The Hijacking of American Flight 119: How D.B. Cooper Inspired a Skyjacking Craze and the FBI's Battle to Stop It 0197695752, 9780197695753

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The Hijacking of American Flight 119

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The Hijacking of American Flight 119 How D.B. Cooper Inspired a Skyjacking Craze and the FBI’s Battle to Stop It

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JOHN WIGGER

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Oxford University Press is a department of the University of Oxford. It furthers the University’s objective of excellence in research, scholarship, and education by publishing worldwide. Oxford is a registered trade mark of Oxford University Press in the UK and certain other countries. Published in the United States of America by Oxford University Press 198 Madison Avenue, New York, NY 10016, United States of America. © John Wigger 2024 All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior permission in writing of Oxford University Press, or as expressly permitted by law, by license, or under terms agreed with the appropriate reproduction rights organization. Inquiries concerning reproduction outside the scope of the above should be sent to the Rights Department, Oxford University Press, at the address above. You must not circulate this work in any other form and you must impose this same condition on any acquirer. Library of Congress Control Number: 2023938615 ISBN 978–​0–​19–​769575–​3 DOI: 10.1093/​oso/​9780197695753.001.0001 Printed by Sheridan Books, Inc., United States of America

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For my dad, who taught me how to fly. He would have loved this story.

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Contents

Author’s Note 

xi

Prologue 

xiii PART I. The Heist

1. The Hijacking 

3

2. Sharon Wetherley 

5

3. David Spellman 

9

4. The Friendly Skies 

11

5. Heinrick von George 

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6. The Money 

20

7. Mohawk Airlines Flight 452 

24

8. The Pilots 

31

9. The Parachutes 

34

10. D.B. Cooper 

38

11. Tom Parker 

43

12. Richard McCoy 

45

13. The Switch 

50

14. David Hanley 

54

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Contents

15. Cadillac Impact 

57

16. The Boeing 727 

61

17. Snipers 

65

18. Chase Planes 

69

19. A Short History of Parachuting 

72

20. Wheels Up 

76

21. The Jump 

79 PART II. The Chase

22. The Call 

83

23. Dead or Alive 

86

24. Peru, Indiana 

89

25. Nowhere Man 

92

26. The Sketch 

94

27. Survivors 

97

28. The Money, the Guns, and the Pants 

106

29. Show Me the Money 

111

30. Tell Me Your Name 

113

31. The Parachute 

117

32. The Tip 

120

33. A Life of Crime 

122

34. The Plan 

128

35. A Ride Home 

131

36. The Informant 

134

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Contents

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37. Fingerprints 

137

38. The Arrest 

139

39. Evidence 

142

40. Fallout 

147

41. Hijacker’s Heaven 

150

PART III. Connecting Flights 42. How It Began 

157

43. Take Me to Cuba 

165

44. Anywhere but Here 

172

45. Hijack House 

177

46. Security 

182

47. Ransoms 

190

48. A Means of Escape 

194

49. The Trial 

211

50. Prison Break 

215

51. Finding D.B. Cooper 

222

52. Arrivals 

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Acknowledgments 

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Notes 

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Index 

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Author’s Note

this story is largely based on the more than sixty in-​depth interviews I did with people directly connected to airline hijackings in the 1960s and 1970s, including retired FBI agents, stewardesses, and pilots, along with some of the hijackers and their friends, family, and associates. Though these hijackings happened more than fifty years ago, I was continually amazed at the accuracy of these people’s memories when compared against court records and newspaper accounts. The generosity of everyone who agreed to talk made this book possible, and I am deeply grateful. The individual interviews are cited in the endnotes.

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Prologue

he inched his way feet first down the aft stairs of the Boeing 727. The roar of the jet’s three engines, mounted on the tail only a few feet above his head, was deafening. The stairway was buffeted by the 320-​mile-​an-​hour slipstream, nearly flattened against the plane’s fuselage by the force of the rushing air. The gap between the stair’s bottom lip and the underbelly of the jet’s tail section was barely three feet. Even in June, the air at ten thousand feet chilled his limbs. As he worked his way slowly down the stairs on his stomach, he pulled along a mailbag with half a million dollars in cash, forty pounds in all, tied to his leg. He had already tossed out the machine gun he had carried onto the plane, a wig for which he had paid thirty dollars, and the coat and pants he had worn when he boarded. His only parachute was a small reserve chute attached to the front of the harness he was wearing. He had never jumped out of a plane before. He reached the bottom of the stairs, his feet dangling over the edge. Slowly he lowered himself down until only his fingers grasped the bottom stair. The rest of his body was flying, stretched out prone behind the plane, buoyed by the rushing wind. He had only a vague idea where he was, didn’t even know what state he was over. (In fact, it was Indiana.) It was not quite three a.m., nearly twelve hours since he had hijacked the flight from St. Louis to Tulsa. Much of his plan had gone awry, but it was too late to change any of that. There was nothing left to consider.1 He let go and fell into the void.

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PA RT I

The Heist

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The Hijacking American Flight 119

The man walked across the apron adjacent to the terminal toward the Boeing 727 carrying a briefcase containing the thirty-​dollar wig, a pair of rubber gloves, a smoke grenade, and two guns—​a Spitfire machine gun with the stock and front grip removed and eleven inches cut off the barrel, making it compact enough to fit in the briefcase, and a small-​caliber pistol.1 It was Friday, June 23, 1972, just after two p.m. and about eighty degrees, but not particularly humid for St. Louis, with a light breeze. He had paid seventy dollars for the round-​trip ticket to Tulsa and back, under the name “Robert Wilson.” As was almost always the case in the era before metal detectors and heightened security, he had walked through the terminal and directly to his gate without stopping. No one asked to see what he was carrying. He boarded the plane through the main cabin door and took a middle seat toward the back in row 24, on the left side, in front of the galley. To the stewardesses, there was nothing about him that seemed unusual. Flight 119 had left LaGuardia Airport in New York at 12:50 p.m., bound for Los Angeles, with stops in St. Louis, Tulsa, and Phoenix.2 The man was twenty-​eight but looked younger. He had a boyish grin and the sort of boisterous personality that went with growing up in a large Irish Catholic family. Neighbors would later describe him as “clean-​cut.”3 They left St. Louis at 2:35 p.m. It was only a fifty-​eight-​minute flight from wheels up to landing. He still had a choice to make, but time was running out. If he just sat there and did nothing, like any other passenger, no one would ever know the difference. Friends back in Detroit had urged him not to go through with his plans. But he had already invested $1,500 in the scheme, all his available cash. He was behind on his mortgage. He needed the money.4

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T he Heist

Jerry Stewart had the aisle seat next to his. He owned a clothing store in Tulsa and was on his way home. For the first half hour of the flight, Stewart tried to engage the man, who was wearing aviator-​style sunglasses, but he seemed preoccupied. “Are you going to Tulsa?” Stewart asked. “Yes,” the man said, without elaborating. In fact, he was about to make the most fateful decision of his life. Damn. You’ve got to pump up your nuts here, he thought. You’ve got to do it now or forget about it forever.5 Still, he hesitated until the plane was nearly to Tulsa. When the pilot announced that they were starting their final descent and would be on the ground in fifteen minutes, he turned to Stewart. “Where is the men’s room at?” he asked. “Around the corner,” Stewart said, motioning toward the back of the plane.6 In the lavatory, the man opened his briefcase and put on the wig and rubber gloves. He took out the machine gun and pulled back the bolt, careful not to let it slip and fire a round. Stepping out of the restroom, he stood at the back of the plane. And waited.7 For what seemed like several minutes, nothing happened. He stood in the aisle, gun held across his chest, waving his hand, waiting for someone to notice. This is fucked up, he thought as the surreal silence stretched on. Finally, a stewardess, Jane Furlong, looked up and saw him as she walked down the aisle collecting glasses. “Don’t hurt anybody,” she said, once she was close enough for him to hear.8

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Sharon Wetherley American Flight 119

The stewardesses that day were Jennifer Dumanois, Diana Rash, Sharon Wetherley, and Jane Furlong, all based in New York. Rash had joined American in July 1969. She and Dumanois, the senior member of the group, tended to the twenty-​three passengers in first class on the flight to Tulsa. Furlong and Wetherley had only been flying for three months. Together they worked the coach section toward the back. This was what they called a “liquor and snack flight.” The plane was a stretch 727-​200, about two-​thirds full, with ninety-​three passengers.1 Wetherley, twenty-​two, had enrolled at the American Airlines Stewardess College in Fort Worth, Texas, in February 1972. She and Furlong were roommates and became friends. The school, which opened in 1957, included classrooms, offices, a lounge, a rec room, and dorm suites. By 1969, it could accommodate two hundred students at a time. During the six-​week course, only one afternoon was spent talking about what to do in a hijacking. “Basically, do as the hijacker says, and don’t try to play hero” was the gist of the advice they were given, Wetherley remembered. It was generally understood that domestic hijackers did not want to die or kill passengers and crew unless they had no way out. Defusing tension offered the best chance of getting everyone out alive.2 Wetherley took her first airplane ride in Ventura, California, when she was around eleven. A friend’s father owned an open-​cockpit biplane. The pilot handed her a parachute. “If you see me jump, you jump, too,” he told her. They did loops and rolls, and she loved it. She graduated from high school in Ojai, California, and attended a year of junior college a few miles away in

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T he Heist

Ventura. After a five-​week vacation in England with her mother, she decided not to return to college. “All I wanted to do was to fly and to travel.”3 One of her four brothers had just deployed to Vietnam, and Wetherley accompanied her sister-​in-​law to Florida to live with her parents. There she became friends with a group who skydived. She watched them one weekend and decided, I can do that. Growing up with four brothers made her competitive and adventurous. At the time, you didn’t learn by buddy-​jumping or with a static line. The next Saturday, she jumped on her own, pulling the ripcord on her way down.4 In Florida, she worked in a grocery store and a bank until another brother, who flew helicopters, invited her to fly with him to Alaska. They went to Dallas and then spent six days ferrying a Bell Jet Ranger helicopter to Anchorage. She loved the experience. In the summer of 1971, she applied to become a stewardess at American Airlines.5 Wetherley and Furlong graduated from stewardess college together on March 21, 1972, and were transferred to New York. Wetherley’s first two flights were in and out of LaGuardia. Her third flight left from LaGuardia for Los Angeles but returned to Kennedy Airport, arriving late at night. She was still new to New York and had no idea how to get back to her apartment in Queens. A bus driver took her to a subway station and told her what line to take from there. That left her more than a half-​mile walk to get home. On the way, a car passed her and made a U-​turn. A man jumped out, grabbed her purse, and sped away. Afterward, she realized that it could have been much worse. Furlong had a car and lived close by. Once they were eligible, they started bidding for the same flight assignments. Having a ride to and from the airport made Wetherley feel safe. They had been flying together for most of June when they boarded Flight 119 at LaGuardia.6 Once he had Furlong’s attention, the man in the wig handed her two typed notes, one in black type and the other in black and red. The notes, which were mostly the same, demanded $502,500 in cash (equivalent to $3.6 million today), five parachutes, five parachute harnesses, an altimeter, a pair of goggles, and two collapsible shovels. The shovel (he really only needed one) was to bury the money once he was on the ground. He also instructed the pilot to turn around and fly back to St. Louis. The extra $2,500 was spending money. He wanted to make sure that he cleared an even half million. He told Furlong to take one of the notes to the captain and give the other one back to him.7

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Sharon Wetherley

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Wetherley had just finished serving sandwiches and drinks when she noticed a “funny look” on Furlong’s face and a note in her hand. She looked up to see a man “standing at the rear of the plane, holding a gun.” As Furlong went forward to the cockpit, Wetherley walked back to the galley without making eye contact and quickly pulled plastic wrap off a tray of sandwiches, standing only a few feet in front of the man. She made a point of smiling as she served the sandwiches, determined to maintain a sense of calm.8 As Furlong approached the cockpit, she pulled Dumanois, the head stewardess, aside. “Jenny, you’re not going to believe this, but we are being hijacked.” She stepped into the cockpit and told the pilots the same thing.9 “You’ve got to be kidding,” Captain Ted Kovalenko said. “No, here’s the note,” Furlong said.10 Kovalenko still thought it might be a joke and handed the note to flight engineer Rod Bradley. Meanwhile, as Rash walked through first class, Dumanois pulled her aside. “Diana, did you hear?” she asked. “What?” Rash said. “We are being hijacked.” They always knew it could happen, but the reality of it was still a shock.11 Copilot Richard Sturm radioed Air Traffic Control, reading the single-​ spaced note, which filled nearly an entire 8½-​by-​11-​inch sheet. It began, “Don’t panic, this is a ransom hijacking.” The note said that the hijacker was armed with a gun, a pistol, dynamite, and a hand grenade. “There were a series of casual threats such as ‘don’t try to stop me,’ ” Sturm later recalled. Near the end was written, “I will surely feel sorry for anybody who tries to stop the hijacking.” It was all “poorly organized,” Sturm said, with lots of misspelled words; “individual” was spelled “indivigal.” Bradley, the flight engineer, also immediately noticed the poor spelling and grammar. They had to read it several times to figure it all out. Sturm shook his head. Hard to believe that the guy who wrote this was now calling the shots.12 After Furlong returned from the cockpit, the hijacker—​for that was what he now was—​demanded that they clear the last two rows on the right side of the plane looking forward, rows 25 and 26. In front of these two rows was an empty space adjacent to the emergency exit door on the right. Across from the exit door on the left was the galley. The emergency exit and galley provided a buffer from the rest of the cabin, isolating the last two rows. Sitting on the right also allowed the hijacker, who was left-​handed, to point the gun down the aisle from the aisle seat.13

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T he Heist

From his command post in the back two rows, the hijacker began shuffling the rest of the passengers around. He ordered all the women and children moved to first class and the men moved back to coach, which meant separating families. Wetherley did her best to stay calm and smile, reassuring passengers that everything would be OK. It was just a man who wanted to return to St. Louis, and he happened to have a gun.14

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David Spellman American Flight 119

David Spellman was in seat 4B in first class. Spellman, in his mid-​ twenties, lived in Tulsa and had worked as a field auditor in American’s Audit and Security Department for the past year and a half. He had always been fascinated by airplanes and dreamed of becoming an Air Force pilot growing up. But his vision fell short of the 20/​20 the Air Force required. Working for American kept him connected to airplanes and flight, and flying first class was one of the perks of the job. He was on his way back from Haiti, where American had recently merged with a Caribbean airline, creating several new routes.1 Stepping off the plane in Haiti had been like stepping back in time. Scattered around the small airport were a few DC-​3s and a propeller-​driven Lockheed Constellation, stalwarts of commercial aviation in the 1940s and 1950s, obsolete in the jet age. He was shocked by the poverty he encountered in Port-​au-​Prince and the tension made obvious by the young men in uniform carrying automatic weapons. Haiti had languished under the rule of François “Papa Doc” Duvalier, who had died a year earlier, only to be replaced by his son, Jean-​Claude “Baby Doc” Duvalier. The regime was suspicious of Americans, and the family of the Caribbean airline’s general manager had recently been threatened at gunpoint. Deciding that there was little he could accomplish under the circumstances in Haiti, Spellman booked a flight for New York, leaving the next day. He got little sleep that night in his oppressively hot hotel room, the sound of drums beating through the night. By the time he made his way from Port-​ au-​Prince to LaGuardia and onto the flight to Tulsa, he was exhausted. The only thing keeping him awake was the attractive stewardesses, with whom he

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T he Heist

had been “flirting outrageously,” as he later put it. His efforts seemed to be paying off. When the FBI interviewed Wetherley after she got off the plane, she remembered his “sandy brown hair” and that he was “sharply dressed in a blue and white striped shirt.” Spellman later realized that when he told her he worked for American’s Audit and Security Department, she might have assumed “security” meant something more than accounting.2 As the women and children moved forward on the hijacker’s orders, Spellman ended up about halfway back in coach, on the left side. Once everyone was settled, an eerie silence descended over the cabin. The hijacker demanded the film from all cameras on board, which the stewardesses collected. Spellman overheard two passengers whispering about rushing the hijacker and overpowering him. He wasn’t sure that was a good idea. At least a few people would likely get shot before it was over. Captain Kovalenko announced that no one was to look back to the rear of the plane. A woman tried to hand Wetherley her Bible. As they prepared to land in St. Louis, the hijacker took out the grenade, which resembled a can with a lever on top, and set it on the seat beside him. “If this won’t do the job, then this will,” he said, motioning first to the machine gun and then to the grenade.3

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The Friendly Skies

Early commercial flying was not for the faint of heart. Planes were slow, loud, and unpressurized, which meant that they could not fly above the weather. A DC-​3, the workhorse of commercial aviation from the 1930s to the 1950s, cruised at 150 miles an hour. Flying through thunderstorms and weather fronts meant getting bounced around, sometimes for hours. Tickets were expensive, often five or six times the cost of taking the train, and affordable only for businessmen or the wealthy. To lure them into the skies, airlines knew that they had to provide an exceptional level of service. This is where stewardesses came in. The first stewardesses were former nurses, hired by what would become United Airlines in 1930. From the start, airlines wanted to give flying a sense of professionalism. Stewardesses wore crisp uniforms and did not accept tips. For young women who did not want to become nurses, schoolteachers, secretaries, or salesclerks, flying offered adventure and travel. Twenty thousand young women applied for fewer than 250 stewardess positions available at American Airlines in 1951. “How else but by being caught up in aviation could a girl find time to see so much of the world?” asked Lore Millick, who flew as a stewardess for Capitol Airways beginning in 1955.1 It could be exhausting and sometimes dangerous. Engine failures were frequent. “Every time we had a crash we flew with no passengers for a while,” recalled Marjorie Howe, who began flying with American Airlines in 1936.2 Duties included washing the windows, loading baggage, punching tickets at each stop (a dozen or more between Chicago and San Francisco), keeping up with train schedules for each city in case of an engine failure, tightening the bolts that held seats to the floor so that they would not rattle loose and bounce around in flight, and making sure that passengers who went to the lavatory did not open the exit door by mistake and fall out. To save money, the

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T he Heist

airlines did not send enough meals for the stewardesses. If they wanted to eat, they had to hope that one of the passengers was not hungry.3 In prolonged turbulence, passengers often became airsick. Once one vomited, they all did. Even without pressurized cabins, pilots occasionally ventured up to 14,000 feet to escape the worst of the weather. Passengers were given oxygen masks, but the stewardesses continued to serve meals. Billie Crabtree, who became an American Airlines stewardess in the mid-​ 1940s, kept a diary of her experiences. Describing a flight at 14,000 feet, she wrote, “Stopped to breathe oxygen from a bottle, then served three more passengers . . . stopped for more oxygen . . . my fingers and lips were turning blue . . . I got so lightheaded I forgot the orders by the time I got back to the galley.”4 Jets revolutionized commercial aviation in the 1960s. Flying became more sophisticated, though it was still expensive. Comfort replaced adventure. Jets flew above the weather, and men—​70 percent of passengers—​wore suits and ties when they traveled. Airline deregulation, which began in 1978, would make flying cheaper but also less luxurious. Bigger planes meant more seats to fill. A DC-​2, which began commercial service in 1934, carried fourteen passengers. The Boeing 747 Jumbo Jet, introduced in 1970, could carry four hundred. With more capacity to sell, airlines turned to their stewardesses to market the glamor of flight. There was no shortage of interest. In 1968, there were twenty-​ two applicants for every available position in the US. The sexy stewardess became a staple of pop culture. Stewardesses were now permitted to marry and keep their jobs, but the airlines still enforced weight restrictions. A few extra pounds could lead to suspension. During interviews, aspirants were routinely asked to lift their skirts above their knees so that interviewers could get a good look at their legs. Betty Riegel, who became a Pan Am stewardess in 1961, remembered that before each flight, a supervisor would give the stewardesses a “pinch or slap on the bottom” to make sure they were wearing the “regulation girdle.” “We just got used to it,” Riegel wrote. She loved wearing the iconic pale-​blue Pan Am uniform and the freedom to travel the world that her career afforded. Over time, uniforms became racier. On Southwest Airlines, stewardesses sported tangerine hot pants and miniskirts with white go-​go boots. In 1971, National Airlines launched its “Fly Me” advertising campaign. The first printed ad featured a close-​up of stewardess Cheryl Fioravante, smiling sweetly, next to the caption “I’m Cheryl. Fly Me.” A television version featured twenty-​something stewardess Judy saying, “I’m Judy, and I was born to

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The Friendly Skies

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fly,” as she drove a convertible to a Florida beach. “You can fly me morning, noon, or night,” she said, while stripping down to a bikini and then running across the sand into the water. The ads were hugely effective.5 The book Coffee, Tea, or Me? The Uninhibited Memoirs of Two Airline Stewardesses, published in 1967, was supposedly written by Trudy Baker and Rachel Jones, two new “stews” from small-​town America, navigating the swinging ’60s from 30,000 feet, partying their way from coast to coast. “Airline crews stay at the same hotels and layovers,” they wrote in the introduction. “But that doesn’t mean it’s sex, sex, sex all the time. It can be if you want it that way, and some do.”6 The book was actually written by Donald Bain, a young public relations executive with American Airlines and an aspiring writer. After an editor arranged for him to meet with two Eastern Air Lines stewardesses, Bain realized that they only had half an hour’s worth of material. So he used his imagination and industry background to create a Playboy version of life in the sky. Coffee, Tea, or Me? and its three sequels sold more than 5 million copies in a dozen languages. Bain’s name originally appeared only in each book’s dedication.7 The success of Coffee, Tea, or Me? led to imitators, including the far more salacious and sexist How to Make a Good Airline Stewardess, published in 1972, which described itself as the “expert guide to the luscious stews of every airline you’re likely to fly.” It made no pretense of being written by a woman. Partly in response to these books, stewardesses campaigned to change their title to “flight attendant” starting in the early 1970s, though for years most people still called them stewardesses. “I’m tired of the company selling our bodies rather than our service,” said Bernice Dolan in an October 1970 interview.8 Despite these crosscurrents, glamor remained firmly entrenched in the culture of commercial flight. Victoria Vantoch, author of The Jet Sex, a history of stewardesses, writes that her mother, who had a BA in Slavic languages from UCLA, lobbied on Capitol Hill for the Equal Rights Amendment at the same time she was working as an Eastern Air Lines stewardess, wearing “pale blue hot pants.”9 At Pan Am, America’s most international airline in the 1960s and 1970s, stewardesses touched down in nearly every corner of the world. They transported troops on R&R from Vietnam, lived independently in Hong Kong, spent long layovers in French Polynesia, stayed at the InterContinental Phoenicia in Beirut, and went to beach parties in Monrovia. “How can you change a world you’ve never seen?” asked a Pan Am ad.10 “Suddenly your world becomes anywhere between the Atlantic and the Pacific . . . Canada and Mexico . . . traveling, meeting interesting people. Every day is different,” read an American Airlines ad in 1969, inviting young

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T he Heist

women to apply. It was a “professional career,” but only for women with the right look. The ad specified that applicants needed to be single, over the age of twenty, five feet two inches to five feet nine inches tall, and 100 to 140 pounds. Pan Am had similar requirements: single, at least twenty years old, five feet three inches to five feet nine inches, and 105 to 140 pounds. The weight requirements persisted through 1972. A five-​foot-​two-​inch stewardess on American could weigh no more than 115 pounds; the limit was 118 on Delta and 121 on United.11 The airlines may have been selling a certain look, but most of the young women who made it through training were smart and capable, as would be proven over and over during a sudden wave of hijackings.

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5

Heinrick von George

By the 1970s, the frequent crashes of early flying were in the past, but for stewardesses, a new threat took their place. Hijackers targeted them as hostages. More often than not, they were the ones who ended up with a gun at their back. In January 1972, less than two weeks before Sharon Wetherley and Jane Furlong enrolled at the American Airlines Stewardess College, a forty-​ five-​year-​old unemployed father of seven, Heinrick von George, hijacked a Mohawk Airlines turboprop with forty-​two passengers, demanding $200,000 and two parachutes. He seemed erratic and dangerous. Saying that he had a bomb, von George held a pistol to stewardess Eileen McAllister’s head for nine hours, getting “edgier” as the ordeal dragged on, according to the pilot. Von George said that she was going to jump with him. In the nineteen years he and his wife, Barbara, had been married, von George had frequently changed jobs in hopes of doing better. Barbara went along with his decisions, always trusting her husband’s judgment. Together they had seven children. In 1963, Ozzie, as Barbara called him, left his job as a supermarket manager to open a cigarette and candy company in Peekskill, New York, Barbara’s hometown. The business failed, and they were forced into bankruptcy, losing their car and their house. His confidence and the family’s finances never fully recovered. Still, despite his periodic setbacks, von George was generally upbeat, not the sort to sit around and complain. By 1970, he was back on his feet, working for a drugstore company in Massachusetts. He and Barbara bought a modest two-​story house in Brockton, in a working-​class neighborhood. But von George was restless, and toward the end of the year, he took a job with a new drug company that offered him fifty dollars more a week. Three months later, the company went under. Von George was meticulous about his appearance, always dressing neatly in a suit and tie, and Barbara had always thought him handsome. But he was

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T he Heist

now in his mid-​forties and overweight. He took a job selling insurance. After his eight-​year-​old son underwent a difficult open-​heart surgery, he lost interest, and soon that job was gone. He did not tell Barbara for three months. Instead, he applied for both unemployment and welfare, a violation of the law. Their phone was disconnected, and they fell behind on their mortgage. Even after he confessed to Barbara that he had been indicted for fraud over the welfare and unemployment payments, there were details he kept from her. He was $87,000 in debt from his earlier business dealings, a huge sum given his earning potential. He told her not to worry, that he had a job prospect in New York.1 What Barbara did not know was that her husband, the father of her seven children, was not Heinrick von George. He was born Merlyn LaVerne St. George in St. Paul, Minnesota, where his parents, Thelma G. Beaird and LaVerne St. George, had married. Merlyn, born in 1926, was the oldest of seven children. By the time of the 1930 census, they had moved to Cincinnati, where Thelma’s parents lived. In February 1941, LaVerne joined the Army. Following his father’s example, on his seventeenth birthday in July 1943, Merlyn enlisted in the Navy. That November, he boarded the aircraft carrier USS Yorktown, serving as an aircraft gunner. Merlyn had a difficult time adjusting to life aboard ship and made few friends. In early 1944, his closest buddy, Harold L. Lerch, was killed in action on the Yorktown. Lerch’s death traumatized von George, as later events would prove.2 In April 1944, a week after returning to Pearl Harbor, Merlyn boarded the SS Henry Bergh, a Liberty ship converted into a troop transport, bound for San Francisco. The ship had a capacity of less than 600 but was carrying 1,300 sailors and a crew of 100. On May 31, it ran aground on rocks two hundred yards offshore of South Farallon Island, thirty miles off the coast of San Francisco. Though everyone survived, some by swimming ashore through the frigid water, Merlyn remembered it as a harrowing experience. After returning to the Pacific, he was involved in an accident on the USS Lexington that landed him in the Naval Hospital at Guam. From there, he was transferred to a hospital at Pearl Harbor and, in December 1944, to the Naval Hospital in Seattle. He received a medical discharge for “emotional instability” on April 6, 1945. His mother later told Barbara that when he called home collect from the hospital, his father refused to accept the call.3 The war never left him. He spent the next several years in and out of psychiatric hospitals. Today he would probably be diagnosed with post-​ traumatic stress disorder (PTSD), a condition not widely acknowledged at

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Heinrick von George

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the time. Years later, Barbara remembered that he had nightmares about the war, waking in the middle of the night in a cold sweat. In October 1945, the director of student personnel at a college in Texarkana sent a letter to Merlyn’s parents at their home in St. Paul, addressed to “Mr. & Mrs. Howard Lerch.” “We had a young man in Texarkana who registered under the name of Harold L. Lerch,” the director wrote. “I have discovered through reliable sources that his real name is Merlyn LaVerne St. George.” Merlyn had evidently told the school that Howard was his stepfather. The director had hoped that college would help Merlyn adjust to civilian life, as so many young men needed to do after the war. Initially, things seemed to go well. “I found him to be a good natured and likeable boy during the short time I knew him,” the director wrote. “He seemed to fit himself well into the group of students here and showed indications of becoming popular on campus.” Then he had disappeared, and rumor had it that he had joined the Army.4 In fact, two weeks earlier, Merlyn, using his real name, sent a telegram to his mother saying that he had enlisted in the Army.5 (Later Barbara would hear that he had joined under the name Harold L. Lerch, though it seems unlikely that he had enlisted at all.) In December 1945, Thelma received another letter from Arkansas, this time from the Veterans Administration Hospital in North Little Rock, which specialized in psychiatric care. A Colonel D. D. Campbell wrote to say that “Mr. St. George is adjusting very satisfactorily here in the hospital. He is up and about the ward every day, is in good physical condition. . . . The history is that he was arrested and accused of breaking into an armory in Texarkana, Arkansas. He was placed in jail and later sent to this hospital, for examination and observation.” According to later news reports, Merlyn had stolen a gun from the armory. An evaluation at the hospital concluded that he was “psychopathic” and “asocial,” with a tendency toward “criminalism.” He was nonetheless released in early January 1946.6 Shortly thereafter, Merlyn L. St. George joined the Army at Louisville, Kentucky, to serve in the Ordnance Department. Whatever his treatment at North Little Rock had accomplished, he was still a troubled nineteen-​year-​ old. On April 10, he went AWOL while stationed in Maryland. When he was tracked down the next day, he struck “a non-​commissioned officer on the back of the head with a hollow piece of lead pipe,” according to a letter his mother received from the Army in August. Barbara would later hear that he had been drunk at the time and driving a Jeep he had taken without permission. He had been confined to the post stockade for six months at hard labor,

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T he Heist

beginning May 13. With good behavior, he would be eligible for release that September.7 In August 1947, roughly a year later, he arrived in Fresno, California, and got a room at the Salvation Army hotel and a job as a “food checker” at the Californian Hotel. Two weeks later, he stole $646 from the hotel and took a bus to Los Angeles. From there, he flew to Seattle and signed on as a sailor on a merchant ship. When the ship made port in San Francisco in September, he was arrested. He pleaded guilty to theft of the money in Fresno County Superior Court and was sent to San Quentin.8 After he was paroled in 1949, he apparently returned to Minnesota, where, in 1951, he may have received psychiatric treatment at a veterans’ hospital in St. Paul. An arrest warrant issued in March 1952 charged him with stealing nearly $4,300 from a theater in Duluth. Before the warrant could be served, Merlyn St. George disappeared. Barbara Gordineer met him at a convent in Peekskill in early 1952, where Heinrick von George, as he now called himself, was recuperating from a stay at a hospital for a heart murmur. In exchange, he helped out with chores. Her grandfather was the caretaker of the convent, and they met as he worked the grounds. She was seventeen, and he was twenty-​six, though he initially lied about his age. They were married that summer. He told her he was from Cincinnati and that his parents were dead. He said that he was raised by an older brother and sister whom he did not get along with. “For nineteen years we lived a very happy life,” Barbara told a writer for Esquire after the hijacking. “Ozzie” was a proud father who loved his kids. He went to Little League games and Cub Scout meetings. When their youngest daughter was born, he surprised his wife by painting the dining room a “shocking pink.” Their only troubles had been financial, “but we always figured we could pick ourselves up again,” Barbara said.9 Marriage and family grounded von George. It gave him a sense of purpose and accomplishment. Much of this was the result of Barbara’s stabilizing influence. The family was devoutly Catholic and attended Mass every week. A pharmacist at a drugstore von George worked at said, “The man I knew was a deeply devoted family man. He talked constantly about his wife and kids.”10 Yet by January 1972, von George had lost the sense of control that held his life together. Desperate to set things right, he turned to darker impulses from his past. The fault line between his younger, troubled self and the stable family man he had become suddenly snapped. He left the house in Brockton around nine a.m. on January 25 with only one dollar, just enough for the bus to Boston. He said that a ticket and money

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Heinrick von George

19

were waiting for him there, enough to get him to New York. Barbara couldn’t understand why he refused to take an overnight bag. He always packed a fresh change of clothes for each day of a trip, but not this time. Still, as he walked away from the house, he turned to blow her a kiss as she watched from the window. She smiled and gave him the peace sign.11

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6

The Money American Flight 119

At 4:06 p.m., an hour and a half after it had taken off, American Flight 119 was back in St. Louis, where Captain Kovalenko taxied to an open area of the ramp. The hijacker told the stewardesses that all the women and children could leave. Since no stairs had been brought to the plane, Jennifer Dumanois deployed the escape chute at the left-​front door for them to slide down. Dumanois and Diana Rash helped passengers remove their shoes before dropping onto the chute. Next, the hijacker allowed the men seated on the right side of the plane to leave, giving him an unobstructed view to the front.1 Rash suggested to the captain that some of the remaining men in the left-​ side seats who had heart and diabetic conditions that required medication should also be allowed to leave. The hijacker agreed, and the captain made an announcement over the public address system. Suddenly, every man on the plane had a bad heart. In a moment, they were all on their feet, pressing to get into the aisle. “Every one of us, to a person, stood up,” said David Spellman, one of the remaining passengers. Realizing that he was about to lose control, the hijacker jumped up, brandishing his gun, and yelled for everyone to sit down. It took another announcement over the public address system to get the men back in their seats. Thirteen male passengers remained.2 The hijacker did not want to sit on the ground waiting for the money and parachutes, afraid that the FBI or police would storm the plane. After refueling, he told the pilot to “fly around” until everything he requested was ready on the ground. They took off at 5:17 p.m. Would it be OK to leave the St. Louis airspace? the pilot asked. Sure, the hijacker replied, as long as they could get back once everything was set.3

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The Money

21

While they were in the air, at around seven p.m., Jane Furlong relayed a message from the captain that the airline could not get half a million dollars in St. Louis. The banks had already closed for the day. Would it be OK if they flew to American’s headquarters at Dallas–​Fort Worth for the money? That was fine, the hijacker told her, as long as they got the cash. The plane changed course and picked up speed.4 He kept two or three of the stewardesses seated in front of him in row 25. Eventually, they felt comfortable enough to turn around, kneeling on their seats to chat him up. They were scared but wanted to keep him calm. He wasn’t much older than they were. He said please and thank you, indicating to Sharon Wetherley, at least, that he “had been raised right.” She later remembered asking if they were going “somewhere really fun and exciting.” Were they going to Cuba? Maybe Algeria? She joked that they could all use the overtime. The pilots worried that the stewardesses were developing Stockholm syndrome—​identifying with their captor. Instead, it was the stewardesses who were drawing the hijacker into their world, coaxing him to see things from their perspective.5 After a while, he asked Wetherley if she would like to sit next to him and keep him company. “Not really,” she replied, but there wasn’t much choice. She moved back to the window seat, 26F. The hijacker sat in 26D, the aisle seat, with his briefcase between them. From that point on, she was trapped beside him, too nervous even to get up to use the lavatory.6 The hijacker remained coy but did not mind talking. In fact, he seemed to like the attention. He knew all about previous hijackings, particularly those to Cuba and Algeria. He didn’t mind the delay and preferred not to return to St. Louis before 9:00 or 9:30 p.m. He planned to leave St. Louis by 10:30 p.m. so that he could bail out in the dark at an altitude higher than 5,000 feet, using the plane’s aft stairs. Much later than 10:30 p.m., and he would have to hold the plane for another twenty-​four hours. He asked for flight plans from the cockpit to San Francisco, Seattle, Miami, and Toronto. Copilot Richard Sturm got out his manual flight computer, put together the flight plans on American Airlines forms, and had one of the stewardesses take them to the hijacker.7 When one of the stewardesses commented, “You’ll be a rich man,” the hijacker replied that he wouldn’t get to keep it all. It cost $100,000 to “pull it off,” and his share was between $350,000 and $400,000. He said that he had associates on the ground whom he could contact using the plane’s radio and demanded that the plane’s weather radar be disabled and brought back to him. Rash went to the cockpit and brought back the radar, which had been

2

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T he Heist

pulled from its panel. The hijacker bragged that with the disabled radar, he could tell if there were “any tracers on the plane.” He kept the grenade on the seat beside him and said that he had dynamite in his briefcase. If the FBI tried to rush the plane, he would “take care of everything.” He was surrounded by attractive young women and could not resist showing off.8 While they were in the air, he drank a lot of water. When he used the lavatory in the rear, he kept the door open. He ate only sandwiches and wore rubber gloves. Rash hoped to nab a pack of Winston cigarettes he discarded, but he wiped it down with a damp cloth before she had the chance. After a while, he took off his rubber gloves because his hands were sweating. The stewardesses had blue cotton gloves that they wore to remove hot dishes from the oven. He asked for a pair, and Wetherley gave him a left glove, which was all she had at the moment. Months later, she would see it again, a good deal the worse for wear.9 About ten minutes after passing Fayetteville, Arkansas, on their way to Fort Worth, the captain sent word that they had the money waiting in St. Louis. Once again, they turned around.10 At First National Bank in St. Louis, auditor Frank Gresoski collected the half-​million dollars. The bills were microfilmed, and then Gresoski and a cashier recorded the serial numbers of the first and last bills in each pack. Gresoski then had the bills put on a counting machine to verify the exact amount.11 Next, the bills were divided into three groups. The first package contained $75,000 in hundred-​dollar bills and $25,000 in fifty-​dollar bills, making a total of $100,000. The second package contained the hijacker’s spending money, consisting of $2,000 in tens and $500 in ones. The third pack consisted of $100,000 in thousand-​dollar bills, $100,000 in five-​hundred-​dollar bills, $10,000 in hundred-​dollar bills, and $190,000 in twenty-​dollar bills, for a total of $400,000. The grand total was $502,500. Each group was placed in a canvas currency sack. Together the three sacks weighed about forty pounds.12 Gresoski and the cashier “commandeered” a Brink’s armored truck, using it to make two trips to the airport. On the first run, they delivered the first two sacks, which totaled $102,500, arriving at the airport around 8:30 p.m. At around 10:00 p.m., they delivered the third bag with the remaining $400,000, handing it off to Ronald Hutcheson, manager of ramp services for American Airlines in St. Louis, and the FBI special agent in charge, William Sullivan. All of the bills were put in an American Airlines mail pouch, a heavy brown canvas bag with leather handles. At around 10:45 p.m., Hutcheson loaded the

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The Money

23

money into the back of an American Airlines station wagon for delivery to the plane.13 As American 119 approached St. Louis, the hijacker sent Furlong to the cockpit to retrieve the typed hijack note. When she returned, he realized he had given the pilots the wrong note. The first one he sent to the cockpit was typed all in black, a carbon copy of the original, which was typed in black and red, to emphasize certain instructions. He sent her back to the cockpit with the red and black note for the pilots to read.14 Before giving the note to the pilots, Furlong quickly read it over. The grammar made sense, but “the spelling was atrocious,” she said. It began, “Do not panic. This is a hijacking,” she later recalled. The demands for the money, parachutes, shovels, and so on, were in red. After the pilots read the second note, Furlong took it back to the hijacker.15 As they prepared to land, the hijacker positioned Dumanois, Rash, and Furlong in front of him in row 25 as a human shield, with Wetherley beside him in row 26. By 9:30 p.m., they were back on the ground.

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7

Mohawk Airlines Flight 452

At the Albany County Airport, Heinrick von George bought a one-​way ticket to LaGuardia Airport in New York for twenty-​two dollars. He took a seat in the last row of Mohawk Airlines Flight 452, a Fairchild 227 twin-​ engine turboprop. He apparently knew that hijackers usually sat in the back, so that they could keep an eye on the rest of the cabin. Eileen McAllister had joined Mohawk Airlines in 1961, making her, at thirty-​five, one of its senior stewardesses. Her day had begun at LaGuardia at noon, as she later told a writer for Good Housekeeping. From there, she had flown to Albany and back and then to Albany again, where von George boarded shortly before six p.m. There were forty-​three passengers, one fewer than the plane’s capacity. Soon after lifting off at 6:05 p.m., she took drink orders and went to the buffet at the back to begin mixing cocktails. A man in a heavy coat got up to use the lavatory, which was directly opposite the buffet. McAllister had to shift back a little to let him open the door. When he came out, he had his coat draped over his arm. As she started to move aside, she felt something hard against her ribs. “It’s a gun,” he said. “You’re being hijacked.”1 “You’re kidding,” she replied. Who hijacked a commuter flight from Albany to LaGuardia? But the man looked tense and serious. “Where do you want to go?” she asked. “White Plains.” “No problem. It’s on the way.” She called copilot Bill O’Hara on the interphone. “You’re not serious,” he said. She was, telling him that along with the gun, the man had two bombs. O’Hara and Captain Karl Rieth, who had been a Mohawk pilot since 1961, locked the cockpit door and set the transponder to squawk 7500, the emergency code for a hijacking.2

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Mohawk Airlines Flight 452

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Then McAllister did what stewardesses always did in these situations: she began working to defuse tension and establish a connection with the hijacker. The pressurization system was leaking slightly, faintly hissing through the back door, which meant that she and von George could talk standing in the back without the rest of the passengers hearing. “Look, I’ve taken orders for drinks. People will be coming back asking for them. They’ll get suspicious,” she told him. “If you let me serve them, I won’t pull anything.” Von George agreed but told her that if she opened the cockpit door, he would start shooting. As McAllister served drinks, he returned to his seat, watching her warily.3 Meanwhile, Mohawk Airlines, the FBI, and the Federal Aviation Administration (FAA) scrambled to set up a response, the sort of procedure that had been used in other hijackings. They established an open telephone line that eventually included • FAA hijack coordinator in Washington, DC • FBI headquarters in Washington, DC • FBI agents at the White Plains airport control tower, at the Boston Air Traffic Control Center, and in New York City • FAA personnel at the White Plains and Albany control towers, in New York, and in Boston • Air Traffic Control Centers, Poughkeepsie Flight Service Station, and Washington Medical Center • US Coast Guard at Floyd Bennett Field in Brooklyn, New York • McGuire Air Force Base in New Jersey • North American Aerospace Defense Command (NORAD)4 John Malone, assistant director of the FBI’s New York office, sped to White Plains from Manhattan, still in his tuxedo from a dinner party. Shortly after nine p.m., a second Mohawk Airlines 227 touched down in White Plains carrying John Carver, the airline’s executive vice president, and Ralph Colliander, the vice president of flight operations. Colliander took over communications between the tower and the hijacked plane.5 When the “Fasten Seat Belts” sign came on as they approached White Plains, McAllister asked von George if she could walk through the cabin and check on the passengers. He agreed, trusting her more all the time. “Is this LaGuardia?” a woman asked her. “Oh, yes. We had a good tailwind,” McAllister replied.

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T he Heist

When the plane landed at 6:57 p.m., she immediately went to von George and asked if he would release the passengers, who were still oblivious to what was happening. “Why not let them off ? We don’t need them,” she said. Again, he agreed. Captain Rieth stopped abruptly on the runway, and McAllister threw open the back door, announcing their arrival. All forty-​two passengers filed out past McAllister, with von George standing behind her, the gun in her back. “Is this LaGuardia?” they kept asking as they peered into the darkness. “It doesn’t look like LaGuardia.” McAllister smiled and assured them it was. It was only when they saw ground crew running and waving that they understood what was happening. Once the passengers were gone and the door was closed, von George spelled out his demands. He wanted $200,000 in fives and tens and two parachutes. He told McAllister to order jump boots in her size and cold-​ weather gear. He set a deadline of 10:30 p.m. “If the money and chutes aren’t here by then, the bombs go off,” he said.6 Meanwhile, the FAA hijacking coordinator in Washington advised fueling the plane as slowly as possible. The fuel truck did not pull up until 7:26 p.m. Stalling was always one of the first tactics the FBI and FAA used with hijackers, as they did with almost every hostage situation. Even had they not been stalling, it took several hours to collect the parachutes and money. The Air Force sent four parachutes with homing devices from McGuire Air Force Base in New Jersey aboard a Lockheed C-​141. A Coast Guard helicopter delivered four more chutes from Floyd Bennett Field in Brooklyn, two with tracking devices. At the same time, the Air Force prepared to scramble chase planes, F-​102 or F-​106 fighters, from Dover, Pittsburgh, or Griffiss Air Force Base in Rome, New York. An Air Force KC-​135 Stratotanker, used for aerial refueling, just happened to be over Albany with six hours of fuel on board and offered to stand by and track the parachutes once they left the plane. The money took longer. Like most hijackers who planned to bail out at night, when it would be more difficult to track them, von George had not considered that bank vaults had timers that prevented them from opening after hours. It was 11:20 p.m. before the money left First National City Bank in New York. Television crews monitored the control tower frequency and reported live from the airport. With worries about a “heist” on the way to White Plains because of all the news coverage, the convoy with the $200,000 included police and representatives of the bank and airline. They got lost on the way and had to backtrack before finding the airport.7

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Mohawk Airlines Flight 452

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As they waited, von George compulsively chewed ice chips and ordered McAllister to turn out all the cabin lights so that no one could see inside. At the same time, his rapport with her grew. “I know you think I’m an animal,” he said. “No, I think you’re a human being,” she replied. He said he was following orders and did not even know where they were going next. He said his name was Pete and that he was married and had children. “I think he trusted me,” McAllister later said. “I did everything I told him I would do, and he knew I wasn’t afraid of him. Fear is something you can sense. I thought I had the whole situation under control. He had gone along with lots of my suggestions, like serving the passengers drinks and letting them off the plane, and that was my hope—​that he would continue to listen to me.” He offered her a package of marshmallow cookies that he had brought along. Even from behind the cockpit door, Rieth was impressed with how calmly McAllister managed the situation. He radioed the tower that she was a “cool cookie.”8 Meanwhile, three FBI agents crawled under the plane but had no way to get inside. Someone suggested flooding the cabin with carbon monoxide. The pilots had oxygen masks, but the “girl,” as they referred to McAllister, would suffer the same fate as the hijacker. All the while, an increasingly raucous crowd watched from the airport bar, which was packed into the early morning hours, having a banner night. At 10:16 p.m., Rieth, who had been in the cockpit for more than five hours, radioed the tower that he “could sure use a john.” “Tell no one to be under the window,” he cautioned.9 As the 10:30 deadline passed and they continued to wait for the money, von George grew more agitated. He moved from window to window, trying to figure out what the FBI was up to. When the tower offered to send a parachute expert to instruct McAllister, he replied that he was an expert and could give her all the instruction she needed. In fact, he had no parachute experience.10 By midnight, they had been stuck on the plane for more than six hours, and von George was growing increasingly desperate. At 12:11 a.m., Rieth radioed that he “sounds like a religious fanatic. Wants FBI to make peace with their maker as he has made peace with his.” Forty minutes later, Rieth reported that von George was “getting irrational, he will put bullet into cockpit if money not put on soon.” After another four minutes, Rieth added, “Man very very upset.”

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Rieth tried to issue an ultimatum of his own. He told von George that he would not take off with a bomb on board. Von George said that was fine. He was an “expert pilot” and “if necessary will shoot crew and take aircraft off himself,” as Rieth reported to the tower. It was another bluff. Von George knew nothing about flying a plane.11 At 1:30 a.m., the money was finally passed through the cockpit window. Copilot O’Hara brought two chutes, which were too big to fit through the window, to the forward cargo door, where von George waited, holding a gun to McAllister’s ear. Once everything was on board, he ordered Rieth to take off and circle the airport. By two a.m., they were back in the air.12 Von George lifted the bag with the money onto the rear buffet and, with McAllister standing beside him, flung it open. The sight of so much money suddenly made them giddy. “We looked at each other and laughed,” McAllister later said. “Did you ever see this much money at one time before?” von George marveled.13 Using the interphone, he ordered Rieth to fly to Pittsfield, Massachusetts, staying below 15,000 feet. The second Mohawk Fairchild 227 followed a minute behind, carrying four armed FBI agents. Four Air Force jets also shadowed the hijacked turboprop. When von George told Rieth that he had a device that could detect nearby transponder codes, they turned off their transponders. The FAA advised Rieth to keep the plane pressurized so that they would know when the hijacker opened the door. They were squawking code 3100 on the plane’s transponder. When he bailed out, the FAA told Rieth to immediately squawk 7700, the emergency transponder code, akin to dialing 911 on a phone, so that they could pinpoint the spot on radar. After that, copilot O’Hara would sweep the cabin looking for the bombs.14 When they reached Pittsfield, von George told Rieth to circle the area. Increasingly frantic, he rushed from window to window “like a madman,” as McAllister later said, evidently looking for something familiar. When he ordered McAllister to put on her chute, she refused. “Pete, you said you wouldn’t hurt me. You promised,” she said. “I’m not going. It’s suicide.” She had won his trust, and her defiance was enough to make him change his mind. As McAllister sat with her back to him, von George turned on a reading light and shuffled through some papers. After turning the light off, he announced, “It’s a good thing I read my orders! I’m supposed to go to Poughkeepsie.”

