered a helicopter and returned to the area.
The following spring, after the snow had melted, Coffelt said he chartered a helicopter and returned to the area. But when the pilot became unduly curious about the object of the search, Cof- felt abandoned his efforts to locate the moneybag.
A few years later he told James Brown that he wanted to go back into the Cas- cades and look for the small fortune, but that he needed help. In July 1974 the two men and Brown's muscular 17- year-old son made a week-long trek into the mountains where Coffelt said he landed. Coffelt was then in ill health, and at one point he nearly collapsed on a steep grade. For the entire week they made themselves as invisible as possible, blending into the forest, keeping camp- fires low, meticulously picking up after themselves. But they found no money in the rugged terrain.
Meanwhile, Brown had been writing down every scrap of information Coffelt told him. He began working on a manuscript following Coffelt's death in 1975. To sell the story, Brown found producer Dirk Summers in Las Vegas, where he was supervising a Kenny Nor- ton heavyweight fight for CBS Sports.
To sell the story, Brown found producer Dirk Summers in Las Vegas, where he was supervising a Kenny Nor- ton heavyweight fight for CBS Sports.
Summers says that he had Brown take a lie-detector test concerning the time he spent with Coffelt in northern Oregon. "He passed with flying colors," claims Summers. "But all that meant was that Brown believed Coffelt's story. I kept thinking, if this story is true, it's the story of the century."
So Summers began his own investiga- tion. In 1977 he and Brown organized an expedition into the Cascades, back to where Coffelt had taken Brown three years earlier. This time, thanks to a metal-detector and energetic digging, the search party unearthed a solid piece
of physical evidence: a one-and-a-half- inch piece of cording that proved to be synthetic nylon of the type used in parachute shrouding.
"We had a lab report confirming that the cording came from a parachute and was five to seven years old," says Sum- mers. "We were very careful uncovering it. I took soil samples, which I turned over to the lab so I would know whether something hadn't just been buried there.
I took soil samples, which I turned over to the lab so I would know whether something hadn't just been buried there. It's a strong piece of circumstantial evidence.
"The area where we found this was very primitive, remote wilderness - Big- foot country. We had to lower ourselves down a cliff to get to the site. There was a dead tree that Jack told Brown he hit. And this enormous, two-story-high rock with markings on it: X's and O's that Coffelt said he had scratched into the rock the night he landed there. That was where we dug. You could even see the narrow trenches where his feet had hit the ground and he had been dragged by the parachute."
Summers became a believer in the sto- ry, and he too is convinced that Jack Coffelt was D. B. Cooper. He has fin- ished a book on the subject, and claims to have interested actors Robert Mitch- um and Telly Savalas in a TV project.
Summers and Brown also believe that the FBI went to great lengths to cover up and otherwise derail the Coffelt/Cooper connection. The producer suspects that the FBI may have known all along that Coffelt was the skyjacker, but didn't
The producer suspects that the FBI may have known all along that Coffelt was the skyjacker, but didn't go after him because they realized he had stories to tell about his earlier coopera- tion with the agency. "Assistant and deputy FBI directors are involved in the Coffelt story," says Summers. "It's a string of middle-level officials covering up and protecting their own asses."
Many observers closest to the case are still perplexed by the way it was han- dled. According to reliable sources, Flo Schaffner and Tina Muchlow -- the two stewardesses on board Flight 305 who could identify Cooper-said the FBI released a composite of the skyjacker that looked nothing like him, even though they had worked closely with an FBI artist.
Both Summers and Brown were inter- viewed extensively and gave agents copies of Coffelt photographs. Summers says the stewardesses told him the FBI never showed the Coffelt pictures to any of the airline.crew. He also says the FBI threatened him with legal action and possible prosecution if he continued with his Coffelt investigation.
He also says the FBI threatened him with legal action and possible prosecution if he continued with his Coffelt investigation. Worse yet, Sum- mers says FBI agents contacted persons who had talked to him and warned them against cooperating further.
Even 60 Minutes' intrenid Mike
DB Cooper-20803
AUGUST HUSTLER
124allace had difficulty dealing with the BI. Despite telephone conversations ith agents working on the case and a Meeting with Bureau Director William Tebster, he unearthed no new informa- on, and reached a frustrating dead end. If Wallace had chosen to dig deeper, e might have uncovered strong evi- ence that Coffelt was telling the truth om two eyewitnesses aboard Flight 05-stewardess Tina Muchlow (now fina Muchlow Larsen) and attorney George LaBissoniere. In the past year both have identified a photograph of Coffelt as the skyjacker. Interestingly, aBissoniere says he previously iden- ified an FBI photo of Coffelt a month fter the incident. As far as he knows, nothing more ever happened as a result of the identification.