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Mohawk Airlines Flight 452

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He was improvising, anxious to maintain control.15 Using the interphone, he told Rieth he wanted a four-​door Ford with a police radio waiting on the runway with the engine running and the lights on when they arrived. He reminded Rieth that he still had the bombs and was taking McAllister with him. He also claimed to have planted bombs on two other airliners, set to go off the next day. Once he was safely away, he would contact the New York Times with additional information.16 The plane landed at Poughkeepsie at 3:22 a.m., followed closely by the chase plane. As a detective drove the car up to the plane and then walked away, the four FBI agents from the chase plane crept up in the dark. After the copilot placed the bag with the money in the car, von George, holding the bombs in his left hand, grabbed McAllister’s wrist with his right. He led her to the car and forced her into the seat next to him. She decided that at the first opportunity, she “was going to hit him with something and make a run for it.” She never got the chance.17 Before von George could drive away, three FBI agents rushed the car from the front to distract him. At the same time, a fourth agent darted up from behind and pulled the passenger’s-​side door open. Shoving a shotgun across McAllister’s chest, he ordered von George to surrender. According to one account, von George “screamed unintelligibly” and pointed his gun at the agent. The two blasts went off simultaneously, inches from McAllister’s head. As McAllister remembered it, it was only the FBI agent who fired as von George reached for the parking-​brake release. It turned out that von George’s gun was only a starter’s pistol, firing blanks. The shotgun blast was very real, slamming him against the driver’s-​side door and completely severing his windpipe.18 Afterward, an FBI agent described McAllister as “very cool dealing with this maniac.” When a reporter suggested that she had been through a “harrowing ordeal,” she shrugged it off. “I feel fine,” she said, “just glad to be here.” It turned out that the bombs were only two Boy Scout canteens filled with water. It had all been a bluff. Acquaintances of von George were stunned. “He would kid around a lot, but he wouldn’t hurt anyone,” said a former boss at a grocery store in Peekskill.19 Barbara von George and her children had no idea what had happened until FBI agents knocked on her door that morning. When agents opened the driver’s-​side door after von George had been shot, his body tumbled out onto the pavement. They left it there for two hours, blood pooling around his head, giving news photographers plenty of time to document the scene. It was a photo the Bureau was happy to see featured in papers the next day, including

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the one that arrived at the von George home that afternoon, with the photo on the front page. After she had buried her husband, Barbara got a call from his mother, Thelma St. George, a woman she had thought dead. Two weeks after the funeral, Thelma came for a visit, to meet the seven grandchildren she had not known she had. Barbara kept the house in Brockton and raised her children in a stable, supportive home. They moved on, refusing to let the hijacking define their family or their memories of everything that came before.20 Hijackers like von George fit a profile. They had a history of emotional trauma, often in the form of PTSD from military service, and previous brushes with the law and time in prison. They had experienced a recent setback, a triggering event that made them desperate to set things right. They were daring but not criminally sophisticated. There are, after all, easier ways to steal money. They constructed elaborate plans and spun ruses involving secret devices and associates on the ground. They were in their mid-​twenties to mid-​forties, usually at one end or the other of this range (corresponding to service in World War II or Vietnam). Above all, they wanted to feel respected. The hijacker of American 119 fit this profile almost exactly.

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8

The Pilots American Flight 119

Art Koester was a check pilot for American Airlines, responsible for making sure that American’s pilots stayed current on the planes they flew. He grew up in Mount Prospect, Illinois, a few miles from O’Hare Airport. He had always had a taste for adventure and a love of speed. Added to these was a sense of mischief. When he was seven, he climbed behind the wheel of a cousin’s Chevrolet with his five-​year-​old brother, Johnny, in tow. For three hours, they raced over Illinois roads, hitting 80 miles an hour before a truck driver spotted them near Des Plaines. The story was featured in Life magazine, including a photo of Art smiling behind the wheel and Johnny looking apprehensive beside him. The escapade earned him probation in juvenile court.1 Fifteen years later, in March 1956, he was again in Life, this time for earning his wings as a Marine fighter pilot. The accompanying photo showed Koester seated in a red Thunderbird convertible in front of a row of Navy jet fighters, looking back at the camera with a huge grin. Looking at that smile, you can’t help but feel his joy. The caption reads, “Speeder at 7, Jet Pilot at 22.” He had the world by the tail, and he knew it. He met his “soul mate,” Donna Mills, in the sixth grade. They were married in 1958 after reconnecting in Florida, where they were both living. “If you ain’t havin’ fun, you’re doin’ something wrong,” she remembered him saying. As a Marine aviator, Koester flew off aircraft carriers in the Far East, based in the Philippines. When he deployed overseas, he could not take his Kawasaki motorcycle, so he learned to play the ukulele to pass the time. He had grown up in a musical family. His older sisters had lovely voices, and his father played the piano. The whole family would sing together. His flying

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career in the Marines came to an abrupt end when he broke his neck diving into a swimming pool, leaving him paralyzed for six months.2 Koester used the GI Bill to enroll at the University of Illinois, but he also applied to fly for American Airlines, where his sister was a stewardess. During his first semester, a recruiter called and asked, “Do you want to stay in school, or do you want to spend the rest of your life flying from party to party?” “Is that a trick question?” Koester replied. Of course, he wanted to fly. When American laid him off shortly afterward, a fairly common occurrence for new airline pilots at the time, he got a job flying a twin-​engine Beechcraft for a guy who imported “stuff ” from Mexico. “We’re talking dirt airstrips, landing at night . . .” Koester later joked. After that, he flew for a couple of regional airlines. Then American hired him back. He started his career with American flying propeller-​driven DC-​6s and DC-​7s, eventually flying just about every plane in the airline’s fleet, before becoming part of American’s management as a check pilot. After that, he was responsible for periodically flying with American’s pilots to check their proficiency.3 On Friday, June 23, 1972, Koester had already worked a fourteen-​hour day, giving two check rides to Chicago-​based captains, involving a couple of round trips from Chicago to Washington, DC. He was walking down the concourse at O’Hare on his way back to his office when he spotted Captain Leroy Berkebile, American’s chief pilot in Chicago, along with Captain Larry Tennis, another American check pilot, both in uniform. He couldn’t imagine what had brought Berky, as his colleagues called him, out so late.4 Berkebile had grown up in western Pennsylvania, earning his pilot’s license in 1939. He flew SB2C dive bombers off carriers in the Pacific during World War II and F4U Corsairs and jet fighters in Korea, where he was awarded a Distinguished Flying Cross. Once, when the engine of his Corsair was destroyed by antiaircraft fire, he made a dead-​stick landing on an emergency strip on an island barely a half mile across, where two American intelligence officers were holed up in a cave. As soon as he had rolled to a stop, they picked him up in a Jeep and raced back to the cave as artillery shells from a neighboring island rained down. American first hired him in 1951, and by 1972, he was manager of flight operations, based at O’Hare in Chicago. He once flew a Boeing 707, a 727, a 747, and a DC-​10 all in the same day, a feat few airline pilots could claim. Like Koester, Berkebile was among the best American had. No one was more qualified to deal with a hijacking.5 Berkebile told Koester that they had a Chicago-​to-​St.-​Louis flight holding at the gate, waiting for a chief flight engineer to join them. George Warde, American’s president, wanted to replace the pilots on the hijacked jet with a

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The Pilots

33

crew from American’s management. “Heck, I can fly flight engineer,” Koester volunteered. The Boeing 727 had a flight crew of three: pilot, copilot, and flight engineer. In the era before computer automation, the flight engineer sat behind the copilot, facing a panel of gauges and switches on the plane’s starboard side. The flight engineer’s job was to monitor and adjust the jet’s complex systems. As a flight instructor, Koester was qualified on all the 727’s systems, though flight engineer was not a position he normally flew. Passengers clapped as the three pilots boarded the flight for St. Louis, which had been held at the gate for half an hour with no explanation. Less than an hour later, they were back on the ground in St. Louis. The American Flight Operations Center in St. Louis was “bedlam,” as Koester later recalled, a chaos of airline personnel, police, and FBI agents.6 By 1972, the decision-​making process regarding hijackings was divided between the FBI, the airline, the FAA, airport security, and local police. To complicate matters, FBI chief inspector Jay Cochran and his staff from headquarters were conducting an annual inspection of the St. Louis office. They tagged along to the airport, adding more senior management to the mix. There was also an open line to the FBI headquarters in Washington, DC, adding another layer to the command structure.7 Pulling Berkebile aside, Bill Sullivan, the special agent in charge of the FBI’s St. Louis office, suggested having an agent pose as one of the pilots. “No way,” Berkebile replied. He needed his full crew. But Sullivan had already won approval for the plan from Warde, American’s president, so Berkebile gave in. Now they just had to find an agent who could fit into Larry Tennis’s uniform.8

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9

The Parachutes American Flight 119

As word of the hijacking spread, dozens of FBI agents converged on the St. Louis Airport. All FBI agents are called special agents. They are “special” because they have federal authority to make arrests across state lines. The kidnapping of Charles Lindbergh’s son in 1932 provided a focal point for expanding the Bureau’s jurisdiction during its formative years. The FBI’s practice was to assign rookie agents to their first office for about a year; there they would develop a feel for how the Bureau worked. After that, they would move on to their second office and more responsibility. At the airport, Bill Sullivan, the special agent in charge in St. Louis, asked if anyone had parachuting experience. Bob Meredith raised his hand. St. Louis was Meredith’s first office assignment. Before joining the FBI, he had served as an Army captain in Vietnam. He had completed airborne training in Germany in the 8th Infantry Division and then gone to Vietnam with the 173rd Airborne Brigade.1 After returning to St. Louis, the hijacked 727 was again parked on the apron, away from the terminal and other planes. While Meredith changed into the gray uniform of an American Airlines ramp agent, the money and parachutes were loaded into a station wagon. The parachutes came from the Missouri Air National Guard unit at the St. Louis Airport. Master Sergeant Frank Oestereich and his wife were at the home of an Air Force major for dinner when he got a call at around six p.m. informing him that the FBI needed parachutes. Oestereich, who had more than fifteen years of experience packing parachutes and jumping from planes, left immediately and drove to the airport.

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The Parachutes

35

The Air National Guard had backpack-​style parachutes worn by jet-​fighter pilots and designed for high-​speed bailouts. But the hijacker specifically demanded chutes without tracking devices, which the high-​speed parachutes had. He also needed a parachute that deployed by pulling a ripcord, rather than with a static line attached to the plane. This left Oestereich only one option. He selected a low-​speed chest-​pack parachute, typically used when jumping from a C-​47, the military version of a DC-​3.2 Oestereich took five chest parachutes and five harnesses and delivered them to an agent, who put them in the American Airlines station wagon, along with the money, an altimeter, two folding Army shovels, and a pair of goggles—​all the equipment the hijacker had demanded. At around 10:15 p.m., Meredith drove the station wagon to the base of the stairs pushed up against the jet’s front door. He unloaded everything on the apron and then drove away, parking 150 feet or so from the plane to see what would happen.3 On the plane, the hijacker picked one of the remaining passengers, forty-​ seven-​year-​old Aubrey Mallory, to bring the money and gear aboard. “Why me?,” Mallory thought. It might have been the pants. Mallory was wearing bright red double-​knit slacks. Later that night, over his third double martini at the Marriott Motel near the airport, he told his story to a reporter. He was a pharmaceutical sales manager from Norman, Oklahoma, married with two kids. His meeting in St. Louis had broken up early, and he had hopped on American 119 hoping to make it home in time for a game of golf at his country club, then dinner out with his family.4 Mallory realized that once he walked down the stairs, he could simply run away. “I was scared,” he admitted. “No one finds a convenient time to die . . . but if I took off running he could shoot everybody on the plane . . . I couldn’t live with that.” It took four trips to get everything up the stairs and then four trips down the aisle to where the hijacker was seated. Mallory was told that if he looked at the hijacker, he would be shot. “It’s easy not to look if you think you are going to get shot,” Mallory said. “It’s very easy.” Later he was unable to identify the hijacker, having never once looked him in the eye.5 Mallory’s calm was inspired by the stewardesses. “I can’t say enough about those gals, they kept their cool,” Mallory said. “Damn, we all sell them short, you know it?”6 Once everything was on board, the hijacker opened the smaller money bag containing the $2,500. “What is all this shit?” he asked, after realizing that the bag contained packets of ones and tens. What use were a bunch of ones? He threw some of the money at Sharon Wetherley and Jane Furlong.

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Wetherley ended up with three packets of ones and a packet of tens, $1,300 in all. Furlong had $200. “Don’t spend it all in one place,” he said, adding, “This is for being good.” He kept a packet of tens, putting it in his pocket.7 The hijacker was also upset about the weight of the larger money bag, more than forty pounds. He had demanded only large bills, but apparently the bank did not have enough of them. They had included $190,000 in twenty-​dollar bills, which accounted for about half the weight.8 After examining the money, the hijacker tried to put on one of the parachute harnesses but could not figure it out. Another passenger, T. W. Webster of Tulsa, forty-​six, remembered thinking, “Hell, he’s some hijacker. He can’t even get the damn things on.” The hijacker demanded that Rod Bradley, the flight engineer, come back from the cockpit and show him how to get into the harness. Bradley put it on, but the hijacker was not convinced that he had it right. Knowing that Meredith was standing by, the captain volunteered that the parachutes had been delivered by an expert who could demonstrate how it all fit together.9 Meredith drove the station wagon back to the plane. As he boarded, the hijacker made him roll up his pants legs and put his hands on his head. Watching from his seat on the left side of coach, David Spellman could tell that the hijacker was suspicious of Meredith, and for good reason. Apart from the American Airlines ramp agent uniform, he looked like exactly what he was: an FBI agent. He “looked fit . . . like a guy who could level you,” Spellman later said.10 Meredith was five or six rows from the hijacker when the latter told him to stop and turn around. Satisfied that Meredith did not have a gun, which was true, the hijacker told him to put on a harness and parachute as if ready for an actual jump. It took Meredith about five minutes to get everything rigged. The hijacker remained seated throughout, with stewardesses beside and in front of him, silently watching. All the while, he kept his gun leveled at Meredith’s chest.11 The parachutes were all reserve front chutes. They were meant as an emergency backup, should the main chute, worn on the back, fail. They were therefore smaller than the main chutes. It would likely be a hard landing. Meredith had jumped fifteen times while in the Army but never had to deploy his reserve chute. No one in their right mind would jump out of a 727 with just a reserve chute, let alone in the dark, over unknown terrain. There was something else about the front reserve chute. When you pulled the ripcord, a spring-​loaded pilot chute, used to deploy the reserve chute, snapped out through a flap with explosive force. Since the reserve was worn

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The Parachutes

37

on the chest, there was a good chance that the pilot chute and suspension lines would hit you in the face as they popped out. To prevent this from happening, paratroopers were taught to put their left arm in front of their face before pulling the reserve chute ripcord. Meredith deliberately did not mention this. After he had removed the parachute and harness, the hijacker had Meredith open three of the parachutes to see if they had been tampered with and to look for homing devices. He then asked “if there was some kind of reserve chute for him to use,” clearly not understanding that what he had been given was the reserve chute, and “if this type of parachute could be used for a jump at 10,000 feet.” Meredith assured him that “a reserve parachute was not necessary” and that it was “completely safe to jump the 10,000 feet with this parachute.” To Wetherley, who had parachuted before becoming a stewardess, it was obvious that the hijacker had no clue what he was doing.12 Satisfied, the hijacker told Meredith to throw the open chutes and one of the shovels out the front door. Some observers on the ground momentarily mistook the bundled parachutes for bodies being tossed overboard. When Meredith returned to the back of the cabin, one of the stewardesses handed him the altimeter, and the hijacker asked him how it worked. Meredith told him it operated automatically, that there was nothing to turn on or set.13 Meredith wasn’t sure what to think of the hijacker. He was “a disaster waiting to happen,” Meredith later said, but he didn’t seem that menacing, despite the gun. He struck Meredith mostly as “a kid on a lark.” Meredith left by the front stairs, got into the station wagon, and drove away.14

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10

D.B. Cooper Northwest Orient Flight 305

No one knew who he was or where he came from. At the Northwest Orient ticket counter in Portland, Oregon, he used the name “Dan Cooper,” paying twenty dollars cash for a one-​way ticket to Seattle. After boarding the 727 through the aft stairs, he took a seat in row 18, the last row on the right. This was the shorter version of the 727, but it was still less than half full, with thirty-​six passengers. It was November 24, 1971, the Wednesday before Thanksgiving. Flight 305 had originated on the East Coast, with stops in Minneapolis, Great Falls and Missoula, Montana, and Spokane. The flight from Portland to Seattle was only twenty-​five minutes. Florence Schaffner, one of the three stewardesses on the flight, served drinks while the plane was still parked at the terminal. Cooper asked for a bourbon and 7 Up, paying with a twenty-​dollar bill. As the plane was taxiing toward the runway, he turned and handed Schaffner a note. Figuring that it was the usual sort of proposition that stewardesses regularly received, she did not bother to open it. But after Cooper motioned to her several times to open the envelope, she gave in. The note read, “MISS—​I have a bomb here and I would like you to sit by me.” She asked if he was kidding. “No, miss, this is for real,” Cooper calmly replied.1 While Tina Mucklow, the other stewardess in coach, took the note to the cockpit, Schaffner sat by Cooper. By this time, he had put on a pair of wraparound sunglasses, which would later become famous in FBI sketches. He opened his briefcase to reveal six or eight red sticks that Schaffner thought looked like dynamite attached to an eight-​inch-​long battery by a bundle of wires.

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D.B. Cooper

39

“Take this down,” he told her. “I want two hundred thousand dollars by five p.m. in cash. Put it in a knapsack. I want two back parachutes and two front parachutes. When we land, I want a fuel truck ready to refuel. No funny stuff, or I’ll do the job.” While Schaffner took this information to the cockpit, Mucklow took her place sitting next to Cooper. Bill Mitchell was a sophomore at the University of Oregon, returning home to Seattle for Thanksgiving. He had homework and sat in the next-​ to-​last row on the left side, where he could spread out across all three seats. While they were in the air, the pilot announced that they had a mechanical problem and needed to burn off fuel before landing. He also invited everyone to move up to first class, but Mitchell decided to stay put. It annoyed him that an attractive stewardess was paying so much attention to this “geeky looking” middle-​aged guy, with his out-​of-​date suit and narrow tie, and ignoring Mitchell. They circled over Seattle for more than two hours while the FBI rounded up the money and parachutes and Cooper chain-​smoked Raleigh cigarettes and sipped bourbon. It never occurred to Mitchell that they were being hijacked.2 FBI agent Ralph Himmelsbach had just grabbed a late lunch when he heard about the hijacking. Himmelsbach, who had been with the Bureau for more than twenty years, raced to the Portland Airport through spitting rain. By now, the FBI was used to dealing with hijackings, mostly to Cuba. The Bureau’s Portland Division had investigated some forty aircraft hijackings before Cooper. But the demand for money and parachutes was something new. Himmelsbach also thought the threat of a bomb, a “non-​directional device,” was clever. You could conceivably disarm a person with a gun without getting shot, but there was no dodging a bomb blast.3 By 5:45 p.m., the plane was on the ground in Seattle. Once the money and parachutes had been delivered to the plane, Cooper let the passengers leave. It was only after he was off the plane that Mitchell realized what had happened. After an interview with the FBI, he wondered how he would get through the sea of reporters to his father, who was waiting outside the terminal to take him home. An FBI agent handed him a sandwich. Just eat the sandwich, and don’t stop until the state troopers have pushed you through the crowd, he advised. You can’t be expected to talk if your mouth is full.4 Back on the plane, Cooper became giddy over the money to the point of “acting very childish,” as Schaffner later put it. She guessed he was in his mid-​forties, which made his behavior all the more ridiculous. He marveled at how heavy the money bag was and insisted that she heft it to appreciate its weight. He let Schaffner and Alice Hancock, the stewardess from first class,

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T he Heist

leave the plane and tried to give Schaffner a tip, which she declined. This left only Mucklow and the three pilots. He sent word to the cockpit that their destination was Mexico City.5 Cooper knew something about airplanes and parachuting. He knew that the phone the crew used to talk with one another was called an “interphone,” not a telephone or an intercom. Pilots usually filed flight plans on the ground, before takeoff, but Cooper knew that they could also do this in the air. He told the pilots that he wanted to fly at no more than 10,000 feet, which meant that the plane would not need to be pressurized (there is enough oxygen in the air to breathe fairly comfortably at 10,000 feet but not much above that). He wanted the wing flaps set at fifteen degrees and the landing gear down. This would necessitate flying at a relatively slow speed of around 200 miles an hour, which would make bailing out safer. Cooper also wanted the aft stairs left down. After the pilots advised him that they would drag on the ground when they rotated the nose up for takeoff, Cooper relented and agreed that the stairs could be lowered once they were airborne. The pilots also told him that flying in a low and slow configuration would burn a lot of fuel. They would need to stop a couple of times on their way to Mexico. They suggested Reno, Nevada, for the first leg, which was fine by Cooper.6 Meanwhile, the FBI was formulating a plan. The pilots reported that Cooper seemed calm and rational. Donald Nyrop, Northwest’s president, instructed them to cooperate fully with his demands. Tampering with the parachutes was out of the question, since Cooper might make one of the crew jump with him. Himmelsbach thought that the dynamite sticks were just highway flares but not worth the risk of finding out.7 As the plane was refueled and prepared for takeoff, Himmelsbach and another agent drove across the Portland Airport to the Army National Guard hangar. They jumped aboard a Huey helicopter, hoping to track the plane as it flew south from Seattle over Portland. If Cooper bailed out nearby, they could swoop down and nab him. But it was already dark, and the weather had worsened, a mixture of sleet and freezing rain. At 10,000 feet, it would be brutally cold, well below freezing. What kind of person would jump into that?8 A few minutes after takeoff off from Seattle, Cooper had Mucklow show him how to lower the aft stairs, after which he sent her to the cockpit. As she closed the curtains separating first class from coach on her way forward, she stole a glance back toward the rear of the plane, where Cooper was tying the money bag to his waist with shroud lines cut from one of the parachutes. The

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D.B. Cooper

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pilots talked to him one last time at 8:05 p.m. over the plane’s interphone. At around 8:12 p.m., Cooper dropped off the 727’s back stairs and into the night. At the same time, the pilots reported a “pressure oscillation” in the cabin. When Cooper jumped, the stairs bounced back up toward the plane’s belly, in the same way that a diving board bounces when a diver jumps. The flight crew felt the slight increase in pressure as the gap between the stairs and the fuselage momentarily snapped shut. Himmelsbach never saw anything from the helicopter, which was not surprising given the conditions. The Air Force had scrambled two F-​106 fighters from nearby McChord Field to intercept and follow the 727. The F-​106s were capable of flying at Mach 2.3 but struggled to fly slowly enough to stay behind the 727 without stalling. They settled for making sweeping S turns behind the airliner and were unable even to see if the stairs were down. A Lockheed T-​33 on a training mission briefly made radar contact with the 727 but never saw it. The conditions were awful for parachuting but great for escaping notice. No one connected with the investigation ever saw Dan Cooper again.9 Initially, the FBI was confident that they would get their man, dead or alive. They thought they had a pretty good idea of where he had bailed out, give or take a couple of minutes. How far could he get? One of the initial news stories reported the hijacker’s alias as “D.B. Cooper” rather than “Dan Cooper,” and the name stuck. That was fine by the FBI, because it gave them a way to screen out false leads. Himmelsbach was convinced from the start that Cooper was dead. Apart from the weather, he had jumped over a rugged section of the Cascade range in the dark. Sooner or later, someone would find a parachute and a body. “We’re either looking for a parachute or a hole in the ground,” said undersheriff Tom McDowell. But as the days slipped into weeks, certainties eluded their grasp.10 Equally disturbing for Himmelsbach, Cooper became a folk hero. He had beaten the system and done it in style, sipping his bourbon and smoking a cigarette, joking with the stewardesses in his wraparound sunglasses. “He seemed rather nice,” Mucklow said. “He was never cruel or nasty. He was thoughtful and calm.” “You’ve got to admit he was clever,” said a Seattle taxi driver, interviewed following the event and fairly typical of the reaction after November 1971. “The way I see it, anybody smart enough to take two hundred thousand just like that ought to make a clean getaway.” “He didn’t hurt anybody,” another local said. “Most of the people around here kind of hope he makes it.”

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T he Heist

“I can’t help thinking, if I were going to do something like that, I wish I could do it as well as he did,” said a sailor at Sandpoint Naval Air Station in Seattle.11 Within seventy-​two hours, a Portland manufacturer was selling T-​shirts emblazoned with “D.B. Cooper, where are you?” “We’ve sold 3,000 of them so far and the response is fantastic,” boasted one silkscreen shop manager. Within a week of the hijacking, Cooper had his own song, which became a hit on radio stations in the Northwest: D.B. Cooper, where are you now? We’re looking for you high and low. With your pleasant smile, And your dropout style, D.B. Cooper, where did you go?12 Columnist Larry Batson described Cooper as a combination of Charles Lindbergh and Babe Ruth. “Not since Lindy took off for France has one man had so many people cheering him on,” Batson wrote two weeks after the hijacking. “The legend, it seems, is here to stay,” another journalist wrote two months later. “And it has its dashing elements. Cooper combined coolness with daring and determination. And he added a touch of nuts-​and-​bolts expertise that appeals to many Americans.”13 The allure of the D.B. Cooper story stems from the fact that he was never found. Cooper could be whatever you wanted him to be. He could be Robin Hood, sticking it to the man without anyone getting hurt. He could be cool and sophisticated, bluffing his way through the whole caper with the nonchalance of a secret agent. He could be Loki of Asgard, burdened with glorious purpose. What was so bad about making off with some of corporate America’s wealth and doing it in style? Plenty, if you were Himmelsbach. “The guy was a crook, plain and simple,” he later wrote, “a sleazy, rotten bastard.” Cooper was an extortionist who had endangered and traumatized innocent bystanders. “There was no way in the darkest hell that Cooper ever could be a hero,” Himmelsbach wrote. There was something else Himmelsbach was sure of: if they did not find him soon, there would be imitators. Two months later, Heinrick von George hijacked Mohawk Airlines Flight 452. His wife, Barbara, was convinced that news coverage of the Cooper case “planted a seed in his mind.”14

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Tom Parker American Flight 119

Tom Parker was an ex-​cop. After joining the FBI, his first office assignment was to Houston. St. Louis was Parker’s second office. He had been in St. Louis for six months, working organized crime, when the hijacking of American Flight 119 unfolded. Parker was born in Oakland, California, and he never really knew his biological father. His mother worked two or three jobs to make ends meet. Parker found stability by joining the Boy Scouts. After his mother remarried, the family moved to Sunnyvale, where his stepfather worked for Lockheed. Parker earned a degree in police science from San Jose State University in 1966 and then became a police officer in Santa Clara, California. In 1970, he was recruited to become the first law-​enforcement park ranger at Yosemite National Park. There Parker met some FBI agents who suggested that he apply to the Bureau. A month after he sent in his application, he was at the FBI Academy in Washington, DC. J. Edgar Hoover had run the FBI since 1924, when Calvin Coolidge was president, and it remained very much his Bureau until his death on May 2, 1972. (After Hoover died, agents joked that they should wait three days to make sure he was not coming back.) When Parker joined the Bureau in 1970, agents were still expected to wear long-​sleeved white shirts and fedora-​style hats, which were out of fashion at the time. When they arrived in Washington, DC for training, new recruits were directed to a local haberdasher who did a nice business selling them the required hats. Most agents only wore them when they were in Washington. The classroom instruction was intense if dated. During the four-​month program, new recruits took periodic trips to Quantico, the FBI training base

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T he Heist

in Virginia, for firearms training. Having been a cop, Parker was surprised that the whole program was not more sophisticated. “The real learning came after we got out of Quantico and went to our first office assignment,” he later said. In Houston, he was assigned to a squad chasing federal fugitives and bank robbers, which fit his background.1 Most agents who worked the American 119 case did not grow up dreaming of becoming G-​men. They developed into the profile until someone suggested that the FBI would be a good fit. Before joining the Bureau, they had been cops, lawyers, accountants, military officers, and schoolteachers. Parker fit the mold. Parker was supervising a wiretap in St. Louis on a loan-​shark case when he heard about the hijacking in the late afternoon of June 23. He jumped into his car and raced to the airport. Special agent in charge Bill Sullivan sent him across the field to the McDonnell Douglas facility. There Parker joined a group of agents assigned to follow the hijacked jetliner in a chase plane once it took off. The plan had been to use a McDonnell Douglas executive jet. But it had a mechanical problem, so they switched to a smaller Learjet, which meant that there were not enough seats for everyone. The agents drew straws to see who would be left behind. Parker drew the short straw. He returned to the main terminal, regretting that he had missed his chance to get in on the action.2 Meanwhile, American had convinced the hijacker that it needed to replace the pilots because they had been on duty for more hours than federal regulations allowed. This gave the FBI an opportunity to replace one of the American pilots with a “switch pilot,” an FBI agent posing as a pilot, a concept developed in the wake of D.B. Cooper. Parker was young and relatively new to the St. Louis office, but he had already won the respect of the special agent in charge, Sullivan. As an ex-​cop, he had experience with the nitty-​gritty of taking down suspects. Sullivan was mulling over who might fit into Larry Tennis’s uniform when Parker walked in to report that he had been bumped from the chase plane. Sullivan told him not to worry, he had a new job for him. “Get in that uniform, you’re going on the plane,” Sullivan said. Holy shit, thought Parker. “Just keep your head on straight and do what comes naturally,” Sullivan told him. Parker decided not to take a weapon. If he was going to take down the hijacker, it would be with his hands.3

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12

Richard McCoy United Flight 855

While Parker was changing into the pilot’s uniform, Sullivan briefed Berkebile and Koester on the case of another D.B. Cooper copycat. Two months earlier, on April 7, 1972, Richard McCoy, a Mormon Sunday-​school teacher and Vietnam veteran, had boarded a morning flight from Salt Lake City to Denver. On the drive from their home in Provo to the airport early that morning, McCoy’s wife, Karen, had threatened divorce, and they argued over who would get custody of their two children.1 At Denver, McCoy bought a ticket on United Airlines Flight 855 to Los Angeles. Immediately after boarding the Boeing 727, he went to the lavatory and changed into a disguise with dark makeup, mirrored sunglasses, and a wig Karen had dyed black. The flight was full, and the stewardesses were busy getting passengers settled. Just before they closed the door, a ticket agent brought a manila envelope that had been left in the boarding area and handed it to stewardess Diane Surdam. It contained the hijack notes that McCoy had typed before leaving home. In the stress of the moment, he had left the envelope behind. He was still in the lavatory changing into his disguise when he heard an announcement over the public address system. McCoy hesitated. If someone had read the notes, claiming them would amount to a confession. But he needed those notes, and if he did not get them back, someone would surely have a look. He decided to take a chance. As stewardess Diana Sugimoto walked down the aisle holding the envelope up, he “came flying out of ” the lavatory and waved to get her attention, as Surdam later recalled. To McCoy’s relief, no one had opened the envelope.

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The whole thing made Sugimoto suspicious. She called Surdam a couple of times on the interphone, “saying this guy is very strange.” Surdam told Captain Gerry Hearn, who told her to “keep an eye on him and let me know anything else.” Surdam, the senior stewardess on the flight, had begun flying in 1968 at the age of nineteen, the minimum age. She was setting up a beverage service for first class when a tall, gray-​haired United captain who was deadheading on the flight—​the practice of airline personnel flying in unclaimed seats—​ walked up and handed her an envelope with a note and a hand-​grenade pin inside. The note said that McCoy had the grenade, pistols, and C-​4 explosives. He wanted a fuel truck, $500,000 in cash, and four parachutes waiting for them in San Francisco.2 McCoy had never quite fit in. His parents were first cousins, and his father—​who may not have been his biological father—​beat him when he was young. He enrolled at Brigham Young University in 1962 but left to join the Army, serving in Vietnam with the Green Berets. Wounded in 1964, he returned to BYU, where he met Karen. His new responsibilities aside, he missed the adrenaline rush of combat and re-​enlisted in 1967. He became a helicopter gunship pilot, receiving a Distinguished Flying Cross for saving a Vietnamese compound that was about to be overrun. In combat, he flew with reckless abandon. Transitioning to suburban life in Provo and classes at BYU was a struggle. He took written tests for the highway patrol and dreamed of becoming an FBI agent. At the time he boarded the United flight, he was taking Law Enforcement 301 at BYU, taught by retired FBI agent Charles Fletcher, who also served as his academic adviser. McCoy had begun suffering from severe migraines and feared he might have a brain tumor. At twenty-​nine, his chances for a career in law enforcement were slipping away.3 The FBI had only begun to develop its profiling program in 1972, and most of Sullivan’s discussion with Berkebile and Koester focused on McCoy’s jump. McCoy had gone to parachute school in the Army and continued to skydive after he left active duty. For the hijacking, he brought his own chute and gear with him, which he had used to make thirty or forty jumps. As they approached San Francisco, McCoy sat in the last row on the right, next to the window. He made Surdam sit beside him, except when she carried notes to the cockpit. “To this day I vividly remember seeing the bullet in the barrel of the gun,” Surdam recently told me. “It seemed a huge dark hole. ‘Staring down the barrel of a gun’ was a phrase I grew up with from western

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Richard McCoy

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movies! It has always meant more to me after that.” He never spoke to her, communicating only through his notes.4 At San Francisco, McCoy took Surdam to the cockpit. He had ground crew remove his parachute gear from the cargo bay and bring it on board, along with the ransom. Surdam opened the bag with the money so that he could inspect it. McCoy intended to use the four parachutes sent on board by the FBI, two primary and two reserves, as a diversion. Figuring that they would be bugged with tracking devices, he planned to toss them off the aft stairs to lead any chase planes astray. But when his reserve chute accidentally opened inside the plane, he decided to use one of the chutes provided by the FBI. As he suspected, it had a tracking device. Surdam noticed that the ramp agents refueling the plane were wearing “shiny black shoes” and had neatly trimmed hair. They might as well have been wearing fedoras. It was obvious to her that they were FBI agents. She was later told that an FBI sniper had McCoy in his sights as they sat in the cockpit. Before he could pull the trigger, Surdam stood up, and her “head got in the way.” When the captain noticed that she was pale and her lips were blue, he put her on oxygen. After leaving San Francisco, United 855 zigzagged across the mountains, flying east and following detailed instructions McCoy sent to the cockpit. With the aft stairs down, he had Surdam and another stewardess, Margie Newby, sit in the first two rows of the “dark, cold, and breezy” cabin, “waiting to get clunked over our heads,” Surdam recalled. At some point, McCoy made his way forward, wearing “a green jumpsuit, air hosed mask, goggles, and towel over his head, prodding us at gunpoint into the cockpit.”5 McCoy used carabiners, like the ones used by mountain climbers, to fasten the handles of the duffel bag with the money to his parachute harness. “There was no way that darn bag could get away from me,” he later told his biographer. His last set of instructions to the pilot outlined a route that passed over Provo on the way to Grand Junction, Colorado. It was almost midnight when McCoy recognized landmarks near Provo and knew it was time to go.6 As he stepped onto the aft stairs, he was startled by the deafening roar of the engines only feet away and the violent shaking of the stairs in the slipstream. With the duffel bag wedged between his legs, McCoy let go and tumbled into the blackness. He had jumped at night before, but this was unlike anything he had experienced. He arched his back to slow down, but the duffel bag tore free and began spinning him around. Nausea swept over him, and he blacked out for several seconds. When he regained consciousness, he

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could see military planes approaching, confirming that the chute provided by the FBI was bugged. Dizzy and sick to his stomach, he steered across a freeway and landed in a pasture. He was amazed to be alive. “I’m Mormon,” he later said, “but that’s what it must feel like to get good and drunk.”7 After the captain felt the pressure bump when McCoy jumped, he told Surdam to “go out there and pretend to look for more notes,” as an excuse to see if the hijacker was still on board. Okie dokie, she remembered thinking. “I felt my performance was not very convincing as I peered under seats and around aisles looking for ‘notes,’ ” Surdam recalled. When she got to the aft stairs and was sure McCoy was gone, she called the cockpit and raised and secured the stairs.8 Other than the dizziness and nausea, McCoy was unhurt when he landed. An FBI agent searching for him that night probably suffered more harm when he tripped over a skunk and was sprayed.9 After hiding the money in a dry culvert, McCoy walked to a drive-​in called the Hi Spot, located five miles south of Provo on Route 89. He ordered a malt at the counter and then paid sixteen-​year-​old Peter Zimmerman five dollars for a ride home. He might have gotten away with it if not for his sister-​in-​law. That night, a friend of McCoy’s, a Utah State Highway Patrol officer who flew helicopters with him in the National Guard, called to see if he had heard the news. When his sister-​in-​law answered the phone, she said that McCoy was not home and then speculated excitedly that he might have done it. Two days later, the FBI raided the McCoy home, where they found a parachute, a pistol, and $499,970 in cash. “I’m embarrassed. Let’s face it,” McCoy told reporters.10 No one at BYU, his church, or his National Guard unit could believe that McCoy had done it. Neither could his neighbors. “He was middle America personified,” wrote reporter Murray Olderman. He was devoted to his religion and carrying twenty and a half hours of coursework at BYU in addition to his National Guard and family responsibilities. “He was very conservative in manner, dress, and speech,” said a fellow student after his arrest. “Level-​headed” was the term classmates kept repeating to reporters. As was the case with other hijackers, McCoy had the ability to suspend conscience, to shut out the larger consequences of what he was doing.11 McCoy, whose trial began on June 26, 1972, three days after the hijacking of American 119, was sentenced to forty-​five years. He felt ashamed for being excommunicated from the Latter-​day Saints. Two years later, in August 1974,

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he and three other prisoners broke out of the federal prison in Lewisburg, Pennsylvania. McCoy was originally from rural North Carolina, and for a while, his “backwoods kin,” among whom he had become a sort of Robin Hood figure, helped him elude capture. “A lot of people around here would help him. All of his kin would,” said Fletcher McCoy, a third cousin and tobacco farmer. But he couldn’t stay in the swamps long. That November, he was shot and killed as the FBI attempted to arrest him at a house he was renting in Virginia Beach.12 McCoy’s case proved to the FBI that only an expert skydiver with the best equipment could hope to survive a nighttime jump from a 727, and only if it was flying as slow as possible, not more than 200 miles an hour. Some speculated that the exhaust from the three jet engines had been largely responsible for McCoy losing consciousness and tumbling out of control. At a higher speed, anything faster than 250 miles an hour, he would not have had a chance. Berkebile and Koester planned to be going at least that fast when their hijacker bailed out.13 They also learned that their hijacker had requested more than one parachute, suggesting that he planned to have someone else jump first to ensure that the parachutes had not been sabotaged. “Berky glanced at me with a slight grin,” Koester later recalled. He knew who the extra jumper would be.14 Berkebile, Koester, and Parker, now outfitted in a pilot’s uniform, got into a car and drove to within a quarter-​mile of the plane. They watched as Bob Meredith, posing as an American Airlines ramp agent, dropped off the money and parachutes at the base of the stairs. A few minutes later, they saw Meredith return, board the plane, and then subsequently leave after giving the hijacker his first and last parachuting lesson. Now it was their turn.

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The Switch American Flight 119

The waiting seemed interminable, and the hijacker was getting impatient. It took nearly an hour for a fuel truck to arrive and another hour for the money and parachutes. All the while, the plane sat off by itself on the apron, wreathed in light, like a dangerous animal no one wanted to approach. “I’ve given them enough time,” he told the stewardesses. “Other hijackers didn’t give this much time.”1 Diana Rash said she had a headache. Sharon Wetherley said she had one, too. So did the hijacker. Rash pulled packets of Tylenol from the first-​aid kit, two pills to a packet. The hijacker tore his open and made Wetherley take one first. She had never had Tylenol before.2 During the lull after Bob Meredith had demonstrated how to put on the parachute and harness and then left the plane, the hijacker decided to try one on for himself. But he still could not get it to fit, so he recruited the stewardesses to help him figure it out. Rash had to get down on her knees to help him tighten the leg straps. As she tugged at the buckles, she looked at her colleagues. “I don’t think we’re supposed to be doing this,” she joked. The hijacker reveled in the attention, still wearing the wig and sunglasses, his gold sports jacket and pants, holding his machine gun.3 Satisfied that he had everything he needed, he agreed to let the remaining passengers leave, except for one hostage. He told Wetherley that he wanted to keep one passenger “so that American Airlines would be sued if he had to blow up the plane,” implying that it would be the airline’s fault if anything went wrong. He was just a guy doing his job. Wetherley went to David Spellman and asked if he would be willing to stay, since he was an American employee and had experience with security. Spellman agreed, though not

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from any sense of loyalty to the airline. He was still hoping to get a date with one of the stewardesses and figured that this was his best shot.4 From their car parked nearby on the ramp, Berkebile, Koester, and Parker watched the twelve men get off the plane and into a bus that was waiting for them. Next, they watched as the pilots got off the plane, carrying their hats, coats, and flight cases containing airport approach charts, which provided the details necessary to land at each individual airport. Berkebile, Koester, and Parker got out of their car and walked the short distance to the plane. They were told not to wear jackets, only short-​sleeved shirts, and to roll their pants legs up above their knees.5 Koester boarded first, climbing the stairs and then walking down the aisle to where the hijacker was seated, surrounded by the four stewardesses. By the time he got to the back of the plane, his pants were slipping down below his knees. “Sorry, I have skinny legs,” Koester joked. It lightened the mood, and the hijacker laughed. Koester walked up to the cockpit and turned on the interior lights, a sign to Berkebile and Parker that everything was OK. Berkebile boarded next, stopping a few rows from the back and turning around with his hands in the air, as the hijacker instructed. Once the hijacker was satisfied, Berkebile followed Koester up to the cockpit, where he flicked the lights on and off, a sign that it was Parker’s turn. Oh, shit, here we go, Parker remembered thinking as he headed up the stairs, posing as the copilot. He felt a mixture of “excitement” and “controlled fear.” This was the moment at which anything could happen. He recognized the feeling from his days as a cop.6 With the new flight crew on board, the hijacker told the four stewardesses that they would be staying on the plane and that they would all move to the cockpit, along with the hostage, once they were in the air. Clearly, he had never been in the cockpit of a 727. The stewardesses told him that the jump seats behind the captain’s chair, on the left opposite the flight engineer, might accommodate two or even three people but not five. He had not thought of that. After reconsidering, he said that two of the stewardesses could leave, letting them decide. As the senior stewardess, Jennifer Dumanois decided that she and Rash would stay, and Wetherley and Jane Furlong would go.7 After Wetherley and Furlong walked down the stairs, an airport pickup truck whisked them a short distance away, where they were met by an FBI car. An agent immediately confiscated the packets of ones and tens that the hijacker had given them. Back at the terminal, they were taken to different rooms and given flip charts with eyes, noses, mouths, and other facial features used to create composite sketches. The resulting sketch looked a lot like the

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hijacker wearing his wig and sunglasses but not, as it turned out, much like him without the disguise.8 By this time, the stewardesses and the hijacker had established a system to communicate with the cockpit. The hijacker would give instructions to one of the stewardesses, who would call Koester, seated at the flight engineer’s console, on the interphone. The hijacker refused to talk on the phone for fear that his voice would be recorded. Koester would then relay the message to Berkebile, and one of them would respond over the public address system.9 They were headed to Toronto, the hijacker told them, where they would make a low pass over the airport so that he could verify their location. But they would not land. Instead, they would climb back to cruising altitude and fly to Kennedy Airport in New York. He wanted all the running lights turned off. He also wanted the aft stairs left down, though when he was told that they would drag on the ground as the plane rotated nose-​up for takeoff, he agreed that the stairs could be left up until they were in the air. After they had climbed to 2,000 feet, he wanted the flight engineer to come back and lower the stairs. On the way to Toronto, he wanted to fly at 10,000 feet at 500 knots true airspeed (575 miles an hour). When they told him that the stairs could not be lowered at that speed, he agreed to fly slower. He demanded a headset so that he could talk to his associates on the ground once they reached Toronto. He would give them the frequency when they got there. The entire plan was a ruse, designed to distract. He intended to be long gone before they reached Canada.10 Berkebile and Koester guessed as much and came up with a plan of their own. Figuring that the hijacker wanted to bail out after they had flown a certain distance, Berkebile decided to make three big sweeping circles around St. Louis that would add an extra forty-​five minutes to their flight time to Toronto. They would be miles behind where the hijacker expected when his calculations said it was time to go. If nothing else, it would “fuck with his mind,” as Parker later put it.11 This would work were the hijacker mainly focused on what was happening inside the cabin, as was likely. If the turns were shallow and constant, he would not be able to sense that they were not flying straight and level. Without visual reference points and relying only on the sense of balance provided by the inner ear, it is easy to mistake prolonged turns, even steep ones, for level flight. In fact, without a view of the horizon, it is almost impossible to maintain a correct sense of a plane’s orientation, its turn and bank or its pitch up and down. Before the invention of instruments such as the gyroscopic

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artificial horizon, first tested by World War II general and aviation pioneer Jimmy Doolittle in 1929, even experienced pilots routinely lost control of their planes if they flew into the clouds. They would end up in tight downward spirals, thinking they were flying straight and level, and would only be saved if they popped out of the clouds with enough time to recover before hitting the ground. An artificial horizon gimbals so that the line representing the horizon on the instrument’s face is always level with the actual horizon. It provides a substitute for the line between earth and sky when the view out the windows is obscured. Were the hijacker not paying diligent attention to the plane’s orientation in the night sky, he would have no inkling that this line was tilted to one side. Meanwhile, Parker had Koester radio the control tower and asked for a gun. It would be easy for an agent, starting at the tail of the plane, to walk underneath the fuselage, where the hijacker could not see him, all the way to the nose. The cockpit of the 727 had small windows on either side that could be opened. Berkebile and Koester told Parker to unplug his headset and lower the cord, which was ten or twelve feet long, out the window. An agent brought Parker’s Smith & Wesson .38 Special to the plane and tied it to the cord (FBI agents still carried .38-​caliber revolvers at the time; semiautomatic pistols with clips, they feared, might jam at just the wrong moment). Sitting in the copilot’s seat on the right, Parker hauled up the gun through the window and put it under his right buttock, where the hijacker could not see it.12 Berkebile and Koester went through their checklists, prepping for takeoff. They taxied to runway 30L and positioned the plane with its nose pointed down the runway. The tower cleared them for departure and a direct flight to Toronto. Just past midnight, American 119 was ready to leave St. Louis for the third time.13

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David Hanley American Flight 119

At four p.m., David Hanley was sitting in the Marriott Motel cocktail lounge next to the airport when American 119 returned to St. Louis from its aborted flight to Tulsa. By then, every television station in St. Louis was carrying the drama live. If you lived in St. Louis, you knew what was happening at the airport. The bar sat on the top floor, overlooking the terminal, control tower, and runways. It was a great place to watch planes take off and land as people waited for their flight or to pick up a friend. At times, the hijacked plane would have been clearly visible. Hanley, who did not drink, was, like everyone else in the bar, captivated by the story, unable to look away. Hanley’s wife, Donna, had last seen him at breakfast that morning at their three-​bedroom ranch home in Florissant, Missouri, a twenty-​minute drive from the main terminal. According to his father-​in-​law, John Sauerwein, who also lived in Florissant, Hanley had dropped a business associate off at the airport and then attended a meeting at the Marriott. Hanley was an inventor, and the meeting had something to do with one of his inventions. After the meeting, he had gone to the motel’s cocktail lounge, where, along with the television coverage, there was a live feed from the control tower.1 Hanley, thirty years old, was something of a misfit genius. A childhood friend remembered him as a nerd, the kind of kid who would sit around reading Popular Mechanics. His ideas for new inventions often straddled the line between creative and “goofy.” James Dowd, a lawyer in the office of the Missouri Secretary of State in Jefferson City, was a grade-​school classmate of Hanley. Dowd described him as “extremely talented and inventive, even brilliant.” Dowd was the best man at Hanley’s wedding and invested in his

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startup company, Circa 2000. He predicted that Hanley would one day be a millionaire.2 Hanley was an only child, raised by a grandmother and two unmarried aunts after his parents separated. He attended Our Lady of Lourdes parish school in University City and Chaminade College, a Catholic preparatory school, both located in the suburbs west of St. Louis. After prep school, he attended nearby Washington University and the Frank Lloyd Wright Foundation at Taliesin West in Scottsdale, Arizona, where he studied architectural design. After returning to St. Louis, he worked in engineering and design for Emerson Electric, headquartered in Ferguson, Missouri. He was selling insurance for the Knights of Columbus when he quit to start Circa 2000, which served largely as a vehicle to market his inventions. With money he collected from investors, Hanley rented a storefront office on North Lindbergh Boulevard near the airport. A sign on the window read, “Marketing tomorrow’s innovations today.” He also used some of his investors’ money to buy his wife a black 1971 Cadillac Eldorado convertible for Mother’s Day.3 Hanley was smart, but he was also impetuous in a way that seemed immature to some. “He was like a big, overgrown kid,” remembered a neighbor. “David is a big play-​baby. He gets in the pool with the kids and just slops around,” his neighbor said. He wanted to stand out and be noticed.4 By the time Berkebile, Koester, and Parker boarded the plane and were preparing for takeoff, Hanley had decided to take matters into his own hands. If the authorities could not stop the hijacker, he would do it himself, “a chance for him to have a moment of glory and save the world,” as a friend later said. Companions in the Marriott Motel cocktail lounge remembered him saying that if they kept listening to the radio, they would hear something “that would rock the world.”5 Meanwhile, FBI agents Melvin DeGraw and Dave Cunningham were lying in the grass next to the plane, idling on the runway. They had been instructed to get as close as possible and, if an opportunity presented itself, take the hijacker out. “Back then an FBI Agent was his or her own SWAT team, duster of fingerprints, [and] collector of evidence,” DeGraw recalled. He had a Remington 12-​gauge shotgun and Cunningham a .308 rifle. They had a small handheld Motorola radio, but there was so much static and garbled conversation that it was “next to useless,” according to DeGraw.6 They had spent the evening drinking coffee, and after an hour or so of lying in the grass, they had to urinate. They could not stand up and risk exposing themselves, so they rolled onto their sides, peed in the grass, and then rolled back into position.7

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At around midnight, Hanley left the Marriott bar and climbed into his wife’s Cadillac Eldorado—​a two door convertible—​which he had driven to the airport that day. He had taken flying lessons in St. Louis and knew the layout of the runways and taxiways. He drove along an access road to the southeast corner of the field, bordered by a chain-​link fence, not far from where the hijacked 727 sat at the end of runway 30L, waiting to depart to the northwest. Estimating how hard he would need to hit the fence to break through, he slammed the car into gear and stomped on the accelerator. The fence held, and he had to back up and try again before it finally gave way.8 Hanley drove past the jet to the opposite end of the 10,000-​foot runway. He turned the Caddy to face American 119, which had just been cleared for takeoff. With the plane’s exterior lights off, he probably could not see it at that distance. But he knew it was there. Once again, he pushed down on the accelerator, and the V8 roared to life. Two and a half tons of Detroit steel hurtled down the runway, picking up speed.9

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Cadillac Impact American Flight 119

St. Louis was agent Bruce Mouw’s first office assignment. He had joined the FBI in August 1971 and arrived in St. Louis in January 1972, six months before the hijacking. He was sitting on a wiretap when news of the hijacking broke. As other agents rushed to the airport, Mouw stayed behind to continue monitoring the wiretap. At around seven p.m., Bob Wilkinson, one of the more senior agents, swung by to tell him that they needed more help at the airport. The two piled into one of the Bureau’s dowdy old Nash Ramblers, a relic from the 1950s, the early models of which looked like upside-​down bathtubs with wheels. At least it had air conditioning, a welcome option in St. Louis in June. Wilkinson positioned the car with the terminal to their left and the plane to their right, sitting at the end of runway 30L, preparing to depart. After David Hanley crashed through the fence, witnesses said that he drove first toward the plane before turning and driving to the opposite end of the runway. As he did so, special agent in charge Bill Sullivan was on the radio demanding to know who the hell was driving on the runway without permission. It quickly became clear that it was not an FBI car, if for no other reason than that the Bureau did not drive two-​door Cadillac convertibles. Sullivan ordered all available units to intercept. Wilkinson shifted the Rambler into gear, and he and Mouw took off in pursuit. But the Rambler’s 82-​horsepower straight-​six-​cylinder engine was no match for the Cadillac’s V8, and they fell steadily behind. Mouw wondered what they were supposed to do if they had actually caught up to the Cadillac. Like Mouw, Ron Kelly was a first-​office agent in St. Louis. Marriage fit the buttoned-​down image of the Bureau, making Kelly something of an anomaly.

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Of the seventy or so agents in St. Louis, he was nearly the only one who was single, so he routinely volunteered for extra assignments after hours, eager to work his way up the ranks. He was checking out a lead when he heard about the hijacking over the radio. There was no way he was going to miss this. He immediately drove to the airport. Kelly and an older agent were driving down a taxiway parallel to runway 30L in a Plymouth Fury, headed away from where the plane was parked, when Sullivan began shouting over the radio for someone to intercept the car on the runway. By this time, Hanley was poised at the opposite end of the runway. As soon as Kelly saw the Cadillac, it sprang to life, accelerating toward American 119. Kelly’s partner, who was driving, slammed on the brakes and spun around to pursue. Unlike the Rambler, the Fury was fast. Hitting more than 90 miles an hour, they slowly began closing the distance on the Cadillac. But Hanley was on the runway, and they were on the parallel taxiway, with a grass median in between. There wasn’t much they could do but keep pace. Looking out the passenger’s-​side window, Kelly could only watch as Hanley sped toward the plane, hunched over the wheel. It was one of those experiences where “you’re seeing something but you’re not sure that it is real,” Kelly later said. What in the hell is this? he remembered thinking. Lying in the grass next to the plane, agent Melvin DeGraw saw the headlights rapidly approaching. His first thought was that it might be an accomplice of the hijacker, who was planning to exit the plane, get into the car, and escape into the night.1 Leroy Berkebile was just in the process of advancing the throttles for takeoff when the crew saw the headlights of the Cadillac. As they watched it approach through the cockpit window, Tom Parker’s first thought was, This is some young, stupid first-​office FBI agent or some cop trying to be a hero. Whoever it was, they were coming for the plane, and they were not slowing down. Art Koester thought about the hijacker and what he might do. Grabbing the public address microphone, he announced that there was a car on the runway coming toward them. “My God, he is going to hit us!” David Spellman, the lone hostage sitting back in coach, remembered Koester yelling over the public address system just before impact.2 At the last second, Hanley must have had a moment of clarity and swerved, careening off the nose wheel before slamming to a stop, smashed up against the landing gear under the port wing. The impact sent a shudder through the plane, rocking it backward. “Holy shit!” Berkebile exclaimed.3 From the grass next to the plane, DeGraw saw a shower of sparks as the car disappeared under the left wing. “The entire top of the car folded backward,

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leaving the lone occupant, behind the steering wheel, pushed backward against the seat,” DeGraw remembered.4 Racing down the taxiway, Kelly saw the Cadillac hit the nose gear at close to 90 miles an hour and then spin into the port-​side main gear. Skidding to a stop, he and his partner jumped out of the Plymouth and ran to the now-​ demolished car. Hanley hung limp and motionless over the driver’s-​side door, which had its window down, as gasoline began to pool under the plane. Kelly was sure he was dead. No one could survive that impact. DeGraw thought the same thing. “The top of his skull was split open, exposing his brain. To me, there was no way in the world he could still be alive,” DeGraw remembered. They could smell the fuel, see it leaking on the ground. Other agents arrived, and together they pulled Hanley from the car, grabbing at coat sleeves and trouser cuffs. Fearing that the whole thing might go up in flames at any moment, they carried him away from the plane and set him in the grass.5 In the cockpit, Berkebile and Koester wondered whether the fluid spilling out on the runway was gasoline from the car or jet fuel. The fuel tanks on a 727 are in the wings, extending nearly the full length of the wing. Automobile gasoline is more flammable than jet fuel, which is basically kerosene, but either way it was not good. The engines were still running. They also worried that the nose gear might collapse, but so far, it seemed to be holding. If there was a fire, how would they get out? Parker asked. In fact, the 727 was equipped with a rope that could be lowered out one of the cockpit windows. “After I grab that rope over your head you can follow me out the window,” Koester said with a wry smile.6 Meanwhile, in the back of the plane, the hijacker was frantic. “He was wild, he was bouncing all over the place,” Spellman said. The impact had knocked the hijacker’s wig “half off,” Diana Rash later recalled. She instinctively reached up and straightened it. Spellman, Rash, Jennifer Dumanois, and the hijacker all rushed to the port-​side windows. They could see the crumpled car, wedged up against the landing gear. “Holy shit, this can’t be happening. What else could go wrong?” Spellman remembered the hijacker saying. He threatened to pull the pin on the grenade. He said “he knew he was going to probably die and he would take as many people with him as possible,” Rash recalled. “He would open up on them with his machine gun” or “just blow the plane up.”7 Koester got on the public address system to assure the hijacker that this was not a trick. People sometimes got confused and drove onto runways by mistake, he said, as if this sort of thing happened all the time. It was Saturday

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night, and with none of the plane’s lights on, the driver probably could not see them. He pointed out Hanley, lying in the grass and apparently dead, as evidence that this was not something the FBI had done. Fire trucks quickly arrived, and Koester asked the hijacker if they could spray the car and plane with foam to prevent a fire. They could get another plane within half an hour. Anything he wanted. They were all in a precarious position, sitting in a wrecked plane, leaking fuel.8 Outside, the scene was a pandemonium of emergency vehicles, their swirling lights reflecting off steam from the Cadillac’s radiator. Remarkably, Hanley was still alive. DeGraw was assigned to ride in the ambulance with Hanley to St. John’s Mercy Hospital in case he made a statement. For DeGraw, the ambulance ride was the scariest part of the whole night. “The ambulance driver appeared to be about fifteen years old, white socks and tennis shoes, chewing gum, the AM-​FM radio blasting hard rock,” DeGraw remembered. On the highway, cars ahead of them barely had time to get out of the way as the ambulance approached doing 100 miles an hour. DeGraw could see drivers grab their rearview mirrors as they approached, “probably certain that this was the end for them.”9 Hanley immediately underwent surgery for a collapsed windpipe and fractured jaw. His left ankle and arm were crushed, one finger nearly severed, ribs broken, head split open. A friend who saw him in the hospital a few days later thought he looked like a cartoon character, covered almost head to foot in casts, his arms and legs splayed, connected by wires to metal posts. His blood had been tested for alcohol but revealed no signs of intoxication, which surprised just about everyone who did not know him. A St. Louis police officer guarded his door. For Hanley’s family, the worst was yet to come.10 A nurse told DeGraw that Hanley would likely be in a coma for days. There was no chance of getting a statement that night. The ambulance driver asked DeGraw if he wanted a ride back to the airport. When he said yes, the driver asked if he wanted the lights and siren. “No,” DeGraw told him, “and keep it under the speed limit, if you don’t mind.”11 Back at the plane, the hijacker made a decision. He wanted a new plane, but not just any plane.

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The Boeing 727

If you wanted to bail out of an airliner, the Boeing 727 was it. If not for the 727, parachuting from a hijacked jet would never have become a thing. Following the end of World War I in 1918, most of the flying in the US was done by barnstormers and airmail pilots flying Curtiss JN-​4 “Jennies” or other World War I surplus biplanes. Charles Lindbergh’s 1927 transatlantic flight (in a custom-​built monoplane) led to a surge in enthusiasm for aviation, pushed along by new advances in engine and airframe designs. While Pan Am built a network of routes through Central and South America during the 1930s with its flying boats, eventually expanding across the Atlantic and Pacific, startup airlines established routes across the continental US. The Douglas Aircraft Company’s DC-​3 finally made commercial airlines profitable beginning in 1936. Known simply as the 3 by pilots, it was legendary for its ruggedness and reliability. It cut coast-​to-​coast flying time in half, and it could land and take off nearly anywhere and carry nearly anything you could stuff in it. “You can crash a DC-​3, but you can’t wear it out,” pilots said. The Army version, the C-​47, was the backbone of air transportation during World War II, carrying 22 million tons of supplies during the war. The impetus for a modern all-​metal airliner followed the death of Notre Dame football coach Knute Rockne on March 31, 1931. Rockne, on his way to complete arrangements for the film The Spirit of Notre Dame, was a passenger on a TWA Ford Trimotor that took off from Kansas City. Visibility was poor under a low overcast when the plane departed. The propeller on the starboard engine broke, and the resulting vibration tore the wing off. An investigation revealed that the main wing spar, which was made of wood, had rotted away. Sections of the wing’s surface, which were made of plywood, may have also delaminated in the air, contributing to its failure. When Lindbergh, now the chief technical adviser at TWA, was shown plans for the DC-​3, he added the

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requirement that it be able to climb out with a full load on one engine should the other engine fail on takeoff. Most commercial planes at the time had more than one engine because they needed them just to stay in the air. The DC-​3 added a new level of comfort for travelers. It could carry twenty-​ one day passengers or fourteen in sleeper berths. It had a galley for preparing hot meals and a toilet in back. It also had insulation and cabin heaters. Gone were the deafening roar and the freezing cold of previous planes. The Douglas company built more than ten thousand DC-​3s. In the 1950s, 174 airlines in seventy nations still flew the 3.1 But the DC-​3 was essentially a short-​haul airplane. It was not pressurized and could not fly over oceans or above the weather. After the war, piston-​ and propeller-​driven planes pushed up against their limits. The Boeing 377 Stratocruiser could cruise at 300 miles an hour, but its four massive radial engines had twenty-​eight cylinders and fifty-​six spark plugs each, and its balky variable pitch propellers were suspected in several accidents. The Lockheed Constellation was more successful than the Stratocruiser, but it shared the Boeing’s fundamental limitations. Pilots joked that the four-​engine Constellation was the best trimotor in the sky, since at least one of its engines seemed always on the verge of failure. Jets changed all of this. They were a second revolution in flight, the most radical innovation since the Wright brothers. Jet engines were more reliable than piston engines and more efficient at higher altitudes. Commercial jets could cruise at nearly 600 miles an hour at 30,000 to 40,000 feet, above the weather, where the ride was smoother and quieter. They could carry twice as many people in half the time with lower operating costs. In the 1960s, the word “jet” became synonymous with speed, and travelers experienced “jet lag” for the first time. Jets changed tourism, politics, and sports and created the “jet set,” a new brand of sophisticated elite. By the early 1960s, the number of passengers crossing the Atlantic by jet surpassed those on ships. The Boeing 707 was the first successful jet airliner. It grew out of Boeing’s design work following World War II on the B-​47 and B-​52 bombers and the KC-​135 air tanker, designed to refuel B-​52s in flight. (One of the test pilots for the B-​47 was this author’s great-​uncle, William F. Wigger, who flew B-​25s over the Mediterranean during World War II.) Airline executives were at first skeptical, but once the 707 began carrying passengers in the late 1950s, its advantages became obvious.2 For all its innovative impact, the four-​engine 707 was not designed for medium-​length flights or shorter runways. New York to London? You bet. Boston–​New York–​Philadelphia–​Washington–​Miami? Not so much. To

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extend the jet revolution, airlines needed a plane designed for shorter runs and smaller airports.3 Boeing’s answer was the 727, which began commercial flight in 1964. Its three-​engine design was a compromise between those who wanted the safety of four engines and those who wanted the efficiency of two. In other ways, the 727 pushed the boundaries of commercial-​jet performance. The 707 had some impressive flight characteristics. During a 1955 test of the Dash-​80, a 707 prototype, test pilot Tex Johnston flew over Lake Washington near Seattle at 300 feet and 450 miles an hour. In front of thousands of spectators who were there to see a boat race, Johnston pulled up in a 35-​degree climb and then did a complete barrel roll. The stunt nearly gave Bill Allen, Boeing’s president, a heart attack as he watched. It was two decades before he could “discuss the event with a modicum of humor,” he later admitted.4 The 727 flew even better. Jack Steiner, the head of the 727 program, had a personality that people found either infectious or irritating. He was the only Boeing manager who had two secretaries, one for normal business hours and one for evenings, which he almost always worked. He could have used a third. He called associates at all hours of the night, whenever an idea occurred to him. Steiner credited his wife, Dorothy, with managing everything in their lives that was not Boeing. “She was the one who raised our three kids,” he said. “She did everything.” Test pilots loved Steiner because he never told them that they simply were not flying the plane correctly. If they identified a problem, he wanted it fixed.5 Steiner and his engineers gave the 727 full hydraulically boosted controls, giving it sports-​car handling compared with the 707’s school-​bus feel. The 727 could be flown one-​handed, which was not typical for airliners of the time. Only when the primary and backup hydraulic control systems were turned off did it feel like other planes. It was a pilot’s plane, the highest compliment any plane could receive.6 To handle short runways, the 727 had an ingenious system of triple-​slotted trailing-​edge Fowler flaps and smaller leading-​edge Krueger flaps. The flaps increased the wing area by 25 percent when fully extended, increasing drag and lift, which allowed the plane to fly more slowly. “On this bird you don’t lower the flaps—​you disassemble the whole damn wing,” one airline pilot said. The result was that the 727 had a stall speed of only 102 to 108 miles an hour and could land in as little as 4,500 feet, or about 2,000 feet less than a 707. It was ideal for smaller airports with runways too short for a 707 or its

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nearest competitor, the DC-​8. Though no one at Boeing thought of it at the time, the 727 could be flown slowly enough to parachute out of.7 The 727 was the first airliner to have an auxiliary power unit, which meant that it could start its main engines without assistance from ground equipment. All it needed was a runway. The engines were loud, emitting an ear-​ splitting roar on takeoff, but otherwise it was the perfect plane for extending jet service beyond big cities. And then there were the aft stairs, which made it possible for passengers to board or exit without wheeling up external stairs after the plane landed. Curiously, the stairs could be lowered in flight.8 By 1984, Boeing had built 1,831 727s. The CIA’s Air America purchased at least three and used them to covertly drop cargo and personnel in Laos during the Vietnam War. D.B. Cooper was not the first person to jump from a 727, though few people knew it at the time. Like Cooper and Richard McCoy before him, the hijacker of American 119 was careful to select a flight with the right plane. It had to be a 727.

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Snipers American Flight 119

It took half an hour after David Hanley had been whisked away to the hospital to get another 727 taxied into position, just in front of the now-​ crippled plane with the Cadillac wedged under its port wing, covered in fire-​fighting foam. David Spellman, the American Airlines auditor who had volunteered to remain on the plane, knew that transferring to the new plane would be the most dangerous part of the hijacking. Captain Leroy Berkebile was thinking the same thing. He radioed in, advising “all concerned that he wanted no monkey business to occur during the transfer of planes.” Tom Parker left his .38 Special on the damaged plane. They had arranged for a pistol to be hidden under the control panel on the new plane. If they were going to take a shot at the hijacker, Parker and the two pilots wanted to be in control of the circumstances. But special agent in charge Bill Sullivan and his agents on the ground were making plans of their own, should an opportunity present itself.1 The FBI had used snipers to take out hijackers before. Richard Obergfell, twenty-​six, a former United Airlines mechanic, tripped a metal detector at LaGuardia on July 23, 1971, eleven months before the American 119 hijacking. When inspectors could not find anything suspicious, he was allowed to board a TWA flight to Chicago. When Obergfell moved up from coach to the last row in first class, stewardess Idie Maria Concepcion, twenty-​one, was immediately suspicious. “He was nervous and sweating, running his hands through his hair,” she said. He had a work rag on his lap, hiding a gun. She was about to report him to the captain when she felt “something hard in my back and an arm around me.” Obergfell had stolen the automatic pistol two days before from a sporting-​goods store and somehow concealed it from airport security.

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After the hijacking, neighbors had a hard time describing Obergfell. He dressed neatly and spoke Italian and Hungarian but kept mostly to himself. One remembered hearing that he had been “hit over the head and mugged one night and since then had a problem.” He told his former landlord that he was waiting for his girlfriend from Italy whom he had never met but expected to marry. He had been writing to her in Italian. Losing his job made him despondent. He wore summer clothes in the winter, and his refrigerator was always empty. He fell behind on his rent. “He seemed to be drifting,” his former landlord said. To Concepcion, Obergfell seemed more tragic than sinister. Though he always kept the gun pointed at her, she did not think he wanted to hurt her. She was mostly afraid of his “nervousness,” worried that someone might do something to push him over the edge. She was also concerned that if Obergfell demanded to go to Cuba, the pilots might think she was in on it, since her parents were Cuban. Instead, Obergfell told the pilot he wanted to fly to Milan, Italy, to join his girlfriend. The pilot told him that the plane was not equipped for the flight. Obergfell agreed to return to LaGuardia and change planes. At LaGuardia, authorities convinced Obergfell that he would need to go to Kennedy Airport where there were jets capable of the transatlantic flight. He and Concepcion were the last to leave the plane, parked on a remote section of the apron. She asked him if she could take her suitcase, with her clothes and makeup. “Sure,” he replied. “Have you ever been to Italy?” “No,” she said. “Well here’s your chance,” he said, as if he were offering her a free vacation. After they had been waiting at the foot of the stairs for what seemed like a long time, a TWA maintenance worker drove up in an airline truck to take them to Kennedy Airport. At Kennedy, as Obergfell and Concepcion again waited on the ramp while a Boeing 707 was readied, various authorities walked out to try to talk him out of it, including a priest. “The more people they sent out, the more nervous he got,” Concepcion recalled. “I don’t know how quickly Stockholm syndrome takes hold, but I actually became protective of him.” With the plane finally ready, Obergfell pulled Concepcion backward toward the stairs. As he held onto the back of her uniform, she kept stepping on his feet. Distracted by a car parked nearby, he momentarily let her go, and a gap opened up between them. Concealed behind a blast fence at the end of the runway was FBI agent Kenneth Lovin with a .308-​caliber rifle and scope. When the hijacker and

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his hostage drifted apart, he fired. The first shot hit Obergfell in the chest, and he slumped to his knees. After the second shot, he lay motionless on the ground. News stories reported that Concepcion was “astonishingly calm after the event.” When she first heard the shots, she thought she was the one who had been hit. “I couldn’t see anything else, it was only him and me, so who else could be shot but me?” she told reporters. “I’m still not afraid, but I don’t really know why.” She had been a stewardess for two months. The hijacking left her with no lasting trauma. “I was very naïve, which might actually have saved my life,” she recently told me.2 Agent Lovin was celebrated in the press for shooting Obergfell, but J. Edgar Hoover later reprimanded him after an Associated Press photo of Lovin taking aim with his rifle appeared in newspapers across the US. As he crouched behind the blast fence, Lovin had removed his jacket, and Hoover did not approve of agents appearing in shirtsleeves.3 Whether or not he knew the story of how Obergfell had been shot, the hijacker of American 119 was determined not to make the same mistake. He sent Diana Rash forward to where Spellman was seated to tell him that it would be his job to carry the money, in the American Airlines mailbag, and the shovel across to the new plane. Spellman asked Rash to retrieve his wallet from first class, where he had left it in his coat during the initial shuffling of passengers.4 Rash and Jennifer Dumanois each carried a parachute, but in the confusion of the moment, they only grabbed one harness. Later, once they were aboard the second plane, one of the stewardesses told Spellman that he was “one lucky boy.” The hijacker was “pissed” that she had forgotten the second harness. He had planned to make Spellman jump first, just to make sure the chutes worked. Spellman hadn’t thought of that.5 They left the plane, with the demolished Cadillac still under its left wing, by the forward door, where a set of stairs had been wheeled into place. Broken glass and foam surrounded the car. As he took in the scene, the hijacker turned to Dumanois. “What kind of a nut would crash into the side of a plane? He must be crazier than I am.”6 The hijacker wedged himself between the two stewardesses as they descended the stairs, with the pilots in front. “Let’s go, let’s go!” he called out. At the bottom of the stairs, he put Spellman just in front of him and the stewardesses behind. If they heard gunfire, they were supposed to drop to the ground. Art Koester and Berkebile had turned the landing lights on to illuminate the space between the two planes. “Take it slow,” the hijacker told

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Spellman as they crossed the short distance to the new plane, its tail just in front of the one they were leaving. “Take it slow.” Parker had hoped to tackle the hijacker on the stairs, but he never got the chance. Koester did not hear his instruction to “take it slow” and ran ahead to the new plane. When he got there, he “turned around and nobody was behind me,” he later recalled. Despite the tension and uncertainty of the moment, the hijacker did not strike Spellman as overly menacing. It was almost as if he had been placed in charge of a group of volunteers and it was his job to figure out what to do next.7 After returning from taking Hanley to the hospital, agent Mel DeGraw rejoined Dave Cunningham in the grass next to the plane. They had been given a green light to shoot the hijacker if an opportunity presented itself. But he remained shielded by his hostages all the way to the new plane. They were in the open for only a minute. Given the conditions, it would have been a risky shot.8 The group boarded the replacement plane through the aft stairs. Parker noticed that all the overhead bins were open, apparently to show the hijacker that no one was hiding inside. As the hijacker ran through the cabin closing the window shades, Koester went back to help one of the stewardesses raise the aft stairs, which were stuck. It took Koester a few tries, but he finally got them up and locked.9 The instructions from the hijacker were the same as they had been before Hanley rammed his wife’s Cadillac into the first plane. He wanted to fly to Toronto and then on to Kennedy Airport, with the aft stairs lowered after takeoff. When they changed planes, Flight 119 became Flight 821, though later everyone continued to refer to it by its original 119 designation. The hijacker again sat in the last row, with Rash and Dumanois just in front of him. At 1:48 a.m., they were back in the air.10

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Chase Planes American Flight 119

Agent Clifford Spingler raced to the airport when word of the hijacking broke, joining nearly every FBI agent in St. Louis at the American Flight Operations Center. St. Louis was his second office assignment. He had arrived there in March 1969, following nine months in Seattle. After he had stood around for a while, someone handed Spingler a shotgun and told him to join two other agents in one of the chase planes that would follow the hijacked airliner. Spingler walked across the apron to a single-​engine Cessna.1 The plane was likely a Cessna 172 Skyhawk. Beginning in the 1950s, more 172s were built than any other aircraft. In 1972, a new 172 cost less than $15,000. Stable and easy to fly, the high-​wing, fixed-​gear, four-​seat Cessna had a cruising speed of 140 miles an hour. Three FBI agents and a pilot would have pushed up against its maximum weight. There was no way the Cessna could keep up with the 727. Their job was to follow along behind. If the hijacker jumped, they would land at the nearest airport and join the pursuit. D.B. Cooper had only been in the air about thirty minutes before he jumped. If the hijacker jumped soon enough, they might not be far behind. As it turned out, they were about an hour behind when the hijacker bailed out. They landed at the municipal airport in Peru, Indiana. Someone in the FBI office called Spingler’s wife to tell her that he would not be home that night. He was in Peru, the caller told her. Peru? She didn’t know what to make of that until she turned on the news and saw reports of where the hijacker had jumped.

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For Spingler, the chase was over. He and his two colleagues got a ride into town from Peru police chief Richard Blair and then returned to St. Louis. Later Blair would become famous for picking up another straggler on the road.2 As Spingler was boarding the Cessna, agents Don Jones and Ben Weaver drove to Scott Air Force Base, thirty-​five miles east of St. Louis. At Scott, they boarded a C-​9, the military version of a McDonnell Douglas DC-​9 airliner, piloted by two Air Force officers. The C-​9 was slightly smaller than the 727, with similar flight characteristics.3 As American 119 prepared to take off from St. Louis shortly after midnight, the C-​9 had left Scott Air Force Base to intercept. After David Hanley crashed into the hijacked plane, they returned to Scott and waited to see what would happen next. When the second 727 left St. Louis with the hijacker on board, the C-​9 again took off, and St. Louis Air Traffic Control vectored them to a position behind the 727.4 Meanwhile, agent Richard Herman was aboard the Learjet, the one that Tom Parker had been bumped from, which took off from St. Louis to follow the hijacked 727. As with most agents, the FBI was not Herman’s first career. He wanted to be a draftsman, and after graduating from California State Teachers College in California, Pennsylvania (now called California University of Pennsylvania), he took a job with Republic Steel in Youngstown, Ohio. But Herman struggled with math and after a year became a schoolteacher in Fairfax County, Virginia. In 1968, he bought a house next door to an FBI agent, who suggested he apply to the Bureau. His first office was Mobile, Alabama, before moving to St. Louis.5 Unlike the C-​9, the Learjet, known for its speed, high cruising altitudes, and skittish handling, was not ideal for following the slow-​moving 727. The Learjet had to make wide, sweeping turns behind the airliner to keep from overtaking it. On one of their passes, the crew could see that the aft stairs were down but could make out little else. Eventually, the Lear dropped the agents off at Chanute Air Force Base in Illinois, leaving them to find their own way home.6 Meanwhile, on the C-​9, agents Jones and Weaver took turns in the cockpit sitting on the jump seat behind the pilots. For most of the flight, they maintained a position about a mile behind the 727 and above it. Once, they dropped below the hijacked plane, but even from that vantage point, they could not see if the aft stairs were down. They returned to a position above

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the 727, where there was no danger of being hit by anything thrown from the plane.7 At around 2:45 a.m., Weaver, an ex-​Navy pilot, switched places with Jones, moving from the jump seat to a seat in the cabin, on the left side and forward of the wing, so that he could watch out the window. Moments later, he saw something he would never forget.8

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A Short History of Parachuting

Parachuting predates airplanes by more than a century, with the first jumps accomplished from balloons in the 1790s. By the time of the Wright brothers’ first flight in 1903, parachuting from balloons was commonplace in America. Thomas S. Baldwin, known as Captain Baldwin, was a contemporary of the Wright brothers and one of the most famous balloonists and parachute jumpers of the time. Born in Missouri in 1854, he became a circus acrobat in his twenties. In the early 1880s, he began ascending in hot-​air balloons, performing on a trapeze hanging below the balloon on the way up, and then parachuting off it. Reports of an August 1887 parachute jump that Baldwin made from a balloon at Rockaway Beach in New York appeared in dozens of newspapers across the nation.1 Baldwin went around the world giving demonstrations. In London, thirty thousand people turned out to see him make a balloon ascension and parachute drop on July 28, 1888. Subsequent jumps drew crowds of fifty thousand or more. By the early 1890s, no state or county fair was complete without a balloon ascension and parachute jump.2 The queen of early parachuting was Tiny Broadwick. Her given name was Georgia Ann Thompson, but she was four feet eight inches tall and weighed eighty pounds, so everyone called her Tiny. She was fifteen when she first saw a parachute jump from a balloon at the North Carolina state fair in Raleigh in 1908. As soon as she saw the balloon ascend, she thought, That’s what I want to do. It belonged to Charles Broadwick, who performed at fairs, parachuting from the balloon and then giving rides. Tiny went up that first day. “I don’t think ever in my young life I’d experienced anything so exciting,” she later said. “I was just hell bound and determined that I was going to get in the act.”3 Born in 1893 on a farm in Granville County, North Carolina, Tiny was the youngest of seven daughters. A few years later, the family moved to

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Henderson, North Carolina, so that her father could work in the Harriet Cotton Mill. Tiny never learned to write, beyond signing her name. At age twelve, she married. “Honey, that’s just the way it was done down South,” she later said. A year later, she had a daughter, Verla. Soon after, Tiny’s husband abandoned her, and she went to work at the cotton mill, earning forty cents a day for a twelve-​hour shift. Three times a day, she would walk home during breaks to breastfeed her infant daughter. When she first saw the balloon, it must have seemed like an escape pod to heaven.4 Tiny never forgot her first jump from the trapeze below Broadwick’s balloon. Parachutes were usually made of unbleached muslin and attached to the trapeze with three dozen cotton ropes, each about thirty feet long. The parachute itself was stuffed into a bag attached to the side of the balloon. When the jumper cut free, the trapeze would fall, pulling the parachute out of its bag. Years later, Tiny remembered the “thrill” of free-​falling about seventy-​ five feet before the parachute opened with a jerk.5 Tiny became famous, with newspapers following her exploits as she and Broadwick, who adopted her for the sake of propriety, traveled the country. For her act, she dressed in frilly white dresses with ruffled bloomers, pink bows, and a bonnet. They called her the “Doll Girl,” and crowds everywhere immediately recognized her. Tiny hated wearing the dresses and would much rather have jumped in boys’ pants, but she understood that it was part of the appeal. Eventually, a picture of her in the doll costume was painted on the balloon, nearly as tall as the balloon itself. An August 1911 headline in the Oregon Daily Journal described Tiny as “Trifling with Death . . . The Most Daring Act Anywhere.” Tiny thought this was overly dramatic.6 She took pride in landing standing up and often jumped with two, three, or even four chutes, all of different colors. After the first chute opened, she would cut it away and allow the second chute to open, and so on. It made for a spectacular show, particularly if spectators did not know she had more than one chute. Tiny took meticulous care of her equipment, but there were still accidents. She broke bones crashing into buildings, trees, and a moving train. At times, she jumped at night, with flares extended two feet from either side of the trapeze. The danger of setting the parachute or her clothes on fire made it one of her least favorite stunts. Tiny was among the first to parachute from an airplane, piloted by Glenn Martin, in 1913 and the first to jump with a modern backpack-​style parachute a year later. She later recalled that the Army officers who watched her make the jump were skeptical. The parachute might save lives, but it might also tempt a pilot to jump before it was absolutely necessary, thereby costing the

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Army a valuable plane. With this in mind, most World War I pilots did not wear a parachute. Tiny retired in 1922 with more than a thousand jumps to her credit.7 Arthur Gould Lee flew more than three hundred hours for the British Royal Flying Corps in France during World War I. “Nothing more mystified the pilots and observers,” Lee wrote in his memoir, No Parachute, “than the dour refusal of their High Command to provide them with parachutes.” Lee described the death of one of his squadron mates after the wings of his Sopwith Camel collapsed. “The others went after him and steered close to him in vertical dives. They could see him, struggling to get clear of his harness, then half standing up. They said it was horrible to watch him trying to decide whether to jump. He didn’t, and the machine and he were smashed to nothingness.” Every memoir about flying in World War I contains something similar.8 During the 1920s, barnstormers crisscrossed the US, performing stunts in their surplus Curtis JN-​4 Jennies and charging for rides. Their acts almost always included parachute jumpers and wing walkers like Gladys Ingle and Lillian Boyer. Roy Ahearn learned to fly in Chicago in a World War I–​era trainer made of wood and fabric in 1922, the same year Tiny Broadwick retired from parachuting. With sixty hours of flying time, he took to barnstorming in the Chicago area, doing anything to make a buck. In October 1925, he was arrested for flying at 200 feet over the forty thousand spectators at the University of Chicago–​Northwestern football game to drop advertising leaflets. A few weeks later, Ahearn, age twenty-​one or twenty-​two, left for Florida, hoping to cash in on the state’s land boom.9 At Cocoa Beach, Ahearn got a job flying for a wealthy New York real estate broker, Allen Pollitt. A few days into the job, he met the broker’s daughter, “society girl” Miriam Ann Pollitt, and took her for her first plane ride. From the start, Miriam admired his “go-​getter” approach to life. “I couldn’t stand a namby pamby,” she later told a reporter. Ten days later, they were married, on December 28, 1925. “Speed is essential with aviators,” Ahearn said after the wedding. “We haven’t any long-​term lease on life.”10 As if to prove his point, less than a week after the wedding, he agreed to stage a stunt at Cocoa Beach for 50 percent of the gate receipts. He bought a ramshackle Jenny, a wood and fabric World War I open-​cockpit biplane, for three hundred dollars. His plan was to set it afire in the air and then bail out. Ahearn rigged the plane with sacks of gunpowder, along with spark plugs and a battery to set it off. He tried to find one of the new backpack-​style

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parachutes, like the one Tiny Broadwick demonstrated in 1914, but had to settle for an old balloon chute he borrowed from the Gates Flying Circus, which was also in Florida for the winter. The Gates pilots kidded him that “there were easier ways to commit suicide.” Understandably unwilling to fasten the chute in the usual manner to the fuselage of the Jenny, which would be ablaze by the time he needed it, Ahearn decided to jump with the chute in his arms. He stowed the chute in the rear cockpit and flew from the front seat. Just before takeoff, the plane was doused with twenty-​five gallons of gasoline and the wings covered with ten gallons of oil. Bystanders were afraid to get near it. Ahearn planned to climb to 3,000 feet over the ocean to perform the stunt, but the old engine started running rough and losing power at 1,000 feet. There was nowhere to land, since the beach was jammed with six thousand spectators who had come to see the show. At 1,200 feet, Ahearn decided it was now or never. He ignited the gunpowder, and in seconds, the plane was a ball of fire. Reaching back to grab the chute, he discovered it had become tangled in the controls. After climbing into the rear cockpit, he frantically untangled the shroud lines and jumped. Still flying, the Jenny began spiraling down, with Ahearn falling beside it. The crowd, including Miriam, watched in stunned silence. Moments later, the chute billowed out, and Ahearn began floating down toward the ocean. Meanwhile, the flaming Jenny rolled out of its spiral and headed inland, toward the crowd, which ran screaming in every direction. At 300 feet, just offshore, the plane rolled over and plunged into the surf, “leaving a great geyser of white foam to mark the spot,” according to the Miami News. Gathering the borrowed chute, Ahearn was picked up by a boat and dropped onto the beach, where he was “wildly cheered as the boat touched the shore.” He could not have been more pleased. As far as he was concerned, the stunt had worked perfectly.11 World War II introduced thousands of servicemen to parachuting. Beginning in the 1950s, skydiving became an international sport. Equipment and safety standards improved, so that by the 1970s, parachuting was a recreational activity that just about anyone could try. By then, the jump that the hijacker of American 119 had in mind did not conform to anyone’s idea of safety. But it would not have seemed all that remarkable to Thomas Baldwin, Tiny Broadwick, or Roy Ahearn, aside from the speed of the plane at the time of the jump.

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Wheels Up American Flight 119

They took off from St. Louis shortly before two a.m. Leroy Berkebile made the big sweeping circles around the city that he and Art Koester had planned in order to throw the hijacker’s timing off. No matter when he jumped, it would not be where he expected. Sitting in the back with Diana Rash, the hijacker asked where she was from. New York, she told him. He liked that, saying, “The Bronx is some spot.” It made her think he might be from there. He had white pills, “slightly larger than aspirin,” Rash later recalled, which she saw him take at least four times. She had no idea what they were. In fact, they were stimulants that the hijacker had brought along to keep him alert.1 He was still wearing the blue cotton glove that Sharon Wetherley had given him, which was too clumsy to open a small pocketknife he had brought along. He asked Rash to open it for him, so that he could cut the nylon cord that he had also brought and intended to use to tie the money bag around his waist, next to his leg.2 Meanwhile, David Spellman was sitting by himself about halfway up in coach, the hum of flight drowning out the murmurs of conversation from the rear. He was one of those people who react to stress by falling asleep. He was also used to napping on planes, since his job with American required constant travel. He had earlier fallen asleep while they were headed to Fort Worth. Now he took a window seat, propped his head against the side of the plane, and dozed off.3 As they climbed toward cruising altitude, Koester went back to lower the aft stairs, accompanied by the hijacker. Koester told him that he was going to take it slow, so that he did not fall out. The hijacker agreed that was a good

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idea. Pulling a lever connected to the plane’s hydraulic system lowered the stairs, but the force of the jet’s slipstream did not allow them to extend all the way down and lock in place. They had to shout at each other over the roar of the engines and rushing air. Koester explained that the plane’s speed determined how far down the stairs would drop. The faster they went, the more the stairs would be pushed up toward the fuselage. The hijacker asked how fast they were going. Two hundred knots (230 miles an hour), Koester told him. At that speed, the stairs floated about four feet below the plane’s tail, buffeted by the rushing air. Unlike in the D.B. Cooper hijacking, they were flying in a cruise configuration, with the landing gear and flaps up. This meant that they could—​indeed, had to—​fly faster. The hijacker knew he was behind schedule. He needed to bail out and make his getaway before dawn. Calculating that he could crawl down the stairs even if the gap were smaller, he told Koester to fly faster. Koester phoned Berkebile and told him to accelerate to 300 knots (345 miles an hour). At that speed, there was only about a three-​foot gap between the stairs and the fuselage. The pilots were sure the jump would be suicide. Berkebile climbed to 10,000 feet, and Air Traffic Control gave him a vector direct to Toronto.4 On the way back to the cockpit, the hijacker followed Koester up the aisle. As he walked past the curtains separating first class from coach, Koester remembered that the hijacker wanted them closed. He spun around, and his hand hit the hijacker in the face, knocking off his sunglasses. Koester had not expected him to be that close. The hijacker jammed the machine gun into his ribs. For a moment, they stood staring at each other, frozen in place, equally surprised, before letting out their breath. “Boy, you don’t know how close you came to getting killed,” the hijacker said. Koester thought he had a pretty good idea.5 Once the stairs were down, the hijacker told everyone to move to the cockpit. He had Rash place two Band-​Aids over the peephole in the door so that they could not see what he was doing in the back. Inside the cockpit, Rash, Jennifer Dumanois, and Spellman crowded together on the jump seat behind Berkebile.6 Tom Parker had a plan for shooting the hijacker. He would kneel on the copilot’s seat, facing backward, crouched down behind the seatback with his gun at the ready. If the hijacker opened the door and entered the cockpit, Spellman, who was sitting closest to the aisle on the jump seat, would reach across with his right arm and force the barrel of the machine gun down, falling across the gun if necessary, so that it pointed at the floor. At the same

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time, Koester, seated just across from Spellman at the flight engineer’s console, would duck, and Parker would take the shot.7 Spellman wasn’t sure this was a good idea. Even if he could force the barrel down, so that none of them was in the line of fire, there were a lot of sensitive components running under the floor of the cockpit. If the hijacker pulled the trigger, it might damage systems they needed to stay in the air.8 Koester’s assessment was more direct. “I don’t care if you’re Annie Oakley, you’re not shooting over my head,” he said.9 The hijacker came forward to the cockpit three times. First, he wanted the plane’s weather radar removed. When they told him that was not possible, he settled for pulling the circuit breakers on the radar. A few minutes later, he wanted to know the plane’s altitude and airspeed and instructed Berkebile to slow down to 250 knots (288 miles an hour). Finally, he banged on the cockpit door and asked Rash to step outside. He asked her to verify their altitude and airspeed, and then he said that if anyone opened the cockpit door again, he would shoot them. Parker never did get a clean shot.10 As they flew northeast on a heading of 50 degrees, their progress was monitored by the Indianapolis Air Traffic Control Center, which was also in radio contact with Grissom Air Force Base, located about five miles southwest of the town of Peru, Indiana. At 2:51 a.m., the hijacked 727 flew almost directly over Grissom.11 Two minutes later, at 2:53 a.m., everyone in the cockpit felt a bump, and Rash’s ears popped. The hijacker had jumped, causing the stairs to bounce and the pressure inside the cabin to fluctuate, much as it had when D.B. Cooper bailed out. Berkebile, who was hand-​flying the plane rather than using the autopilot, felt it through the controls. He pitched nose-​up so that the blast from the three rear engines would point down toward the falling hijacker. He later reported that they were flying at 277 knots true airspeed (319 miles an hour). He was sure that the combination of speed and turbulence from the engine exhaust would tumble the hijacker hopelessly out of control. Berkebile also switched the transponder to squawk 7700, pinpointing their position on radar.12 In the Air Force chase plane, which was behind and above the 727, agent Ben Weaver, a former Navy pilot, had just left the cockpit and taken a seat in the cabin. As he peered out the window, he saw “a small dark object” dart past and disappear beneath the wing. It was the hijacker, plummeting earthward.13

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The Jump American Flight 119

As he fell away from the 727, the hijacker’s goggles were torn from his face. He knew that he had to wait to open his parachute. Before boarding American 119, he had gone to the public library and read up on skydiving. He figured that if he waited, his speed would slow to terminal velocity, somewhere between 120 and 180 miles an hour, depending on body orientation. It takes about twelve to thirteen seconds to reach terminal velocity in a free fall. He counted to fifteen before pulling the ripcord.1 The parachute the FBI had given him was likely a standard T-​10 24-​foot flat-​chest reserve chute, with a maximum deployment speed of 150 miles an hour and a descent rate of about 17 to 22 feet per second. Rafael Alvarez spent nearly thirty years in the Army, twenty-​six of those as a parachute rigger. He made 273 jumps, on one of which his main chute failed to open, and he had to deploy his reserve chute. To better understand a free-​fall jump with a reserve chute, I contacted Alvarez, a museum technician at the 82nd Airborne Division Museum.2 Inexperienced jumpers have a tendency to fall with their backs to the earth, hands and feet slightly spread, as if sitting in a rocking chair. Jumpers need to arch their back so that they can flip over and fall facing the earth. If the arch is wrong, they will flip back over onto their back. As the hijacker reached for the ripcord with his right hand, he kept his left hand extended. The imbalance caused him to begin spinning. When the spring-​loaded pilot chute deployed, it hit him in the face, the thing agent Bob Meredith had deliberately not warned him about, followed by the suspension lines. The impact snapped his head back.

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The hijacker was afraid that the panels on the chute would rip out as he was jerked from terminal velocity to nearly a complete stop. He reached up with this right hand to feel if there was tension on the shroud lines, which there was. In fact, according to Alvarez, it was unlikely that the reserve chute would tear apart as it deployed. These chutes were stronger than that. Next, the hijacker reached down with his left hand for the money bag. It was gone, torn free as the parachute opened. As it fell away, so did his dreams. He decided to end it there. He began unbuckling the leg straps and the chest strap, determined to let himself fall to his death free of the parachute. Struggling to get out of the harness gave him a few moments to reflect. The money could be replaced but not his life. He would simply do it again. He would hijack another plane, this time for $1 million. As he approached the ground, he could see trees ahead. Experienced jumpers land on the balls of their feet, but the hijacker put his heels out. He was not wearing a helmet. When he hit, he fell over backward, striking his head on the ground. He felt the world spin, but he was alive.3 After they felt the pressure bump, Art Koester called the hijacker three times over the public address system, to tell him that they had a mechanical problem they needed to discuss. When there was no reply, Koester and Tom Parker, gun in hand, walked back through the cabin, followed by David Spellman and the stewardesses. The hijacker was gone, as were the money and the machine gun. They searched for a bomb but found nothing.4 Since there was no need to maintain their course to Toronto, Leroy Berkebile decided to head for Chicago, which was where he and Koester were based. They landed at 4:06 a.m., and were taken to the Hyatt Hotel at the airport, where they could be sequestered and debriefed before the media got to them.5 They were in no mood for sleep. They figured they deserved to get drunk. Koester called his wife, Donna, and asked her to bring vodka and snacks. She had been following the hijacking on a St. Louis radio station and was waiting to hear the outcome. Throwing a “babushka” over her head, she went out to buy the booze and munchies and arrived at the hotel before dawn. The hotel staff was reluctant to let her through, skeptical that she was really the wife of one of the pilots, until a young FBI agent intervened and escorted her through the security perimeter.6

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The Chase

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The Call American Flight 119

Bob Braver grew up in Brooklyn, New York. He earned a BA in mathematics in 1960 and then briefly worked as an actuary before becoming a probation officer on Long Island. Three years into the job, he met an FBI agent who encouraged him to apply to the Bureau. Working as a probation officer had given him criminal investigative experience in running presentencing checks for the New York State Supreme Court and the Suffolk County Court. Braver was meticulous and thorough. This was exactly the sort of background the Bureau was looking for. Braver joined the FBI in 1965, beginning with sixteen weeks of training. His first office was Savannah, Georgia, where he joined an ongoing investigation into the Ku Klux Klan. His second assignment took him to Florence, South Carolina, a small three-​agent office. In 1967, he moved to Kokomo, Indiana, a small resident agency reporting to the special agent in charge in Indianapolis.1 On March 8, 1971, a group calling itself the Citizens’ Commission to Investigate the FBI broke into the two-​man FBI office in Media, Pennsylvania, stealing more than one thousand classified documents. The group was led by William Davidon, an unassuming physics professor at nearby Haverford College. They mailed copies of the files to newspapers, and on March 24, the Washington Post ran a front-​page story based on the information. The files revealed the FBI’s political surveillance of Americans, eventually code-​ named COINTELPRO (Counter Intelligence Program), which targeted anti–​Vietnam War and civil rights activists along with a wide range of reform-​minded organizations, including Black student groups at colleges and universities.2

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The extent of the FBI’s political spying was shocking. During the forty-​seven years that J. Edgar Hoover had run the FBI, starting when Calvin Coolidge was president, no one outside the Bureau had peered this deeply into its files. They revealed a “secret FBI,” directed by Hoover and devoted to suppressing dissent, even when it involved no breach of the law. At the time, the FBI had 538 small field offices, like the one in Media, which was located on the second floor of a modest apartment building, with the building’s caretaker living below and tenants above. After the burglary, Hoover considered closing all 538 small offices. This would have dramatically limited the Bureau’s contact with huge swaths of the country outside major cities. Alarmed, Hoover’s aides persuaded him to close only the 103 smallest resident agencies, including the Kokomo office. As a result, Braver moved to Lafayette, Indiana, where he joined six agents stationed there. He was responsible for four counties in north-​central Indiana.3 On the night of the American 119 hijacking, Braver was at home with his wife and happened to watch the late news. “Some poor agents are going to lose a night’s sleep,” he told her as the plane appeared to be heading west. At two a.m., the phone rang. It was the agent on duty in Indianapolis telling him that the hijacker had bailed out over Peru, Indiana, in Miami County, part of Braver’s territory. He was the one about to lose a night’s sleep. The special agent in charge in Indianapolis, Jim Martin, was already on his way and wanted Braver to join him in Peru as soon as possible. As Braver got dressed, his wife called the other six agents in the Lafayette office, telling them to head immediately to Peru. Braver had a close relationship with state and local police, which was not always the case with other FBI offices. Rather than throw his weight around, he made it clear that he respected the ability of local cops. It made setting up the investigation quick and efficient. The FBI would need this cooperation, considering the terrain they planned to search, which lay east of Grissom Air Force Base and southeast of Peru.4 Northern Indiana is relatively flat, but farther south, toward Peru, it becomes rolling hills and limestone bluffs. Five miles southeast of Peru is Mississinewa Lake, a reservoir created in 1967 when the Mississinewa River was dammed. Between the reservoir and Peru is a mix of farmland and densely forested woods. If the hijacker had dropped down through the trees, finding

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him would be a challenge. The terrain was difficult enough in places that the Air Force used it for survival training. Within a couple of days, dozens of agents converged on Peru from across Indiana and from nearby states. Together with state and local police and volunteers, they formed a small army with one mission: find the hijacker and the $500,000 he stole.