Interestingly, aBissoniere says he previously iden- ified an FBI photo of Coffelt a month fter the incident. As far as he knows, nothing more ever happened as a result of the identification. He tried contacting the FBI several times, but no one at the Bureau ever returned his calls.
Also supporting Coffelt's story are unusual details of the skyjacking that he told Brown, facts that have never been released by lawmen or published by newsmen.
Coffelt said he "petted and touched" the stewardess in an intimate way and offered her some of the ransom money. The "groping" has been confirmed by a member of the flight crew. Larsen verifies Coffelt's claim that he changed into boots on the plane. To this day, all news reports have echoed the FBI's claim that he jumped in street shoes.
Earlier this year the D. B. Cooper sto- ry stormed back onto the front pages when some of the ransom money was recovered-not by any of the hopeful treasure-hunters who have prowled the jump region for years, but purely by ac- cident. On February 12, during a family outing on the northern bank of the Co- lumbia River, eight-year-old Brian Ingram was scooping out sand for a campfire site.
On February 12, during a family outing on the northern bank of the Co- lumbia River, eight-year-old Brian Ingram was scooping out sand for a campfire site. Suddenly he shouted: "Daddy, I see money!" His father dug further and found 12 packets of crum- bling $20 bills wrapped in worn rubber bands. "It didn't look like I could spend it," says Harold Ingram. "I thought it was counterfeit."
The discovery was made about 50 miles downstream from where Coffelt said he landed and some 20 miles away from where the FBI searched for Cooper's landing spot. If the money had dropped at either location, it would have had to work its way down a tribu; tary and eventually into the wide river. Although the bills apparently did just that, the landing spot or exact route the money followed in the river will prob- ably never be determined, since earth was freely moved from one river to an- other during a massive dredging oper- ation in 1977 and 1978.
The currency's serial numbers did, however, match those on some of the bills given Cooper in 1971. Despite massive digging by the FBI and local police during the next several days, no more ransom money was found.
Despite massive digging by the FBI and local police during the next several days, no more ransom money was found.
Those who believe that Jack Coffelt may have been D. B. Cooper feel that finding the money did nothing to con- tradict his version of the skyjacking. "After all, Coffelt did claim he lost the money,".one journalist familiar with the case points out.
The FBI agent in charge of the case from the beginning, Ralph Himmels- bach, declines to discuss details of Coffelt's story or his alleged connections to the Bureau. Besides, he thinks it unlikely that D. B. Cooper ever pulled through.
"The aircraft was flying at 10,000 feet at nearly 200 mph," says Himmelsbach. "The air temperature outside was minus-seven degrees. Winds in Portland were gusting at ground level up to 40 mph. He was plunging straight down at 26 mph, the normal rate of vertical de- scent in sport parachuting. Add those two numbers together, and he had to strike the ground at nearly 70 mph. It's hard to conceive how he could have landed without being badly injured.
Add those two numbers together, and he had to strike the ground at nearly 70 mph. It's hard to conceive how he could have landed without being badly injured. Also, he lacked the necessary equipment to make such a jump. He should have had a hard hat, goggles, a leather flight jacket, a flight suit and some tools and cutters so he could free himself from whatever trees or bushes he might have gotten hung up in.
"It was an incredible gamble. Yet he was dressed in a suit, with a tie and stickpin, alligator shoes, a raincoat and dark glasses and carrying a briefcase. He seemed to be saying, 'If I make it, okay. If I don't, that's okay too.'"
And what about the report from stewardess Muchlow that she saw him change from his street shoes to boots be- fore the jump? "That's news to me," Himmelsbach says gruffly.
A tough, old investigator, he retired from the Bureau a month after the Ingrams found some of the ransom money. Nevertheless, Himmelsbach's compulsion with solving his biggest-ever case has not ended. A private pilot, he still flies his single-engine Beechcraft Bonanza over the rugged terrain that he hopes hides the decaying parachutes
A private pilot, he still flies his single-engine Beechcraft Bonanza over the rugged terrain that he hopes hides the decaying parachutes and bones of D. B. Cooper. Clearly, he does not relish the prospect that the sky- jacker survived the jump and lived to spend most of the money.
And he has nothing but contempt for the townspeople of Ariel, Washington, who commemorate the famous skyjack- ing. "They're making fun of a deadly serious matter," Himmelsbach declares.
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"He [Cooper] was nothing but a com- mon criminal. He terrorized people, threatened their lives, threatened to blow up a plane. I don't like to see some- one like that celebrated."