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23

Dead or Alive American Flight 119

Everyone agreed that they were looking for a body, not a fugitive on the run. Based on the briefing they received about Richard McCoy’s jump, Leroy Berkebile, who was flying the hijacked 727 when the hijacker bailed out, and Art Koester, the second American Airlines pilot on the plane, were sure that the combination of their speed at the moment the hijacker jumped (320 miles an hour) and the turbulence from the jet engines that Berkebile had directed downward into his path would have made it impossible for him to survive. On Monday, June 26, two days after the hijacking, Berkebile told the Chicago Tribune that he was “quite sure” the hijacker was dead. “The extreme tumbling would have put the hijacker right out of commission. The centrifugal force would have taken the blood right from his brain,” Berkebile said. There was another reason he could not have survived, Berkebile told reporters, though he declined to explain how he had pitched the nose of the 727 up the moment he felt the pressure bump, directing the jet blast down into the hijacker’s path. He wanted to keep that trick secret so that it could be used against the next air pirate. Berkebile described the hijacker as “nervous but competent.” “He didn’t seem to know much about the technical operations of the plane, and I don’t think the kid ever jumped before,” Berkebile said. “My only regret is that I would have liked to have kept him aboard. I don’t like the possibility that we’ll never find the body, and someone will think he got away with it.”1 Koester agreed. “The possibility of jumping out a jet plane and surviving without injury is extremely remote,” he told the Chicago Tribune. “People seem to think that it’s easy to bail out of an airplane but you’re jumping right into the engine slip stream.” Like Berkebile, Koester was impressed by the

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hijacker’s confidence. “He was sure he was going to get out of this if he didn’t get killed while the plane was on the ground.”2 Master Sergeant Frank Oestereich of the Missouri Air National Guard, who had supplied the parachutes used in the hijacking and was himself an experienced parachute jumper, told the St. Louis Post-​Dispatch that he doubted the hijacker was still alive. Oestereich assumed that the hijacker opened the parachute immediately after leaving the plane, when it was traveling 320 miles an hour. The reserve chest parachutes could only withstand 180 miles an hour before ripping apart, according to Oestereich. Even if the chute held, the shock when it opened would have rendered the hijacker “a vegetable.”3 The FBI agreed with these assessments. One FBI agent told the Peru Daily Tribune that the hijacker was a “dummy” and there was “little chance he survived.” Using data from the Grissom Air Force Base radar and reported wind velocities, initial calculations indicated that the north end of the drop zone was near Benton and Main Streets in Peru, a few blocks northwest of the Wabash River. The search area stretched from there five miles southeast to Mississinewa Lake.4 The majority of residents interviewed by the local newspaper also thought that the hijacker was dead. “I think he’s dead and I don’t think the chute opened,” said Trooper Arlen Good, who lived in Peru. Finding the body and the money would be difficult if he landed in the woods. “As far as I’m concerned, they could never get enough men in here to do the job. It’s an impossible task,” another local said.5 On the off chance that the hijacker had survived, police were determined not to let him slip through their grasp. By 4:45 a.m. on June 24, less than two hours after the hijacker bailed out, the entire Peru police force was mobilized and setting up roadblocks on major thruways. One checkpoint was adjacent to the Jerry Lewis Cinema, which happened to be showing the film Skyjacked. “My wife giggled when I left home this morning,” assistant police chief Dick Wilson told a reporter. “She said this could happen only in Peru.”6 By morning, the search included two state police helicopters, a Civil Air Patrol plane, and two Conservation Department boats for use on the river and Mississinewa Lake. Police were called in from the nearby towns of Rochester, Logansport, Wabash, and Huntington and from sheriff ’s departments in Miami, Cass, Fulton, and Wabash Counties. Huntington police stopped a Norfolk and Western train headed west from Lagro, Indiana, at 9:15 a.m., searching it before allowing it to continue.7 That afternoon, the local paper warned readers that the hijacker might be carrying a .45-​caliber submachine gun and a grenade. It also said that he

8

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T he Ch ase

was wearing a “gold or light brown jacket and green trousers” and carrying $502,500 in ransom money in a “green or gray vinyl bag.”8 When a lead popped up, police responded in force. Tom and Jeanne Harrison lived on Rosewood Drive, less than a mile southeast of town. After Tom let their Scottish terrier out at five a.m., the dog bristled and growled at something in the garage. Harrison did not see anything out of the ordinary and left to open the gas station he ran. At seven a.m., he finally heard a report about the hijacker and called Jeanne, telling her to stay inside and lock the doors. He then called the police. Within minutes, Indiana State Police, sheriff deputies, and Peru police “roared into normally quiet Rosewood Drive and jumped from their cars with pistols and shotguns drawn,” according to the Peru Daily Tribune. They were followed by local and wire-​service reporters and television crews from Indianapolis, Kokomo, and Peru. Neighbors screamed at their children to get inside, out of the line of fire. When police finally entered the garage, there was nothing there. The terrier had retreated inside the house and was hiding under the couch.9 The FBI set up its headquarters at the old Butler Township School, located near the intersection of County Road 400S and County Road 550E, less than half a mile west of Mississinewa Lake. Constructed of red brick, the school was built in 1917, with a third story added in 1923. It had been closed since 1967 and would later be torn down in 1989. The school was strategically located, given the FBI’s focus on the area between Peru and the lake as the likely drop zone. It was a substantial building surrounded by a spacious lawn, perfect for landing helicopters. In the era before cell phones, FBI cars were equipped with radios. To coordinate the search across the countryside, FBI radio operator Brice Umstead set up a portable station at the school. Radio was his specialty. Umstead, who grew up on a farm in Benton County, Missouri, and joined the FBI in 1955, had been a licensed ham radio operator since age seventeen. After three years with the FBI, he had transferred to the Bureau’s communications division.10 Every FBI office had a base-​station radio and an operator. The radio that Umstead brought to Peru was a General Electric Desk-​Mate, a 60-​watt unit that stood nearly three feet tall and weighed more than a hundred pounds. It was too big to fit in the trunk of a car and required a van with A/​C power and an antenna.11 Managing communication with 150 agents in the field was demanding. By the time Umstead arrived at the Peru Motor Lodge each night, he was too tired to notice much of anything. He paid little attention to the other hotel guests who were not part of the investigation.12

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24

Peru, Indiana

Locals pronounced it “PEE-​roo.” Peru was about as small-​town America as there is. Like a lot of rural communities, its population had declined over the previous decade to around 14,000. It had one motel, and you could buy a hamburger at the Curb-​Burger drive-​in on Main Street for twenty-​two cents. Or you could drive down the road to the Mr. Weenie drive-​ in, which is still there, serving weenies.1 Peru has a more colorful past than most visitors at first realize. As FBI agents rolled into town in late June 1972, there were still remnants of its earlier character around the edges. In the early 1800s, the Miami Indians lived along the banks of the Wabash River, where Peru now stands. The town was chosen as the seat of Miami County in the 1830s, before it was much more than a name on a map. Town boosters hoped that the Wabash and Erie Canal, which ran from Toledo, Ohio, on Lake Erie to Evansville, Indiana, on the Ohio River and which followed the Wabash River through Peru, would bring prosperity. For a while, it seemed to work, and the population of Peru rose from a few dozen souls to more than 1,200 by 1850.2 The canal also brought taverns, brawling boatmen, prostitutes, cholera, and a peculiar local disease known as the “Wabash Shakes.” Muskrats, otters, and beavers burrowed through the canal’s banks, causing leaks that breached levees. When the railroad arrived in the 1850s, the canal became obsolete. It was finally abandoned in 1875.3 As the countryside was deforested and drained to create farmland, the severity of floods along the Wabash increased. In 1913, a catastrophic flood swept through Peru, destroying a third of the homes and damaging most of the rest. Businesses along the river were swept away, never to return. The town’s population never again exceeded that of 1913. The dam that created

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Mississinewa Lake was part of an Army Corps of Engineers flood-​control project on the Wabash River.4 What kept Peru on the map was the circus. In April 1884, Civil War veteran Benjamin E. Wallace established Wallace and Company’s Great World Menageries, Grand International Mardi Gras, Highway Holiday Hidalgo and Alliance of Novelties in Peru. Wallace’s ambitions were as grand as the name. Each year, his circus wintered in Peru. Soon it required forty railroad cars to move from town to town. In 1907, Wallace bought out a competitor to create the Hagenbeck-​Wallace Circus, one the largest to tour the country. Its winter headquarters at Peru included more than thirty barns and shelters for elephants, camels, lions, tigers, giraffes, ostriches, hippos, and horses.5 The 1913 flood devastated the circus, sweeping away equipment and drowning animals. Wallace sold his circus that summer. During the Roaring Twenties, new owners, known as the Circus Kings, built grand mansions in Peru. In 1929, the Peru circuses sold out to John Ringling of the Ringling Brothers and Barnum and Bailey Circuses. Various circus companies continued to winter in Peru through the 1930s, which became an off-​season tourist attraction. But the circuses never really recovered from the Great Depression, and by 1950, they were gone, and the show was over. Peru still billed itself as the Circus Capital of the World, but by 1972 that legacy had faded.6 John Dillinger raided the Peru police station in October 1933, making off with machine guns, handguns, bulletproof vests, and tear gas. The raid was part of a fourteen-​month crime spree that made him one of the most famous bank robbers of the time.7 Born in Indianapolis in 1903, Dillinger became a celebrity despite the violence that often resulted from his robberies. A lady’s man, he sometimes joked with customers during a holdup. During one heist, he saw a farmer standing next to some change on a counter. Dillinger asked him whose money it was. “Mine,” the man said. “Keep it,” Dillinger said. “We only want the bank’s.” He and a friend from prison had visited the Peru police station the day before they robbed it, pretending to be tourists, and were given a full tour. Dillinger, who did not drink, passed on stealing a cabinet of liquor.8 In 1972, for visitors needing a place to stay, there was only one option: the Peru Motor Lodge. Despite its motel-​sounding name, it had an illustrious past. In 1834, Daniel Bearss purchased a lot in the center of Peru where, three years later, he built a hotel, Bearss House. In 1887, that building was torn down and replaced with a grand three-​story brick building called the Bearss Hotel. “No doubt about it, at one time that was the nicest hotel in northern Indiana,” said

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Omar Bearss, the great-​grandson of Daniel Bearss, who lived at the hotel until it closed in 1979. “It was the focal point of downtown Peru.” In 1967, the hotel changed hands; it was renamed the Peru Motor Lodge and remodeled, with a more contemporary facade. It featured high ceilings, wood-​paneled staircases, and a restaurant, the Red Coach, which offered “Cocktails and Fine Food.” For the FBI agents who needed a place to stay, the Peru Motor Lodge was the obvious choice.9

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25

Nowhere Man Northwest Orient Flight 305

The search for D.B. Cooper, one of the largest and longest manhunts in American history, was still ongoing and on everyone’s mind as the hunt for the hijacker of American 119 got under way. The Cooper case provided a model, not just for perpetrating the crime but also for enforcing the law against it. The FBI held nothing back as it looked for Cooper, and the same determination guided the new investigation. From the beginning, the FBI was convinced that Cooper had not survived his jump. “All my instincts as a pilot and as an investigative law officer told me he hadn’t made it out of the caper alive,” wrote Ralph Himmelsbach, the FBI’s case agent in Portland. It was Himmelsbach who gave the case its Bureau code name: NORJAK, for Northwest Airlines Hijacking. The file number was PD-​ 164-​41. “PD” stood for Portland Division, and “164” indicated that this was an air-​piracy case. Cooper’s was the forty-​first aircraft hijacking investigated by the Portland office.1 The case consumed Himmelsbach. “I did nothing but think Cooper day and night,” he later wrote. “We wanted Cooper. Have no doubts about that.” The ground search was initially concentrated in Cowlitz and Clark Counties in southwest Washington. It began on Friday, November 26, 1971, two days after the hijacking, with twenty-​five FBI agents, sheriff ’s deputies from Clark and Cowlitz Counties, three helicopters, and boats on Merwin and Yale Lakes.2 The terrain made things difficult, as would later be the case in Indiana. They started with a twenty-​eight-​square-​mile strip centered on the Lewis River in the rugged Cascade Mountains, southwest of the small community of Ariel. While the ground search dodged rain and low clouds, more than a

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hundred FBI agents conducted interviews and followed leads. They were convinced that Cooper must have had an accomplice, but they found nothing.3 Meanwhile, treasure hunters descended on the area. And why not? If Cooper was dead, there was $200,000 (the equivalent of $1.4 million today) sitting somewhere in the woods. As one local farmer put it, “Even a good Christian man would be tempted to keep the money. A lot of people in Clark County are having to go on welfare because they lost their jobs, and a man could buy himself a pretty nice farm with $200,000—​even if he had to go to Australia to buy it.”4 As the search on the ground stalled, the FBI cast a wider net. A few weeks after the hijacking, the Bureau sent a thirty-​four-​page, single-​spaced list of the serial numbers from the twenty-​dollar bills given to Cooper to banks and other financial institutions. Himmelsbach was convinced that Cooper had stolen the money for a specific purpose. He would not spend it a little at a time. On the slight possibility that Cooper was alive, a large chunk of the money would show up at a bank somewhere soon.5 In March 1972, four months into the investigation, the FBI set out to determine, once and for all, whether Cooper’s body and the money were in the projected drop zone. They enlisted two hundred troops from Fort Lewis in Tacoma for an “adventure training” exercise. The twenty-​eight-​square-​mile drop zone was divided into grids and marked off with lines on the ground. Troops worked their way through the terrain spaced three to five feet apart. Eight Army helicopters hovered above, scanning the ground. After eighteen days, the search was suspended, and then it was picked up again for another eighteen days in April. They found nothing. “Cooper isn’t where we searched,” said an Army operations officer. Either he had gotten away, or he had not landed in the projected drop zone.6 Himmelsbach refused to concede that Cooper might have survived, that he might be “sitting down in Mexico, counting and recounting all those $20 bills, laughing at us as he did so,” as he later wrote. “I didn’t believe it. What’s more, I didn’t want to believe it.”7 As the hunt for the hijacker of American 119 got under way, the failure to find Cooper and the presumption that he was dead loomed large in the FBI’s thinking.

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The Sketch American Flight 119

There is often nothing more unreliable than an eyewitness. In stressful situations, our minds play tricks on us. After witnessing a crime, well-​meaning observers will insist that they saw something that later evidence proves didn’t happen. The media often make this worse by singling out the most unusual and bizarre elements of a description or account to grab readers’ attention. A suspect having a pockmarked face might come to dominate news stories, though most of the witnesses did not remember that. As it had done in the D.B. Cooper investigation, the FBI quickly produced a composite sketch and physical description of the American 119 hijacker based on the eyewitnesses who had gotten a good look at him. Three factors limited the accuracy of the sketch and the description. First, the hijacker had worn a wig and sunglasses most of the time he was on the plane and certainly when people would have noticed him. Second, the eyewitness accounts varied significantly in certain details. Third, the news stories published immediately after the hijacking singled out two identifying traits that turned out to be wrong. The stewardesses had the most contact with the hijacker while he was on the plane. In her FBI interview immediately after landing, Diana Rash, who had remained on the flight until the hijacker jumped, described him as a white male, twenty to twenty-​four years old, five feet eleven inches to six feet tall, 190 pounds, wearing sunglasses and a “cheap, wrinkled, tan suitcoat” with tan or “goldish brown” slacks and a white shirt. His natural hair was short, and he was obviously wearing a wig. “You could see the seam, and you could also see that it was crooked,” Rash said. When David Hanley crashed his Cadillac

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into the first plane, knocking the wig askew, Rash had reflexively reached up and straightened it.1 Jane Furlong gave the FBI the most detailed description of the hijacker immediately after leaving the plane in St. Louis. She described him as a white male, twenty-​six to twenty-​seven years old, six feet tall, and “pudgy,” with a “beer belly” and a double chin. She thought his natural hair under the wig was probably dark brown and short. The wig was a “shaggy Princeton style,” she said. “It was quite obvious.” He had a scar on the left corner of his mouth and a “blemish” over his left eye. He was wearing a ring with a half-​carat stone, possibly a diamond, in the middle, surrounded by smaller stones in a flower design. The pitch of his voice was “normal,” though he stuttered “to a degree.” Furlong had worked as a dental technician before becoming a stewardess, so she took particular notice of his teeth. Two were crooked, and one was chipped, though he had a “proper bite.” His plain brown lace-​up shoes were well worn. His socks were dark brown, his trousers gold, with no belt. He was wearing a long-​sleeved white shirt and a dark gold jacket.2 Sharon Wetherley, who had deplaned in St. Louis with Furlong, described the hijacker as a white male, approximately twenty-​seven years old, five feet ten inches to five feet eleven inches tall, 170 to 180 pounds—​all in line with previous descriptions—​but with a deeply tanned complexion and “small pockmarks” on his face. She said that his hair was cut short, with no sideburns, and that he was wearing a shaggy “dark brown wig” and had “slightly crooked” front teeth. He had no accent and was “neatly dressed” in brown or green slacks, a white long-​sleeved shirt, and a brown or “goldish” jacket. He also had a box in his jacket that rattled “like loose bullets.”3 Jennifer Dumanois said that he was wearing “a brownish-​gold sports jacket with gold pants, a white sports shirt,” and “a dark brown wig.” His chin was “fleshy,” and his bottom teeth were “crooked.”4 David Spellman, the American Airlines auditor who remained on the flight to the end, remembered the hijacker as a white male, twenty-​two to twenty-​four years old, six feet tall, and 175 to 180 pounds. He had long black hair, a dark complexion, a “tenor voice” with a “New York accent,” and good grammar. His shoes were brown, and he was “possibly” wearing “brown-​ greenish, kind of glowing, iridescent trousers” and a short-​sleeved shirt.5 Agent Bob Meredith, who had boarded the plane to show the hijacker how to put the parachute on, described him as six feet tall, 170 to 180 pounds, with long dark brown hair in a “Beatle cut.” He was wearing a dark, possibly brown, sport coat and “Continental type slacks” without belt loops.6

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American Airlines pilot Art Koester thought the hijacker might have been from India, though he had “no noticeable accent or regional speech pattern.” He was, as with the other descriptions, six feet tall and 180 pounds, with a dark complexion. His hair was dark and “medium-​long,” and he was wearing brown slacks.7 There was a fair amount of overlap in these descriptions. Pilot Leroy Berkebile’s description varied the most from the others. He said the hijacker was approximately twenty-​three years old, five feet eight inches tall, 130 to 132 pounds, with a “slim build” and long dark brown hair. He was “possibly Italian or Mexican,” with a dark complexion. He was wearing a “safari-​type suit jacket, light brown in color.”8 Berkebile’s description skewed things. Now, according to what those on the plane told the FBI, the hijacker was twenty to twenty-​seven years old, five feet eight inches to six feet tall, 130 to 190 pounds, slim to pudgy with a beer belly and a double chin, possibly Indian, Italian, Mexican, or from New York, and wearing a tan, gold, or brown suit coat with tan, gold, green, or brown pants and a long-​or short-​sleeved shirt. Statistically, this eliminated a sizable portion of the population, but beyond that, its usefulness was limited. Only the stewardesses said that the hijacker was wearing a wig, something that the men all missed. The women spent the most time with the hijacker, but the composite sketch released by the FBI relied mostly on the accounts given by the men. It showed a young white man in aviator sunglasses with bushy dark hair covering his ears. The description said nothing about a wig.9 The length of the hijacker’s hair was important beyond its usefulness for identification. In 1972, long hair on men was seen as a symbol of rebellion. Radicals invariably wore their hair long, while conservatives wore theirs short. Young men with long hair were potentially dangerous and unpredictable, just the sort you would expect to hijack a plane. Anyone with short hair could pretty much be eliminated as a suspect. News stories about the hijacker’s complexion were equally misleading. Reports carried in the local paper the afternoon after he jumped said that he had dark and wavy shoulder-​length hair and a “pimpled and pock-​marked” face with “two open sores near the nose.” Initially, only Wetherley mentioned pockmarks to the FBI, describing them as “small.” But in newspaper accounts, disfiguring pockmarks defined the hijacker’s appearance.10 Subsequent stories reinforced this image. In an interview with the Chicago Tribune two days after the hijacking, Berkebile said that the hijacker was “in his early twenties with a pockmarked face.”

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However sure the FBI was that D.B. Cooper and the hijacker of American 119 died when they jumped, there were counterexamples that suggested otherwise. Richard McCoy, who had bailed out over Provo, Utah, with $500,000, was not the only one to survive his jump. Richard Charles LaPoint, twenty-​three, grew up as “a troubled boy living with a squabbling family,” remembered Rayenold Perkins, the police chief of Seabrook, New Hampshire, where LaPoint lived with his mother and stepfather from 1965 to late 1970. His parents had divorced before he was born, and LaPoint fought with his stepfather. The house in Seabrook was “not much to look at,” Perkins said. “It needs paint, and the grounds haven’t been kept up much.” LaPoint liked “nice things” and dreamed of something better, Perkins said. He also liked guns. One night in February 1969, Perkins found him at home “shooting out an upstairs window with a high-​powered rifle. Not shooting anybody or anything. Just shooting.”1 In the Army, LaPoint received paratrooper training before going to Vietnam, where he served as a helicopter door gunner. He was deeply traumatized by atrocities he witnessed against prisoners and the memory of shooting two Viet Cong. In January 1969, he went AWOL from Fort Carson, Colorado, and was later hospitalized after taking LSD and speed.2 After he got out of the Army, LaPoint “started running around the beaches” of Massachusetts coastal towns, according to a local newspaper. He was convicted on narcotics and motor vehicle violations in Newburyport District Court. He was also convicted of auto theft in Amesbury District Court in October 1971 but was free on bail pending appeal. He had few friends and sometimes called police chief Perkins “just to talk after a family argument.”3 On January 20, 1972, using the name John Shane, LaPoint bought a ticket in Las Vegas on Hughes Airwest Flight 800 to Reno. As the DC-​9 taxied for

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takeoff at around eleven a.m., LaPoint pressed the call button and showed stewardess Trudi Hunt what looked like sticks of dynamite in a blue travel bag. She called the pilot, Don Burkhardt, who decided it might be real. In exchange for letting the fifty-​one passengers and two of the stewardesses deplane, LaPoint demanded three parachutes, two “crash helmets,” and $50,000 in tens and twenties. He then told Burkhardt to fly to Denver. Once they were airborne, LaPoint sent Hunt to the cockpit and told her to keep the door closed.4 At Reno, two Air Force F-​111 jets scrambled to follow the DC-​9 east. LaPoint did not know about the F-​111s or that the parachutes had been bugged with tracking devices. He bailed out over the Colorado plains near Sterling in wheat and cattle country. The F-​111 pilots watched LaPoint’s parachute drift down and land in a plowed field and then radioed in his position. When LaPoint saw the jets, he threw the briefcase with the money into the air in disgust.5 After the F-​111s left, Patricia Jones, a flight service attendant with the FAA, circled LaPoint in her Cessna 182 for forty-​five minutes, guiding FBI agents and Colorado State Police. “She was really spooled up and excited,” said coworker John Lingwall, who accompanied her on the flight. They took off from the airport in Akron, Colorado, without waiting for the engine to warm up. “At times we were low enough to read license numbers of cars,” Lingwall said. Directed by Jones, state troopers tracked footprints through mud and snow to the parachute and helmet. Peter Blackburn, a local farmer, watched as two officers spotted LaPoint hiding in foot-​high grass, wearing cowboy boots and a western shirt. He stood, raised his hands, and surrendered peacefully. He had been on the ground for less than three hours.6 Initially, there was confusion about how he had gotten out of the plane. He reportedly first opened an emergency window above a wing but then realized he might be sucked into one of the DC-​9’s engines, mounted on the tail. After that, newspaper stories suggested, he had worked his way into the baggage compartment and opened a cargo door in the rear of the plane. But this model of the DC-​9 had aft stairs, similar to those on a 727. LaPoint lowered the aft stairs and then made like D.B. Cooper, jumping at 12,000 feet and 180 miles an hour.7 He sprained his left ankle and wrist when he landed but was otherwise uninjured. News photos show him sitting in a police car, smiling broadly beneath a droopy mustache, as if the whole caper had gone just as he planned. While in custody, he joked with the local sheriff, asking if they “would let him go out the back door.”8

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As it turned out, LaPoint really did have an incendiary device, consisting of seven or eight magnesium flares, which “could have caused one hell of a fire,” as one bomb expert said. The flares were taped together and wired to a nine-​volt battery with a toggle switch. Police defused the makeshift bomb when the plane landed in Denver.9 LaPoint had told a friend that he “idolized” D.B. Cooper. “It just amazed him that the guy could do something like that and get away with it,” the friend said. “All he ever talked about was that Cooper.” It was not just the crime but the style. More than anything, LaPoint wanted to be as cool as Cooper. He had briefly sold magazine subscriptions for a Denver company in late 1971. Fellow employees remembered him as “quiet, neatly-​dressed and personable,” exactly as Cooper was described in the press.10 LaPoint pleaded guilty to air piracy and was sentenced to forty years in federal prison. He was paroled after serving seven years and returned to New England. On May 5, 1972, seven weeks before the hijacking of American 119, George Ames boarded an Eastern Air Lines 727 for a flight from Allentown, Pennsylvania, to Miami, with a stop at Washington’s National Airport. At 9:50 a.m., fourteen minutes after takeoff, Ames went to the back of the plane with a .38-​caliber Colt Cobra snub-​nosed revolver and told one of the stewardesses he was hijacking the plane. He said he had a bomb in his briefcase, which was entirely possible, since security at the airport in Allentown was limited to visual “profiling.” The FBI had yet to develop its criminal profiling system (of the sort later made famous by Robert Ressler and John Douglas of the Bureau’s Behavioral Science Unit). At this point, profiling mostly amounted to looking for anything suspicious. Ames was dressed in a dark suit and tie and looked like any other businessman. After learning that he had probably taken an earlier flight from New York to Allentown, several passengers later remembered that he had a New York accent, which turned out not to be true.11 Ames positioned himself adjacent to the rear galley, where he could talk to the captain, William Hendershott, on the interphone, often with his back to the rest of the passengers. He kept a stewardess seated next to him, because “the girls make good hostages,” as he told the captain. Unaware of what was happening, passenger Frank Valek, who was on his way to Florida to judge a dog show, got up to use the lavatory. Seeing “this well-​dressed man with his back to me talking to a stewardess who was sitting,” Valek asked jokingly where the line began. The hijacker turned slowly around and “jammed the gun into my midsection,” Valek recalled. “Don’t try anything funny. Go back

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to your seat and sit down.” Valek turned around, but he “really had to go,” so he used the restroom at the front of the plane before returning to his seat. “He had that determined, desperate look,” Valek said of the hijacker.12 Ames demanded $303,000 (the equivalent of $2.2 million today) and a list of supplies, including parachutes. He told Captain Hendershott to divert the flight to Dulles International Airport, outside Washington, DC. They landed at Dulles at 11:15 a.m. At around one p.m., a pickup truck delivered $303,000 in small bills, six parachutes, two jump suits, two crash helmets, two bush knives, a large quantity of food and drink, and the hijacker’s brand of cigarettes. Once the money and gear were on board, the forty-​eight passengers and one of the stewardesses were released. At 1:50 p.m., Flight 175 took off from Dulles.13 The plane was fueled for a 2,500-​mile flight, but minutes after takeoff, Ames decided that the money weighed too much. He wanted the $303,000 in large bills that would be easier to parachute with. He also asked for an evening newspaper and “five stimulant tablets.” The plane circled for five hours outside Dulles while Eastern Air Lines scrambled to find enough large bills. At 7:07 p.m., the 727 landed at Dulles a second time to make the exchange. Ames returned the original $303,000 in exchange for the lighter ransom, the stimulants, and a special edition of the Washington Evening Star (with all references to the hijacking removed to “avoid bolstering his ego,” as news stories later reported). Refueled a second time, Flight 175 left for New Orleans at 8:07 p.m. Air Force F-​106 fighter jets followed it.14 His real name was not George Ames; it was Frederick William Hahneman. He had been born in Puerto Castilla, Honduras. His mother was Honduran, his father of German descent. He graduated from high school in 1942 in Perkinston, Mississippi, a small town forty miles north of the Gulf of Mexico, and joined the Air Force, where he served as a radar operator and flight crew member. Hahneman, known as Bill, met his wife, Mary Jane Kaiser, while she was working as an accountant for Ingersoll-​Rand in Phillipsburg, Pennsylvania. They “ran away and got married by a justice of the peace,” said her father, Carl Kaiser. Kaiser thought Hahneman was “cocky” and demanding. He and his wife did not see their daughter again for about eight years.15 Hahneman had seven jobs in seventeen years, working as an electronics technician, jumping from one corner of the world to the next. He worked in Alaska from 1951 to 1953 for a communications engineering company. He worked in Honduras, Panama, El Salvador, and Guatemala for Tropical Radio

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& Telephone Company. While living in Guatemala, he and Mary Jane visited her parents in Pennsylvania with their two young sons.16 He was in La Paz, Bolivia until December 1959, working on electronics projects. He next went to Korea and then, until March 1967, worked in Washington, DC, for Bendix Corporation. He was in Vietnam for a year after that, working for a division of Philco Corporation that mostly contracted with the Department of Defense, and then either stayed in Vietnam or returned there to work on other projects. This was at the height of the Vietnam War, and the experience proved pivotal.17 The kind of field work Hahneman did required “guys who are very sharp technically, pick things up quickly, and live by their wits,” an industry source told reporters. Those sorts of jobs generally paid well. Hahneman had made good money over the course of his career, but whether he had the same prospects by 1972—​now fifty years old—​is unclear. Hahneman was never quite the same after Vietnam. At the time of the hijacking, his elderly mother lived in Honduras. “I don’t like that Bill went to Vietnam and what happened there,” she told a reporter. “Truth is my son came home changed and not the same person. He was in Vietnam for five years and now he is very different.” She thought he might be mentally ill but could not believe he would hijack a plane.18 At some point, Mary Jane Hahneman went blind, and in 1960, she and her two sons settled in a second-​floor apartment in Easton, Pennsylvania. She was “well-​liked” by neighbors, though they regarded her husband as a “mystery.” On the rare occasions when he was home, he avoided talking with neighbors, though one described him as “brilliant, well-​versed on technical things.” He visited his family over Christmas 1971 and again in late April and early May 1972, just before the hijacking.19 Flight 175 landed in New Orleans at around 10:30 p.m. The plane had mechanical problems, which necessitated transferring to another 727. As they crossed from the first plane to the second, Hahneman kept a noose around Captain Hendershott’s neck and the gun at his back. At the first sign of trouble, the “captain would be the first to get it and the others would get it, too,” Hahneman said. Back in the air, he gave Hendershott “numerous and detailed navigational instructions,” guiding the plane to Honduras.20 As Flight 175 crossed into Honduras, Hahneman bailed out at 3:55 a.m., using the 727’s aft stairs, at an altitude of 9,000 feet, about thirty miles from the Caribbean coast, near San Pedro Sula. Amazingly, he survived the jump without injury, despite apparently having no skydiving experience. He may

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have landed near the village of Yoro, surrounded by jungle and rugged terrain. Eastern Air Lines offered a $25,000 reward. For nearly a month, there was no sign of the hijacker or the money.21 Hahneman had strong connections in Honduras. His first cousin, Roberto Martinez Ordonez, was a Honduran delegate to the United Nations. The manager of a Manhattan hotel, where Ordonez had an apartment, said that Hahneman visited him several times before the hijacking. Hahneman had told him that the people of Honduras were poor and starving and would “overthrow the government.” He said, “I’ll be police chief and my cousin will be president.”22 On June 2, 1972, after nearly a month on the run, Hahneman walked into the US Embassy in the Honduran capital of Tegucigalpa and surrendered. He told his mother and embassy officials that he was dying of liver cancer. He also told an FBI agent that he had channeled the money through the “Communist Bank of China” in Hong Kong. “You can forget about the money. You’ll never see it,” he said.23 It later emerged that after bailing out, Hahneman had stayed with friends in San Pedro Sula, where he left the gun. Later he stayed at the home of his cousin, Ordonez, in Tegucigalpa. In the weeks after the hijacking, he became fearful that locals would turn him in for the $25,000 reward. According to the Honduran police, a rumor had spread that the reward would be paid dead or alive. The average income in Honduras was $280 a year. The FBI released a reasonably accurate sketch of Hahneman, who had done nothing to conceal his appearance on the plane, which appeared in newspapers and on public bulletin boards. Everywhere he went, he saw a likeness of himself staring back.24 After returning to the US, Hahneman pleaded guilty to air piracy and was sentenced to life in prison on September 29, 1972. US District Judge Oren Lewis said that the strict sentence was meant “to give would-​be hijackers an example.” Hahneman, who evidently did not have liver cancer, was paroled from the federal prison in Atlanta on March 13, 1984. “I still don’t know why he did it,” his wife, Mary Jane, said at the time. “If you ever find out, will you please tell me?”25 In May 1973, a year after his surrender, the FBI and Florida State Police recovered the $303,000 in Jacksonville, Florida. They refused to give details. Eastern Air Lines was as surprised as anyone. “We didn’t really expect to get that money back,” an Eastern vice president said.26 On June 2, 1972, three weeks before the American 119 hijacking and the same day Hahneman turned himself in at the US Embassy in Honduras, twenty-​two-​year-​old Robb Heady jumped the three-​foot-​high perimeter

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fence at the Reno Airport and ran across the apron. Wearing a pillowcase over his head with eye slits so that he could see where he was going, he rushed aboard United Airlines Flight 239 as passengers, including the famous athlete Jesse Owens, were deplaning. Heady carried a .357 Magnum revolver and a parachute.27 “There wasn’t a lot of planning,” Heady told reporter Bruce Smith more than forty years later, “but I knew it could be done.” Holding the gun to the head of a stewardess, he demanded $200,000 in hundred-​dollar bills. Officials convinced him that one of the plane’s engines needed maintenance, which was true. He transferred to a replacement plane huddled under a blanket with two of the stewardesses.28 At the time, commercial aircraft generally navigated using ground radio beacons, known as VORs (very-​high-​frequency omni-​directional range). By dialing in the radio frequencies for VOR stations along their route, pilots could fly a heading, or vector, from one station to the next even if the ground was obscured by clouds or darkness. The airways between VOR stations were akin to highways in the sky. As late as 2000, there were still more than one thousand VOR stations scattered across the US. Today they have largely been supplanted by GPS. Heady gave the pilots VOR vectors for San Francisco, which he had worked out with the help of friends who were pilots, and asked for the aft stairs to remain “cracked open” at takeoff. The initial heading took the plane south, over Washoe Lake. To keep from losing the money when he jumped—​ the mistake other hijackers had made—​he wore a fishing vest and stuffed the money into its pockets. It would not all fit, so he ended up leaving $45,000 on the plane.29 Heady had parked his car on the southeast side of Washoe Lake, twenty miles south of Reno. He planned to land near the car and make his getaway from there. At around eleven p.m., as the plane flew over Washoe Lake, he bailed out at 12,000 feet and about 300 miles an hour. Heady was an experienced skydiver, with more than 160 jumps to his credit, but this was his first night jump. He tumbled for about fifteen seconds before managing to arch his back and stabilize. “My body was whipped around pretty good,” he told Smith.30 Unfortunately for Heady, the plane’s flight path was farther west than he expected. He landed on the southwest side of Washoe Lake, several miles from his car. As sheriff deputies searched for him that night, they noticed a car parked along a dirt road near the lake with a US Parachute Association bumper sticker.

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The deputies looked at each other. What were the chances? They decided to stake it out. When Heady walked up at 5:20 a.m. and retrieved his keys from under a rock, they were waiting for him.31 Family and friends were shocked by Heady’s arrest. “It’s unbelievable. . . . I don’t know what the motivation behind it could be. . . . He didn’t need the money,” said his father, a chemist at the University of Nevada–​Reno. Heady had attended the university in 1968 and 1969, where he was a member of the parachute club. More recently, he was a student at Western Nevada Community College and worked parking cars for a Reno casino. “He’s very likeable,” a counselor at the school said. “The students here liked him. I’d often see him in the lounge talking to other students.” Heady had told professors he was interested in studying police science.32 But Heady was more troubled than family and friends realized. In 1969, at the height of the Vietnam War, he was drafted into the Army. He volunteered for airborne training and served with the 173rd Airborne Brigade near Pleiku, a city in the central highlands of Vietnam. The fighting was heavy, and his unit often spent weeks at a time in the field. Five months into his tour, he got malaria. His spleen had been removed after a high school football injury, complicating his recovery—​the spleen plays a vital role in the body’s defense against malaria. Without a spleen, he probably should not have been sent to Vietnam in the first place. His fever spiked to 106 degrees. “I got really messed up in Vietnam,” he admitted. Heady returned home in December 1971. “I developed a severe case of PTSD,” he told Smith, a condition few people understood at the time. He also suspected he had brain damage from his malarial fever. His life seemed to be unraveling. Six months after leaving Vietnam, he was running across the apron at the Reno Airport with a pillowcase over his head and a gun in his hand. He was not sure why.33 After he landed, Heady buried the money. He initially told the police he lost it on the way down, but later, as a part of his guilty plea, he told them where it was. Despite admitting everything, he was sentenced to thirty years in prison. US District Judge Bruce Thompson rejected pleas for leniency. “This is an offense that has the country completely frustrated. Nobody knows what to do about it,” he said. “The best method that is available to us is to use punishment as a deterrent.” Heady’s father was stunned. His son had risked his life serving a country that was now turning its back on him. His sentence was later revised. Heady was released after serving six years in federal prison at Lompoc, California.34

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McCoy, LaPoint, Hahneman, and Heady had all survived their jumps with, at most, only minor injuries. Yet the FBI continued to believe that D.B. Cooper and the hijacker of American 119 had died when they jumped. Like the American 119 hijacker, McCoy and Hahneman eluded capture for some time after they landed. Cooper, of course, was never caught. Of the four—​McCoy, LaPoint, Hahneman, and Heady—​only LaPoint had a criminal record before becoming a hijacker, but they had all been traumatized by their experiences in Vietnam. The triggers were there.

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The Money, the Guns, and the Pants American Flight 119

By Sunday, June 25, the search for the hijacker of American 119 had turned up nothing. Around 150 FBI agents and 50 state police concentrated their search in the woods and fields near the Mississinewa Lake dam and spillway. Agents accompanied Conservation Department boats on the lake in case the hijacker had landed there and drowned, but there was little they could see in the murky water. Still, they could not stop staring at it. “You look at the center of the lake, and you wonder,” said Jim Martin, the FBI’s special agent in charge.1 The search included five helicopters, several planes, and seventeen volunteers on horseback. One FBI agent, a former rodeo cowboy, brought his own horse. “You just can’t believe those woods. Some places you can’t even walk,” said one of the searchers. Martin was skeptical that the hijacker could have eluded them and slipped away. “Someone would have seen him if he had tried to come out,” Martin said. Yet they found nothing.2 “Futility and an aura of unreality are the prominent characteristics of the search,” wrote Dave Maroney for the Lafayette–​West Lafayette Journal and Courier. Maroney had spent most of Saturday just trying to find the search area. “Evidence indicates the hijacker had no idea where he was jumping,” Maroney wrote. “However, the man could not have picked a better area for avoiding detection. The area is marked by steep hills, tall, thick trees and dense foliage that makes even walking in a straight line impossible.” Maroney joined two FBI agents who were part of a search team. Within five minutes of walking into the woods, they could not see anyone else from their team. Another five minutes, and they were lost, unable to see the county road where they had started. To beat down the underbrush, the agents carried

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tree limbs they had picked up along the way. Some wore military fatigues brought from home, while others were in sport coats and double-​knit trousers. The agents “conceded that we could walk within a foot of the hijacker and not see him,” Maroney wrote. They could not see to the tops of trees to look for a hanging parachute. The agents Maroney accompanied took it all in stride. “Don’t shoot at anything,” one of them quipped. “We may need everything we’ve got to signal to get out.”3 Agent Neal McLaughlin was part of a team assigned to search the woods. McLaughlin grew up in New York City but went to college and law school in South Carolina, where his mother was from. He had served in the Army before law school and was considering re-​enlisting when he met his wife. The FBI seemed to offer more stability than the military, so he joined the Bureau in 1965. After a year in Minneapolis, he moved to the Indianapolis office and then to the resident agency in Gary, Indiana.4 Before moving to Indiana, McLaughlin had thought that the state was nothing but flat farm fields. The bluffs and thick tangles of trees around Peru disabused him of that notion. He was glad he had brought his old Army boots. As they beat their way through the underbrush, another agent who had served in the military turned to McLaughlin and said, “This is worse than anything I saw in Vietnam.”5 Walter Valentine, another of the agents from Lafayette, remembered places where the underbrush was so thick you could hear the agents on either side of you thrashing their way along but could not see them. Where the terrain was less daunting, they lined up evenly spaced and walked through fields, climbed over fences, and waded across creeks.6 Valentine had the sort of eclectic background typical of agents of this period. He had been a chemist at Oak Ridge National Laboratory for a couple of years before quitting to become a Methodist youth pastor. After another couple of years, he decided that was not the answer, either, and enrolled in law school. When an FBI recruiter came to campus, he dropped out and joined the Bureau in 1965. His first office was Oklahoma City. He had been in Kokomo, Indiana, for four years before moving to Lafayette. For a case in Oklahoma, he had learned to ride a horse. If the job called for stomping through the woods, he was fine with that. The Bureau of doing whatever needed to be done.7 As the search on the ground stalled, a couple of farmers and a guy mowing his lawn found the first significant evidence. On Sunday, June 25, as FBI agents and state police beat their way through the woods north of the lake, Bob Cassel was mowing his lawn shortly before

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noon. He was working his way along the ditch adjacent to Indiana Highway 21, near the intersection of County Road 250E, when the mower struck something solid. It was a pistol, loaded with six shells. Cassel at first thought it was a toy, until he picked it up and realized how heavy it was. He immediately thought of the hijacker, but when police and an FBI agent arrived to pick up the gun, they told him it was not connected. There had been no report of the hijacker carrying a pistol.8 It was just after noon the next day, June 26, when Lowell Elliott noticed something brown in the soybeans. A groundhog, he thought. Elliott lived on New Hope Cemetery Road, where he farmed land a couple of miles west of Mississinewa Lake that belonged to his son-​in-​law, John Vettel. Vettel grew up north of Peru and served in Vietnam before returning in 1968 and buying the farm. He worked as a clerk for the Chesapeake and Ohio Railroad and helped with the farming in his spare time. Whatever was in the field was not moving, so Elliott walked over to investigate. It turned out to be a brown canvas American Airlines mail pouch.9 Elliott knew what it was. FBI agents and other law enforcement had been walking the woods and fields nearby for the past two days. Planes had flown over without spotting the bag. He used a pair of pliers to unzip it so as not to leave fingerprints and saw that it contained several white canvas bags. He didn’t open them. He didn’t need to. He called his son-​in-​law, who drove out to have a look. They called Vettel’s cousin, who worked for the state police. At first, he thought Vettel was joking, but soon a swarm of law enforcement arrived. At around two p.m., FBI agent Marvin Allison picked the bag up and took it to the search headquarters near the Mississinewa dam. The bag had left an indentation about an inch and a half deep when it hit the clay soil.10 Indianapolis was agent Martial Robichaud’s first office. He joined the FBI in November 1971, after serving as an artillery officer in Vietnam. Robichaud arrived in Indianapolis in March 1972, just three months before the hijacking. In the early morning hours of Saturday, June 24, someone from the office called to tell him that a hijacker had bailed out over Peru. “What the hell are you calling me for? That’s in South America,” Robichaud said. After explaining that Peru was a town near Kokomo, the caller told Robichaud to get into his car and drive there immediately. Robichaud still was not convinced. Older agents pranked new guys, sometimes by sending them on wild goose chases in the middle of the night. Before leaving, he called another first-​office agent, who confirmed that he had just gotten a similar call.11 Robichaud spent the first couple of days with a group of agents searching near the lake, looking for a body. After the money was found, he and agent

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Mathew Bowen Johnson were assigned to drive it to Indianapolis. On the way, they decided to stop at a McDonald’s. They left the $500,000 in the trunk and parked where they could see the car. At Indianapolis, they turned the money over to agent Richard Grabham to be counted. Robichaud thought his role in the case was over.12 A few hours later, someone called to say that some of the money was missing. Had they stopped anywhere along the way? Oh, shit, Robichaud thought. He admitted that they had stopped at a McDonald’s. He knew nothing had happened, but he dreaded having to explain the situation. Fortunately, a recount confirmed that the entire $500,000 was in the bag. It matched the combination of thousand-​dollar, five-​hundred-​ dollar, one-​ hundred-​ dollar, fifty-​ dollar, and twenty-​ dollar bills from St. Louis.13 After news about the money became public, the Elliotts’ phone rang almost constantly. Lowell and his wife, Mildred, married since 1940, were unused to outside attention. Mildred dreaded speaking to the media, though Lowell seemed to enjoy it, at least at first. “My picture’s been all the way out in California,” he told a reporter. The press of advice from acquaintances soon became overwhelming. Callers insisted that he deserved at least a 5 percent reward, or $25,000, if not 10 percent. Anything less would be selling himself short. A few wondered why he had not just hidden the money and kept it all. What kind of idiot just hands over that kind of money? The previous fall, Lowell had spent eight weeks in the hospital after a heart attack, which “left us broke,” Mildred said. A reward would be a godsend.14 Around five hours after Elliott first spotted the mail pouch in his field, Ronald Miller was applying nitrogen in a cornfield when the applicator he was pulling behind his tractor struck something metallic. On the next pass, he hit it again. Looking down, he thought it might be a grease gun that had fallen off his tractor. Miller climbed down to investigate and found that he had run over a .45-​caliber machine gun, with the clip missing. The spot was two and a half miles southwest of where the money was found.15 After recovering the money, the FBI regrouped at the Butler Township School, less than half a mile west of the lake. “The problem of locating the corpse has become one of aerodynamics,” Martin told reporters. “If the man’s parachute opened, he could have drifted a distance” from where the money was found. If it did not, “the body could be close by,” Martin said. FBI agents and state police—​150 or so—​formed a line a half-​mile long and walked west from the school, starting at 3:53 p.m. It took two hours to cover the three

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miles from the school past the field where the money was found to Indiana Highway 21. Helicopters and an airplane circled overhead to guide the search. They found nothing.16 Meanwhile, locals continued to find evidence scattered along the jet’s flight path. On Sunday, June 25, John Cota, the assistant base operations officer at Grissom Air Force Base, noticed an object on the end of the runway that looked like it might have fallen off a plane. The next day, when he went to investigate, he discovered that it was a gun clip, the sort that would fit a machine gun. Cota left it on a sergeant’s desk in the maintenance office. The day after that, it was turned over to FBI agent James Deeghan and then sent to the FBI lab in Washington, DC, along with the machine gun.17 On Sunday, the same day that Cota first noticed the clip, a teenager named David Stover found a pair of pants in a pumpkin patch near his home north of Deer Creek near the southeast corner of Grissom Air Force Base. The FBI flew three of the American 119 stewardesses to Grissom on Tuesday and then drove them to Butler Township School to see the pants. They agreed that the trousers resembled the pair the hijacker had worn on the flight.18 That Monday, June 26, Alvin Chalk was farming a field near where the pants were found when he ran over a “brownish-​gold, two button sport coat” with his tractor. Like the pants, it resembled what the hijacker had worn on the plane.19 A straight line about eight miles long, running from the corner of Grissom Air Force Base to Vettel’s field on New Hope Cemetery Road, connected the locations where the machine gun, the clip, the pistol, and the money had been found. The nearest point on this line was several miles west from where the FBI had been searching, near the lake.

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Show Me the Money American Flight 119

As the FBI tried to make sense of the new clues, American Airlines contemplated what to do about Lowell Elliott, the farmer. Sensing a public relations opportunity, an American manager from Indianapolis, S. P. Fay, telephoned Elliott, offering an all-​expense-​paid vacation for him and his wife and daughters as a reward for his role in recovering the money. Fay suggested they might enjoy Hawaii, which was still an exotic destination to most Americans in 1972. Elliott was not interested in a vacation. He was still recovering from a “near-​fatal” heart attack, and Mildred had no interest in flying. “I’d like to get the cash if I’m going to get something,” Elliott told reporters. Fay said that he would have to consult with the New York office. Lowell and Mildred were sitting in lawn chairs on the back porch of their modest farmhouse on New Hope Cemetery Road on Wednesday, June 28, when American Airlines district sales manager Frank Bodwell arrived. Reporters and photographers pressed in as Bodwell stepped up to where Elliott was sitting. “How much is it for?” Elliott asked as Bodwell reached into his pocket for a check. “Ten thousand dollars,” Bodwell said, smiling broadly as he handed it to Elliott. He refused to take it. “I won’t get any more if I take this.” Taken aback, Bodwell explained that it was a gift from the airline and did not come with any obligation. He could take the check now and decide later whether to endorse it. Mildred advised her husband to see a lawyer first. Bodwell again extended the check to Elliott, saying, “We came here out of the goodness of our hearts.” But the farmer remained impassive, sitting in

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his chair. He had become convinced that he should get at least 5 percent, or $25,000, if not 10 percent. Stepping back, Bodwell made another attempt to rescue the situation. “You have a nice place,” he said, scanning the farm. They only rented it, Mildred told him. “We haven’t got any money. That’s the reason we thought it would be worth more than that,” she said. Bodwell tried one last time to hand the check to Elliott, but he declined, “not moving as much as an arm from his lawn chair,” according to a reporter from the Peru Daily Tribune. Bodwell drove off, and the Elliotts watched him go. “What if they don’t come back?” asked a bystander. “Well, I guess I’m out of luck then ain’t I?” Elliott said.1 Most Peru residents were incredulous that Elliott had turned down $10,000, though some thought he was “exhibiting native-​born Hoosier canniness in his dealings with the airline,” wrote a reporter for the Peru Daily Tribune. Elliott’s immediate family was shocked to see him portrayed as greedy in the newspaper articles that followed. The tide of public opinion swiftly turned against him. He had never been in a similar situation and trusted those who advised him to hold out for more. The experience left the family bitter.2 The airline refrained from criticizing Elliott but also declined to increase its offer. A week after turning down the money, Elliott went into seclusion, refusing to take calls. Later he accepted the $10,000 without fanfare and used it to pay bills.3

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30

Tell Me Your Name American Flight 119

Born in Peru, Richard Blair served in the Marines during the Korean War. He joined the Peru Police Department in 1963 and married his wife, Arlette, in 1967. He had been chief of police for about a year at the time of the hijacking. Most everyone liked Blair, and he later served three terms as the city’s mayor. The search for the hijacker, which had begun before dawn on Saturday, June 24, was in full swing by Saturday night, when Blair decided to take a drive to clear his head. He and Arlette were driving south on Indiana Highway 21 toward Mississinewa Lake around 9:30 p.m., when they spotted a man walking toward town. They were three miles south of Peru, near the intersection of County Roads 250E and 400S, known as Five Corners, where the pistol would be found the following day. Blair drove another quarter-​mile and then turned around. As he did so, retired deputy sheriff George Plotner pulled up and asked Blair if he had seen the man. Plotner and his wife were driving home from Peru on Highway 21 and had nearly hit him as he stood beside the road. Together they went back to check him out.1 Blair pulled up behind the man, who looked back briefly over his left shoulder and then kept walking. Blair stepped out of his car. “Fellow, I would like to talk to you,” he said. The man paused, then turned around and walked back to the car, where Blair stood in front of the headlights.2 He did not fit the description of the hijacker. His clothes did not match the accounts given by the eyewitnesses from the plane (this was a couple of days before the pants and sports coat were found near Grissom Air Force Base). Blair later remembered that the man was wearing a blue knit golf shirt,

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with a V-​neck and three buttonholes in front, and close-​fitting beige pants. He looked too young, and his skin was clear, not pockmarked, let alone with open sores. His hair was short and brown, not long, bushy, and black. “Real clean-​cut” was the way Blair later remembered him.3 Still, it was unusual. The young man wasn’t a local, and his face was bruised and scraped. Blair asked him who he was and where he was going. He replied that he was hitchhiking and that his name was Patrick McNally; he showed Blair a driver’s license with the name Patrick Clarence McNally and the address 4682 16th Street, Wyandotte, Michigan. The picture on the driver’s license matched the hitchhiker. He also had two credit cards for someone also named McNally but with a different first name. He said he was from Wyandotte and had driven to Peru to drop off a car to his brother, who was staying with Hillary Johnson on Indiana Highway 21. Blair did not know a Hillary Johnson, but they were outside his jurisdiction. What about the cuts and bruises? The hitchhiker “told me his brother had gotten all drunked up, hit him and threw him out of the house,” Blair later told reporters. He seemed nervous, but it sounded plausible enough.4 Blair asked why the credit cards were not in his name. He said that he and his brother lived together and had both worked at the Ford auto plant in Dearborn, Michigan, until his brother got laid off. Since he was paying the bills, his brother let him use his credit cards. After the fight, he decided to go home. “To hell with them. I’m going to Michigan,” he told Blair. Blair brought up the hijacking, which the young man had heard about. He had better get off the road, or he would be swept up in the search, Blair advised. The man agreed.5 Blair wrote down his name, Patrick McNally, and his driver’s license number and put the note in his pocket. Then he offered to give the man a ride into town and drop him off where he could get a room for the night. He took him to the Peru Motor Lodge at Third and Broadway, across the street from the police station.6 After Blair dropped him off, the man did not immediately check into the hotel. He thought about stealing a car but realized that Police Chief Blair had already taken down his identification. Instead, he walked across the street to the Saratoga Bar and ordered a hamburger and a couple of beers. The bartender later claimed that he had played pool with the man and beaten him three or four times before he left at around eleven o’clock.7

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After leaving the bar, the man walked to the Peru Motor Lodge. He checked in with the night clerk, Amy Martin, whose shift started at ten p.m. He registered as Patrick McNally but paid $8.50 in advance for one night with a Diners Club credit card issued to Martin J. McNally, telling her that the card belonged to his brother. He gave his address as 4682 16th Street in Wyandotte, Michigan. She noticed the bruises on his face. “You’re not the skyjacker are you,” she asked with a smile. He grinned and told her he and his brother had been in a fight. Whatever edginess he had shown earlier in the evening had disappeared. “He was as cool as a cucumber,” Martin later told a reporter. “He looked very clean and neat, not like somebody who had just dropped out of the sky into a Hoosier cornfield.” As “Patrick McNally” walked up the stairs to his room, he passed two FBI agents, who had also checked into the motel as part of the search. His room, number 214, was one of the hotel’s best. It overlooked East Third Street and the police station.8 He stayed in his room during the day on Sunday and did not want it cleaned. “I talked to him several times on the phone,” said the hotel manager, Faye Dunton. “He had a very pleasant voice.” He made several long-​distance calls through the hotel switchboard, all collect. He came down after ten p.m. and paid Martin for another night. According to Martin, he wore the same clothes throughout his stay—​dark trousers and an “open-​neck knit shirt”—​ and always had a pair of sunglasses with him. On Monday, he called Dunton to say that he would be staying an additional night. She was never suspicious. He did not match the description circulated by the FBI. “If there had been someone around here with pock marks all over his face and open sores around his nose, I’d have known about it,” Dunton said.9 Lorrita Godwin, a waitress in the hotel’s restaurant, remembered that the man ate lunch there on Monday. He kept his head in a newspaper, “like he was reading something real interesting,” Godwin said. Meanwhile, four FBI agents, eating at a table nearby, showed Godwin and the rest of the staff a sketch of the hijacker. It did not look “anything like” the man reading the paper, Godwin said.10 On Sunday, June 25, Blair had heard about the pistol being found almost exactly where he picked the hitchhiker up the night before. That seemed like too much of a coincidence to ignore. Still, Blair did not go to the Peru Motor Lodge to look for the hitchhiker, assuming that he would already be gone.

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Instead, he contacted Captain Rex Dillman, who had charge of the Indiana State Police side of the investigation. Given Blair’s description of the man, Dillman agreed that it was unlikely he was connected to the case. Besides, the hijacker was almost certainly dead. The task at hand was to find the body. Blair could not shake the feeling that he had missed something. The next morning, he contacted FBI agent Bob Braver and got pretty much the same response as he had from Dillman.11

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The Parachute American Flight 119

Henry Latini, a veteran FBI agent, was a supervisor in the Indianapolis office. Like everyone else, he got a call between three and four a.m. on Saturday, June 24, telling him that a hijacker had jumped out of a plane over Peru. Initially, he and his squad were told that they were looking for a body, probably attached to an unfurled parachute. Latini had been a part of Hoover’s FBI for decades, including a stint in New York. Marching through the woods in street clothes seemed undignified. He and his men were assigned to a wooded area with thick underbrush, where it was impossible to see more than a few feet in any direction. They needed a compass to find their way out. After a day of getting lost in the woods, he switched to searching Mississinewa Lake in a boat. At one point, they spotted a white object floating in the water. Excitedly thinking they had discovered the parachute, they raced up only to find a large sheet of plastic floating placidly on the surface. After a day on the lake, Latini found a state police officer with access to a helicopter, which gave him a broader view of the search but did not reveal anything useful. His sense of frustration growing, Latini found Jim Martin, the special agent in charge. The two senior agents were buddies. “We’re not the federal bureau of marching in the woods. We’re the Federal Bureau of Investigation, and I’m going to investigate,” Latini told Martin. “Well, get the hell out of here and do what you want,” Martin replied. Latini found the case agent, Bob Braver, and together they went to see Police Chief Blair. Blair told them the story of encountering the hitchhiker. Together they drove out to where he had picked the man up. On the way, Blair told them the story of John Dillinger touring the Peru police station

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the day before he robbed it. When they arrived at the spot near Five Corners, Latini asked where the pistol was found. It was just across the road.1 It all seemed like too much of a coincidence. Latini requested a crew to search the woods bordering the road. Marcus Kaspar was the first agent to respond to Latini’s request. Kaspar had been in Peru for a couple of days, having joined the search from his post in the Gary, Indiana, resident agency office. Though a relatively new agent, Kaspar had been with the FBI since 1962, starting as a radio operator. While working for the Bureau in San Diego, he earned an undergraduate degree from San Diego State University. He became a special agent in 1968. Portland, Oregon, was his first office assignment, followed by Gary.2 Gary was only a two-​hour drive from Peru, so Kaspar didn’t bother to bring a change of clothes. He figured he would be home that night. His first assignment was on a boat searching the Mississinewa River, between the lake and the point where the Mississinewa joined the Wabash River just east of Peru. After Latini requested agents to search for the parachute, Kaspar drove to the place where Blair had picked up the hitchhiker.3 It was raining, so Kaspar began walking the fence line along County Road 400S, east of where it intersected Indiana Highway 21. It was easier to walk in the grass than in the mud next to the road. Adjacent to a patch of woods, he found a blue glove. He radioed the search headquarters, asking if the hijacker had worn gloves. No one could remember anything about gloves, but Kaspar decided to keep it anyway. When he got back to headquarters, someone made the connection between the glove and the hijacker. The glove Kaspar found was the one stewardess Sharon Wetherley had given the hijacker on the plane.4 Knowing that, Kaspar rounded up a group of about twenty agents and returned to the patch of woods. They lined up about ten feet apart and began walking. A short distance in, agent Allen Whitaker, also from the Gary office, found the parachute and harness stuffed under a log and covered with some leaves. The parachute’s serial number matched the serial number of the parachute missing from the hijacked plane. The hijacker had survived the jump. Who else would have rolled the chute up and hidden it under a log?5 Agent David Binney had done the original drop-​ zone calculations. Binney, a graduate of the US Military Academy at West Point, had been an artillery officer in Vietnam prior to joining the FBI. He was used to working with maps and plotting trajectories. Pilot Leroy Berkebile told Binney that he had pressed the emergency code on the plane’s transponder the moment the hijacker jumped. Starting from that point and assuming the hijacker pulled the ripcord as soon as he exited the plane, Binney added an estimated average

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The Parachute

119

wind direction and speed (the wind speed was faster at higher altitudes than near the ground) to plot the drop zone north of the reservoir. After the money, the machine gun, and the parachute were found farther west, it was obvious they had been searching in the wrong place. Binney recalculated. He assumed that the hijacker had thrown the gun out of the plane before he jumped and that he had free-​fallen about 5,000 feet before pulling the ripcord, which explained where the money and the parachute were found. This meant that the hijacker had actually jumped about thirty seconds before the transponder’s emergency code was activated. The discrepancy had thrown the search off target by about two and a half miles. For three days, they had been looking in the wrong place, tromping through the woods and floating on the lake miles from where the hijacker had landed.6

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The Tip American Flight 119

On Saturday, June 24, or Sunday, June 25, a day or two after the hijacking, James Pawlzak called Detective Robert Krichke, who worked for the Detroit Police Department, assigned to the Wayne County Sheriff ’s Metro Narcotics Bureau. They had known each other for about two years, and Krichke had worked part-​time at a gas station Pawlzak owned. Pawlzak told Krichke that he knew who the skyjacker was, though he would not give details over the phone. He would meet with Krichke in person.1 On Tuesday, June 27, Pawlzak and Krichke met at around noon at a Holiday Inn just off Interstate 96 in Howell, Michigan, fifty miles northwest of Detroit. Pawlzak said he knew a man named James Petty, who told him that the skyjacker was Martin McNally. Petty and McNally were friends, and Pawlzak had seen McNally before. Pawlzak was afraid of what McNally might do if Petty told him about their conversation.2 Krichke had only seen Petty once, at Pawlzak’s gas station, and had never heard of McNally, but he trusted Pawlzak. He went to his office and called the FBI. Later that afternoon, agents Larry Bonney and Richard Farley stopped by the Metro Narcotics Bureau. Krichke told them what Pawlzak had said. The agents seemed unimpressed, which annoyed the detective. They told him that the hijacker was almost certainly dead, that he had probably landed in the lake near Peru, Indiana, and drowned.3 After meeting with Bonney and Farley, Krichke decided to pursue the lead on his own. Though airline hijackings were not his job, he was not a detective for nothing, and now he had a name: Martin McNally. Krichke went to the Detroit police files and found McNally’s arrest in 1966 for attempting to burglarize a hardware store while driving a stolen car, for which he received two

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years of probation. The file included a mug shot and fingerprints. He knew he was onto something.4 Krichke persuaded his lieutenant to allow him and his crew of four or five narcotics officers to stake out McNally’s house on 16th Street in Wyandotte. Rather than simply park in front of the house, which would have been obvious, they drove around the neighborhood, periodically cruising past the house from around 9:30 at night until the following day at noon, when Krichke’s lieutenant told him to go home and get some sleep.5

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A Life of Crime American Flight 119

Martin McNally had nothing to lose, or so it seemed at the time. He had recently been divorced and was living alone in the house he and his wife had bought in Wyandotte, Michigan. He was unemployed, having quit his job to embark on a life of crime. But none of his schemes, so far, had resulted in much. He had stopped making payments on the house, which was in foreclosure. He needed something to turn it all around. Marty was the black sheep of the family. He had five sisters and two brothers, all of whom earned college degrees. His father owned a shoe store in Allen Park, Michigan, six miles from their home in Wyandotte. He had purchased the store in 1944, the year Martin was born. The family was well respected, a fixture in their community. Dan Valascho and Marty were in the same first-​grade class at St. Patrick’s Catholic School in Wyandotte. Marty had been held back a year and was bigger than the other kids and something of a bully. Their wooden desks had inkwells in the corners for dipping pens in. Marty liked to take the hair of the girls sitting in front of him and dip the ends in his inkwell. One day in the first grade, Valascho had had enough of Marty’s bullying. He “tore into” McNally on the lawn outside the school and pummeled him until a nun came to his rescue.1 After that, the two remained friends through high school. McNally always had big dreams. He was “bright,” Valashco said, but he refused to apply himself at school. Instead, McNally dreamed of becoming the next Elvis Presley. Valascho remembered walking by the school’s gym, which doubled as an auditorium, and seeing McNally, alone on the stage, singing and gyrating like Elvis in front of an imaginary crowd.2

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McNally was a “gambler,” but he was also “gullible,” according to Valascho. Another high school friend, Ted Galeski, described him as “vulnerable,” by which he meant impressionable or easily influenced. McNally liked to wager on chess, betting Valascho and Galeski that he could beat them, though he always lost. “He couldn’t beat me at chess if I was blindfolded,” Valascho said. McNally never won a game, Galeski said, eventually losing something like forty dollars to him. When they played cards with friends, McNally usually lost money.3 Once, after McNally’s debt had soared to more than one hundred dollars, Valascho confiscated his expensive reel-​to-​reel tape player until he could pay him back. On another occasion, Valascho said that he would forgive McNally’s debt if he took a dare. A girl in their high school class came from a relatively wealthy family. They had an in-​ground swimming pool in their backyard, surrounded by a picket fence. Under the cover of darkness, Valascho, McNally, and two or three friends drove down the alley behind the house. There McNally stripped off his clothes, climbed the fence, and jumped into the pool, leaving his clothes in the car. Valascho honked the horn, and his friends whooped until lights came on in the house. As McNally climbed naked from the pool, they drove away laughing, leaving him there. A few minutes later, they returned to the alley. At first, they could not see McNally, until one of them spotted a naked rear end sticking out from behind a trash can. It was McNally, hiding in the alley, waiting for them to pick him up. “That was one of the funniest nights I ever spent in my life,” Valascho said.4 Valascho and Galeski were football standouts who got offers to play in college, though neither went that route. Valascho was also the captain of the basketball team. McNally never participated in sports or extracurricular activities. His focus was on easy money, the kind you didn’t need a job to get.5 There was something in McNally that craved the excitement of breaking the law. Shortly after they got their driver’s licenses, McNally tried to convince Valascho that they should rob a bank. Valashco looked at him and laughed, but McNally was serious. “I’ve got it all laid out, here’s the plan,” McNally said. “No, Marty,” Valascho said. “I’m not in those plans. Forget it.”6 McNally dropped out of school in 1961 on the first day of eleventh grade. As he remembered it, a nun at his Catholic high school told him that because he had failed tenth-​grade religion, he would have to repeat the class. He was not about to do that. He walked out of the room, middle finger raised, and

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called a Navy recruiter. He walked home and told his startled mother, who had not expected to see him in the middle of the day, that he was done with school. His parents had to sign his enlistment forms, which upset his dad. “You will regret this,” he told his son.7 Predictably, the Navy was not a good fit for McNally. He was trained as an aircraft electrician and assigned to patrol squadron VP-​2, which rotated between Whidbey Island, Washington, and Kodiak, Alaska. As members of a flight crew, electricians were responsible for the aircraft wiring and power systems and for maintaining the instruments in the cockpit. The squadron flew the Lockheed P-​2 Neptune, hunting Russian submarines in the North Pacific and the Bering Sea.8 The flying was dangerous and the missions long. The P-​2 Neptune was not pressurized, and they usually flew close to the water, where their radar and magnetic detection gear worked best. For missions lasting twelve to fourteen hours, they got box lunches. If they looked in the back of the plane and saw auxiliary fuel tanks and extra food, they might be in the air for eighteen hours or more. From bases at Kodiak, Adak, and Shemya, at the end of the Aleutian Islands, they ranged out across the unforgiving North Pacific. The P-​ 2 Neptune was tough and reliable, a pilot’s plane, but the conditions pushed crews and planes to their limits. They rarely located any Russian subs.9 Everyone I talked to who served with McNally in Alaska described him as a “loner.” He “was not at all typical of the other men we worked with,” Dan Salfisberg recalled. The two worked together as members of the “First Lieutenant,” the unit responsible for cleaning and maintaining the barracks and hangar. “He was most careful concerning his work and meticulous in his planning,” said Salfisberg. But he was also a “recluse” who “kept very much to himself and spent a lot of time at the library reading.” He got into fights with other members of the squadron. Even in the close confines of the base, he did not socialize with the other avionics technicians and electricians.10 The harsh conditions led to accidents. On January 10, 1963, a P-​2V Neptune belonging to patrol squadron VP-​17 slammed into the mountain behind Kodiak Naval Station, killing seven of the twelve men on board. McNally and Salfisberg were in Kodiak at the time, and McNally was among the first responders. It was a harrowing sight, with wreckage and bodies strewn across the mountainside. McNally and Salfisberg had been friends with one of the men killed in the accident. McNally decided after the crash to “never fly again.” He received a general discharge on December 15, 1964, after three years in the Navy.11

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He drove back to Wyandotte with his brother Patrick. McNally probably could have used his aviation electronics skills to get a job with an airline, but that did not interest him. His father wanted him to work at the family shoe store. That also held no appeal. He eventually got a job at Dana Incorporated, which made auto parts. Wanda Glacken had a cousin who worked with McNally at Dana. In 1966 or 1967, she went to visit her cousin in nearby Flat Rock. When she drove up, there was McNally, sitting on her cousin’s motorcycle.12 They were married in 1968 at St. Patrick’s Church in Wyandotte. She was twenty-​two, a couple of years younger than Marty. In early 1969, they bought a two-​story frame house with green shingles at 4682 16th Street in Wyandotte. Thelma Hicks, who sold them the house, lived next door. “He was friendly and clean-​cut and tended to mind his own business,” Hicks later told a reporter. “We don’t know what he did for a living. I only saw him when he was backing his car out of the driveway, leaving home.”13 Other neighbors said pretty much the same thing. There was nothing alarming, though McNally did have a few odd habits. “He used to mow his lawn in the middle of the night or clean out his garage,” said Frances Folgado, another neighbor. “We never complained. It was an electric mower and made no noise.”14 “There was nothing to be alarmed about in connection with him,” said another neighbor, Edwin Ingle. “If the weeds in his lawn had been grown over or he had busloads of visitors you might have suspected something. But the lawn is nice and the visitors came only once in a while.” His personal appearance was neat and fit in with the neighborhood. “Now that I think of it, I can only remember that he had short hair,” Ingle said.15 Wanda McNally worked at a factory in Farmington, Michigan, that made oven windows and appliance handles. She had a friend at work, Judy Petty. Through Wanda and Judy, Marty got to know Judy’s husband, Jim. Jim Petty was “criminally inclined,” according to Wanda, and became the mentor McNally had always craved. With Petty, McNally’s criminal ambitions “fell into focus,” said Galeski, McNally’s friend from high school. Petty “led him astray.” Galeski urged McNally to “dump” Petty, to no avail. McNally brushed Galeski’s concerns aside, saying of Petty, “He’s all right.”16 Petty ran a Clark gas station and persuaded McNally to run another Clark station. Petty allegedly guided McNally through various schemes to defraud Clark, including fake holdups and turning back the pump meters to make it

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appear that the station had sold less gas than it had and then pocketing the difference.17 McNally quit his job eight months after he and Wanda were married to become a full-​time crook. Wanda remembered that he would spend hours in their garage making slugs sized as quarters that he could use in change machines at laundromats. He had a machine that stamped the slugs out with grooves on the side, like real quarters. Marty would wait until night, when there were no attendants on duty, and then empty the change machines using his slugs. Each slug would yield twenty-​five cents in change. He was eventually arrested and fingerprinted, which later provided a key link to the American 119 hijacking. After McNally’s arrest, Wanda called Petty and asked him to bail Marty out.18 Wanda remembered that Marty had a stack of credit cards that he exchanged back and forth with his criminal friends. Cliff Rose was briefly part of this circle. He believed that a prostitute stole credit cards from her customers for McNally and Petty. Rose met Petty at a Kroger grocery store warehouse where they both worked loading pallets. According to Rose, Petty and McNally helped him steal a 1970 Chevrolet station wagon. A man who was selling a 1969 Chevrolet for parts sold Rose the car’s title. Rose then went to a dealership and took the 1970 Chevrolet for a test drive. The two cars were a close enough match that he figured no one would notice the difference. During the test drive, he stopped and made a copy of the key. Later he and either Petty or McNally returned to the dealership and drove the car away. Rose kept the car for seven years before abandoning it in a parking lot with the keys in the ignition.19 On another occasion, Rose said, McNally had him fill out an application for a Montgomery Ward department store credit card. McNally then copied the application, signed it, and turned it in. Using the credit card, McNally and Petty went to Montgomery Ward stores and purchased thousands of dollars of merchandise. Galeski remembered that McNally’s house was “loaded” with things he “scammed” in this way. When the bill showed up, Rose complained to the store that he had never applied for a credit card or used it to purchase anything. The store was forced to cancel the charges, and Rose, McNally, and Petty walked away free and clear.20 Rose did not really want to be a crook. He soon stopped participating in Petty and McNally’s schemes, though he remained on good terms with Petty. Sometime shortly before the hijacking, Rose was in the Kroger break room when Petty walked in and sat down. “That crazy Marty McNally, he wants to

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hijack a plane,” Rose remembered Petty saying. Petty thought the plan was too risky. It was not his style, and he wanted nothing to do with it.21 After McNally quit his job, Wanda was the one paying their mortgage and other bills. When she opened the front door, she never knew whether it would be the police or more of Marty’s “shady friends.” She remembered Marty slapping her during their last argument while they lived together. She got a butcher’s knife and told him to leave. “I can’t live like this,” Wanda told him. She left their house and never returned. “I didn’t like my options, so I got out,” she said.22 She left the house to Marty, taking only a chair and a sewing machine she had bought. Before their marriage, Marty’s father had warned her that he had been in trouble before. But Wanda believed that he had left all that behind. Now she knew better. They were divorced in July 1971.23 A year later, a few weeks before the hijacking, the bank called Wanda to say that Marty was behind on his payments. He had told her not to worry. “In a couple weeks it will all be taken care of,” he said. She had “no clue” what he had in mind.24 It started with a joke. In January 1972, McNally heard a radio DJ laughing about the D.B. Cooper hijacking. There’s a way to make some money, McNally thought. Just get on a plane, demand the money, and bail out. It was the first glimmer of a plan.25

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The Plan American Flight 119

Martin McNally had a friend, Walter Petlikowsky, with whom he hustled pool at bars. The manager of Dave’s Billiard and Snooker Pool Room in Ecorse, Michigan, where Petlikowsky lived, remembered the two coming in together. Petlikowsky was the player, and McNally backed him up, usually ten to fifteen dollars a game. Petlikowsky would sometimes play drunk, and they would get into fights with the men they hustled.1 One night, McNally told Petlikowsky that he was planning to hijack an airliner for a lot of money. Would Petlikowsky like to be his partner? The original plan was to hijack the plane together, with each of them getting a half million dollars and then bailing out. Together they could watch each other’s back. Petlikowsky said he was in. After thinking about it, Petlikowsky changed his mind. His common-​ law wife thought it was a bad idea, and he had to agree. McNally offered Petlikowsky $25,000 to be his driver. Petlikowsky agreed. Next, McNally needed a weapon. Petlikowsky offered him a .45-​caliber Spitfire machine gun, with a clip that held more than a dozen rounds. Using a hacksaw, McNally cut eleven inches off the barrel and removed the stock, which was held on by screws, along with the front grip. In its modified form, it would fit in a briefcase. “This is gonna work,” he told Petlikowsky.2 Petlikowsky also gave him a smoke grenade, to which McNally added a small-​caliber pistol, a .25-​caliber Baretta or something similar. It all looked intimidating, which was what he was going for. Next, McNally bought a thirty-​dollar wig at a Hudson’s department store. It looked ridiculous but served the purpose of confusing eyewitnesses. He bought a pair of gold pants, a gold sports coat, and a gold tie that he thought

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made him look like a businessman. To complete the ensemble, he added a briefcase with silver trim to hold his guns.3 Choosing St. Louis was by process of elimination. He needed a city close enough to Detroit, where he lived, so that he could divert the flight back over familiar ground, where he would bail out. The flight would also need to be short, the sort of route generally assigned to a 727. He considered Chicago’s O’Hare Airport and Indianapolis but decided that they were too close to Detroit, only about a forty-​five-​minute flight. There were also more of the new metal detectors at Indianapolis, which would complicate carrying guns on board. St. Louis was an hour-​and-​ten-​minute flight from Detroit. McNally drove to St. Louis’s Lambert Field to look it over. Once inside, it only took ten minutes to make up his mind. St. Louis was it. He walked back outside and lit up a cigar. This will do it. This is it. No security, he thought. It was not quite that easy, as he learned from a first attempt in April 1972. Petlikowsky had driven him from Detroit and dropped him off at the St. Louis Airport, where McNally planned to hijack a TWA flight. But TWA had recently installed metal detectors. He would never make it to the plane before the machine gun was discovered and someone took him down. Petlikowsky had agreed to wait at a restaurant a mile or two from the airport after dropping him off. If McNally did not call within an hour, that would mean that he was on the plane. Petlikowsky would then drive back to Detroit to pick him up on the ground. Before the hour was up, McNally called to say that it was too risky. He would have to rethink his plan and try again. Petlikowsky collected him at the airport, and they headed for Detroit. A month later, in May, McNally returned to St. Louis and got in line to buy a ticket at the American Airlines counter. Unlike TWA, American had not yet installed metal detectors. As he waited in line, he realized that he would have to show some sort of ID, which he had not expected. He again called Petlikowsky at the restaurant to pick him up and they drove back to Detroit. Back in Detroit, he called a friend, a printer and counterfeiter, to get a fake birth certificate (this was the same person who had made him the machine for stamping out quarter slugs). His friend gave him a Michigan birth certificate with the details left blank. McNally took it home to type in the pertinent information but made too many mistakes. He tore it up and went back to his friend for another. On the second try, he got it right, filling in the name “Robert Wilson.”

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At about the same time, Ted Galeski ran into McNally as he was in the process of getting a new driver’s license. McNally seemed nervous, he thought. Galeski assumed he was getting the license for himself, but it later occurred to him that he was probably getting a license in his brother’s name. If so, it explained how Marty had a license with Patrick’s name but his own photo when he was first questioned by Chief Richard Blair in Peru.4 With his new identification in hand, McNally drove to St. Louis alone. On June 20, he went to the American Airlines ticket counter and used the birth certificate to buy a ticket in the name of Robert Wilson. As he crossed the terminal to leave, he heard someone call out his name. Oh, shit, he thought. I’m about to get busted. Instead of the police, it was an old buddy from the Navy, Floyd Palmer. Palmer had been an aircraft mechanic and flight crew member in the same Navy patrol squadron as McNally, stationed at Whidbey Island, Washington. They had served together for about two and a half years, from January 1962 to July 1964. Palmer now worked as a technician for Ozark Airlines and lived in a suburb of St. Louis.5 Palmer told McNally he was on his way to Minneapolis with his family. McNally told him he was living in Chicago but was transferring to St. Louis. “He was always a very neat person and I think that’s one reason I did recognize him,” Palmer later said. “He had tan khaki pants on which were very neatly pressed, and his hair was very neat.” But McNally also “acted like he was in a hurry” and cut the conversation off, leaving abruptly. The encounter with Palmer rattled him, reminding him of just how much could still go wrong.6 The next Thursday, June 22, Petlikowsky and McNally drove to a motel about sixty miles outside St. Louis, arriving at nine or ten p.m. At noon the next day, Petlikowsky drove him to St. Louis and dropped him off at the curb in front of the terminal. This time, there would be no turning back. A few minutes later, McNally boarded American Flight 119 and took a seat near the back on the left side.7

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35

A Ride Home American Flight 119

Hester Faye Harris picked up the phone and heard a familiar voice. It was Sunday, June 25, two days before Detective Robert Krichke got the tip about Jim Petty. The collect call was from Peru, Indiana, at around 9:50 p.m. The voice on the phone was Marty McNally’s. He was calling from the Peru Motor Lodge.1 Harris was the common-​law wife of  Walt Petlikowsky. She and Petlikowsky had been together for ten years, and for nearly two years they had lived in Ecorse, Michigan, about five miles north of McNally’s house in Wyandotte. Harris had first met McNally in March or April 1972, a few months before the hijacking of American Flight 119.2 After the first call on Sunday, McNally called again the next morning at around eleven a.m. asking if Walt was home. There was an edge to his voice that made Harris uneasy. “No, he isn’t,” she said. “He’s gone over to his dad’s house.” “Well, I need a ride home,” McNally said. “Is he going to pick me up?” “No, I don’t think so,” Harris said. “I don’t think the car will make it.” “Well, I’m in a pretty bad fix here,” McNally said. “I need a ride home.” Harris told him that Petlikowsky would be back soon. McNally said that he would call back in an hour. He called again at 12:15 p.m. and arranged for Petlikowsky to drive McNally’s car to Indiana to pick him up. Petlikowsky left at 1:30 p.m. Nervous about his situation, McNally called again at four p.m. Harris was sitting on the front porch when her son answered the phone. McNally wanted to know if Petlikowsky had left yet. Harris told him that he had.3

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It was just more than two hundred miles to Peru, about a three-​and-​a-​half-​ hour drive. Amy Martin, the night clerk at the Peru Motor Lodge, later told a reporter that on that Monday night, McNally walked into the hotel with another man. They stood near the counter and discussed doing something the next day, though Martin could not hear what. At the time, there were half a dozen FBI agents staying at the hotel. When McNally went upstairs, the other man left. Later a young agent would tell Henry Latini, one of the more senior agents on the scene from the Indianapolis office, that he was worried about being disciplined for his role in the investigation. He had stayed in the room next to the hijacker without realizing it was him. Latini would tell him not to worry. They had all been working under the assumption that the hijacker was dead.4 Dottie Myers, a waitress at the Red Coach in Peru, said that she was sure McNally and another man—​“he was sorta chunky and short”—​ate there Monday afternoon. “They sat in the corner against the wall. . . . [McNally] did most of the talking. I’m almost positive it’s him.”5 At 1:30 the next morning, Tuesday, June 27, Harris was in her kitchen when Petlikowsky and McNally walked in. “Marty, what happened to you?” Harris asked. “I have been on vacation,” McNally replied. “Marty, I know where you have been,” Harris said. “Well, what happened?” “It’s a long story.” Then he told her all of it. The story came out in a jumbled, triumphant rush. He had scratched his face on the side of the plane when he jumped. He had tipped each of the stewardesses, giving them packets of money. “This is for all the trouble I have caused you,” he recounted saying as he handed it over. “You know, people think when you jump out of a plane, the first thing you do is pull the ripcord, but you don’t. I counted to fifteen, then I pulled the ripcord.” McNally told Harris that when he first jumped, he could not see any lights on the ground. He thought he was over water, probably Lake Michigan, and that it had all been for nothing, that he would end up drowning. But it turned out that it was only a layer of clouds blocking his view of the ground. Harris asked him what he had done with the parachute. McNally said that he stuffed it under a log. Then he told her about being picked up by the chief of police, with his wife in the car beside him, and the story about how he had been in a fight with his brother and was hitchhiking back to Detroit. McNally also told Harris that as he was getting into the police car, he had taken a small pistol he had hidden in the back waistband of his

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pants and thrown it into the weeds. This was the pistol that Bob Cassel would run over with his mower the next morning.6 He was home. He had gotten away with it. Sure, he had lost the money, but he had beaten the system, slipped away right under the FBI’s nose. The next time he hijacked a plane, it would be the perfect crime. He could not wait to tell his buddy Jim Petty. One of the keys to a perfect crime is keeping it to yourself. The more people who know, the more likely it is that someone will talk. D.B. Cooper seemed to have understood this. Despite all the publicity his case created, no one had turned him in. It was a lesson McNally would learn the hard way.

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The Informant American Flight 119

Despite their initial skepticism about the tip from Detroit detective Robert Krichke, agents Larry Bonney and Richard Farley decided to follow up with Martin McNally’s friend James Petty. They called their supervisor, Fred Gettle, who told them to stop wasting their time and get back to the office. But Krichke seemed to know what he was talking about, so Bonney and Farley decided to track Petty down before calling it a day. They drove to Petty’s house in Riverview, Michigan, a solidly middle-​class community twenty miles south of Detroit, arriving at around 4:30 p.m. As soon as they saw the expression on Petty’s face when he opened the door, they knew they were onto something. At first, Petty would only admit that he knew McNally but claimed he “knew nothing about any kind of hijacking or anything about it.” But as the agents pressed him over the course of two hours, Petty’s resistance crumbled.1 He eventually admitted that he had talked with McNally on Wednesday, June 21, two days before the hijacking. McNally had told him that he had purchased a ticket for a flight from St. Louis to Tulsa that he planned to hijack. Petty claimed that he thought McNally had been joking and he had not taken the plan seriously.2 As the agents probed, Petty admitted that he and McNally had discussed the hijacking in detail on other occasions. He said that McNally knew he needed a 727 so that he could jump from the aft stairs. Petty had suggested he choose St. Louis “because they flew a lot of short hops out of St. Louis and they generally flew 727s on these runs.” McNally liked that idea. McNally had told Petty he planned to “wear two sets of clothing and said he would remove one before jumping from the airplane.” The clothes he had on when Police

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Chief Richard Blair picked him up were what he had worn under the sports coat and pants he tossed from the plane.3 In fact, Petty now admitted, he had talked with McNally earlier that day, a few hours after he and Walt Petlikowsky had returned from Peru. “I guess you’re surprised to hear from me,” McNally had said. The two had arranged to have coffee that night at seven p.m. Bonney and Farley’s timing could not have been better. They told Petty to keep the appointment and see what additional information he could ferret out. They were hoping for something that was not already in the newspapers, something that would give them confidence that McNally was not making it all up.4 The agents waited outside Petty’s house and watched McNally drive up in his light brown 1965 Ford Galaxy. He and Petty then drove to a Big Boy drive-​in restaurant in Petty’s Cadillac. The agents parked three spaces away and watched as Petty and McNally ordered and talked while sitting in their car from 7:45 p.m. to 8:22 p.m. Petty was not wearing a wire. There had not been time, and the Detroit FBI never used them. The agents followed Petty home and then watched as McNally got into his car and left. Once McNally was gone, the agents went back into Petty’s house to interview him again. This time, Petty made no attempt to protect his friend, who had tried to impress him by giving him the details of his crime. He said that McNally told him about going to St. Louis and hijacking the flight to Tulsa with his sawed-​off machine gun. He had planned to jump just south of Detroit, where a friend would pick him up and drive him home. When he bailed out, “the turbulence had knocked him around and pulled the money from his leg where he had it attached.” He had thrown the gun and the wig from the aft stairs before he jumped. He had learned his lesson. The next time he hijacked a plane, the jump would be easier, he boasted, and he wouldn’t lose the money. McNally never suspected that his friend had already flipped on him. McNally had told Petty that he got a ride into town from a police officer, who dropped him off at a motel in Peru. When the officer had asked about his cuts and bruises, McNally had told him that he had been in fight with his brother and was hitchhiking back to Michigan. Later, he said, a friend, the same person who had driven him to St. Louis and sold him the machine gun, picked him up in Peru and drove him back to Wyandotte. Petty told the agents that he did not know the friend’s name.5 Bonney and Farley still knew little about Petty or McNally. It might all be bullshit, just some punk showing off to a friend. They also did not know

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much about the investigation in St. Louis and Indiana. They knew nothing about Chief Blair. A ride into town from a cop? How likely was that? They had no way to gauge the accuracy of most of what McNally had supposedly said to Petty. But the information about the gun sounded promising. Petty told them that it was a .45-​caliber machine gun with approximately four inches (it was actually eleven inches) cut off the front of the barrel. He said the stock and front grip had been removed so that the gun would fit into a briefcase. Bonney had seen the gun found in Indiana on a television news report, and it looked a lot like what Petty was describing. The gun might be the link they needed to connect Petty’s story with the investigation in Indiana and St. Louis. They finished up with Petty at around 10:30 p.m.6 The next day, they set about tracing the gun with the help of other agents in the Detroit office. They had the serial number—​1625—​and a photo of it. Agent Roger Schweickert talked with three people who were part of the chain of ownership. The gun had been sold to a Detroit-​area gun shop in 1968. From there, they traced it through eight owners in the Detroit area until one of them denied that he had ever owned the gun and said he knew nothing about it. By 4:30 that afternoon, Wednesday, June 28, they had reached a dead end. They decided to wrap it up for the day. Bonney went to the hospital to visit his son, who was having surgery. At 7:15 p.m., he got a call at the hospital from Farley. They had a positive identification on the hijacker.7

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Fingerprints American Flight 119

After Martin McNally had bailed out over Peru, Captain Leroy Berkebile changed course and landed at Chicago’s O’Hare Airport, where he and Art Koester were based, arriving at 4:06 a.m. Three carloads of FBI agents followed the plane to the gate. When they boarded the plane, the first person they saw was agent Tom Parker. He told them that the hijacker had jumped. They searched the plane anyway. When it was apparent that the hijacker was not on board, they began collecting evidence. They found the second, unused parachute. As other agents searched the main cabin, agent Richard Stilling asked one of the pilots to lower the aft stairs. Once they were down, Stilling began his search there. He found no blood or other indications that the hijacker had been injured when he jumped. Stilling then left the plane using the front stairs and walked around to the back so that he could look up at the aft stairs. As he peered up the stairs, Stilling noticed a piece of paper wedged in a crack between steps six and eight. He picked it up with a pencil and realized that it was part of a typewritten note. He placed it in a plastic envelope and continued to search. He found another piece and then another. One of the larger pieces had the word “radar” typed on it. Another had the word “money.” Back at the American Airlines airport office, he showed the pieces of paper to stewardess Jennifer Dumanois, who remembered the typed hijack notes. The pieces Stilling collected looked like what Dumanois remembered.1 The hijacker had torn the notes into small pieces and thrown them off the aft stairs. But in the eddies caused by the turbulent airflow around the stairs, some of the pieces had been swept back inside and became trapped in cracks between the steps and the kick panels.2

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Stilling also found a ten-​dollar bill, some pills, a few buttons, and a matchbook. He packaged it all up and sent it to the FBI lab in Washington, DC.3 After the pieces of the typewritten note arrived in Washington, they were turned over to Carl Collins, who had been a fingerprint examiner for fifteen years. Collins set about seeing if he could lift a latent fingerprint from any of the scraps. There were three ways to lift latent fingerprints, which are usually invisible, from a surface. The first was the iodine-​fuming method, which used iodine crystals to give off vapors that react with the oily residue left by fingerprints. This method worked best with fresh fingerprints. The second was the ninhydrin method. Ninhydrin is a chemical that reacts to the amino acids present in sweat, left behind when the friction ridges of a finger touch an object. The third method used silver nitrate, which reacts to the salt that is present in sweat.4 Collins first tried iodine fuming, but no fingerprints developed. He then tried the ninhydrin method. This time, a latent fingerprint appeared next to the words “feel sorry,” typed in red. He had what he was looking for. Now he needed to match it to a name.5 After Larry Bonney and Richard Farley interviewed Jim Petty, Bonney called the Chicago FBI office to ask if they had recovered any evidence from the plane that might have fingerprints. When he learned that they had, he called the lab in Washington and gave them a name: Martin McNally. If McNally had been arrested before, his fingerprint card might be in the FBI’s files.6 As it turned out, McNally had been fingerprinted when he was arrested for possession of slugs, the ones he made in his garage and used in laundromat change machines. On Wednesday, June 28, Collins retrieved the card from the FBI’s files and compared it with the print he had lifted from the piece of paper. He quickly found more than twelve matching points to the right ring-​ finger print on the card. That was more than enough. He was satisfied that the fingerprint on the hijack note belonged to Martin Joseph McNally. Collins sent a teletype to the St. Louis FBI office, with copies to Detroit, Chicago, and Indianapolis.7

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The Arrest American Flight 119

Neil Welch, the FBI special agent in charge for Detroit, was at home on Wednesday, June 28, when he got a call at seven p.m. from Tom Reilly, the Detroit office’s night supervisor. Reilly told Welch that the FBI lab in Washington had identified Martin McNally as the American 119 hijacker through a latent fingerprint from the plane. Welch was confused. He had never heard of Martin McNally. Agent Fred Gettle, Larry Bonney and Richard Farley’s supervisor, had been so skeptical of the McNally tip that he had not bothered to tell Welch about it. Gettle would later catch hell for not keeping his boss better informed, but for now, they had a hijacker to arrest.1 Welch was one of the titans of the Bureau. Two months earlier, he had hoped to be named director of the FBI, when J. Edgar Hoover died in early May 1972. He had a reputation for fearless independence and was revered by the agents who served under him. He had clashed with Hoover over what he saw as the Bureau’s tepid approach to organized crime and had refused to let his agents participate in Hoover’s secret COINTELPRO spying on antiwar and civil rights activists.2 After the call from Reilly, Welch put out a call for agents, police officers, and Detective Robert Krichke’s narcotics squad to assemble at the Wyandotte police station. He also wanted Jim Petty there, apparently to question him about how McNally might react to being arrested.3 After spending Tuesday night and part of Wednesday surveilling McNally’s house with his crew, Krichke had gone home to get some sleep. At around nine p.m. that night, he got a call, telling him to assemble his crew. Krichke arrived at the Wyandotte police station around 10:30 p.m. He couldn’t help

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but notice the contrast between the narcotics cops and the Bureau agents. His guys were “rough looking,” dressed for the streets, and used to kicking in doors. The FBI agents wore coats and ties.4 By the time Krichke arrived, there were fifteen FBI agents and about a dozen narcotics and Wyandotte cops waiting for the go-​ahead. Agents Bonney, Farley, and Roger Schweickert were there, along with agent Dick Marquise, a newcomer to the American Flight 119 investigation.5 Marquise, in his mid-​twenties, had been with the Bureau a little more than a year. He did not even know all the agents in the room. After the academy, he had gone to Minneapolis, his first office assignment. He and his wife, who was pregnant, and their young son had moved to Detroit about a week earlier, on June 21 or 22. They were staying at a hotel until they could find a house.6 He was at the office that night putting in his required overtime (the Bureau had an elaborate system that required agents to put in a set amount of overtime each month) when Welch called him into his office. Marquise sank into the low couch, which made him feel “lower than whale dung.” Welch could be gruff and intimidating. Marquise thought he was about to get fired (though he wasn’t sure why). Instead, Welch told him that he would be part of the crew heading to the Wyandotte police station to arrest an airline hijacker.7 W. Francis Murrell was the special assistant to the United States Attorney in St. Louis. At 10:45 p.m., he got a call from an FBI agent in the St. Louis office, where the Flight 119 case had originated, telling him about McNally’s fingerprint on the hijack note. Murrell agreed that that was enough for a federal warrant. A few minutes later, Welch got a call from his office telling him that they were good to go. At 10:50 p.m., a convoy of FBI and police cars rolled out of the Wyandotte police station.8 It was less than three miles to McNally’s house on 16th Street, which runs north and south, dead-​ending into Pennsylvania Road to the south. McNally’s house was on the west side of the street, the third house up from Pennsylvania. Marquise was told to ride with veteran agents Carl O’Gara (who had been in the FBI for twenty-​five years) and Jim McCance, “a couple of old guys,” as Marquise put it, in their mid-​to late forties, and two narcotics officers from Krichke’s crew, James Folks and his partner.9 “Hey, kid, can you operate a shotgun?” one of the senior agents asked Marquise. Marquise said that he could. It was a standard FBI weapon that they trained on at the academy. They gave him a shotgun but told him not to load it. They did not want a new guy sitting behind them with a loaded gun at their backs.10

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Marquise went on to have a long and distinguished career with the Bureau, but on this night, he found himself sitting in the middle of the back seat with an empty gun, between the two narcotics cops. He could not help but notice how scruffy they were, with long hair and beards. Definitely not the FBI look.11 The convoy started down 16th Street at a crawl, with the car Marquise was in last in line, toward McNally’s house. Moments later, agent Walter Edwards, positioned a block north of the house along with one of the narcotics cops, radioed that McNally was approaching, driving down 16th Street. He had unwittingly joined the procession of FBI and police cars, right behind the one that Marquise was in. When they looked back, they saw McNally’s 1965 Ford Galaxy a few car lengths behind them. The license plate was a match.12 McCance, who was driving, jerked the car sideways, blocking both lanes. McNally stopped behind them. O’Gara jumped out of the front passenger’s seat and ran back to the passenger’s side of McNally’s Ford. Marquise was the first one to reach the driver’s-​side door. He pointed the shotgun at McNally. “Police!” Marquise yelled. “Are you Martin McNally?” When McNally did not answer, Marquise racked his shotgun and told him to put up his hands and step out of the car, which momentarily confused McNally. He could not open the door with his hands up. Someone reached in and grabbed McNally by the arm and yanked him out, placing him up against the car with his hands on the hood. It was all over in a matter of seconds.13 It was 11:01 p.m. on Wednesday, June 28, 1972, and for McNally, nothing would ever be the same again. Agent Schweickert was surprised by McNally’s demeanor. He seemed too meek for something like this.14 As McNally was searched and cuffed (he had three steel ball bearings in his pocket), Marquise realized that he had never loaded his shotgun. He had raced into a potential shootout with an empty weapon. He could only imagine what the old guys, the “cigar smokers,” would say about that. When no one was looking, he slipped out of sight and stuffed shells into the shotgun.15