But someone who has attended Ariel's annual D.
I don't like to see some- one like that celebrated."
But someone who has attended Ariel's annual D. B. Cooper Day sees the sky- jacker differently: "This wasn't just a simple rip-off. We're not honoring an antihero because he got away with a crime. We do it because we all think of our own reasons why we would have done the same thing."
Undoubtedly, Himmelsbach wouldn't care to see the skyjacker glorified in a movie either. But that's exactly what famed director John Frankenheimer (Seven Days in May, Black Sunday, The Birdman of Alcatraz and The Manchurian Candidate) is doing for PolyGram Pic- tures, which owns the film rights to J. D. Reed's novel Free Fall. In this fast- paced yarn-retitled Pursuit for the screen-a character similar to D. B. Cooper survives his plunge from an air- liner. Then he's pursued across most of the country by a determined federal agent. Yes, the skyjacker gets away.
"D. B. Cooper pulled off a stunt that everyone would love to pull off," says Frankenheimer, describing what at- tracted him to the story.
Cooper pulled off a stunt that everyone would love to pull off," says Frankenheimer, describing what at- tracted him to the story. "It's the old Robin Hood guy screwing the Establish- ment. The Cooper character Iplayed by
actor Treat Williams] will be portrayed as an obsessed human being who be- comes a folk hero ... much like Bonnie and Clyde." The film will be released next year.
Says author Reed, who spent more than two years researching the Cooper/ Coffelt story and another year writing his fictionalized version of the facts: "Sometimes I think Coffelt didn't do it. But then some mornings I wake up, and I'm sure he was D. B. Cooper.
"Whichever is true, the motivation is what makes this case so interesting. Here's a guy who held a plane for no political or personally disturbed reason. He did it straight-out for money, His was the ultimate victimless crime. After the whole thing was over and the FBI interviewed Tina Muchlow Larsen, the stewardess came to the conclusion that D. B. Cooper actually was carrying railroad flares in his briefcase.
After the whole thing was over and the FBI interviewed Tina Muchlow Larsen, the stewardess came to the conclusion that D. B. Cooper actually was carrying railroad flares in his briefcase. The guy didn't even have a real bomb. He never intended to hurt anybody."
Reed has his own favorite theory about the enduring D. B. Cooper legend. "There have since been a num- ber of skyjackings bearing a resem- blance to the D. B. Cooper job," he says. "I'd like to think the guy is still alive and ripping off the Establishment. They don't hardly make them like him anymore." 6
TERRORISM
(continued from page 74)
tions found that an attacker could quickly infect millions of people up to 20 miles away. To this day the Army denies it was responsible for an extreme- ly rare outbreak of Serratia marcescens- linked pneumonia that hospitalized 11 individuals and killed one patient.
Nor did the Army limit its testing to the common man. On March 15, 1962, Chemical and Biological Warfare re- searchers carried out a simulated assassi- nation of President John F. Kennedy by planting vapor-emitting items in the tourist sections of the White House.
On March 15, 1962, Chemical and Biological Warfare re- searchers carried out a simulated assassi- nation of President John F. Kennedy by planting vapor-emitting items in the tourist sections of the White House. These vapors were then carried into the air-conditioning system, past guards and into the Oval Office. And the CIA has since admitted plotting the germ- weapon assassination of Cuban dictator Fidel Castro, but these plans were not carried out.
Then there were the two members of a neo-Nazi organization called RISE ar- rested by Chicago police in 1972. One, who worked in a local hospital, had aroused suspicion by his preoccupation with gaining access to deadly disease specimens. When caught, he was found to have brewed up "a quantity"-about 80 pounds-of typhoid bacteria. RISE
members, according to Cook County State's Attorney Edward V. Hanrahan, had planned to inoculate themselves, then to inject the lethal germs into the water supplies of Chicago and other Midwestern cities. When the expected epidemic killed the present population off, the RISE madmen believed, they would repopulate the land with a "mas- ter race" bred from their own superior seed.
When the expected epidemic killed the present population off, the RISE madmen believed, they would repopulate the land with a "mas- ter race" bred from their own superior seed.
The commissioner of the Chicago Water and Sewers Department assured citizens that chlorine in their drinking water would have killed the typhoid germs. We can hope this is true, but such protective chemicals would not necessarily have killed germs (such as those that cause anthrax) created by the Army's CBW program.
Using germs supplied by or stolen or purchased from research-supply houses, terrorists with the basic skills of a biology sophomore could cook up batches of botulism germs able to kill millions of people. "It scares the shit out of me," Said one Pentagon specialist. "Hell, a crazy could stir up enough germs in his bathtub to wipe out New York City! And it doesn't require any special skill or any secrets ... just a twisted mind."