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Evidence American Flight 119

Carl O’Gara and James Folks drove Martin McNally’s car to the Wyandotte police station, where it was locked and impounded for the night. Three FBI agents took McNally to the police station and then to the FBI’s Detroit office.1 At the Bureau, McNally’s bruises and scrapes were photographed. When agent Robert Louys looked through his wallet, he found $10.30, a Diners Club card, a driver’s license for Patrick Clarence McNally, and a receipt from the Peru Motor Lodge. McNally was also wearing a ring that stewardess Jane Furlong would later say looked like the ring he had worn on the plane. Once he was safely home, McNally had not thought to discard the remaining evidence that could tie him to the crime.2 It rained steadily that night, but reporters showed up on 16th Street anyway, trying to get a look at the house or an interview with a neighbor. The FBI still did not have a search warrant, so four agents—​Roger Schweickert, Walter Edwards, Carl O’Gara, and Dick Marquise—​were assigned to watch the house through the night to make sure no one got in. They were in two cars, parked either in the street or in one of the driveways belonging to McNally and his next-​door neighbor, Thelma Hicks. From these positions, they could see both the front and side doors.3 Marquise never had a chance to call his wife and did not think to have someone at the office do it. She finally called the next morning at around eleven to find out where he was. It was the sort of thing that the wife of an FBI agent learned to expect.4 The next morning, as the rain subsided, the weight of what had happened settled on McNally’s family. “Visibly shaken and anguished” was how a

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reporter described Walter McNally, fifty-​nine, whom he found pacing in front of the FBI building in Detroit the morning after his son’s arrest. He had been awakened at four a.m. by a call from someone at the FAA. “He just said that Marty had been arrested,” the elder McNally said.5 McNally’s father had come to try to help, but his son refused to see him. “We will stand by Marty as much as possible, as long as it doesn’t jeopardize the rest of the family,” Walter said. He was at a loss to explain what his son had done. His other seven children were “honors students and model students,” who were successfully navigating their way in the world. “You raise children in the same environment, provide for them as well as possible—​and then something like this happens. There’s just no way you can predict what they will do. You can only hope and pray—​that’s all,” the elder McNally said. Marty’s mother, Ann, was so overwhelmed by the news that she was, according to her husband, “under a physician’s care.”6 Walter McNally speculated that one of the causes of Marty’s divorce was that “he just refused to work.” “We’ve had difficulties with Marty for several years. He’s been in and out of scrapes ever since high school. He was always making big plans and talking big,” the elder McNally said.7 Marty’s former wife, Wanda, was driving to work when she heard the news on the radio. “I almost wrecked my car,” she remembered. She became so “hysterical” that she had to pull over and let a friend drive. “It was like a nightmare.”8 Back at McNally’s house, neighbors and reporters milled about in the morning light. Marquise, who had spent the night watching the house, noticed that some of the neighbors had dressed up, anticipating that they might be interviewed on camera.9 At eleven that morning, Thursday, June 29, Larry Bonney, the case agent in Detroit, went to the US Attorney’s Office and applied for a search warrant for McNally’s house and car. The warrants were issued at around 2:30 p.m. Bonney gave them to agents Edward Schley, William Kane, and Dean Phelps, who were waiting outside the Federal Building. They arrived at McNally’s house on 16th Street at around 3:15 p.m.10 Before they got there, Bonney called Hicks, McNally’s next-​ door neighbor, and left a message that the warrants had been issued. Hearing this, Roger Schweickert and Walter Edwards began a search of McNally’s garage at 2:45 p.m., just before the other agents arrived. In the drawer of a toolbox, Edwards found a wooden gun stock. Schweickert found a hacksaw, a box of .45-​caliber ammunition, which could have been used in a Spitfire machine gun, and a gun-​cleaning kit.11

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As Schweickert and Edwards searched the garage, the other agents started on the house. The side door was unlocked. Inside was a landing. On one side was a door that led down to the basement. Catty-​cornered to that were four or five steps leading up to the dining room. On the first floor was a living room, a bathroom, and a kitchen. The living room had a large aquarium with fish. Upstairs were three bedrooms.12 As Schley entered the living room, he saw “dirty clothes lying about; newspapers lying all over the place . . . the house was filthy.” Schley went upstairs to search the bedrooms. The bedroom on the left, at the top of the stairs, was apparently the one McNally had been using. It had a bed, two dressers, a television, and an electric fan in the window, which was on. “The room was extremely messy and dirty,” Schley later said. “Clothes were lying all over. Magazines lying all over. Dresser drawers out of the dresser.” Everything was in disarray. Schley found nothing that pertained to the investigation.13 Kane had better luck in the kitchen. In a cabinet above the refrigerator, he found a magazine and front grip for an automatic weapon. The clip was loaded with thirteen .45-​caliber shells. There were also maps and newspaper clippings about recent airline hijackings.14 After they were finished searching the garage, Schweickert and Edwards drove to the Wyandotte Police Department with the search warrant for McNally’s 1965 Ford Galaxy. In the trunk, Schweickert found a big blue suitcase. Inside was a “large booklet,” Aviation Fundamentals; a guide for interpreting weather maps; road maps for Missouri, St. Louis, Minnesota, and Wisconsin; a Kane dead-​reckoning computer; and an instructional booklet, On Course the Kane Way.15 Before the advent of electronic calculators and computers, pilots used manual “computers” to solve navigation problems. The Kane computer was a circular slide rule made of high-​grade aluminum. With practice, a pilot could quickly calculate time, distance, and fuel consumption. The Kane could also convert indicated airspeed to true airspeed, correcting for altitude and outside temperature, and calculate wind drift. It was an elegant device, in its own way, a relic of the pre-​microchip days. But for someone sitting in the back of the plane, without access to the cockpit instruments, it would have been difficult to use with any degree of accuracy. Still, it indicated that McNally was thinking about how he would know when it was time to jump.16 The evidence collected from the garage and the house were inventoried and taken to the FBI lab in Washington. Schweickert and Edwards gave the items recovered from the car to the case agent, Bonney. In Washington, a firearms expert found that the magazine from McNally’s house fit the Spitfire

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machine gun recovered in Indiana. The stock and front grip also matched the ones used on a Spitfire, though he could not say for certain that they belonged to the gun found in Indiana.17 It was all circumstantial; none of the items taken from McNally’s house and car could be tied directly to the hijacking of American 119. But it all fit. It was consistent with what had been found on the ground in Indiana and with the eyewitness accounts. While McNally’s house and car were searched in Michigan, agents returned to room 214 at the Peru Motor Lodge. Frederick Wilt—​who had been with the Bureau for twenty-​five years—​dusted the room’s telephone, lifting a latent fingerprint from its side, which would have been easy to miss when wiping down the room. He gave the print to Bob Braver, the case agent in Indiana, who sent it to the lab in Washington. There fingerprint examiner Carl Collins compared the print from room 214 with McNally’s fingerprint card from his previous arrest. The print from the phone matched the one from McNally’s left thumb.18 Back in Detroit, the FBI arranged a lineup and flew in the pilots and stewardesses Jennifer Dumanois and Diana Rash from American 119, along with David Spellman, the American Airlines auditor who had remained on the plane until the end; agent Tom Parker, who had joined the replacement flight crew pretending to be the copilot; and agent Bob Meredith, who had delivered the parachutes and money to the plane. The lineup consisted of McNally and six FBI agents, all about McNally’s age, height, and weight. They all had short dark hair, like McNally, and were dressed casually, to match what he was wearing.19 Agent Farley asked McNally if he was satisfied with the lineup. Farley, a former New York City police officer, was in a unit that worked bank robberies, kidnappings, and extortion. He did a lot of lineups and wanted them to be fair. McNally asked Farley to join the lineup. The two were the same height and weight and looked alike. Farley agreed and changed into more casual clothes to match everyone else. Just before they started, McNally asked Farley to change shirts with him. Farley agreed. He put on McNally’s navy-​blue short-​sleeved shirt and gave him the gold long-​sleeved shirt he had been wearing. Then McNally reached over and tousled Farley’s hair.20 Each eyewitness took a turn behind the one-​way glass. Some asked to have the men in the lineup repeat a phrase to see which one was the voice they remembered as McNally’s. Dumanois asked them to say, “Please indicate to the captain that I want him to fly at 5,000 feet.” Parker wanted to hear, “Take

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the radar out. Thank you, gentlemen.” Spellman asked them to repeat the phrase “Take it slow” twice, which was what he remembered McNally saying as they walked from the plane, the one David Hanley had rammed into with his Cadillac, to its replacement in St. Louis.21 All of them picked McNally, except one. When it was Spellman’s turn, he chose Farley, number five in the lineup. McNally was number six, standing beside him. When McNally heard this, he turned to Farley and said, “I knew you did it, you son of a bitch.”22 As Rash was leaving, she turned back toward McNally and “made a face at him.” McNally “kind of smirked and shrugged his shoulders,” Rash said. He had spent his life defying authority and was not about to stop now.23

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Fallout American Flight 119

In an interview the day after the arrest, Neil Welch praised his agents but minimized the role of Detective Robert Krichke. Welch had hoped to become the Bureau’s next director after Hoover’s death. L. Patrick Gray was appointed instead, but Welch still hoped to influence the Bureau’s post-​Hoover development. American 119 was a high-​profile case, and he wanted to make the most of it. Welch told reporters that while Krichke’s information was “critical,” it only “confirmed” what the FBI already knew. By the time they got the tip from Krichke, they had matched Martin McNally’s prints to those of the hijacker and were closing in on him. Krichke, for his part, understood the politics of the situation, but it still annoyed him. He knew that agents Larry Bonney and Richard Farley had never heard of Jim Petty or McNally until he told them. At that point, they had not matched anyone’s prints to anything.1 McNally’s arrest unnerved Walter Petlikowsky. The next day, he walked into the River Rouge, Michigan, Police Department and turned himself in. At first, Petlikowsky only said that he had picked McNally up in Peru and driven him home. But as the consequences of what he had gotten himself into became apparent, his resolve cracked. At one point, one of the FBI agents left the room and then called the agent sitting next to Petlikowsky. Petlikowsky did not know who was on the other end of the line, but the agent sitting next to him made sure he overheard them discussing the death penalty.2 After that, Petlikowsky admitted giving McNally the machine gun and driving him to St. Louis. The plan was for McNally to bail out near Monroe, Michigan, about thirty miles south of Wyandotte. When that did not work,

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Petlikowsky drove to Peru. They had been planning the hijacking for five months, he said.3 Acquaintances said “Wally” Petlikowsky liked to fish, gamble, and play pool. They could not imagine him committing a major crime. He was an unemployed house painter and lived with Faye Harris in Ecorse, Michigan. “Wally was always borrowing money. I don’t think he ever had any of his own,” an acquaintance said. Bond for McNally and Petlikowsky was set at $100,000 each. They both faced a minimum twenty years in prison and a maximum of life. If Petlikowsky had hoped to avoid prosecution by turning himself in, he was mistaken.4 When Walter McNally walked into his son’s house the Friday after the arrest, he was appalled. There were papers strewn about, clothes scattered in heaps, and his son’s parrot and fish “left to die” (the parrot and the fish had been purchased with one of the fraudulent Montgomery Ward credit cards in Cliff Rose’s name). “I want to know who is responsible,” Walter McNally said. The FBI denied that it was to blame. “When we (the agents) went to the home to execute the search warrant, the house had the appearance of being occupied by a man who was packing to leave,” an agent told a reporter with the Detroit News. “The floors were littered with clothing and dresser drawers were already taken out, and emptied on the floor,” the agent said. “With newsmen and photographers outside the house, we would have been damn fools to damage the house unnecessarily.” Among the piles of papers was a foreclosure notice, along with other overdue bills. Pills, which McNally’s mother, a nurse, identified as barbiturates, were “scattered on the kitchen table.” McNally’s father took a reporter and a photographer on a tour of the house to show them the destruction. He pointed out where heating ducts had been pulled out, carpets ripped up, furniture overturned, and a hole punched in the ceiling. It demonstrated that his son was “being victimized by a bureaucracy that is living off the taxes I pay and the work I do.” Later he took the parrot to the Wyandotte police station, startling William Gage, the sergeant at the front desk. “The FBI told me that you were responsible for the house,” Walter McNally said to Gage, handing him the parrot.5 Who had ransacked McNally’s house and when would become a point of contention at his preliminary hearing and trial that fall. McNally was too neat and meticulous to have torn his house apart and left it like that. Until his arrest, he thought he had gotten away with it. The money was long gone, and the incriminating evidence was still there when the FBI searched the house.

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Agent Roger Schweickert was convinced that someone else had been in the house before the arrest. “The place was a wreck,” he said. All that destruction could not have happened that night, with reporters and neighbors milling about. Whoever it was, they might have been looking for the money or to remove evidence that linked them to the plot. For McNally’s family, it was just one more mess they had to clean up.6

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Hijacker’s Heaven

Martin McNally ’s trial on two counts of air piracy, one for each of the two 727s he commandeered in St. Louis, was scheduled for the beginning of December, five months away. In the meantime, the epidemic of airline hijackings continued unabated. There were so many that news coverage of one sometimes overlapped with that of another. The Reno Airport, notorious for its lack of security, was dubbed “Hijacker’s Heaven” in newspaper accounts. It deserved it.1 On Friday, August 18, two months after Robb Heady hijacked a United flight at Reno by running across the apron with a pillowcase over his head, Frank Markoe Sibley, forty-​three, strapped an M-​1 rifle to the handlebars of his bicycle and pedaled through a hole in the perimeter fence. He rode up to a United Airlines 727 preparing for takeoff to San Francisco with twenty-​five passengers onboard. Wearing a ski mask, rifle in hand, Sibley wheeled his bicycle up to the aft stairs and then went to the cockpit to make his demands.2 As he did so, a United ramp agent, who had been alerted by a passenger, raced to the jet’s aft stairs. By the time he got there, the three stewardesses were already hustling the passengers off the plane before Sibley knew what was happening. He was furious. He had wanted the passengers as hostages. The airline “has double crossed me and they’re going to pay for this,” he told the pilots. “United Air Lines has put your lives on the line.”3 From Reno, Sibley ordered the captain to fly to Vancouver, British Columbia. By radio, he demanded $2 million in used bills, fifteen gold bars, pistols, three Thompson submachine guns, milk and sandwiches for himself and the flight crew, a flashlight, “pep pills,” smelling salts, a radio to monitor communications, baby diapers, three hundred feet of nylon rope, and twenty pairs of handcuffs. Circling over Vancouver, Sibley had the captain read a four-​page statement against the war in Vietnam over local radio stations. “We

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are a well-​disciplined paramilitary organization fed up with Nixon’s broken promises and deceit, which is clearly expressed by his recent buildup of forces in Thailand, Laos, and Vietnam,” the statement began.4 As with other hijackers, Sibley’s plan included a set of ruses, designed to distract anyone who might try to stop him. His statement was part of a script, according to FBI agent John Detlor, who became the case agent for the hijacking. Sibley’s plan included claiming that some of the passengers were his armed associates. Even after all the passengers had escaped and it was only Sibley and the pilots on board, he continued to insist that he had armed comrades on the plane.5 After the plane landed in Vancouver, Canadian officials loaded the gold bars on board. But they told Sibley that he would have to go to Seattle for the money and most of the other items. At 2:05 p.m., eight hours after the hijacking began, the plane touched down in Seattle.6 When she first heard about the hijacking, Sibley’s ex-​wife, Beate Jenney Bruening, was stunned. She assumed that there had been some mistake, that someone had stolen Sibley’s identity before taking over the plane. He did not even own a bike. Bruening, thirty-​seven, was from Germany and worked as a “Keno ticket writer” at a Tahoe casino. The couple had married in 1966 and lived in Stateline, Nevada, along the shore of Lake Tahoe. She was not aware that Sibley had any strong convictions about Vietnam. “We discussed the war like anybody else,” but that was about it. “He opposed the war, but not violently.”7 The war might not have been the only thing that pushed Sibley over the edge. A former Navy pilot, he had flown as a commercial charter pilot before losing his job. He later said that he had flown for the CIA in Laos. Bruening said that he was “very close to Vietnam” and had flown there as a civilian. He might have also flown in Korea, she recalled, but he evidently did not talk about it much. Neighbors described him as a “loner,” reluctant to engage in conversation beyond an occasional hello. Sibley left home on August 13, five days before the hijacking, to look for work. The day before the hijacking, Bruening received papers finalizing their divorce.8 The day before that, Sibley was in Sacramento, California, where he sold his green 1971 Fiat to a car dealer for a thousand dollars. Afterward, he “hung around for quite a while.” The salesmen couldn’t quite figure him out. “He said he was going to Thailand and the salesmen were joking about it,” a representative at the dealership later told a reporter. “They wondered why he was going to Thailand because there is a war going on over there.” How Sibley got to Reno or where he bought the bike was a mystery. How far had

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he ridden it with the gun strapped to the handlebars before he got to the airport?9 At Seattle, authorities assembled the money and supplies that Sibley demanded, except for the guns. There was no way they were giving him more weapons. The airline could only get $1 million in cash, placed in four large cardboard boxes. Given the bulk of the money, Sibley apparently did not realize that it was half of what he had demanded, though he did complain that the bills were new instead of used.10 The FBI’s Detlor was assigned to refuel the plane after it landed in Seattle. Detlor had someone show him how to operate the fuel truck and then drove to the plane, wearing a ramp agent’s coveralls and cap. Sibley, suspicious of anyone approaching the plane, demanded that Detlor strip down to his underwear. Detlor complied and then refueled the plane wearing only his undershorts and a cap.11 The FBI agents pretending to be pilots were not so lucky. As they had done with McNally and other hijackers, the FBI convinced Sibley that they needed to replace two of the original flight crew. None of the available agents in Seattle was a pilot, so they brought in two agents from Portland who were. As they boarded the plane, Sibley demanded that they stop and strip naked, to make sure that they were not carrying weapons. While they were waiting at the door, the agents mooned spectators in the terminal. After they were on board, Sibley allowed them to dress and then handcuffed them with their hands in front.12 Meanwhile, four FBI agents were hiding under the nose of the plane with a pole that was normally used to pass documents from the ramp to the pilots through the cockpit windows. The agents taped a gun to the pole, and when Sibley was distracted, they passed it to the captain through his open window. The captain grabbed the gun and gave it to one of the agents. In the ensuing confrontation, Sibley fired his M-​1 carbine, the one he had strapped to the handlebars of his bike, once through the top of the cockpit. One of the agents shot Sibley twice, once in the right shoulder and once through the left leg. Sibley was still able to pull a knife before the agents wrestled him to the ground.13 The next day, Bruening was still not convinced the hijacker was her ex-​ husband. “I’m still hoping it’s not him,” she told a reporter.14 Sibley’s injuries were not life-​threatening. One of the bullets had gone cleanly through his left thigh. The other lodged in his shoulder, requiring relatively simple surgery.15

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He refused to plead guilty or insanity. “I don’t believe I had wrongful intent,” he said at his first court appearance three days after the hijacking. The money was not for him; it was for “all the children in the world.” He told reporters that he had planned to fly to Africa and then Switzerland, where he would put the money in a trust fund for Vietnamese children injured during the war.16 It was difficult to know what to make of Sibley. “On the face of it, this man appears to be dealing in some grandiose thinking,” said Irving Paul, his court-​appointed lawyer, who said he specialized in “psychiatric defenses.” “He appears very calm and collected and perhaps a little pleased with himself,” Paul said. “But the enormity of his situation doesn’t seem to have gotten home to him.”17 In court, Sibley contradicted his lawyer even when it made his case look worse. When Paul said that Sibley had agreed to let the passengers deplane before taking off for Vancouver, Sibley interrupted, saying, “That’s not true.” The passengers had escaped without his knowing.18 Sibley insisted on representing himself at his trial, which meant that he was entitled to review the evidence. This included recordings of communication between airport towers and the plane. Detlor spent hours sitting in an interview room at the King County jail while Sibley listened to the tapes. “He was very lucid, he was very reasonable for most things, but if you mentioned the hijacking, he totally flipped,” Detlor said. Sibley told Detlor that after prison, he wanted to go to law school.19 At Sibley’s trial in October, it took the jury less than fifty minutes to find him guilty. A month later, he was sentenced to life in prison. On March 1, 1973, his sentence was reduced to thirty years with the possibility of parole after a psychiatrist labeled him a paranoid schizophrenic. Four years later, his conviction was overturned, and a new trial was ordered on the grounds that his mental competence had not been adequately evaluated before the first trial.20 At his second trial in February 1978, after he had served five and a half years in prison, Sibley, by then forty-​eight, was finally ready to talk about his experiences during the Vietnam War. He said that in 1967, he had flown for the CIA’s Continental Air Services in Laos. On one occasion, he had carried a six-​year-​old girl who had stepped on a land mine. “I said to myself, ‘What am I doing here in these people’s lives—​causing death and injury and getting paid for it.’ That was the start.”21

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Unfortunately for Sibley, the second jury was no more sympathetic than the first. He was again convicted and sentenced to thirty years. He died in November 1981 in Tempe, Arizona.22 Sibley fit the hijacker profile. He was at one end of the mid-​twenties-​to-​ mid-​forties age range. He knew airplanes and had previous military experience that exposed him to trauma. He had recent triggers—​divorce and the loss of his job—​that pushed him over the edge. He spun elaborate ruses and made a complicated series of demands. In the summer of 1972, he was not alone. The air seemed to be thick with hijackers. The prevailing wisdom was that the government and the airlines had two choices: increased airport security or harsher punishment. Since airlines continued to resist the first of these options, the government leaned more heavily on the second.

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Connecting Flights

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How It Began

He called himself “El Pirata Confresi,” appropriating the name of the nineteenth-​century Caribbean pirate Roberto Confresi. He was part of the first wave of US airline hijackings that rose slowly over the course of the 1960s. Wielding a revolver and “an old steak-​knife,” according to the Tampa Tribune, on May 1, 1961, Antulio Ramirez Ortiz seized a National Airlines Convair 440 with seven passengers bound for Key West, Florida, and forced it to land in Cuba. A former electrician from Miami, Ortiz, thirty-​four, had been born in Puerto Rico and served in the US Army from April 1951 to April 1953, including a tour in Korea. He maintained after the hijacking that he had been offered $100,000 by Rafael Trujillo, the Dominican dictator who would be assassinated later that month, to kill Fidel Castro. Instead, he was going to Cuba to warn Castro, whom he considered a “good guy.” “If I don’t see Havana in 30 minutes we’ll be dead,” he had told the pilot. After they landed, Ortiz stayed in Cuba while the crew, passengers, and plane returned to Miami.1 Ortiz soon grew dissatisfied with life in Cuba and spent six years in prison for attempting to flee the island. He returned to the US on a visa in 1975, where he was arrested and sentenced to twenty years for air piracy. He was released in October 1986. His prison nickname was Numero Uno, which seemed ironic. “I never expected nobody to follow my steps hijacking a plane,” he said in 1983.2 But follow him they did. After Numero Uno, there were four more hijackings in the summer of 1961, over a span of less than three weeks. On July 24, thirty-​six-​year-​old Wilfredo Roman Oquendo, a waiter at a Miami Beach hotel, left his wife and their two young children to hijack an Eastern Air Lines Electra turboprop on its way to Dallas. Holding a gun to the pilot’s head, Oquendo told him to fly to Havana. He was from Cuba but had lived in

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the US for a dozen years and had recently become a US citizen. “He loved this country so much, but about six months ago he became a completely different person; I don’t know what happened,” his wife, Ofella, told a reporter. When he had told Ofella that he wanted to return to Cuba, she had refused to go. “So he went by himself,” she said. “He left me nothing but a stack of unpaid bills.” The next day, the thirty-​two passengers and five crew members returned to the US on a Pan Am flight while Oquendo remained in Cuba.3 The Cuban government kept the Lockheed Electra. In a speech earlier that month, Castro had announced that he would seize all US planes hijacked to Cuba in response to at least ten Cuban planes having been hijacked by Cubans, forced to fly to Miami or Key West, and not returned.4 In fact, an advertising executive, Erwin Harris, “armed with nothing more than a court order from a Florida judge and accompanied by local sheriff ’s deputies,” according to the New York Times, had been seizing Cuban government property up and down the East Coast. Harris claimed that Castro owed him $439,000 for an advertising campaign to promote Cuban tourism. Harris confiscated two Cuban airliners, five cargo planes, a Navy ship, and a boatload of 1.2 million Cuban cigars. Seizing the Electra was a response to Harris and a reflection of the escalating tension between the US and Cuba.5 On July 31, 1961, a week after the Oquendo hijacking, a forty-​year-​old construction worker, Bruce Britt, boarded a Pacific Airways DC-​3 in Chico, California, without a ticket and ordered the pilot to fly him to Smackover, Arkansas, population 2,400. Britt had been thinking about hijacking a plane since he heard about Oquendo. He was separated from his second wife, with whom he had a seven-​ month-​old son. The day before the hijacking, she had called to say she would take him back. Without stopping to pick up his paycheck, Britt had raced the thirty miles from his job in Corning, California, to the airport in Chico, outpacing a highway patrol officer trying to ticket him for speeding. At the airport, Britt had neither the time nor the money for a ticket. As he ran for the plane, ticket agent Bill Hicks chased after him. Hicks caught up to Britt on the plane and ordered him to stop. Instead, Britt pulled a .32-​caliber pistol out of his bag and shot Hicks in the back, wounding but not killing him. Britt fired twice more into the cabin. “I didn’t have a ticket and thought I’d run a bluff,” he later told authorities. “I got excited when the agent told me I would have to stay off the plane and I just started shooting. That’s the last I remember.” Britt ran to the cockpit and put the gun to Captain Oscar Cleal’s head. “Take off, or I’ll take over.” Cleal taxied slowly to the runway. “Get this plane

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in the air!” Britt shouted. When Cleal refused, Britt shot him twice, once in the head and once in the stomach. “I’d never flown a plane. I was just running a bluff. I had it all figured out, but that pilot wouldn’t bluff.” As Cleal slumped over, critically wounded, copilot Allan Wheeler, twenty-​nine, grabbed the gun from Britt, who lunged at him with a knife. Three passengers jumped in to overpower Britt. The day after the hijacking, Melba Britt, his wife, said that the whole thing had been pointless. After talking to her estranged husband on Monday, she had planned to drive to California with their son, but he had apparently misunderstood. There was no reason for him to fly to Arkansas. Cleal survived but lost sight in both eyes; he became a stockbroker. Britt pleaded guilty and was sentenced to three consecutive prison terms of one to fourteen years. In photos taken immediately after his arrest, he appeared relaxed, as if the reality of what he had done hadn’t sunk in. He would be eligible for parole in only three years.6 One hijacking led quickly to another. On August 3, 1961, Leon Bearden, thirty-​eight, and his sixteen-​year-​old son, Cody, boarded Continental Air Lines Flight 54 in Phoenix. The Boeing 707 jet had taken off from Los Angeles on its way to Houston, with stops in Phoenix and El Paso. (This was the sort of short-​haul route for which the 727, to be introduced three years later, was designed.) Bearden had wispy gray hair and a haggard demeanor that made him look a decade older than he was. At the time of the hijacking, he was working as a car salesman and roofer in Coolidge, Arizona.7 Cody Bearden was thin and handsome, with wavy dark hair. His mother described him as “a regular boy who likes to sing and play the guitar and is popular with girls.” The oldest of four children, Cody had dropped out of school after the ninth grade. His father had taken Cody to the Cuban Embassy in Mexico City in January, looking for passage to the island nation. Then he heard about the Oquendo hijacking.8 Shortly before two a.m., Bearden called stewardess Lois Carnagey to his seat and jammed a pistol into her ribs, telling her to take him to the cockpit. With Cody in tow, they collected stewardess Toni Besset on their way forward. Bearden did all the negotiating, telling the pilots to “change course 45 degrees south” to Havana. He also said that they had two armed associates back in the cabin, which was a ruse. When Captain Byron Rickards said that they needed fuel, Bearden suggested they land at Monterrey, Mexico. Rickards convinced him that they could go no farther than El Paso. Meanwhile, Cody sat with his back to the cockpit door, facing the cabin, bouncing a pistol on his knee. He wasn’t sure if it was loaded.9

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On the ground, airline officials and ground crew did everything they could to stall. “We just dribbled in the fuel, trying to take as long as possible,” an airline spokesman said. The pilots told Bearden they would need extra maps. As the sixty-​seven passengers became restless, Bearden decided to reduce the number of hostages. He asked for twelve volunteers to stay on the plane, then reduced the number to four, all men. One was a soldier from Florida, and another was a US border patrol officer from San Pedro, California, Leonard Gilman.10 Growing impatient, at six a.m., Bearden ordered Rickards to take off for Cuba. As the 707 taxied to the runway, FBI agent Francis Crosby ordered agents to shoot out the tires. Crosby said that he was in “direct telephone contact” with the White House and that President John F. Kennedy himself had approved the plan, anxious not to let Castro have another US plane. The failed Bay of Pigs invasion had occurred less than four months earlier, and tensions were building toward the missile crisis in 1962. “We are in the midst of a conflict between law-​abiding citizens and lawless nations,” an FAA administrator told a journalist. “One has to take some risks.”11 As the standoff dragged on, Bearden confiscated Cody’s gun. By the time Bearden was overpowered, Cody had dozed off. Later airlines would decide that complying with hijackers’ demands offered the best chance for a peaceful outcome. But in the context of Cold War tensions, everyone from Kennedy on down decided to take a tough stance. Stuck on a disabled plane with the temperature in the cabin rising under the desert sun, Bearden, described as “hot, nervous, and exhausted,” accidentally fired a .45-​caliber pistol at the plane’s floor. Shortly before midday, Crosby and another FBI agent boarded the plane to negotiate. As Bearden’s attention wavered, Gilman punched him in the side of the head and grabbed his arms. Crosby wrestled Cody to the floor. Ten hours after it started, the hijacking was over.12 For Bearden, Cuba represented the chance to escape his past. He had a record of arrests dating back twenty years and had been paroled from California’s Folsom Prison in July 1960 after serving three years for armed robbery. Before that, he had spent time in prison for grand theft and forgery, beginning in 1941. In the two years since his release from prison, he had come up with various schemes involving stealing a boat in San Diego or a small plane in Phoenix and taking his family to Mexico. The Oquendo hijacking convinced him there was another way. Bearden decided that Castro would welcome him and the gift of a plane. He applied for an Arizona driver’s license under the name “Karl Schmidt” and used it to buy the tickets.

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Bearden dominated his wife and children. Cody had tried to escape from his father, running away to live with his grandparents. He agreed to participate in the hijacking to protect his younger sister. “I might as well have been kidnapped. He was going to take my sister,” Cody later said.13 In August 1961, there were as yet no laws specifically covering air piracy. That would soon change. In the meantime, Leon and Cody Bearden were charged with kidnapping and transporting victims across state lines (the so-​called Lindbergh law). Prosecutors argued that the plane had been over New Mexico when they entered the cockpit and then landed in Texas. They were also charged with transporting a stolen aircraft across state lines and obstructing commerce by robbery. Bearden, a convicted felon, was charged with transporting firearms in interstate commerce. Though only sixteen, Cody was charged as an adult.14 Cody’s court-​appointed attorney, Frank Hunter, worked tirelessly on his behalf. He arranged for Cody’s mother, Mary Ruth, to testify about Bearden’s control and manipulation of his family. Bearden became furious when he listened to her speak in court. Hunter also arranged for a Veterans Administration psychiatrist, Dr. Ann Damiani, to examine Cody at length. Damiani concluded “that Cody had had no more choice in going along with Leon and doing what he said, than if Leon had held a pistol to his head.” Just before the trial began, prosecutors dropped the charges against Cody and adjudicated his case as a juvenile. He spent two years in a federal correctional institution and a minimum-​security work camp. He was released in 1963 at age eighteen. Leon Bearden was given life in prison. His sentence was later reduced to twenty years. He was released in 1976.15 The fifth hijacking that year involved Albert Charles Cadon, an artist born in Paris, where he met his wife, Charlotte, who was German. They emigrated to the US in 1957, and by 1961, they had two daughters whom they sent to live with Cadon’s mother in Paris. The couple lived in a fifth-​floor walkup on Ninth Street in the East Village in New York. Charlotte later described her husband as moody and temperamental, adding, “Aren’t we all?” Albert, twenty-​seven, worked at restaurants and painted. He had studied at the Brooklyn Museum Art School and sold several paintings, mostly abstracts, though none for more than seventy-​five dollars. When the Chemstrand Corporation named its new nylon fiber Cadon, he was insulted and went around town painting over the name in ads. In fall 1960, he created a “disturbance” outside his apartment building and spent three days at Bellevue Hospital for psychiatric evaluation. He had joked about hijacking a plane, but Charlotte did not take him seriously.16

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On Friday, August 4, Cadon told his wife that he was going to Mexico or the West Coast for a visit, something he had talked about doing in the past. He arrived by bus in Mexico City on August 9 and boarded Pan Am Flight 501, which had left Houston at ten a.m. that morning, en route to Panama City. As soon as the DC-​8 jet was aloft, Cadon stormed down the aisle and burst into the cockpit with a “maniacal look in his eyes”—​as one of the stewardesses later said—​and a pistol in his hand. He was “sort of wild and nervous and shaking,” said Eleanor Weiss, twenty-​ four, one of the four stewardesses aboard the plane.17 Cadon ordered the captain, Carl Ballard, to fly to Havana. He told the crew that he was not a Communist or a Cuban. He was upset with the US’s interference in Algeria’s struggle for freedom from French colonial rule and was seizing the plane as an act of protest. He later said that he wanted to give the plane to Castro as a demonstration of support for the Cuban revolution.18 Once inside the cockpit, Cadon slammed the door behind him. He was clearly unstable. He fidgeted and waved the gun around, unable to sit still. “We were in great danger of being shot, not intentionally but by accident,” Ballard later said. Cadon told him that he would force the plane to crash rather than stop for fuel. Back in the cabin, the stewardesses “opened the bar and everybody had a drink and relaxed,” as a passenger said. After they landed in Havana, Cadon emptied his gun and passed out the bullets as souvenirs to the crew. When he exited the plane, Cuban soldiers on the apron saluted and cheered. It had the air of an unexpected party.19 This time, rather than escalate tensions with the US, the Cuban government decided to return the plane. A “cheerful mood” prevailed as the passengers waited in the airport lounge, entertained by a Cuban band. Three hours after it landed, the DC-​8 and its crew and passengers, minus Cadon, took off for Miami. Castro wanted nothing to do with Cadon, who was extradited to Mexico and sentenced to eight years in prison. Cadon said he preferred Mexico because he had discovered that “liberty is nonexistent” in Cuba. He was eligible for release in fall 1966.20 That same day, August 9, a gun battle aboard a Cuban Aerovias Q airliner left three dead when anti-​Castro activists tried to hijack a flight from Havana to Isla de la Juventud, thirty-​one miles south of Cuba. With the captain dead, the copilot landed in a sugar cane field. The next day, August 10, the US Senate voted 92–​0 to make airplane hijacking subject to the death penalty. “When civilized nations began to hang ship pirates, piracy disappeared from the high seas,” said Senator Ralph

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Yarborough of Texas. “When civilized nations begin hanging air pirates, piracy will disappear from the air lanes.” Time would prove him wrong.21 For the time being, the hijacking epidemic dissipated as quickly as it had started. The allure vanished once the Cuban government began arresting hijackers, returning US planes, and treating their crews and passengers as if they were on vacation. There were only two US hijackings from 1962 to 1964, both involving small planes whose pilots were forced to fly to Cuba. In both cases, the pilots were allowed to return to the US and the hijackers arrested.22 There were four US hijackings in 1965, two by sixteen-​year-​olds. In Honolulu, a high school junior who had been drinking (and had a whiskey bottle in his carry-​on bag) boarded a Hawaiian Airlines DC-​3 for a flight to Kamuela on the Big Island. He was distraught about his family and did not want to return home after a summer job for the Dole pineapple company on Lanai. Shortly after takeoff at 9:29 a.m., he pulled a knife, broke the whiskey bottle against a bulkhead, and demanded to return to Honolulu, where he was arrested and eventually sent to a youth correctional institution.23 Thomas Robinson, the other sixteen-​year-​old, was neatly dressed in a white shirt and a “gray-​green Ivy League suit with a striped tie” when he boarded National Airlines Flight 30 in Houston, en route to Miami on November 17, 1965. Near New Orleans, Robinson walked up the aisle and sat on the arm of the seat across from Chris Kraft, NASA’s head of mission operations, on his way to Florida to check on the latest Gemini spacecraft. Stewardess Nancy Taylor followed Robinson up from coach to first class, where Kraft was seated. From the look on her face, Kraft could tell something was wrong. Robinson was concealing something under a newspaper. “What have you got there, son?” Kraft said. Robinson dropped the newspaper, revealing a .22-​caliber automatic pistol, and pointed it in Kraft’s direction. He pulled the trigger, but the gun misfired. In a panic, Robinson ran forward to the plane’s lounge and drew a second pistol, a .38-​caliber revolver, holding one in each fist. He fired six or eight shots into the floor. Taylor ran aft to call the cockpit and tell the pilots what was happening. For a long moment, no one quite knew what would happen next. Another passenger, Edward Haake, a former B-​17 pilot during World War II, sized the teen up and tried to calm him down. “I wasn’t convinced he was all he was trying to be,” Haake later said. He pulled out his collection of gold coins, which intrigued Robinson, who also collected coins. When he dropped his hands, Haake grabbed them and, with the help of Kraft and another NASA

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official, wrestled the guns away. Kraft and Haake thought the shots were blanks until someone pulled back the carpet, revealing bullet holes in the aluminum floor. Robinson said he wanted to go to Cuba to aid anti-​Castro activists. “All the poor guys who are suffering in Cuba!” he said after his arrest. “I don’t think the government encourages the anti-​Castro people enough.” But he could not explain what he hoped to do after they landed in Havana.24 His parents were stunned. Robinson was a high school honor-​roll student in Brownsville, Texas, where his father taught math at Texas Southmost College. He was on track to graduate a year early. He was “a boy that anyone would want to have,” his father said. Robinson pleaded guilty and was sent to a federal youth camp. “I felt sorry for the boy,” Kraft told reporters. “He didn’t threaten anyone.”25 By the end of 1967, the brief flurry of US hijackings that had taken place in the summer of 1961 seemed like an aberration. Since then, there had only been seven attempts in six years, three involving small planes and two by sixteen-​ year-​olds. It was the opposite of organized crime. No one had died. It hardly seemed like a national emergency. What was there to worry about? It all seemed ripe for a bit of fun. Horace Moros, a Fifth Avenue travel agent, suggested selling hijack tours for “excitement, romance, surprise, and adventure.” Havana had enjoyed the “lion’s share of the amateur hijack trade,” Moros told a reporter. “What the hijack trade needs is the professional touch.” The idea was to buy a ticket to Paris or Buenos Aires but end up somewhere unexpected, say, Honolulu or Vienna or Nome, Alaska. “The modern traveler has been every place and seen everything. He’s sophisticated. He’s bored.” A bit of air piracy might be just the thing. This implied that hijackings were more adventure than capital crime. Passengers on a recent Colombian flight hijacked to Havana “had the time of their lives,” Moros said. They were wined and dined, taken sightseeing, and then put back on their plane. “They’ll be talking about that hijack for the rest of their lives.” For US travelers, the possibility of something similar seemed so remote that it had to be staged.26 That changed in 1968.

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Airline hijackings surged in 1968, though perhaps in a way that seemed less foreboding than other events in that tumultuous year. What is remarkable about the wave of hijackings that swept the skies is how unremarkable it seemed at the time. No passengers were killed until 1971. During 1968 and 1969, there were sixty-​two hijackings of US flights, all but five to Cuba. Many of the hijackers were homesick Cubans.1 Havana was only 106 miles south of Key West, Florida, and Miami became home for thousands of Cubans following the 1959 revolution that brought Fidel Castro to power. There were two initial waves of emigration from Cuba to the US. The first, in the early 1960s, included mostly wealthy and middle-​ class Cubans who had lost property and status in the wake of the revolution. By 1962, there were around 200,000 Cubans living in the US. Most settled in Miami, expecting eventually to return. The second wave began in 1965 and peaked in 1968, as the Cuban government became more ideologically rigid, nationalized nearly every sector of the economy, and cracked down on remaining political opposition. Those who did not leave often ended up in jail. Twice-​daily “Freedom Flights” between Havana and Miami eventually brought more than 260,000 Cubans to the US. By August 1968, 1,364 flights had airlifted 118,252 Cubans. Between 900 and 1,000 refugees landed in Miami each week in 1969. The flight took less than an hour from wheels up to landing.2 Predictably, some Cuban refugees had a difficult time adjusting to life in America. They struggled to make a living and were dismayed to see their children embrace the permissive 1960s youth culture. If you could get to the US on a plane, maybe you could go back the same way. If they had a family, hijackers sometimes brought them along. On June 22, 1969, Agustin Esquivel Medrano hijacked Eastern Air Lines Flight 7, shortly

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after its departure from Newark to Miami. Medrano had a knife and a bottle of fake explosives tied to his wrist with a string. He was accompanied by his wife and fifteen-​year-​old daughter. Since he did not speak English, he brought his daughter to the cockpit to translate. She wore a miniskirt and calmly told the pilot that she was in high school. “She looked kind of like a hippie,” one of the passengers told reporters. The daughter told another passenger that her mother was ill and wanted to see Cuba and her family before she died. “They were loaded down with shopping bags,” another passenger later said. “It looked like everything they owned was stuffed in those bags. I guess it was.” “I gathered the family was having difficulty with our language and adjusting to our cultural differences,” the pilot said, though that seemed to apply only to the parents and not their daughter.3 From 1968 to 1970, there were at least twenty hijackings by Cubans desperate to return home. On October 30, 1970, an unidentified man with a .38 pistol hijacked a National Airlines DC-​8 shortly after takeoff from Miami. The hijacker, accompanied by his “very pregnant” wife and five children, spoke little English. Wearing a guayabera shirt and a straw fedora, he forced a stewardess to take him to the cockpit. As copilot Ben Shelfer turned around to see who was there, the hijacker thrust the pistol between his eyes, a moment Shelfer would, understandably, never forget. “Havana, Havana,” the man implored Shelfer and Captain Carl Greenwood. Greenwood had seen this before. It was his third hijacking to Cuba in the past fifteen months. He was one of National’s senior captains, an old-​school “stick-​and-​rudder” pilot, and had regularly flown the Havana route before the revolution. After the hijacker entered the cockpit, Greenwood radioed National’s dispatch control for the weather in Havana. “I guess you know where we’re going,” he told them. At first, the hijacker was nervous and shaking, holding a cocked gun with his finger on the trigger. Shelfer and Greenwood were afraid he might shoot them by accident. He did not speak English, but Greenwood knew a little Spanish. He assured the man that they would take him to Cuba. He told the hijacker they always carried extra “Havana fuel,” though in this case, Cuba was closer than anywhere else they planned to fly that day. After they had landed, the man was still suspicious that they had taken him somewhere other than Havana. What surprised Greenwood was not the hijacking but how long they spent in Havana. By then, Cuban and American officials had worked out a system. The turnaround time was usually just a few hours, about the same as

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most layovers for connecting flights in the US. “It is all very smooth,” Reader’s Digest noted in May 1969. On this occasion, after arriving at José Martí Airport at 11:36 p.m., Greenwood and the crew and forty-​nine passengers were taken to the Havana Rivera hotel on the Malecón waterfront for the night. Shelfer remembered that the air conditioning did not work, and his room was stifling, even in October. They did not leave until 10:45 the next evening. They were not told why.4 Like many airline pilots, Greenwood had a set of approach charts for Havana in his flight case. Some airlines gave pilots cards with Spanish phrases to use when talking with hijackers. And there was the “Havana fuel.” When National Airlines Flight 64 from Los Angeles to Miami was hijacked on January 28, 1969, Captain James Brown told the two hijackers not to worry about having enough fuel to reach Cuba. “I told them, ‘I usually carry a little hijack juice (fuel) along.’ ”5 When it came to dealing with hijackers, deference was the order of the day. Airlines had learned that if they complied with hijackers’ demands, no one would get hurt, and passengers would be little more than inconvenienced. Some travelers deliberately booked flights through Miami in the hopes of being hijacked. “Is this the plane to Cuba?” Miami-​bound passengers asked stewardesses with a smile. Who wouldn’t want a night on the town in Havana and a colorful story to tell their friends? In the first half of 1969 alone, more than two thousand passengers ended up making an unscheduled stop in Havana.6 With so little opposition, just about anyone could hijack a commercial flight. On June 28, 1969, Raymond Anthony, an unemployed used-​car salesman in his mid-​fifties, hijacked an Eastern Air Lines flight from Baltimore to Miami. News reports described Anthony as “a sloppily dressed man sipping whiskey and waving a knife.” Anthony was broke when he received a credit card in the mail. He used the card to finance a drinking spree and the ticket to Miami. He was clearly drunk when he boarded the plane, wearing Bermuda shorts and sandals, carrying a bottle of whiskey and a 2½-​inch pocketknife that he used to clean his fingernails. According to his daughter, Anthony had been “in a state of desperation” since the death of his son, Raymond Jr., in 1964, followed by the death of his second wife twelve days later. He would disappear for months on “binges,” only to show up “all of a sudden” at his daughter’s door. That November, Cuban authorities sent him back to the US, where he pleaded no contest and received a fifteen-​year sentence. The judge wondered “why the crew responded to the drunken orders of a little man holding a penknife.”7

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On March 31, 1971, Diego Ramirez hijacked an Eastern Air Lines flight from New York to San Juan, Puerto Rico. Ramirez, sixty-​six, was armed with “nothing more lethal than Clackers—​the little round plastic balls on a string currently in vogue with children,” reported the Miami News. He handed stewardess Hilda Estay a note threatening “the complete and immediate destruction of the aircraft.” He claimed to have “friends” in the back of the plane and carried a red plastic bag that conceivably might have contained a bomb. As they flew to Havana, Ramirez strolled the aisle twirling the Clackers, clicking them rhythmically. “He said he had never been important,” a passenger later told reporters. “But this was his one big day.” When they landed in Havana, Ramirez suddenly had a change of heart. As soldiers boarded the plane, he told them that he only wanted to stop in Cuba before continuing on. “Oh no, I’m going back to the United States,” he said. The soldiers led him away, confiscating his Clackers. Ramirez returned to the US in October 1974 and was released on probation the following year.8 Two months after the Ramirez hijacking, Ivan Landaeta, twenty-​two, hijacked a Pan Am flight to Miami armed only with fingernail clippers. The crew and fifty-​nine passengers were inexplicably kept in Cuba for four days. Even the Swiss Embassy, which at the time represented US interests in Cuba, “wasn’t able to tell us much,” George Ashley, one of the pilots, told reporters. Police accompanied them everywhere, but they were “very nice,” Ashley added. “They tried to keep us happy and occupied,” a passenger said. “They took us on tours and to a couple of nightclubs.” This was the reason airlines had a policy of cooperating with hijackers, even if they were armed only with nail clippers. The worst that could happen was a few extra days in Havana.9 If the crimes had been more difficult to commit, there would not have been so many. Given the airlines’ lenient policy, one did not have to be a hardened criminal to hijack a plane. On June 4, 1971, five days after the Landaeta hijacking, Glen Elmo Riggs, fifty-​eight, hijacked a United Airlines flight from Charleston, West Virginia, to Newark. Riggs was a retired coal miner and World War II veteran. He lived in the back of a tavern called Larry’s Underpass in Ashford, West Virginia. Riggs suffered from black lung disease and got by on $360 a month in Social Security and pensions. He wanted to go to Tel Aviv. “He’s mixed up about religion. He reads the Bible a lot. . . . He was never violent,” his sister told reporters.

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Riggs had been talking about going to Israel for years, “but everybody thought it was a joke,” a local sheriff ’s deputy said. After a night of drinking at the Diamond Pool Room in Charleston, Riggs grabbed a .22 pistol and headed to the airport. The crew of the Boeing 737 convinced Riggs that the plane did not have the range to fly to the Middle East. He agreed to land at Dulles Airport near Washington, DC, and switch to a bigger plane. At Dulles, Riggs let the sixty-​ nine passengers and three stewardesses deplane. For three hours, he sat in the cabin with flight engineer Greg Colliton as his hostage. Colliton chatted with Riggs about his family, coal mining, and Israel. He brought him sandwiches and milk. When Riggs got up to get a cup of water, he left the gun on his seat. Colliton put it in his pocket, and the hijacking was over. By midnight, Riggs was standing before a federal magistrate, charged with air piracy. “I can’t hardly remember anything about it. I’m bound to be guilty, or I wouldn’t be here,” Riggs said. He could not remember much after he started drinking. “I am not sure if it were two or three beers . . . I don’t even remember getting on the plane. I don’t remember getting a ticket.” Chances are it was more than two or three beers. A newspaper photo the next day showed Colliton, the other two pilots, and the three stewardesses laughing as Colliton demonstrated how Riggs held the gun. He was sentenced to twenty years.10 According to press reports, J. Edgar Hoover was upset when he saw newspaper photos of the agent who arrested Riggs. He had sideburns “at earlobe level.” Hoover ordered him transferred to another office outside Washington.11 Around 20 percent of the US hijackers from 1968 to 1971 were former mental patients or were declared incompetent to stand trial and sent to a mental hospital. Friends in Savannah, Georgia, described Robert McRae “Red” Helmey as a “fun loving type who loved adventure.” On January 11, 1969, Helmey boarded a United Airlines flight from Jacksonville to Miami with a .45-​caliber pistol. He forced a stewardess to take him to the cockpit and told the pilot to “tell Fidel, Red is coming.” After landing in Havana, Helmey jumped from the cockpit but left the pistol behind. Helmey, the father of four, seemed an unlikely hijacker. He was a fifteen-​ year veteran of the Green Berets and a lumber company executive. He had borrowed the gun from his brother-​in-​law, who told him it probably wouldn’t work. “That’s all right, I don’t want it to,” Helmey said. It likely was not even

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loaded. When Helmey told stewardess Pat Overcast that he had a gun and asked if she would tell the captain “to take me to Havana,” she said no. “I thought it was a joke. A lot of passengers say that.” Then he pulled the gun. Helmey spent 109 days in solitary confinement in a Cuban jail before arriving in Montreal aboard a Cuban freighter on May 4, 1969. He was arrested the next day as he crossed the border into New York. When it was all over, Helmey “just couldn’t explain it,” his wife, Angeline, testified at his trial. She said that he had been injured in parachute jumps in 1965 and 1968 and had been hit on the head by a logging chain the previous December. He “often complained of headaches and would fly into a rage at times over trifles.” He once told her that “he was part of a plot to overthrow the Fidel Castro regime in Cuba,” which at the time sounded “a little fantastic.” Helmey was found innocent by reason of temporary insanity, the first hijacker acquitted for that reason. He told journalists that confinement in his cell in Cuba was like “being buried alive.” “I could lie down in the middle of the floor and touch every wall with my hands and feet. There were no windows in the cell, only vents near the 10-​foot-​high ceiling.” He lost “at least 100 pounds.” After his release, he wrote to Levi Strauss & Co., thanking them for his Levi’s Sta-​Prest pants, which had indeed stayed pressed throughout his three months in solitary.12 The oldest hijacker of the era was seventy-​three-​year-​old John McCreery, a retired Philadelphia apartment-​building manager and former mental patient. McCreery was on his way to visit a relative in Florida on August 5, 1969, when he used a straight razor to hijack an Eastern Air Lines flight to Tampa. He had suffered shell shock in World War I and had fallen into “severe despondency” after his wife died the previous fall. When the pilot told McCreery that they did not have enough fuel to reach Cuba, he went back to his seat until they landed in Tampa. After the other passengers had deplaned, FBI agents arrested McCreery, still sitting in his seat. “I just wanted to see if I had the nerve to simulate a hijack,” McCreery told the plane’s crew. He told a psychiatrist that he believed “an island has been constructed in the ocean to resemble Cuba to mislead hijackers to think they are landing in Cuba.” In fact, the FAA had entertained suggestions to build a replica of José Martí Airport in south Florida but decided it would be too expensive. McCreery was declared mentally incompetent and sent to the federal medical center at Springfield, Missouri.13 Perhaps the youngest hijacker was David Booth, a fourteen-​year-​old high school freshman from Ohio. On November 10, 1969, Booth attempted to

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hijack a Delta Airlines flight at Cincinnati. He had followed news coverage of a hijacking two weeks earlier to Rome and thought it looked easy. Holding a knife against the back of Gloria Jean House, eighteen, Booth forced her onto a Delta DC-​9 that was waiting to depart. He asked to be taken first to Sweden and then, when he was told the DC-​9 did not have the range to cross the Atlantic, to Mexico or Brazil. He surrendered when police boarded the plane, which never left the ground. His mother thought he had been at school.14 Booth spent part of his childhood in foster homes. When his brother, one of the few sources of stability in his life, moved to Massachusetts, Booth decided to join him. He took one of his father’s checks without asking and went to the airport. He made a mistake filling it out and had to call home, resulting in a heated argument with his father. “I just snapped,” Booth said. He pulled the knife and grabbed House, who was there to see her grandmother off on her first airplane ride, a trip to Mexico. “It wasn’t a very well-​thought-​out plan, to say the least,” Booth told the Cincinnati Enquirer in 2009. His story turned out to be one of redemption. The judge, sensing “something worth saving,” sent him to a home for vulnerable children rather than juvenile detention. Booth later married, raised three children, and had a career working in a chemical plant. House became a professional dancer, performing with the Cincinnati Summer Opera and on television. Booth’s “one big regret” was never apologizing to House before she died of cancer. “I’m so sorry for Gloria Jean and her family,” he said in 2009. House’s sister thought that she would have understood. “I’m sure she’d forgive him. I know she would.”15 With so much news coverage of hijackings and so little resistance from air crews, taking over a plane became just another expression of teen angst. Roger Pastorcich was a seventeen-​year-​old churchgoing Eagle Scout from Bay Minette, Alabama, who wanted to go to Saigon to avenge the death of a friend killed in Vietnam. He tried to hijack an Eastern Air Lines flight from Birmingham, Alabama, on November 2, 1968. His mother couldn’t believe it. “I told them this couldn’t be my child . . . no, no, not my son.” Thomas Kelly Marston, a sixteen-​year-​old high school sophomore, was worried about his grades and angry at his parents. He hijacked a National Airlines flight from Mobile, Alabama, before giving up and agreeing to land in Miami. John Morgan Mathews, fourteen, armed with a pistol, attempted to hijack a Delta Airlines flight to Cuba in March 1971. Stewardess Marilyn Jordan talked him into surrendering and then asked the judge to let him spend the summer with her and her husband in Texas. The judge agreed.16

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If fourteen-​y ear-​o lds could hijack a plane, then surely career criminals could, provided they wanted to leave the US. For those already facing prison, that sounded fine. A few tried to hijack a plane while in custody. Lester Perry succeeded. Lester Ellsworth Perry was a career criminal and an inmate in a Connecticut state prison. On July 31, 1969, he was being transported to Los Angeles on TWA Flight 79, accompanied by a US marshal and a federal guard to stand trial for bank robbery. The Connecticut sentence was for a robbery spree on December 2, 1967, in which he and an accomplice held up two armored-​truck guards in broad daylight at a shopping center, taking $2,000. The California charge was for robbing a bank in North Downey and making off with $5,300. Perry’s time in the Connecticut prison counted toward a fifteen-​year sentence in New York for robbing a department store. He also faced twelve to fifteen years in Massachusetts. Another hijacker who later shared a cell with Perry in Cuba described him as “the spitting image of what cartoonists conceive as the typical con. . . . He weighed around two hundred pounds. . . . Square jaw carved out of a large square head, thin lips, cold, watery, blue eyes, and a nose that had probably been broken a couple of dozen times.”1 Sitting in first class with Perry during the flight to Los Angeles, the marshal and the federal guard did not carry guns, and Perry was not handcuffed. They were on a plane. Where could he go? To the lavatory, for starters. There Perry found a razor blade that another passenger had apparently discarded. The typical safety razor of the time had disposable blades, and planes had a receptacle where passengers could discard used blades. “It was not my intention to hijack the airliner,” Perry later told

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a federal judge. “But once I got on there, the marshals got a little too relaxed and I took advantage of the situation.” Over Wichita, Perry put the razor blade to the neck of stewardess Deborah Sullivan, nineteen, and ordered the pilot to fly to Cuba. “We’re going to Havana and don’t try any funny business,” Perry said. At Havana, soldiers boarded the plane and led Perry away. The other 122 passengers were on the ground for five hours, where they had sandwiches, coffee, and cigars. “If you have to be hijacked, this is the way to go,” a passenger told reporters. “Once the pilot announced, ‘There’s a gentleman in here who says that we’re going to Cuba,’ why we just pretty much relaxed,” said another. They took off from Havana at 9:30 p.m. and touched down in Miami at 10:16 p.m. Life in Cuba was not what Perry had hoped for. He spent eleven years in Cuban jails, in conditions far worse than anything he would have experienced in the US. Some of his cells flooded, leaving him nowhere to lie down. The food was terrible, the discipline was brutal, and many prisons lacked running water or flush toilets. In 1980, the Cuban government allowed more than one hundred thousand people to leave the island, among them Perry. Most emigrated by sea during the Mariel boatlift. Perry traveled by air. On December 18, he was given $130 and a ticket to Trinidad. He got off at a stop in Barbados and bought a ticket to Toronto. Sometime before Christmas, he slipped back into the US and began using the name Russell Fair. Perry, now forty-​three, had not changed. He allegedly robbed a couple of supermarkets in Ohio before he was arrested trying to steal a car in South Bend, Indiana. He was on his way to Florida, where he hoped to fall in with drug smugglers. He was sentenced to twenty-​five years for the hijacking and another twenty-​five years for the California bank robbery. He was released in October 2000.2 Hijacking became an outlet for just about every form of dislocation, including the trauma of war. Among the Vietnam veterans who hijacked planes, none received more attention in the press than nineteen-​year-​old Raffaele Minichiello.3 On October 31, 1969, Minichiello hijacked a TWA flight from Los Angeles to San Francisco with an M-​1 carbine. What followed was the longest hijacking odyssey to date, with landings in Denver, where the thirty-​nine passengers and three of the stewardesses were allowed off; New York; Bangor, Maine; Shannon, Ireland; and finally Rome. The TWA crew described Minichiello as an “all-​American boy.” After he had control of the plane, he apologized to stewardess Charlene Delmonico for frightening her with the gun.4

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Minichiello was an AWOL marine. He served in Vietnam from December 1967 to December 1968 and earned the Vietnamese Gallantry Cross. He was promoted to lance corporal in July 1968 but, haunted by his combat experience, struggled to adjust. He faced a court-​martial for breaking into a post exchange at Camp Pendleton, California, after a dispute over two hundred dollars. “I think the war did this to him,” his mother told reporters. “He doesn’t realize he’s really out of the war,” a Seattle friend agreed.5 Before landing in Rome, Minichiello, who had been born in Italy, negotiated for a police car to drive him away. A few miles south of the city, he jumped from the car and ran into the countryside. Several hours later, a priest noticed him hiding in a church, leading to his arrest.6 When it was all over, TWA Captain Donald Cook was more upset with the FBI than with the hijacker. At Kennedy Airport in New York, FBI agents surrounded the Boeing 707. Some wore coveralls, but “they didn’t look like mechanics,” Cook told reporters. As agents milled about the plane, Minichiello nervously fired a shot into the roof of the cockpit. “The FBI plan was damned near a prescription for getting the entire crew killed and the plane destroyed,” Cook later said. “To say they mishandled it would be the understatement of the century.” Cook, a military veteran himself, knew about the pressures of war and what they could do to a young man. “I’m convinced he would have shot all of us if the FBI had not moved out,” said stewardess Tracey Coleman. After they left New York, Minichiello relaxed. “He was very relaxed, very much at ease, and we spent a lot of time listening to music,” she said.7 It looked as if Minichiello might face thirty years in an Italian prison. If extradited to the US, he could face the death penalty. But sympathy for his plight quickly built in Italy. It didn’t hurt that he was handsome, with an infectious smile. Minichiello’s family had moved to Seattle in 1962, following an earthquake that destroyed their home in Naples. He struggled learning English and dropped out of high school in 1967 to join the Marines. While in Vietnam, he learned that his father, seventy-​six-​year-​old Luigi Antonio Minichiello, had been diagnosed with cancer and had returned to Italy.8 Looked at from that angle, the hijacking was a desperate bid to see his father before he died, an act of devotion that made him a hero in Italy. Italian film producer Carlo Ponti, husband of actress Sophia Loren, announced plans to produce a movie based on the hijacking. “All of the girls in Melito Irpino,” the town in which Minichiello was born, “would like to marry Raffaele,” declared

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a newspaper story published a week after the hijacking. “And the men of this poverty-​stricken south Italian village are ready to go on strike [and] stage riots to demand clemency.” The girls of Melito Irpino had competition. Maria Garzia Bettini, a Milanese model, declared that she also would marry Raffaele. “Doesn’t it seem terrific to you that a boy could have the courage to bring a plane from the United States to Rome just so he could hug his father?” she said. “And besides, he’s so handsome.” “Justice is hard in America,” said Chief Detective Salvatore Palmieri, whose men had captured Minichiello after he landed. “Here it will go much easier for him.” Minichiello’s lawyers portrayed him as a modern Don Quixote, and the prosecution asked the court for leniency. He was tried for kidnapping, assault, and weapons violations but not for the hijacking because Italy had no law against air piracy.9 Minichiello served only eighteen months in Italian prisons before his release in May 1971. He stayed in Rome and got a bartending job, eventually marrying the owner’s daughter. “I’m sorry for what I did to those people on the plane,” he told People magazine in 1980. “I’m very different now from how I was.” Recently, he has appeared in YouTube videos playing the accordion.10 Minichiello had a specific reason to go to Italy, but before 1971, the focus of most hijackings remained Cuba. By the time he started college at Wayne State University in Detroit, Henry Shorr wanted nothing more than to go to Cuba. “He was always talking about how great Cuba was, saying one of these days he’d go to Cuba,” a high school classmate later remembered. In government class, “someone got tired of listening to Cuba, Cuba, Cuba, and offered to take a collection to send him there on his own plane.” To Shorr, like many on the political left, Cuba represented freedom and justice, a socialist paradise, an alternative to the capitalism, racism, and imperialism that had poisoned American society. Shorr was the son of a former Detroit-​area radio disc jockey. He was alternately described as “a bright, brash, outspoken idealist who was obsessed with the idea of going to Cuba” and “a confused, lonely, rejected kid” who did not “fit in with the rest of the crowd.” In high school, he was expelled for two weeks for having long hair. A student who punched him during an argument over politics was suspended for only a week. “How can you justify a system that treats you this way?” he asked his father. Even the Young Socialists Alliance at Wayne State found him too argumentative.

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In early September 1969, Shorr flew to Mexico City, telling his father that he hoped to go from there to Havana. A few weeks later, he called to say that he was stuck in Mexico, unable to get a visa. Then, on October 21, he boarded a Pan Am flight from Mexico City to Tampa brandishing a pistol.11 As for so many others, Cuba was not what he had expected. He was put in solitary confinement and “underwent prolonged interrogation to determine his political views,” according to James Reed, a freelance Canadian journalist who visited Cuba in 1970 and interviewed hijackers living there. Shorr was allowed only five minutes of exercise each day. Two months after his arrival, he was released and lived for several months with a group of other hijackers in Havana, in what was known as Hijack House. Early in 1970, Shorr asked for a job. He was sent to a tool factory in central Cuba but returned a few days later. He was given a seventh-​floor Havana hotel room, from which he plunged to his death on September 28. His father reported that two days later, another hijacker living in Cuba had called to tell him that Shorr had not jumped. He was pushed.12

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By the time word filtered back about conditions in Cuba, there was already a sizeable contingent of American hijackers in jail or living in Havana. For most, it was not the revolutionary paradise they expected. The lucky ones lived in Hijack House, which was in the Siboney district of Havana, where Henry Shorr had once stayed. Despite their relative freedom, most were “unhappy, some to the point of extreme despondency, with their restricted life,” according to journalist James Reed, who wrote about Shorr’s death. Others languished in Cuban prisons, among them Tony Bryant.1 Bryant was one of more than a dozen Black Panthers or members of other Black Power groups who hijacked planes to Cuba between 1968 and 1971. By his own account, Bryant was “black and bitter, armed, desperate and dangerous, at war with the United States of America,” when he boarded a National Airlines flight from New York to Miami on March 5, 1969. Shortly after two a.m., he made his way to the 727’s galley, pulled a .38 Smith & Wesson revolver from the back waistband of his pants, and told the stewardesses they were going to Cuba. “I told you I had a premonition,” one of the stewardesses whispered to the others.2 Bryant was born in San Bernardino, California, in 1938. His parents divorced, and his mother eventually lost custody of him and his brother. In 1961, Bryant was given an indeterminate sentence of five years to life for robbing a liquor store. In Soledad prison, he met Black Panther leader Eldridge Cleaver. After his release in 1964, Bryant was again arrested and convicted for selling drugs. His second prison term ended in 1967.3 In October 1968, Bryant went to the Black Panther office in Sacramento and asked to join. He kicked heroin and became a Panther “hitman.” “Because of my ability to control people with my voice—​something I learned as an

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armed robber—​I was chosen to hijack a plane to Cuba to get arms for our urban warfare,” Bryant later wrote. He had “heard a lot about Cuba and Fidel Castro. He and Che Guevara were my heroes.” Cuba represented everything that had been denied him in the US. “This was the country that promised aid to revolutionaries and kept its word. Cuba was creating a true democracy, a place where everyone was equal, where violence against blacks, injustice and racism were things of the past.” The Panthers wanted bazookas and other “heavy arms.” But they misjudged Castro, realizing too late that the Cuban government had no interest in escalating hostilities with the US.4 Bryant made a crucial mistake during the hijacking. On the spur of the moment, he decided to rob the passengers before they landed in Havana. He walked down the aisle, accompanied by a stewardess holding a large paper bag, confiscating cash from the well-​dressed white passengers. He allowed Blacks and those with less to keep their money. He took $1,700 from a Miami salesman who had left Cuba in 1961. Bryant later said that he robbed a passenger who clutched an attaché case to his chest that was stuffed with hundred-​dollar bills. He ignored the identification the man pulled from his coat while the stewardess scooped the cash into the bag.5 Bryant later learned that the man with the case full of money was a Cuban agent. He had robbed the wrong guy. After five months of interrogation and accusations that he was a CIA spy, Bryant was sentenced to twelve years in prison by a Cuban court. It was “the saddest day of my life. I’d been betrayed,” he later wrote.6 Bryant spent the next eleven and a half years in some of Cuba’s most notorious prisons. He witnessed executions and endured endless beatings, near-​ starvation, and fourteen months in solitary confinement. Back in California, he had once said that he would rather be a prisoner in Cuba than free in the United States. “I must have been out of my mind. Compared to this, San Quentin was a country club.” The hardships led to a spiritual awakening. “It was necessary for me to see the devil to believe that there is a God,” he wrote.7 In October 1980, nearly twelve years after he had arrived in Cuba, Bryant was one of thirty Americans released from prison and flown to Miami, where he was arrested for air piracy. There was little in his record to suggest he deserved leniency. But Bryant believed that he had a message for America about the dangers of communism. He gave newspaper, radio, and television interviews, including an appearance on the PTL Network with televangelist Jim Bakker. In federal court, he pleaded guilty to air piracy, which carried a minimum sentence of twenty years. Instead, the judge gave him five

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years’ probation. “I told the judge that I had changed,” Bryant said in 1982. “Apparently, he believed me and gave me the chance to prove it.”8 On June 17, 1969, three months after Bryant’s hijacking, William Brent boarded TWA Flight 154 from Oakland to New York, also with a .38 in his back waistband. Over Nevada, he stepped through the curtain dividing economy from first class and, holding the gun at his side, told a stewardess that they were going to Cuba. In the cockpit, the pilots tried to convince him that they did not have enough fuel. But Brent had done the math. If they could fly to New York, they could make it to Havana.9 Brent was born in Franklin, Louisiana, and moved to Oakland, California, when he was thirteen. He dropped out of high school and enlisted in the Army at seventeen, using a fake birth certificate. He hated the Army and was relieved when he was discharged eight months later for lying about his age.10 Back in California, he drifted through menial jobs and spent eight and a half years in prison for robbery. At age thirty-​seven, he attended a Black Panther rally. “The audacity of these young blacks excited me and stirred emotions I thought had died years ago,” he later wrote in his memoir, first published in 1996. “What I saw and heard convinced me I should join the Black Panther Party. I felt I’d just awakened and could never go to sleep again.” His first assignment was guarding Panther leader Eldridge Cleaver.11 On November 19, 1968, Brent was high on pills and riding in a van with other Panthers when he robbed a gas station and shot and critically wounded two police officers. He was dismayed when the party expelled him, deciding that he was “more of a liability than an asset.” Free on bail, hijacking a plane to Cuba seemed like his best option. “Other people had done it. Twenty-​ seven people had pulled it off that year alone, and it was only mid-​June. Why couldn’t I?” Planning the hijacking “was almost like playing a game.”12 The hijacking itself was easy. “It’s so easy, so easy to pirate a plane,” a passenger on the flight told a journalist. “They just hold a knife or gun at the ready and what can a pilot do?” A few mothers worried about running out of diapers, but most passengers took it in stride. “We were all giggling and wisecracking about it,” a passenger recalled. “It was a very funny flight. They even showed a movie after they announced the hijacking,” another said. After a three-​hour layover in Havana and a meal of sandwiches, lemonade, and coffee, followed by cigarettes and Cuban cigars, they took off again for Miami.13 Like Bryant, Brent was taken straight from the airport to jail. “With all my heart, I wanted to believe the good things I’d heard about the Cuban

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revolution,” Brent wrote. The brutality of life in a Cuban prison shook his resolve. He knew jail, but this was worse.14 After twenty-​two months in prison, he was taken to Hijack House, which functioned as a sort of halfway house for hijackers. Earlier, air pirates from various nations had lived in the house. After US and Brazilian hijackers got into “brawls,” the Cubans in charged moved out everyone except the Americans. By the time Brent arrived in April 1971, the house was managed by a “Chinese-​American” woman from San Francisco named Edna. She had been there for more than a year. She told Brent that her boyfriend had hijacked a plane without telling her before they boarded. Afterward, he had apparently hanged himself in prison. Now she could not go back for fear of prosecution. In August 1971, close to twenty hijackers lived in Hijack House. They were free to come and go as they pleased, and their basic needs were supplied, but in other respects, their lives were tightly restricted. They could not leave Cuba without permission.15 Brent adapted to life on the island. He volunteered to cut sugar cane, worked on a pig farm, taught junior high and high school, and hosted a program on Radio Havana Cuba. He married Jane McManus, who wrote travel books about Cuba, and earned a bachelor’s degree from the University of Havana in Hispanic languages. Unwilling to return to the US and face the prospect of prison, he made Cuba his home, though it meant never seeing his family again. He died in Havana in 2006.16 Other residents of Hijack House had difficulty adjusting and found life in Cuba oppressive. “I want to be anywhere in the U.S.—​even in jail—​as long as I get out of here,” Richard Witt told a reporter in August 1971. “I’m ready to face the music in the United States. Whatever the court decides. I’d rather be in a federal prison than in this place,” Garland Jesus Grant told a journalist.17 Witt was just seventeen when he hijacked an Allegheny Airlines 727 from Pittsburgh to Cuba on September 18, 1970. Earlier that year, he had joined the Marines but was discharged for lying about his age. He wanted to go to Cairo, but the pilots convinced him they only had enough fuel for Havana. He spent four years in Cuban prisons for attempting to leave the island without permission. In Cuba, “Immigration is a power unto itself,” as Brent put it. It had “its own laws, police, and jails.” “Immigration is racist as hell,” Witt told a reporter in Havana in 1978. “Everyone is white. I ain’t white.”18 Grant was a member of the Black Panthers when he hijacked a Northwest Airlines flight from Milwaukee on January 22, 1971. He wanted to go to Algeria, where Cleaver had set up an international office of the Black Panthers, but, like Witt, he ended up in Cuba. There he was accused of spying for the

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CIA. He spent five and a half years in prison and lost his right eye in 1974 when a guard stabbed him with a bayonet during a riot. “I feel inside that I’m dead,” he told an interviewer in Havana in 1977.19 Witt and Grant were among a group of hijackers who voluntarily returned to the US in March 1978. They were each sentenced to fifteen years in federal prison. Witt was released in April 1983 and Grant in November 1990.20 By the end of 1971, only the most desperate hijacker would opt for Cuba. “Only a mental idiot will hijack a plane [to Cuba] in the future,” Gabor Babler, originally from Hungary, told a journalist in Havana that year. Babler had been in Cuba since 1967, when he chartered a small plane in Florida and forced the pilot to fly to Havana at gunpoint. Like most hijackers, he had done time in Cuban prisons.21 As the allure of Cuba faded, two key things happened: the first passenger died during a hijacking, and D.B. Cooper parachuted from the back of a 727.

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The American dream was slipping away, or so it seemed to many. The nation seemed to be nothing but loose ends. Pull on any one, and the whole thing would unravel. It wasn’t just Vietnam or economic uncertainty. Urban crime challenged the idea that the US was a society built on progress. In August 1970, the FBI reported that crime had increased 148 percent over the past decade. In 1969, one out of every one hundred cars were stolen, a total of 871,900. The crime rate in New York City was nearly double that for the rest of the nation. Mafia crime families unleashed a wave of violence in the city that resulted in burned-​out buildings and subways that were too dangerous to use after dark. The urban apocalypse inspired a series of dystopian movies that brought the experience home to people who never visited the city: Taxi Driver, The Warriors, Fort Apache: The Bronx, Escape from New York.1 Rampant drug use seemed to have infected nearly every level of American society. In November 1972, the New York Times reported that on college campuses in the Northeast, the “use of soft drugs—​marijuana, hashish, and pills—​is common, casual, and virtually institutionalized.” “When you live in the dormitory, you feel safe—​you even forget that grass is illegal,” a New York University student said. School administrators looked the other way, unwilling or unable to do anything about it. “The only time we call dealers into this office,” explained the dean of students at Colgate University, “is when we hear about an unusually large shipment of drugs or about students who are in very bad physical or mental shape because of their consumption of drugs.” Professors joked about students being so poor they had to share a tiny cigarette while sitting on the quad.2 It wasn’t just college campuses. Two summers before Martin McNally hijacked American 119, Pittsburgh Pirates pitcher Dock Ellis threw a no-​hitter on LSD. Everyone on the field knew that Dock was high, that he was jacked

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up on something, usually amphetamines, every time he pitched. So were most other players. This was big-​league baseball, the great American pastime. Armageddon seemed to be just around the corner. The best-​selling nonfiction book of the decade was Hal Lindsey’s Late Great Planet Earth, published in 1970. It eventually sold nearly 30 million copies. Lindsey was a former Mississippi River tugboat captain turned Jesus People evangelist. His short, lively narrative distilled what thousands of preachers were telling their listeners: the end was near. The rapture, followed by tribulation (or the other way around; interpretations differed), and then humanity’s last battle. Yet for most wealthy and middle-​class Americans, those who flew on commercial airlines, the apocalypse was more abstract possibility than looming reality. Unless they had served in the military, disturbing images on the nightly news and the occasional alarming Sunday sermon were as close as they came to the abyss. College campuses were rowdy, but when hadn’t that been the case? If they read Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas, Hunter S. Thompson’s drug-​addled interrogation of the American dream, first published in Rolling Stone in 1971, it was as an act of voyeurism. Most of the men walking down the aisles of commercial jets wore their hair short and neatly trimmed, and the women wore their skirts a few inches from the knee. Most agreed that additional airport security would be more trouble than it was worth and an invasion of their privacy. These were the same people who refused to wear seat belts when they drove, out of principle or laziness. David Hanley was not wearing one when he crashed his Cadillac into American 119 in St. Louis, and he was planning to have an accident. “Searching passengers and all their carry-​on luggage—​even on a spot-​check basis—​is impractical, since several searchers would be required to do the job quickly, and many passengers would feel annoyed,” Reader’s Digest noted in May 1969.3 Besides, what was the worst that could happen? Magazines printed tour guides for Havana. In December 1968, before the process was streamlined, hijackings to Cuba usually involved an overnight stay. In an article published in its travel section, Time magazine advised hijacked passengers to “relax . . . most Cubans are indeed friendly, and they will make your layover as comfortable as possible.” At José Martí Airport, they could buy Cuban cigars and rum, which could not legally be imported into the US but which returning passengers were usually allowed to carry through customs. Downtown they could pick up deals on East German cameras and “beautifully embroidered Czech peasant blouses.” For lodging, they would likely be taken to the downtown Havana Libre (formerly the Havana Hilton) or the Varadero International Hotel on buses

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provided by the Swiss Embassy. “The rooms are still comfortable, the service is still good, and Havana still swings,” ran the article in Time. “You will probably be treated to a nightclub, complete with daiquiris, a chorus line and an audience of gaping Eastern Europeans.” And be sure to pack a swimsuit. The Varadero fronted a magnificent fifteen-​mile-​long white-​sand beach. From this you needed to be saved?4 Judy Shay was aboard a National Airlines flight from San Francisco to Miami when it was hijacked on January 31, 1969. Shay, twenty-​seven, “honey-​ blonde,” and “mini-​skirted,” was a “very With-​It San Francisco career girl,” according to the San Francisco Examiner. She “relished every minute” of the adventure, which she described as a “light-​hearted, exciting holiday.” When they took off from San Francisco, she was feeling “ho-​hum” about the flight, her tenth to Florida, where she had formerly lived. After the plane was commandeered two hundred miles east of Houston, “there were no moments of fear or panic, and the little old ladies on board were more fun than anyone,” Shay said. It was stewardess Donna Goldinher’s second hijacking to Cuba in the past ten months. “It was a breeze this time,” she later told reporters. The hijacker, Allan Creighton Sheffield, formerly from Berkeley, was described as “an articulate, well-​dressed man carrying a bag of chemistry books.” He told one stewardess that he had lost his job and was “tired of TV dinners and seeing people starve in the world . . . he wanted to see what he could do in Cuba.” When they landed in Havana, there were soldiers everywhere. “We were questioned closely, and our pictures taken but the officials were cordial and polite,” Shay remembered. She had read The Ugly American—​the 1958 novel about the failures of American diplomacy in Southeast Asia, made into a film with Marlon Brando in 1963—​and “wanted to make these people like me.” From the airport, they took a “hair-​raising” bus ride through Havana and the countryside to the Varadero on the coast. Outside Havana, “everything is rundown and shantylike,” Shay said. “The people were poorly dressed but they smiled and waved as we passed. Apparently they are used to seeing busloads of skyjacked passengers.” Their interpreter and guide, Raoul, was “one of the friendliest, finest men I’ve ever met.” At the Varadero, they had an “afternoon frolic on the beach with 20 Russians.” The Russians were “apparently chemical and industrial engineers, all very heavy, and in the process of getting sunburned and all very nice,” Shay said. Dinner featured shrimp cocktails, steak, and wine, “served to the music of a five-​piece band.”

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Twelve hours after landing in Havana, they boarded a plane for Miami. Shay “kissed the soldiers lined up for our departure” and gave Raoul her address. She certainly did not think of herself as a victim.5 Allen Funt, creator and host of the television show Candid Camera, was on an Eastern Air Lines flight hijacked to Cuba four days later. “The unbelievable thing is the way everybody took it as one big joke,” Funt said. “The biggest joke for me was how much the whole thing looked like a bad movie. Nobody looked the part.”6 “It’s enough to restore your faith in humanity,” a Pan Am spokesman said after a planeload of passengers returned from Cuba in November 1968, “laden with rum and cigars.” “Not one of the 96 passengers asked for a rebate.”7 It was not about the money, even for the airlines. In 1968, the Cuban government charged airlines an average of $2,500 for each hijacked plane that landed in Havana, which covered the cost of feeding and housing passengers and refueling the plane. Eastern Air Lines estimated that the total cost for a hijacking was around $8,000. “If you take the foreign intrigue out of it, it isn’t that much different from what it would cost if a New York bound plane had to be diverted for Philadelphia and the passengers accommodated overnight,” an Eastern official said. Like weather delays or mechanical problems, it was easy to see hijackings as a cost of doing business.8 Ransoms were more problematic but ultimately not expensive. Between June 1970 and May 1973, there were twenty-​seven hijackings in the US in which hijackers demanded ransoms totaling $122,944,000. Only $6,656,250 was actually paid, and eventually all of it—​apart from the $200,000 given to D.B. Cooper—​was recovered.9 What changed the calculus of air piracy was the first death of a passenger and the unpredictably violent potential of extortion hijacking. Howard Franks, sixty-​five, had fallen in love with the Southwest. A management consultant, he bought a house in Albuquerque and was in the process of moving from Darien, Connecticut. After dropping off one of his cars at his new home, he was returning to Connecticut to drive back with his wife in their second car. The movers would follow the next week. He boarded TWA Flight 358 to New York on June 11, 1971. The 727 made an unscheduled stop in Kansas City for weather before landing in Chicago. As passengers boarded at O’Hare, Gregory White forced his way onto the plane without a boarding pass. When stewardess Catharine Culver tried to stop him, he dragged her from the front door to the middle of the cabin. “He has a gun!” Culver screamed.

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Franks had gotten off the plane to call his wife to tell her that he would be late. He was reboarding when White grabbed Culver. Most of the passengers ran for the door. Franks, who ran hurdles at the 1928 Olympics and was in “tiptop shape,” according to his wife, rushed down the aisle toward Culver and White, who shot him twice, in the head and back. As Franks was rushed to a hospital, where he died during surgery, US deputy marshal Joseph Zito crawled through one of the small cockpit windows dressed in a TWA pilot’s uniform. White told Captain Robert Elder that he wanted to go to North Vietnam. He also demanded $75,000 and a machine gun. Elder told him that they would have to fly to New York to switch to a bigger plane because the 727 did not have the range to cross the Pacific. After they took off for New York, Culver sat with the hijacker, whom she described as “a very nervous sort of person.” She was impressed that he “seemed concerned for his family.” He had never flown before, so she held his hand. White was originally from Haiti. He lived with his wife and two children in Chicago. He said that a week earlier, he had been beaten by police for drinking beer in a park. Thirty minutes into the flight, White decided to search the back of the plane. This was the chance Zito, who had been watching through the peephole in the cockpit door, had been waiting for. Emerging from the cockpit, Zito took a couple of shots at White, who ducked behind a seat in the rear of the cabin and fired back. Zito gave a gun to the copilot, and they exchanged a total of seven shots with White. The plane landed in New York at 2:30 a.m. The pilots, Zito, and Culver escaped by using the emergency slide at the front door. FBI agent William Mullaly climbed from the wing to the front door. White fired once, missing, and Mullaly shot him in the shoulder. At his arraignment, White said that he had wanted to go to North Vietnam to “bring arms to help the people to fight” and “because of the racial injustice here in the States.” That October, he was found incompetent to stand trial for murdering Franks and was committed to a mental institution. He committed suicide in 1978.10 To stop hijackings, there were only a few options. The government tried harsher penalties, beginning in the early 1960s, when hijackers became eligible for the death penalty and the minimum sentence was set at twenty years. There was nothing more severe than the death penalty. It did nothing to prevent the explosion of air piracy that began in 1968. Many blamed Cuba. John Masefield, chairman of the government board that controlled British airports, claimed that in 1966, the Cuban government

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had organized a school to train hijackers. The result was “extraordinary and malevolent,” Masefield told an international conference on airport security in 1971. There was little evidence to support his accusation.11 Most hijackers had no contact with Cuban authorities before they arrived in Havana and were deeply and sometimes bitterly disappointed by their reception. The Cuban government did not want American hijackers, most of whom it viewed as criminals, extremists, or CIA spies. A National Airlines pilot whose plane was hijacked to Havana in July 1968, only six months into a spree of hijackings that would continue for several years, said that Cuban officials told him hijackings were already “becoming boring and bothersome.” As Cuba hardened its stance, the number of hijackings to the island decreased. There were thirty-​seven in 1969 but only four successful hijackings to Cuba in 1972.12 Reducing the allure of Cuba as a safe haven led to a decrease in one form of air piracy, but this was offset by a surge in extortion hijackings, particularly after D.B. Cooper had demonstrated a way to escape. This left only increased airport security, starting with more intensive passenger screening, something the airlines and FAA were reluctant to do. Hijackings to Cuba had mostly been a problem for airlines, particularly Eastern and National, that serviced the East Coast and the South. Extortion hijackings could happen anywhere. There were 31 million US air passengers in 1971. Searching each one and their luggage seemed like an impossible task. As hijackings surged in 1968, airlines and the US government began thinking seriously about installing metal detectors, called magnetometers, “like those employed in prisons to search for concealed weapons,” as an article in the Los Angeles Times put it. The comparison to entering prison worried airlines, which were anxious to fill their new fleets of big jets. Using the devices “would involve much emptying of pockets and purses and a degree of personal inconvenience,” the Los Angeles Times noted.13 “You’d wind up checking every suitcase,” an airline spokesman told a congressional committee in July 1968. “With the new 400-​passenger jets just around the corner, you’d never get them in the air if you had to check the people out one-​by-​one.” Searching each passenger would have “a bad psychological effect,” Irving Ripps of the FAA told the committee. “It would scare the pants off people. Plus people would complain about invasion of privacy.”14 “I don’t think there’s anything that can be done, except searching everybody getting on a plane, and that’s impossible,” argued Sidney Oliver, who had been a National Airlines captain for twenty-​three years. “When is your turn coming?” Oliver’s wife asked him as the number of hijackings increased in 1968.

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“I’m waiting for it,” he replied. He did not have to wait long. Oliver’s DC-​8 with fifty-​seven passengers was hijacked to Cuba on July 17, 1968, by a twenty-​four-​year-​old Cuban wearing “a polo shirt and tight pants,” wielding a .38 pistol and a grenade that turned out to be a bottle of Old Spice aftershave lotion. “That was the funny part,” Oliver said. No one was injured and the passengers, crew, and plane returned to Miami.15 There was also the cost to consider. Installing metal detectors at the 120 airports that carried 90 percent of passengers, along with improving perimeter security and matching every passenger with every bag, carried an estimated price tag of $100 million ($850 million in 2023). At the end of 1970, metal detectors were still only used on a limited basis at US airports.16 By the summer of 1972, some airlines still did not check IDs. Pacific Southwest Airline (PSA) carried 17,000 passengers a day. “It is impossible to check everyone for ID,” a PSA spokesman said. In fact, many smaller airports did not require employees to wear badges. That November, Benjamin O. Davis, a former Air Force general serving as the US Transportation Department’s assistant secretary for safety and consumer affairs, suggested that airlines ought to limit the amount of carry-​on luggage. “It ought to be at an absolute minimum,” Davis said. But he doubted it could be done. “What anybody will tell you and which you already know, doggone it, (is that) you can only go as far as and as fast as the public and good reason will let you go.”17 The sky marshal program, begun in 1970, proved only marginally successful. Flight crews were leery of guns on planes, which might lead to a shootout in a crowded cabin. Stewardesses feared that marshals would “shoot through us to get hijackers.”18 Knowing that an armed sky marshal might be on board may have deterred some hijackers, but through the spring of 1972, it had not stopped a single hijacking. That March, the FAA announced that it was curtailing the program and reassigning all but 220 of the 1,300 sky marshals to ground security. By then, nearly everyone agreed with a New York Times editorial that “the safest and most effective way to deter hijackers is to intercept them before they board the aircraft.”19 In 1972, airlines were still mostly relying on the FAA’s behavioral profile to detect hijackers, the least expensive of the available options. This was proving of little use against the new wave of extortion-​minded air pirates who took care to blend in. Most ticket agents had neither the time nor the training to engage in any sort of meaningful psychological evaluation of passengers as

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they hurried past, anxious to board their flights. The FAA “periodically” sent agents through airport security “with instructions to mimic the behavioral profile of a hijacker. In most cases, nothing happens,” Davis noted.20 What no one envisioned in 1972 was forming a new federal agency, one tasked with providing airline and airport security, what we now know as the Transportation Security Administration (TSA), which was instituted in November 2001. Most still assumed that it was the airline’s responsibility to pay for security. The last thing the airlines, FAA, or FBI wanted was vigilantes intervening. Months after he crashed his Cadillac into the landing gear of American 119 in St. Louis, David Hanley was still struggling to recover from his injuries. He developed blood clots in his legs and “nearly died on the way to the hospital,” his mother-​in-​law told a reporter. He rarely left home and could not walk for six months. A year after the crash, Hanley said he had no memory of the event. “My mind is a blank from 6 o’clock that night to two weeks later.” Despite his injuries, Hanley was charged with willfully damaging a civil aircraft, a federal offense punishable by up to twenty years in prison and a $20,000 fine. Months after the hijacking, prosecutors were still moving forward with the case even if it meant bringing “him in on a stretcher.” “We don’t need another hero like that,” a US attorney said. “People should just stay away from these things and let the FBI handle it.” Hanley also faced financial liabilities. He lost his business, and his income disappeared. Auto Club of Missouri, his car insurance company, refused to pay for damages from the crash, including more than $100,000 assessed for the plane. Auto Club argued that the crash was intentional and therefore not an accident. Three years later, a jury agreed, freeing the insurer from liability. The City of St. Louis sued Hanley for the fence he rammed through. The federal charges were dropped in June 1973, a year after the crash, in part because Hanley was still struggling with his injuries.21 That December, Donna Hanley filed for divorce, and David was arrested for a traffic violation and writing a bad check. More legal troubles followed, and he became estranged from his daughters. In 1976, Hanley announced that he was running for governor of Missouri and then for president.22

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In 1963, Arthur Barkley was fired by a Phoenix bakery, which also refused to pay him nineteen days’ sick leave. Barkley decided to take the nineteen days’ pay from his income taxes, which resulted in a bill for $471.78 on his 1964 tax return. Barkley appealed all the way to the US Supreme Court, which declined to hear his case without comment in March 1970. He was determined to make the government pay. Neighbors had mixed impressions of Barkley, forty-​nine, a World War II Navy veteran. He and his wife owned a ranch house on two and a half acres in Phoenix, two Cadillacs, and a couple of horses. But Barkley had not worked since 1966, and his wife supported the family. A former boss described him as “unpredictable.” “He was real conscientious, but he was kind of a screwball. You never knew what was coming next.” A neighbor called him “crazy as a loon.”1 On June 4, 1970, Barkley used a .38 pistol to hijack TWA Flight 486 after it took off from Phoenix. At first, it looked like any other take-​me-​to-​Cuba hijacking. “The atmosphere was not tense. You could call it a subdued cocktail party,” a passenger said. But Barkley did not want to go to Cuba. Instead, he wanted $100 million. In addition to the pistol, Barkley had a straight razor and a gallon can of gasoline that he had carried on board. Skipping a scheduled stop at St. Louis, the 727 landed at Dulles Airport near Washington, DC. At Dulles, $100,750 was hurriedly collected from two nearby banks and put into brown canvas bags. Captain Billy Williams, who had flown Raffaele Minichiello to Rome the previous fall, carried the money on board. It was the first ransom paid to a US hijacker. The airline hoped that it would be enough to satisfy Barkley. One hundred million dollars in small bills was a ridiculous amount of cash in any event. It would have weighed more

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than 11,000 pounds even if it was all in twenty-​dollar bills. When Barkley cut the first bag open, it was full of ones. Back in the air, Barkley ordered the pilots to radio President Richard Nixon and tell him, “You don’t know how to count money.” He also had messages for the Supreme Court and other government agencies. For eight hours, the 727 flew south, then north, going as far as Elmira, New York, then back to Washington, where it landed a second time at Dulles, at 4:05 p.m. During the flight, passengers bet on their destination. When they headed south, “we said it’s got to be Cuba,” passenger James Belch recalled. When they flew north, “we all said it’s got to be Russia.” When they turned back to Dulles, “we were all confused,” Belch said. “Nobody won. We came right back here.” Barkley now demanded one hundred potato sacks filled with hundred-​ dollar bills or larger. TWA filled sacks with shredded paper and placed them on the runway, as Barkley had instructed. He seemed unstable and capable of anything.2 After they had landed at Dulles a second time, the FBI decided to shoot out the plane’s tires. “All of a sudden I hear this popping noise,” said stewardess Robyn Urrea. “Everyone was up in the aisle. It was pandemonium, panic.” Barkley pulled back the curtain between coach and first class and saw passengers running down the lowered aft stairs. “Close the aft door!” he yelled. When everyone ignored him, “he just stood there. He didn’t do anything,” Urrea said. Other passengers escaped out the emergency window exits onto the wings.3 As passengers ran into the grass along the runway, Barkley shot at two FBI agents who had climbed onto a wing. Captain Dale Hupe and copilot Donald Salmonson tackled Barkley, who shot Hupe in the abdomen during the scuffle. The bullet exited out his back. Hupe walked off the plane to an ambulance and returned to flying after recovering from surgery. Barkley was found innocent by reason of insanity. Though he had failed, he had stumbled onto the next big thing in airline hijackings: extortion. Others followed.4 On May 28, 1971, a year after the Barkley hijacking and two weeks before Gregory White shot and killed Howard Franks, James Bennett boarded Eastern Air Lines Flight 30 from Miami to New York. As the plane approached LaGuardia Airport, Bennett grabbed a stewardess and told her that he had a letter for the captain. He showed her a cigarette lighter and told her it was full of acid that he would throw in her face if she did not comply. Bennett also claimed to have explosives strapped to his waist and was wearing a belt with wires sticking out.

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In the cockpit, he read his letter to the pilot, laying out his main point, which was a grudge against his wife, Lorraine. He also wanted to talk with Frederick Kowsky, an assistant chief inspector with the New York Police Department, and Martha Mitchell, the colorful wife of US Attorney General John Mitchell, whom he described as “the ideal woman.” Bennett was a former New York City motorcycle cop and US Marine. He joined the force in 1955 and retired in 1970 for “medical reasons.” Lorraine Bennett later said that he had a history of mental illness. An Eastern manager who boarded the plane after it landed in New York described him as “slightly incoherent with a slur in his voice.”5 At LaGuardia, Bennett let the 132 passengers and four of the stewardesses off as the plane was refueled. He said he wanted to go to Shannon, Ireland, but once airborne, he changed his mind, telling the pilots to fly to Nassau in the Bahamas. There he wanted someone from the Irish Republican Army (IRA) to meet the plane, along with half a million dollars from Eastern Air Lines. He wanted the money placed on the runway, in front of a car with its lights on and two hostages inside, a man and a woman. They landed at Nassau at 1:26 a.m. John O’Neill, Eastern Air Lines vice president and chief pilot, pretending to be the IRA representative, tackled Bennett as he walked off the plane. They never found any acid. The explosives turned out to be packs of mints stuffed in his pants. Bennett admitted to a Bahamian detective that he did not know why he did it. “He said he would have taken the money, got drunk for a while, and then returned what’s left,” the detective said. Bennett was acquitted by reason of insanity. Bennett told one of the pilots that he had gotten the idea for the hijacking from the movie Doomsday Flight, which he had recently seen on television. In the movie, written by Rod Serling, a man telephones an airline to say that he has placed a bomb on a flight from Los Angeles to New York and demands $100,000 to reveal where it is hidden. The bomb has an altimeter, set to go off as the jet descends. As the crew frantically searches the plane, the bomber has a heart attack while drinking at a bar and dies, but not before telling the bartender that the device is set to go off at 4,000 feet. Disaster is avoided by landing at Denver, where the airport is at 5,300 feet. The bomb, it turns out, was hidden in the pilot’s chart case.6 “I didn’t realize there were that many kooks in the woodwork,” Serling told a journalist after the hijacking. “I wish I had written a stagecoach drama starring John Wayne instead.”7 Over time, airline-​hijacking movies became darker, reflecting the new realities of air piracy. Skyjacked was released in 1972, a year after the Bennett

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attempt. The plot revolves around a hard-​drinking, mentally unstable Army sergeant who hijacks a flight from Los Angeles to Minneapolis with a pistol, a machine gun, grenades, and a fake bomb. The sergeant diverts the plane to Anchorage, where he shoots a news photographer while the passengers in coach escape down the rear emergency slide, leaving the first-​class passengers behind. He then orders the captain to fly to Moscow. Along the way, a woman gives birth (because why not?), and an FBI agent hiding under the cockpit floor nearly freezes to death. In Moscow, the hijacker shoots the captain, played by Charlton Heston, before he is himself gunned down by Russian soldiers. The remaining crew and passengers are led away at gunpoint. Skyjacked was playing at a theater in Peru, Indiana, when Martin McNally landed there in June 1972.