But terrorists armed with more-
DB Cooper-20805
AUGUST HUSTLER
126 Las Vegas, Nev.
"
But terrorists armed with more-
DB Cooper-20805
AUGUST HUSTLER
126 Las Vegas, Nev. Dec. 14,1983
b6 b7C
Dear Thank you for sending the nice , informative letter. I'm sorry I didn't respond sooner, but shortly after our phone conversation I had to leave for Los Hugelen for 10 days . I am hoping to negotiate a television movie dead on Jack's story about D. P. Cooper.
My things to Memphis will have to be postponed until after New Year, but I hope to see you in January and will bring the book with me them . Could you send the photograph of your and Jack in Mexico that you mentioned in your letter? I can have it marly reproduced in our photo lab here and will return the original plus a copy and a negative for you.
If I can develop interent ine this story in Hollywood , I am sure
DB Cooper-20806Di "that you could
could perhaps be a part of a television script. It takes a lot of negotiating, but I think eventually this will make a nice story for TV, and I'll do my best to get it going.
It takes a lot of negotiating, but I think eventually this will make a nice story for TV, and I'll do my best to get it going.
Hope all is going well with you and andlook forward to seeing you next month. The photograph and the letter from the parole board concerning Jack will batt be very helpful. to me in trying to sell the story to Hollywood , so polarse semal them if you will as soon as possible I'll be in touch soon. Hope you enjoy the articles.
Tablecare,
b6 b7C
b6 b7C
b6 b7C
DB Cooper-20807Memorandum
To
: SAC, SEATTLE (164A-81) (P)
Date
2/9/90
From :
SA
Subject:
NORJAK
00:
SEATTLE
Re UNSUB; (FNU) - SOURCE; SUB J
MISCELLANEOUS PERSONS, and Portland airtel to Seattle dated 12/11/89.
Referenced communication enclosed a letter written by an anonymous writer from in Walla Walla, Washington, telephone number The letter
suggested (FNU) as possibly being identical with UNSUB in this matter. The letter was not specific as to the reason should be considered a suspect other than to suggest that
and made two or three trips to Juneau, Alaska, a short period of time after the hijacking to apparently be with a
The letter was not specific as to the reason should be considered a suspect other than to suggest that
and made two or three trips to Juneau, Alaska, a short period of time after the hijacking to apparently be with a relative that had been hurt in an airplane crash.
SA has determined that the subscriber to in Walla Walla, Washington, is In view of the fact that there does not appear to be any direct evidence to indicate (FNU) should be considered a suspect in the NORJAK case, no further investigation will be conducted concerning him at this time.
ARMED AND DANGEROUS 3 - Seattle RNN/ees (3)
1*
9148 LeHA 81- Sub J
SEARCHED
INDEXED SERIALIZED FILED
FEB 9 -1990
FBI - SEATTLE MED
DB Cooper-20808
b6 b7C
b6 b7C
b6 b7C
n
b6 b7C $
FD-36 (Rev. 8-29-85)
TRANSMIT VIA: Teletype AIRTEL
PRECEDENCE: Immediate Priority Routine
FBI
CLASSIFICATION: TOP SECRET Facsimile SECRET CONFIDENTIAL UNCLAS E FT O UNCLAS
Date
12/11/89
TO:
SAC, SEATTLE (164A-SE-81)
FROM :
DESAC
PORTLAND (164A-SE-81 ) (RUC)
uni.
Facsimile SECRET CONFIDENTIAL UNCLAS E FT O UNCLAS
Date
12/11/89
TO:
SAC, SEATTLE (164A-SE-81)
FROM :
DESAC
PORTLAND (164A-SE-81 ) (RUC)
uni.
NORJACK
(00: Seattle)
SuBI MosC 1 - STAND
Enclosed for Seattle is one original letter written by an anonymous writer from address Walla Walla, Washington, telephone number
The letter is being routed to Seattle for evaluation and follow-up investigation.
Portland is placing this case in an RUC'd status. ARMED AND DANGEROUS. 2
Med Seattle (Enc. 1) 1 - Portland
JMR : cmr (3)
- 1* -
164A-SE-81-9149
SEARCHED BEELD SERIALTO
Approved:
Transmitted
(Number) (Time)
Per
or. 1 3.189
b6 b7C
N
DB Cooper-20809
1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21
b6 b7C
b6 b7C164A-SE-81
All These YEARS I MAY OF HAD Some KNOWLEDGE OF The D.D. Cooper AIRPLANE HI-JACK WITHOUT my REALIZING IT, I Believe He WAS FROM JUNEAU ALASKA, ALSO WAS INJURED AND DIED LATER.
FROM Those INJURIES, He WAS AN experienceD PILOT-MARRIED With CHILDREN. His WIFE's mother AND Step FATHER Live 0 AT KALAMA, WASHINGTON Step FATHER is DeAD-DON'T KNOW ABOUT mother There LAST NAME WAS b6 b7C
(EGOPOT) His WIFE's -
His WIFE's mother AND Step FATHER Live 0 AT KALAMA, WASHINGTON Step FATHER is DeAD-DON'T KNOW ABOUT mother There LAST NAME WAS b6 b7C
(EGOPOT) His WIFE's - Brother
b6
b7C
WIFE's NAME
Live AT
ALBANY OREGON, HO DID WORK AT O.S.O.
They HAD
Dio Live IN ALBANY -WAS 670 b6
MARRIED
AND The NAME
OF The
Boy who FOUND The money seems To have A
Connection in This some WAY. She Did
HAVE
New Home
CAR etc PURCHASED By HER DAD.
The
BUILT A New home Then Built b6
b7C
ANOTHER ONO, New BOAT TRUCKS CARS ALSO AN 1
AIRPLANE Which WAS AT ALBANY Aja PORT
DB Cooper-2081016YASE-81-31 SEARCHED ICH BINDEXED SERIALIZED
Deoperácia 13/1/19
b6 67C
DB Cooper;20811my wife who is NOW PeseAseD- Took CAR 570 b6
OF The
CHILDREN FOR SEVERAL DAYS
AT The Time OF The HI-JACKING, AND AFTER
1 RemenBer Her ment IN The HAVING To Go help FIND His SISTER'S HUSBAND b6 b7C - He's Been HURT in AN AIR PLANE CRASH, OR Some Thing in THAT AREA.
b6
SISTER, WAS AT TheRe house b7C A Few DAY'S Before The HI-JACKING, ALSO WAS TO RETURN To her mother's IN KALAMA, WASh.
I Believe (cooper) WAS FOUND AND-either DieD IN WASHINGTON OR WAS MOVED BACKED TO JuneAu where he Died AND WAS BURIED
Either WAY
I Believe (cooper) WAS FOUND AND-either DieD IN WASHINGTON OR WAS MOVED BACKED TO JuneAu where he Died AND WAS BURIED
Either WAY
b6
MADE b7C Two OR Three Trips To JuneAu ALASKA A Short Period OF Time AFTER The HIJACKING They Also Flew To ReNo, Then To SouThean CALIF, ALSO TO HAWAII. ALSO MADE SEVERAL
TRIPS By His self. SeverAL TRIPS To mexico.
IT MAY Be THAT
WAS The NAME OF (cooper) OR His wife's, my wife may HAVE SAID IT AT The Time- some WAY it supe seems To Be Connected To This.
DB Cooper-20812b6
b7C
The
ARE very FAMILIAR With The AREA IN which cooper's WAS To OF DISAppeared ALSO Been ON The COLUMBIA RIVER MANY Times Fishing. Also, AN experienced SMALL PLANE PILOT
IF You FIND THAT These Bits AND Pieces MAY Help You ANDICAN Further Help you
b6
b7C
WALLA WALLA WASA.
DB Cooper-20813b6 125. USA
b7C
PENDLETON. OR PM
30 V:
/989
Walla Walla Wach.
Federal Bureau Domustigation
main office
Portland Oregon
DB Cooper-20814164-497 RWN/rc
1
The following investigation was conducted by Special at Los Angeles, California:
Agent
After several cancellations appeared at the Los Angeles Office of the Federal Bureau of
Federal Bureau Domustigation
main office
Portland Oregon
DB Cooper-20814164-497 RWN/rc
1
The following investigation was conducted by Special at Los Angeles, California:
Agent
After several cancellations appeared at the Los Angeles Office of the Federal Bureau of Investigation accompanied by a women who wanted to remain anonymous. The woman stated that the reason she wanted to remain anonymous was that she was in the She picked the name to be called. It should be noted that was not recognized as
advised that she and her husband have been residing part time in south Kern County in the community, Pine Mountain Club, California. She stated that a resident, has lived in the community for approximately 
years. He is a very secretive individual, never really discussing his past. He mentioned that he had been in the military and seemed to have knowledge of parachuting, but was unable to say if it was through experience or by some other means.
She recalled that years ago, had approximately in cash, which he deposited in the 1st International Bank, Frazier Park, California. never mentioned where he got the money.