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D.B. Cooper, Martin McNally, and the other parachute hijackers did not invent air piracy. They redefined it. “Take me to Cuba” was a fixture of American culture in the late 1960s, but by the end of 1971, hijackings to the island were all but over. By then, several hijackers had demanded ransoms instead of a ride to Havana, but they were all mentally unstable and did not have a plausible plan for absconding with the cash. Paul Cini was the first hijacker to put on a parachute, though he never made it out of the plane. Born in Glasgow, Scotland, Cini moved to Canada with his family when he was seventeen. He joined a gang of car thieves and spent ten months in the US Army. After leaving the Army in 1966, he returned to Calgary and got a job selling music records. In the fall of 1970, Cini saw a television news report about an airline hijacking. “I was thinking to myself how stupid it was for a person to be doing that,” he said. “How in hell was he going to get away?” A parachute seemed the obvious answer. Over the next several months, he collected gear: a parachute and goggles, a wig and a ski mask, fifty-​four sticks of dynamite, a shotgun he sawed off, and an M-​14 rifle. There was no security at the Calgary Airport when Cini boarded an Air Canada DC-​8 on November 12, 1971, lugging his arsenal on board. He told the crew he was a member of the Irish Republican Army and demanded $1.5 million. At Great Falls, Montana, he was given a briefcase with $50,000 and let the passengers deplane. Cini said that he was too scared to jump, that he was only stalling for time, when the purser hit him on the head with a fire axe, ending the hijacking. “I guess I wanted the recognition,” Cini said in 1978. Cini received four life sentences. He was paroled in 1984 and arrested for assaulting a prostitute with a knife in 1987.1

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Cini was quickly forgotten when, less than two weeks later, D.B. Cooper parachuted from the aft stairs of a 727 and vanished into the night. More than a dozen copycats followed in the next year, though only five jumped: Richard LaPoint, Richard McCoy, Frederick Hahneman, Robb Heady, and Martin McNally. Most hijackers who demanded parachutes did so as a distraction. They had no intention of using them. Pacific Southwest Airlines did not have metal detectors at the Sacramento Airport when Dimitr Alexiev and Michael Azmanoff boarded Flight 710 to Hollywood Burbank Airport via San Francisco on July 5, 1972, two weeks after the hijacking of American 119. By the end of the day, three people would be dead and two wounded.2 Armed with pistols, Alexiev and Azmanoff seized control of the Boeing 737 twenty minutes after takeoff. The plane landed at San Francisco at 10:24 a.m., took off again twenty minutes later, and then landed a second time at 11:42 a.m. Positioned at the front of the cabin, Alexiev told the captain that he wanted $800,000, two parachutes, and navigation charts for Canada, Alaska, and Siberia, their new destination. They sat on the runway for four hours, with Azmanoff guarding the passengers from the back of the cabin and Alexiev at the front. “There were a few moments of near-​panic,” one passenger recalled, until “one of the stewardesses” managed to calm everyone down. After the stewardess restored order, Azmanoff told her to have the passengers clasp their hands behind their heads and face forward. “Do not drop your hands or turn around,” she instructed them. “Your lives may depend on it.” A passenger who was a former newspaper reporter later described Alexiev as “very calm” and “what you would call handsome, dressed in a dark brown suit with a tie.” Azmanoff also wore a suit. “They looked like businessmen . . . both wore sunglasses and both had their hair bleached blond.”3 At around 3:30 p.m., a stewardess told the eighty-​one passengers that they would be permitted to leave in fifteen or twenty minutes. Everyone cheered and applauded. The FBI had other ideas. Twenty minutes later, an FBI agent in a pilot’s uniform boarded the plane with his hands over his head. Behind him, three agents who had been hiding under the wing rushed on board. One shot Alexiev twice with a shotgun, killing him. Azmanoff fired wildly from the back until he was out of ammunition and then ducked behind a partition. An agent fired a shotgun blast through the divider, after which agents moving to the back of the cabin shot Azmanoff four times, killing him.4

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E. H. Stanley Carter was a former conductor for Canadian National Railways. He and his wife, Lillian, were married in 1939, and he had retired in 1970. They had sold everything and left Quebec on their way to their “dream home” in San Diego. When the shooting started, Carter sat up and was shot in the back. “I’m shot. They got me, Lil—​I’m done for. Kiss me,” he reportedly said to his wife. He was pronounced dead at a nearby hospital.5 Two other passengers were wounded, though not critically. Victor Sen Yung, who played the Chinese cook Hop Sing on the television show Bonanza, was shot in his left lower back as he rolled out of his seat onto the floor. Another man was shot in the neck. Both were whisked away in ambulances and recovered after surgery.6 The case was not as simple as it first seemed. Alexiev and Azmanoff had no intention of going to Siberia. Russia was the last place they wanted to end up. They also had two accomplices. Alexiev and Azmanoff, both twenty-​eight, were political refugees from Bulgaria. Azmanoff had arrived in the US in November 1968, sponsored by the World Council of Churches. He served in the US Army as a truck driver before moving to the Bay Area. Alexiev arrived in San Francisco in 1970 by way of Beirut and New Jersey. He had attended medical school for two years in Bulgaria. He told a friend that he could never go back. He drove a cab and married Joan Day, divorced mother of three, in a Greek Orthodox church in the spring of 1972. Milt Henke, the owner of a cab company for which Alexiev had previously worked, was “extremely shocked” to hear about the hijacking. “He’s just not the type to do that. He was a hard-​working guy, pretty quiet and not very outgoing, but pleasant, nonetheless,” Henke said. Friends remembered that he avoided confrontations. When the coroner examined Alexiev’s body, he found a slip of paper with a latitude and longitude scribbled on it: 52 degrees, 7 minutes north, 124 degrees, 10 minutes west. The coordinates corresponded to a remote airstrip near Puntzi Lake in British Columbia, two hundred miles north of Vancouver. The airfield, mostly abandoned and used on occasion by the forest service, had a nearly 6,000-​foot runway, long enough to land a 737. A “bad gravel road” led to the airstrip, but reaching it would be “no sweat at all by small plane,” said Mike Newman, who oversaw a remote weather station at the field. Investigators also found two inflatable dummies in the hijackers’ bags, which explained the parachutes. They apparently planned to strap the parachutes to the dummies and toss them from the plane as decoys.7

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Lubomir Peichev was a former Bulgarian Air Force pilot who had also flown crop dusters and passenger planes for TABSO, Bulgaria’s government-​owned airline. His father had been blacklisted by Bulgaria’s Communist government, and he had been passed over for a position flying the new commercial jets. He arrived in the US in April 1967, married, and had a son. He worked at a machine shop in Oakland at the time of the hijacking.8 On the weekend of June 16–​19, 1972, two weeks before the hijacking, Peichev, Alexiev, and Azmanoff all traveled to Vancouver and chartered a small plane to fly to the Puntzi airstrip. Two days before the hijacking, Peichev withdrew $1,700 from the bank and borrowed a gun. He flew to Seattle and took the bus to Vancouver. On July 4, the day before the hijacking, Peichev, “neatly dressed” in a conservative dark suit, walked into a Dollar-​a-​Day car rental in Vancouver. With his California driver’s license and a large roll of cash, he rented a yellow Monte Carlo station wagon, putting down a hundred-​dollar deposit, which was ten times the daily rental rate. He told the rental agent that he was paying in cash so that his wife would not know he was in Vancouver. She smiled, shook her finger at him, and said, “No, no.”9 On the day of the hijacking, Peichev chartered a Cessna 172 at Campbell River on Vancouver Island, using the name Tom Cuze. He told pilot Bert Storvoid that he was a real estate investor and wanted to look over the area around Bella Coola, 170 miles north of Campbell River. “He was well-​ dressed and well-​spoken and appeared quite normal,” Storvoid later recalled. He carried a “fancy transistor radio and briefcase he refused to let out of his grasp.” Over Bella Coola, Peichev told Storvoid that since it was such a nice day, he wanted to continue east to Puntzi Mountain. They landed at the Puntzi airstrip at around 8:30 p.m. and stayed the night in a nearby cabin. Peichev spent a lot of time listening to his radio. The next morning, he appeared “in a hurry” to leave, Storvoid remembered. They took off at 6:10 a.m. and arrived at Campbell River an hour and ten minutes later. Peichev caught the next Pacific Western Airlines flight to Vancouver.10 The plan had been to force the 737 to land at the Puntzi airstrip and leave the plane and crew there, along with Storvoid. Peichev would then fly Alexiev and Azmanoff to Hope, a small Canadian town about one hundred miles from Vancouver, near the Washington State border, where they would abandon the Cessna and rendezvous with a fourth accomplice, Illia Shishkoff. The four would then drive to a rented apartment near Vancouver. From there, they would fly to Germany. They already had the tickets.

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At 9:30 on the morning of July 6, the day after the failed hijacking, Peichev called Dollar-​a-​Day to say that someone else would return the car. He left a phone number for that person to call. The man who returned the car half an hour later had a “European” accent and appeared apprehensive. He threw up his hands when the rental agent gave him the phone number.11 Peichev was arrested a week after the shootout. Joan Alexiev testified that her husband, Azmanoff, and Shishkoff often talked at her home in Hayward about how to commit the perfect crime. Shishkoff was granted immunity and testified that Peichev had done most of the planning. According to Peichev, it was Shishkoff who had recruited him, along with Alexiev and Azmanoff. The money was intended to fund an armed insurgency to overthrow the Communist government in Bulgaria. Peichev, Alexiev, and Azmanoff planned to return to California after delivering the money in Germany. Alexiev and Azmanoff had bleached their hair and worn sunglasses, hoping to disguise their appearance. Peichev was sentenced to life in prison on December 21, 1972. He served thirteen years, earning two college degrees while in prison.12 The FBI’s response to the hijacking set a new precedent. It was the first time the Bureau had stormed a plane full of passengers, reflecting the increasingly violent nature of extortion hijackings. Hijackings to Cuba had been straightforward, amounting to little more than an unscheduled stop. Extortion hijackings were necessarily more complicated, with the inherent uncertainty of a bank robbery.13 Parachutes quickly became a part of the script. There were six hijackings between D.B. Cooper in November 1971 and Alexiev and Azmanoff in July 1972 in which the culprits demanded parachutes but did not jump. Everett Leary Holt was an honor student and a Quaker from Greenfield, Indiana. He had recently dropped out of Indiana University and let his hair grow to shoulder length. On December 24, 1971, a month after D.B. Cooper, Holt hijacked a Minneapolis-​Chicago-​Miami flight. Carrying a .38 revolver and a bag that he said contained dynamite, he demanded $300,000 and two parachutes. After a five-​hour standoff at Chicago’s O’Hare Airport, Holt surrendered without a struggle. There was no dynamite, and the pistol had only blanks. Holt was committed to a psychiatric hospital with the charges dismissed in 1975.14 Billy Eugene Hurst, twenty-​two, hijacked a Braniff 727 after it left Houston on January 12, 1972. Hurst, an overweight, disheveled forklift driver from Houston, waved a .22-​caliber pistol and said he had a bomb in his black zippered bag. He bragged that he had an IQ of 138, hated women, smoked marijuana, “used pills,” and had tried heroin. He also admitted that he was a

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“born loser.” He wanted $1 million, jungle-​survival gear, ten parachutes, and a .357 Magnum pistol. He told the crew he wanted to fly to South America and parachute into the jungle. Hurst let the ninety-​three passengers deplane at Dallas Love Field. For nearly seven hours, the plane sat at the far end of the airport while mechanics pretended to work on the engines. The three pilots and four stewardesses managed “casually” to gather at the front of the plane, near the door, while Hurst sat in the back, waiting for them to bring him food and coffee. “Run!” yelled Captain Tom Hill. They scrambled down the steps and scattered in different directions. Thirty minutes later, FBI agents boarded the plane, and Hurst surrendered. He got twenty years.15 Stanley Harlan Speck was “writing the great American novel,” said his mother, Marian Halford. On April 9, 1972, the same day Richard McCoy was arrested in Provo, Utah, Speck, thirty-​one, hijacked a Pacific Southwest Airlines 727 shortly after it left Oakland for San Diego. The family sitting across the aisle from Speck was most impressed by how many notes he wrote, evidently instructions for the crew. “He must have used up a tablet of paper writing all those notes,” remembered the father, who was traveling with his wife and young daughters. In one note, Speck demanded $500,000 and four parachutes. Subsequent notes said he had a grenade and a gun and wanted to go to Miami. Speck was a graduate of Stanford University, with a degree in political science. He had done graduate work at the University of California at Davis and was driving a taxi in San Francisco until a few months before the hijacking. “I wonder if he thinks he’s doing research for his book,” his mother subsequently speculated. After Speck let the eighty-​five passengers deplane in San Diego, pilot Arthur Steck told him that he needed extra maps to fly to Miami. Steck did not think the trick would work, but Speck fell for it. When he left the plane to get the maps, FBI agents hiding under the stairs tackled and arrested him. There was no bomb, and he was unarmed. Speck’s ex-​wife described him as “a kind and gentle man, quite at a loss in the modern world.” In court, he said that his name was Robert Winston Jefferson. He told a psychiatrist that the Mafia was after him. He was sent to a mental hospital in December 1972 and released the following year.16 On June 2, 1972, the same day that Robb Heady hijacked and jumped from a 727 at Reno, William Roger Holder and Catherine Kerkow seized a Western Airlines flight as it approached Seattle, a story brilliantly told by Brendan Koerner in The Skies Belong to Us. Holder initially demanded five

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parachutes but relented when told they were not available. The parachutes were only a diversion. Algeria granted Holder and Kerkow asylum but returned the $500,000 ransom to Western.17 Daniel Bernard Carre was stopped while trying to board a Hughes Air West flight in Seattle on June 30, 1972, a week after the hijacking of American 119. Carre’s appearance and behavior fit the hijacker profile, but he did not have a weapon and was permitted to board. En route to Salt Lake City via Portland, Carre told a stewardess that he had a knife. “I want to jump out over Pocatello—​and, by the way, I want $50,000 and a parachute,” he said, adding the parachute almost as an afterthought. Several passengers overheard the conversation, but “nobody seemed alarmed,” one remembered. After the plane landed and the Portland-​bound passengers got off, US marshals went on board and arrested Carre, who was unarmed. He was placed in an Oregon mental hospital.18 Within a week of the hijacking of PSA Flight 710 by Alexiev and Azmanoff, there were three more hijackings involving parachutes. Vietnam was Francis Goodell’s undoing, as it had been for so many other hijackers. “Everyone here is pretty nervous, especially when those explosions go off,” he had written to his family from Pleiku, in the central highlands of Vietnam. “Everyone wants Nixon to get us out of this hellhole. I firmly believe that I am in Vietnam to receive some sort of punishment for past sins.” When he returned home after a year, “we saw discordant things right off,” his father said. “And God was he nervous. He couldn’t sit in one place for a minute at a time. He was popping up and down, fidgety and shaky, and he was chain-​smoking after having never touched a cigarette in his life. He was like a driven spirit.” He wanted to bring his Vietnamese girlfriend to the US and made “bizarre” phone calls to the Pentagon.19 Goodell, then twenty-​one, went AWOL from Fort Riley, Kansas, on June 30, 1972. Six days later, armed with a pistol he concealed in the back waistband of his pants, he hijacked a PSA 727 after it took off from Oakland en route to Sacramento, demanding $455,000, a parachute, and two pairs of handcuffs. Everyone had heard about the shooting the day before of hijackers Alexiev and Azmanoff and three passengers on board another PSA flight. “I was more afraid of landing at an airport where some heroes would come in and shoot us,” a passenger recalled. “I was more afraid of the rescuers’ bullets than the skyjacker,” another said. Like everyone else, they were aware that hijackings were becoming more dangerous.20

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Franz Lingnau understood the danger as well as anyone. He had been on the flight hijacked by Alexiev and Azmanoff the day before. Now he was on the PSA flight hijacked by Goodell, making him the first person hijacked twice on consecutive days. “I’d like to know the odds on this,” said Lingnau, who was from Sacramento. “I spent 18 hours on hijacked planes and I can drive to Burbank faster than that.”21 Goodell was calm and polite. When a mother traveling with two young daughters told him that the girls were afraid of his gun, he allowed them to move forward where they would not see it. He allowed passengers to use the lavatory and ordered drinks for everyone. “He was cool and collected,” said Lloyd Turner, a California Highway Patrol officer and passenger on the flight.22 Turner was carrying his .38 revolver, which he had forgotten to declare when he boarded and which airport security somehow missed. At San Diego, after the money and parachutes were delivered, Goodell allowed the passengers and stewardesses to leave but asked for a volunteer to stay on the plane. Turner volunteered. Goodell told the pilot to fly back to Oakland, where he wanted a helicopter waiting. He had a car parked at an Oakland hotel and evidently hoped to use the helicopter to reach it.23 Turner thought about shooting Goodell. Instead, he handed over his gun and told him that he was a cop. Goodell handcuffed him, and for the next several hours, they talked as they flew back to Oakland. “I kept talking to him about his family,” Turner recalled. He also told Goodell that he would likely be shot when he got off the plane before he made it to the helicopter. After sitting on the ground in Oakland for more than an hour, Goodell agreed to surrender, uncuffing Turner and handing him his gun. Turner told reporters he wanted to testify on behalf of Goodell, who was “well worth saving.” “I think he considers me a friend and I will help him,” Turner said.24 The court was less forgiving. The same judge who had sentenced Peichev to life gave Goodell thirty years. The day after the hijacking, President Nixon ordered the FAA to step up security on commuter airlines.25 Less than a week after the Goodell attempt, there were two hijackings on the same day. Michael Stanley Green and Lulseged Tesfa were almost caught before they got on the plane. Tesfa, wearing a cast and a sling on his right arm, was questioned by a US marshal after attempting to buy a ticket at a Delta Airlines counter and then running away. When both men produced identification, they were allowed on National Airlines Flight 496 in Philadelphia. The flight originated in Miami, bound for New York with stops in Orlando

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and Philadelphia. National was not using metal detectors in Philadelphia at the time. Tesfa had a sawed-​off shotgun concealed in the sling on his arm. Green had a pistol in a hollowed-​out book. As they approached New York, Tesfa put the shotgun to the head of a stewardess. The hijackers demanded $600,000 and 20,000 Mexican pesos, three parachutes, and a replacement plane waiting for them back in Philadelphia. They claimed to have a bomb, which turned out to be books stuffed into a Smith-​Corona portable typewriter case. The 727 circled the Philadelphia Airport until it was almost out of fuel before landing. Fearing that the FBI would storm the plane, the hijackers ordered Captain Elliot Adams to take off without refueling. Knowing they were nearly out of fuel, Adams swerved off the runway and through the grass, jerking to a stop a hundred yards from the terminal. Adams dived out the small cockpit window, fracturing his skull and breaking an arm when he hit the pavement. He had been alone in the cockpit at the time. The hijackers had taken copilot Norman Reagan and flight engineer Gerald Beaver back to the main cabin. Reagan’s hands were tied, and Tesfa had the shotgun to his neck. For nine hours, the hijackers held the crew and 111 passengers on the ground. The plane ran out of fuel, and the electrical system quit. Temperatures in the cabin soared to 130 degrees. Nearly every seat of the stretch 727 was full, including a pregnant woman and a man with a heart condition. Passengers, too scared to get up, peed in their seats. The stewardesses moved fainting passengers to the front of the cabin. “We were only allowed to use one oxygen tank for five or six people,” stewardess Linda Joiner recalled.26 “It was like a pressure cooker in there for three or four hours,” a passenger said. “A lot of people were in bad shape. There were a couple of people in shock, I think.” When a replacement 727 arrived from Miami with $500,000 and parachutes, Green and Tesfa forced the two remaining pilots and four stewardesses to transfer to the new plane at gunpoint, leaving the passengers behind. As they flew south, Joiner talked with Green, asking him about his family and building a connection. Over Texas, Tesfa ordered pilot Reagan, a former Air Force fighter pilot, to fly to Kingston, Jamaica. Without enough fuel to reach the island, the crew knew they had to do something. When Tesfa left the cockpit, Beaver slammed the door behind him. Reagan put the plane through a series of high-​speed dives and then rolled the plane to throw the hijackers off balance. Debris from the cabin and blue dye from the toilets went everywhere. Tesfa accidentally fired the shotgun, blasting a hole in the galley floor.

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Pulling out of a dive, Reagan headed for the beach, intending to ditch just offshore. Then he spotted a private airfield with a 5,000-​foot runway owned by Dow Chemical near Lake Jackson, Texas, south of Houston. He brought the 727 in hot, blowing out tires as he braked hard on the short runway. Reagan and Beaver tumbled out of the cockpit windows, leaving the stewardesses and hijackers behind. Beaver, who had earlier been accidentally shot in the thigh by Green as they boarded the second plane, ran into the nearby woods. Reagan broke a wrist, his pelvis, and a rib when he fell. Surrounded by FBI agents, the hijackers demanded a small plane to fly them to Mexico with the money and hostages. One stewardess crawled out the window exit to convey the hijackers’ demands to the FBI. During the tense standoff, Tesfa told Green that they should start shooting the stewardesses and throw the bodies out the window to prove they were serious. He told Joiner to stand by the open emergency exit. She turned to Green and grabbed his hands. “Please, God, don’t let him kill me,” she said. “She doesn’t have to go,” Green told Tesfa. When Tesfa turned to another stewardess, Green again told him no. From the start, it had been clear that Tesfa was in charge. Now Green intervened to stop a disaster. After eight hours, Tesfa and Green gave up. They let the stewardesses throw the guns out the emergency wing exit, and everyone walked off the plane together. The entire ordeal had lasted twenty-​two hours.27 When the drama ended, Joiner and the other stewardesses kissed Green on the cheek in thanks for keeping Tesfa from shooting them. They also kissed Tesfa, who seemed bewildered. They were all exhausted, and Stockholm syndrome had begun to set in. They had not eaten or slept since the flight began. “We were all crying when we left the plane . . . it was a very strange time for all of us,” Joiner said. After they exited the plane, the FBI agents asked Joiner and the other stewardesses where they wanted to go. “To a bar,” they said. Still wearing the uniforms they had had on for nearly two days, including hours in a packed cabin at 130 degrees, they found a bar where patrons bought them drinks as stories about the hijacking aired on the bar’s television.28 Details about the hijackers soon emerged. Green, thirty-​four, was a parking-​lot attendant from Washington, DC. He testified that he had suffered a serious head injury at age nine and dropped out of the seventh grade at sixteen. His parking-​lot job paid ninety cents an hour, and he worked sixty hours a week. He had six children but was separated from his wife. Green was sentenced to fifty years in prison. He was released in July 1984.29

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Tesfa, twenty-​two, was a former student at Howard University who came to the US from Ethiopia on a student visa. He had checked out the books crammed into the Smith-​Corona typewriter case from the Howard library. Tesfa met Green while they briefly worked at the same parking lot. Later they roomed with Green’s sister in Washington. Tesfa was sentenced to sixty years. He was released in July 1982.30 On the same day that Green and Tesfa hijacked the National Airlines flight in Philadelphia, Melvin Martin Fisher commandeered an American Airlines 727 after it took off from Oklahoma City en route to Dallas. He had a gun and a briefcase he said contained a bomb. Fisher was an unemployed house painter, former bootlegger, and father of six from Norman, Oklahoma. He was divorced, was in debt, and had not worked since 1966. He was scheduled to go on trial the next month in Texas for fraud involving charging fees to obtain loans through a phony corporation. In 1964, he ran for sheriff in McClain County, Oklahoma, finishing last. Fisher demanded $550,000 in hundred-​dollar bills and a parachute. He wanted to pick up the money in Fort Worth, but bad weather forced the pilot of the 727, Charles Dodds, to return to Oklahoma City. After refueling, Fisher ordered Dodds to take off and circle the city until everything was ready. They circled for more than three hours before landing. At around 2:40 a.m., the passengers were exchanged for a parachute and $200,000, which was marked with a blue or purple dye. Back in the air, Fisher had the 727’s aft stairs lowered.31 Then he lost his nerve. For two hours, Fisher ordered Dodds to fly to locations near Oklahoma City while he peered into the darkness. Finally, Dodds told Fisher he would either have to jump or let them land to refuel. Otherwise, “the plane would go down into a river bottom,” Dodds said. “I’ve had enough,” Fisher told a stewardess. He handed her the gun, which was empty, and surrendered. There was no bomb. Fisher claimed that he had been impaired by pain pills. It took a jury fifty minutes to find him guilty. He got life in prison.32 During these hijackings, the experiences of the passengers varied but began to shift. Despite the trauma of sitting for hours in a sweltering cabin with armed hijackers, the passengers on board the National flight hijacked by Green and Tesfa were surprisingly understanding. “I really wasn’t scared too much. Maybe a little, but it was exciting in a way,” said one, an eighteen-​ year-​old student at Hofstra University. “Never once during the whole thing did I feel any hate for the two hijackers,” another said. “These were two poor

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guys who had a wild dream about this thing working—​about how to get rich quick—​and they thought they could pull it off.”33 Others were running out of patience. Two passengers aboard the American flight hijacked by Fisher sued for more than $2 million each, alleging negligence on the part of the airline. Passengers who boarded the flight during a stop in Chicago had been screened using metal detectors but not in Oklahoma City, where Fisher got on.34 The last hijacking of 1972 was perhaps the most harrowing, the sort of near-​disaster that everyone feared. Southern Airways Flight 49 departed Memphis for Birmingham shortly after six p.m. on November 10, 1972. Flying the twin-​engine DC-​9 were Captain William R. “Billy Bob” Haas and copilot Harold Johnson. Haas had joined Southern in 1959, when it flew DC-​3s. He and his wife had married in secret in 1961 because she was a stewardess with Delta, which at the time did not allow stewardesses to marry. Southern was a local-​service airline, mainly serving smaller airports across the Southeast. Commuter airlines like Southern were among the last to install metal detectors. The flying time from Birmingham to Montgomery was only fifteen minutes, not enough time for the usual cocktail service.35 As Haas began the descent to Montgomery, the folding door separating the cockpit from the main cabin was kicked open, and a man with a .38 Smith & Wesson pushed stewardess Donna Holman ahead of him into the cockpit. Pressing the gun to Haas’s head, the hijacker shouted, “Head north, Captain—​this is a hijacking!” “You’ve got it,” Haas replied. There were ten hijackers on the plane armed with pistols, hand grenades, and machine guns, the hijacker said. What followed was a thirty-​hour ordeal that took the plane north to Canada and south to Cuba, where it landed twice. It turned out there were three hijackers on board, each with a pistol and a grenade. Henry Jackson and Louis Moore were from Detroit, where they had been arrested for rape a month before. Racial tensions in Detroit peaked in the early 1970s after the city created a special police unit to fight street crime that largely targeted Blacks. In a 2016 interview in the Detroit Free Press, Moore—​then in his early seventies—​said that after he testified about police brutality at a grand jury, police charged him with a series of assaults, including rape, and threatened his wife and sons, ages one and three. The year before, Moore and Jackson had unsuccessfully sued the city for $4 million, alleging police brutality. The hijacking was an act of desperation to protect his family, Moore said.

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He and Jackson skipped bail and drove to Oak Ridge, Tennessee, where they picked up Moore’s half-​brother, Melvin Curd, who went by Melvin Cale. Cale had recently walked away from a minimum-​security prison at Nashville, where he had been serving a five-​year sentence for stealing four hundred dollars from a department-​store cash register. Before his escape, he had taken classes at Tennessee State University, using part of his time in the library to copy newspaper articles about previous hijackings. Together the three toured airports across the South in a station wagon with Michigan plates before deciding that Birmingham had the weakest security. When contacted for a comment during the hijacking, Jackson and Moore’s former lawyer Robert Cohn said, “Knowing them, if I were on that plane . . . with the frustrations that they have now, I would be scared out of my wits.”36 As the DC-​9 flew to Jackson, Mississippi, the hijackers demanded that all the male passengers strip down to their underwear, presumably to make sure that none was an armed sky marshal. One passenger, an Auburn University professor, later said that “the hijackers told passengers their ‘lives don’t make any difference.’ ” After refueling in Jackson, they ordered Haas to fly to Detroit.37 As was the case in nearly every hijacking, it was the stewardesses, Holman and Karen Ellis, who established a sense of calm and order in the cabin. On the way to Detroit, Holman came forward to tell Haas that all the men on the flight were in their underwear, which he had not known. Haas negotiated with the hijackers to allow the men to get dressed. Holman and Ellis retrieved their clothes from a pile in the rear and distributed them to their owners.38 As they approached Detroit, the hijackers demanded $10 million, ten parachutes, and stimulants to keep themselves and the pilots awake. They also wanted to speak directly to the mayor, the police chief, and a district attorney. The three had been drinking steadily since leaving Mississippi, availing themselves of the miniature liquor bottles kept on board. On a Friday night, $10 million would be nearly impossible to get, particularly since the hijackers demanded that the money come directly from the City of Detroit, which they believed owed them. Bad weather had closed down the Detroit Airport, so they agreed to stop in Cleveland to refuel. On the way, one of the passengers, in his eighties, apparently had a heart attack.39 Jackson made one passenger, Rita Tidwell, sit beside him for most of the flight. Tidwell was an off-​duty Delta stewardess on her way to Miami. “Henry said he saw me in Birmingham and thought I was pretty,” Tidwell later recalled. “We talked about everything imaginable—​my job, his job, my family, things in general.” Jackson kept trying to kiss her and told her he

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wanted to “steal” her. When she refused his advances, he accused her of being a “policewoman” and “grabbed me and made me go to the back of the plane and threatened me with the worst that could happen to a woman.”40 From Cleveland, they flew to Toronto. On the way, Ellis scolded the hijackers for drinking so much and locked the liquor cabinet. Meanwhile, another Southern DC-​9 with a portion of the ransom money and a contingent of FBI agents left Chicago’s Midway Airport to rendezvous at Toronto. As had been the case at Cleveland, the hijackers demanded that Haas keep the engines running while they refueled. Enraged that the flight from Chicago was only carrying $500,000, the hijackers ordered Haas to take off and fly to Oak Ridge, Tennessee. They threatened to crash the plane into the facility that had produced enriched uranium for the Manhattan Project during World War II and still operated nuclear reactors and test facilities.41 Low on fuel, the DC-​9 touched down in Lexington, Kentucky, at 9:35 a.m., now more than twelve hours since the hijacking had begun. The plane’s engines had been kept running the entire time. Staying on the ground only long enough to refuel, Southern Flight 49 climbed back over Oak Ridge. Meanwhile, a Navy DC-​6, piloted by a reservist and Eastern Air Lines pilot, landed at Atlanta, where it picked up FBI agents from Detroit armed with the Bureau’s standard shotguns, Thompson submachine guns, and .308 rifles with scopes. Several of the Detroit agents, including Roger Schweickert, had helped track down Martin McNally. In Atlanta, mechanics from Southern showed the agents how to disable the hijacked plane by removing the nose cone. Taking off from Atlanta, the DC-​6 joined the chase.42 Circling over Oak Ridge, the hijackers demanded to speak with President Nixon. They wanted a signed letter stating that the $10 million ransom would be a grant from the federal government and immunity from prosecution. Nixon was, of course, unavailable, though they did speak briefly with aide John Ehrlichman, who offered them little. In a fit of rage, Jackson held a grenade to Haas’s head and ordered him to dive the plane, aiming for Oak Ridge. “I was ready to die,” Moore later said. In the cabin, the passengers could feel the plane pitch forward, see its downward path out their windows. As air traffic controllers watched the plane plummet on their radar screens, they radioed that the money was on its way to Knoxville in a Learjet. It was enough for Jackson to let Haas pull out of the dive.43 As they approached Knoxville, the hijackers told Haas to land at Chattanooga instead and to have the Learjet land there, too. By abruptly changing destinations, they hoped to prevent the FBI from storming the

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plane. They did not know that a DC-​9 and a DC-​6, loaded with FBI agents, were shadowing their every move.44 At Chattanooga, the plane was refueled by Fred Vogt, the line manager of a fixed-​base operator. Vogt also had the responsibility of delivering the ransom money and supplies, loaded on his fuel truck. Since the hijackers would not open any of the plane’s doors, Vogt had to set a ladder against the nose and hand everything through a cockpit window. There were bulletproof vests weighing forty pounds each, riot helmets, two dozen boxes of fried chicken, trays of sandwiches, soft drinks, vats of coffee, and a six-​pack of beer. Vogt also carried mail sacks containing $2 million in ten-​and twenty-​dollar bills—​the money alone weighed 150 pounds—​up to the cockpit window and shoved them through. When Vogt reached into his pocket to retrieve the envelope of stimulants, Jackson nearly shot him, thinking he was reaching for a gun. The pills contained only sugar, but they exerted a short-​lived placebo effect on the hijackers and crew. The flight crew and hijackers were told that the mail sacks contained $10 million. The airline hoped that the sheer size of the ransom would overwhelm the hijackers and keep them from counting it. “No one knew,” copilot Johnson later said. As in other hijackings, the sight of the money made the hijackers giddy.45 All the while, the plane’s engines continued to run. They were now dangerously low on oil, but the hijackers would not allow Haas to shut them down for service. It was midday, and gawkers lined the perimeter fence, watching the drama unfold. Even with the money on board, the hijackers refused to release the passengers, fearing an assault if the doors were opened.46 Southern 49 took off again, this time for Havana. It touched down at José Martí Airport just before five p.m., now nearly twenty-​three hours and six landings after the ordeal began. On the ground, the hijackers demanded to speak with Fidel Castro. They hoped to strike a bargain with Castro, offering him part of the ransom in exchange for asylum. When they were told that would not be possible, they became alarmed by the icy reception and the dozens of soldiers surrounding the plane. They had expected a heroes’ welcome. To get the plane refueled, they threatened to start shooting passengers and tossing their bodies out the window. When soldiers began creeping up on the plane, they ordered Haas to take off before refueling was complete. Two hours after it landed, Southern 49 was back in the air, headed north.47 After refueling at Key West, the hijackers ordered Haas to turn east for Switzerland. The engines had not been shut down or serviced since the hijacking began. Exhaust and engine-​oil temperatures were running hot. Even

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if the engines held out, the DC-​9 had a maximum range of fifteen hundred miles. They would be at the bottom of the Atlantic before they were halfway across. Haas and his copilot Johnson had been at the controls for more than twenty-​four hours, with weapons held to their heads. The passengers were exhausted, too, the cabin strewn with food waste and boxes of uneaten chicken. But Haas was not giving up. He devised a plan to fly to Europe by way of Newfoundland and Iceland, in short enough segments for the DC-​9’s range. Jackson agreed, permitting Haas to turn west, back toward land. They would refuel and service the engines at Orlando. The DC-​9 and DC-​6 chase planes, which had turned back when Southern 49 landed in Cuba, were once again right behind.48 The agents from Detroit in the DC-​6 did not know about the other chase plane from Chicago. The Detroit agents planned to disable the plane by removing the nose cone, but as they approached the plane in Orlando, the agents from Chicago were already underneath. A fuel truck pulled up and began servicing the plane, with the engines running. The driver had just finished pouring one can of oil into the right engine when a hail of gunfire erupted as the Chicago agents began shooting out the tires. Agent Schweickert remembered bullets bouncing off the thick tires, ricocheting in all directions before they finally went flat. Copilot Johnson said it sounded “like popcorn in a microwave.” He and Haas had no idea this was coming. They could feel the plane settle on the deflated tires.49 Enraged, Moore threw Johnson out of his seat and began firing out the window and then into the galley. Grabbing Johnson, who had been forced back into the cabin, Jackson screamed that he would be the first to die. “Harold, stand up in your seat; I’m going to kill you,” Johnson remembered him saying. He dove for cover as Jackson fired. The bullet shattered his right arm, leaving him with a compound fracture, before lodging in his shoulder. Moore later said that the shooting was an “accident.” He had bumped into Jackson, whose gun went off, inadvertently hitting Johnson.50 Haas knew that if he did not act quickly, they might all be shot or blown to bits. He throttled up the engines, and the jet began to lumber forward, shredding the tires as metal rims ground on the runway. The airframe shook as it picked up speed. Fire leaped from the left engine, which had sucked in chunks of rubber from the blown tires. The agents under the plane were blasted by debris and hurled backward as the engines roared past them, only feet above their heads. Schweickert had moments in his career that he would not forget—​and some he could not. This was one of them.51 Against the odds, the DC-​9 began to fly.

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The pressurization system was no longer working, so Haas had to fly below 10,000 feet. Arguing among themselves, the hijackers finally decided that Cuba was better than nothing. The air in the cabin became stifling. As they approached the airport in Havana, passengers kicked out the emergency exit windows to let in fresh air.52 Thirty hours after the hijacking began, Southern 49 landed in a shower of sparks and a roar of grinding metal at Havana. This time, Castro himself was there to greet the crew and passengers, while the hijackers were arrested and led away. Johnson survived his wound, and the next day, Southern sent a DC-​9 to pick up everyone except the hijackers. The Cuban government kept the money. It took several years of negotiations for Southern to get it back.53 In Cuba, Moore and Jackson were sentenced to twenty years and Cale to fifteen. Conditions in the Cuban prisons were horrific. Moore later said that his teeth were pulled out with pliers and that he spent fourteen months in a cell that was welded shut. The three spent eight years as prisoners in Cuba before they were returned to the US in 1980, where they pleaded guilty to air piracy. Moore and Cale were sentenced to twenty years and Jackson to twenty-​five.54 Moore, Jackson, and Cale fit the extortion hijacker profile and made similar decisions. Like other hijackers, they had a history of emotional trauma, in this case the result of racial violence instead of war. They had a precipitating stressor that they felt powerless to overcome. For Moore and Jackson, it was their recent arrest for rape and threats against their families. They were daring but not criminally sophisticated. They carried both guns and bombs, making it more challenging to take them out. They claimed to have more associates than was the case and revealed their plan in pieces to keep authorities guessing. Initial news reports on the Southern 49 hijacking said that there were ten hijackers, in part because they requested ten parachutes. More than anything, the hijackers of this era were looking for respect, a way to give their lives meaning. Through a singular act of daring, they would prove that they were not failures. It was not primarily about the money. Most didn’t even bother to count it. The money was symbolic, as were the planes they targeted. A person who could control a jet airliner and demand millions deserved to be taken seriously, even admired. It meant they mattered. They would not be forgotten. D.B. Cooper had been no mere criminal, and neither were they.

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The Trial American Flight 119

He could not have picked a worse time to go on trial for air piracy. Martin McNally’s trial for the hijacking of American 119 began on December 5, 1972, at the end of a year of violence in the skies and less than four weeks after the hijacking of Southern Flight 49, which was widely covered in the press. The carefree take-​me-​to-​Cuba days were over. Earlier that summer, Time magazine had published an article with a title that captured public sentiment: “Skyjacking: Stopping Mad Dogs.”1 McNally’s prospects took another turn for the worse on November 29, less than a week before the start of his trial, when Walter Petlikowsky pleaded guilty and admitted that he had helped plan the hijacking and had driven McNally to the St. Louis airport and then picked him up in Peru, Indiana. By pleading guilty as an accessory after the fact, Petlikowsky avoided prosecution on two counts of air piracy. The following May, he was sentenced to ten years in federal prison.2 Most of the hijackers arrested in the US pleaded guilty or not guilty by reason of temporary insanity. They were caught red-​handed. There was no doubt they did it. McNally chose to fight to the end. Before the start of the trial, the psychiatric staff at the federal medical prison in Springfield, Missouri, evaluated McNally. Chief psychiatrist Dr. H. B. Fain said that McNally was antisocial, with “a somewhat strong need to maintain an unrealistically high self-​concept (and) the tendency to defensively present himself in the most favorable light possible.” McNally described himself to the Springfield psychiatrists as “a nice decent guy, easy going and easy to get along with.” He considered himself “a follower, rather than a leader.” None of this would have surprised anyone who knew McNally, particularly his tendency

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toward grandiosity. That, coupled with his penchant for taking advice from the wrong people, had gotten him to where he was now. Fain and his staff declared McNally competent to stand trial.3 When she saw him at the trial, Sharon Wetherley was surprised at how pale McNally appeared. He had been tanned at the time of the hijacking, one reason some of the eyewitnesses described him as having a dark complexion. After several months indoors, the tan had faded.4 McNally’s trial had an inevitability about it, which both sides seemed to acknowledge from the start. Most of the witnesses stayed at the same downtown hotel, within walking distance of the courthouse. Jennifer Dumanois and Diana Rash were given a suite with three bedrooms and a maid’s quarters. Wetherley and Jane Furlong had a smaller suite a floor below. The night after jury selection, there was a party in Dumanois and Rash’s suite, attended by the prosecutor, McNally’s defense attorneys, the pilots from the flight, the four stewardesses, and David Spellman, the hostage and American Airlines employee. “Drinks were flowing,” Wetherley remembered. The prevailing opinion among those gathered was that McNally wasn’t insane, just “stupid.” Later Wetherley and Spellman reconnected for a date in New York.5 From the start, McNally annoyed Judge John K. Regan and accused him of bias, demanding that Regan recuse himself. McNally repeatedly asked permission to fire his attorneys and represent himself. When Regan refused, McNally asked to be “allowed to personally object in court proceedings when it becomes necessary and the defense attorneys fail to do so.” No judge would have permitted that. Since his alleged crime involved a parachute jump, McNally “requested that the Court prove that such a jump was possible by having someone attempt to jump at the same speed, the same altitude.” He objected to having a marshal sit next to him because it left the impression that he was “trying to get away.” He complained that “the prosecutor has unnecessarily raised his voice and the tone of his voice when he mentions the word violence or anything related to violence.”6 The case against McNally was overwhelming. The prosecution presented testimony from fifty-​two people over the course of six days. They included stewardesses Furlong, Wetherley, Rash, and Dumanois, who had spent hours with McNally on the plane; pilots Art Koester and Leroy Berkebile; FBI agents from St. Louis, Indiana, and Detroit, including Tom Parker, who had pretended to be an American Airlines pilot, and Bob Meredith, who had brought McNally the parachutes and showed him how to put them on; staff from the Peru Motor Lodge; Hester Faye Harris, Walt Petlikowsky’s common-​law wife; and Police Chief Richard Blair, who probably would have

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preferred to forget the whole thing. Together their testimony left little doubt that McNally had hijacked American 119. Of particular significance was the testimony of agent Richard Stilling from Chicago, who had found pieces of the torn-​up hijack note on the plane’s aft stairs and sent them to the FBI lab in Washington. There agent Carl Collins had lifted fingerprints from the fragments that matched McNally’s. He had also matched prints taken from the telephone in room 214 at the Peru Motor Lodge. The fingerprints provided the first direct link to McNally during the investigation.7 McNally and his lawyers argued that the search of his house in Wyandotte was illegal and filed a motion to suppress any evidence collected from the house, which was overruled. Someone had ransacked McNally’s house before the FBI searched it the morning after his arrest, but it was not clear who they were or when they had done it.8 The FBI agents stationed outside McNally’s house the night of the arrest did not see anyone go in. “We were pretty busy most of the night,” Roger Schweickert testified. “There were neighbors that were gathered; there were newspaper reporters; cameramen . . . they were there on and off the majority of the night.” There had not been time to fall asleep. Agents Schweickert, Carl O’Gara, and Dick Marquise recalled seeing lights on in the house when they arrived. Schweickert thought they were in the living room. Later the lights went out, which “raised a great deal of question among the people there,” Schweickert said. When they searched the house the next day, they found that the lights had been on an automatic timer.9 Neighbors remembered it differently. Several described lights going on and off through the night. One recalled a man entering the house by the side door, next to the driveway. Others said they saw at least one person inside the house walk past a window. McNally unsuccessfully appealed his conviction, arguing that the search of his house was illegal.10 Even if the evidence collected from the house and garage had been thrown out, it would not have made a difference. The testimony from eyewitnesses along with evidence collected from the plane and on the ground in Indiana was overwhelming. Had they found nothing in McNally’s house, he still would have been convicted. McNally’s lawyers called only two witnesses, Aubrey Mallory, the passenger in the red pants who brought the money and the parachutes onto the plane, and Spellman, the American Airlines auditor who was on both planes as a passenger and then as a hostage. Mallory said that he had avoided looking McNally in the face and could not identify him. Spellman admitted that he

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had not picked McNally out of the FBI lineup in Detroit (he chose FBI agent Dick Farley instead). He had never gotten a good look at McNally’s face during the hijacking. At the lineup, “I couldn’t make a positive identification of either man, but when asked to pick one, I did,” Spellman said. Given the mass of evidence presented by the prosecution, neither testimony made any difference.11 The jury deliberated for less than an hour. McNally was convicted and given two concurrent life sentences, one for each of the two planes used during the hijacking. He would be eligible for parole in fifteen years.12 He remained defiant to the end. Before Judge Regan read his sentence, McNally argued that his conviction should be vacated. “This court could and should right an injustice,” he told Regan. He also gave a reporter a three-​page handwritten statement claiming that President Nixon, then embroiled in the Watergate scandal, had conspired with the FBI to frame him. “I submit that it is a very good likelihood President Nixon and Company; the director of the FBI, Mr. Gray—​(and) Detroit FBI agents conspired with each other to obtain my arrest.”13

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Prison Break

Most of the hijackers from 1961 to 1972 served far less than their full sentences. Some of the sentences, imposed during the height of the hijacking craze, seemed overly harsh once the epidemic had subsided. In most cases, no one had been hurt and the ransoms were recovered. It was clear that some of the hijackers had been traumatized by their experiences in Vietnam and could not explain why they had done it. Richard LaPoint, who jumped with $50,000 over Colorado, was sentenced to forty years and paroled after seven. Robb Heady, who jumped south of Reno with $155,000 stuffed in a fishing vest, was sentenced to thirty years and released after six. LaPoint and Heady were Vietnam veterans, lost souls rather than hardened criminals. The same was true for other hijackers in varying degrees. Martin McNally was not a model prisoner. At the federal prison in Marion, Illinois, he fell in with another airline hijacker, Garrett Trapnell. Trapnell was everything McNally wanted to be. He robbed banks, stole jewels in the Bahamas—​escaping in his plane as the police drove onto the runway—​and wrote hundreds of thousands in bad checks, amounting to $2 million or more. He was a master manipulator who married six women, used multiple aliases, and partied in sophisticated style from Miami to San Francisco. “As bank robber, he saw himself as just another banker, no more or less immoral than anyone else, a man doing business,” his biographer wrote. It was easy to see his allure for someone like McNally, who had never gotten further than coin slugs and small-​time rackets in his hometown.1 But Trapnell was no less a troubled soul. Born in 1938, he had a dysfunctional upbringing. His mother was a hopeless alcoholic and his father a Navy officer. They separated while living in Panama, and his father died when Trapnell was fourteen. From an early age, he was forced to make his own way in the world.2

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After robbing a series of gas stations in 1958, Trapnell was diagnosed as a paranoid schizophrenic and committed to a mental hospital in Maryland for thirteen months. His accomplices, two hitchhikers he had picked up in California, got twenty years. Over the next dozen years, Trapnell was arrested several times and sent to mental hospitals rather than prison. “I played that game for over fifteen years according to their rules and beat them every time,” Trapnell said. “I didn’t make the rules, I only played by them.”3 From the start, Trapnell was a con artist. In 1964, he bought a toy sheriff ’s badge and a plastic pistol from a dime store and portable flashing red lights that plugged into the cigarette lighter of his Plymouth Fury. At night, on Route 66 near the Texas–​New Mexico border, he pulled over speeding motorists. After a stern lecture, he would write them a phony ticket and accept fifteen dollars cash as payment, saving them the time and expense of going to court. He stopped a dozen cars a night, eventually collecting ten thousand dollars before he was caught. He was given six months in a county jail. Over time, his cons grew bigger and more daring.4 In February 1970, Trapnell used a credit card belonging to a topless dancer he had just met and married in Las Vegas to buy a Cessna 150 in Florida. In fact, Trapnell was still married to someone else at the time. He and a friend flew to Freeport, Grand Bahama, where Trapnell robbed the Emeralds of Colombia jewelry store, taking gems worth $105,000. They barely made it off the runway as the police raced to stop them. Abandoning the plane at the Lantana Airport in Palm Beach County, Florida, they jumped into a cab to Orlando and flew commercial to Los Angeles. Police arrived at the Lantana Airport ten minutes after they had left. News reports described Trapnell as “legally insane and having homicidal tendencies.”5 By January 1972, Trapnell’s life was unraveling. After his ex-​wife refused to let him see his son and daughter, he read about Heinrick von George’s hijacking of a Mohawk Airlines flight from Albany, New York, on January 26, 1972. Von George was from Brockton, Massachusetts, where Trapnell was born. Why couldn’t he do the same thing?6 On January 28, using a fake ID, he purchased a first-​class one-​way ticket on TWA Flight 2 from Los Angeles to New York. He was elegantly dressed. Concealed beneath a makeshift cast was a Walther PPK 7.65mm automatic. The metal detector at the gate was not working that night.7 Trapnell wrote a hijack note on the plane and handed it to a stewardess. In the cockpit, he demanded $306,800 in cash and the release of political activist Angela Davis from a San Jose jail and Jorge Padilla, a former partner in crime, from the Dallas county jail. He said the money was compensation

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for a $300,000 yacht seized by a federal court in Miami. Trapnell claimed to have paid for the sixty-​foot yacht in cash, using stacks of hundred-​dollar bills. He wanted his lawyer flown up from Florida, a guarantee of clemency from President Nixon, and political asylum in a foreign country, preferably Denmark, Sweden, or Spain.8 The passengers took everything in stride. After the captain announced that they were being hijacked, “a few of the passengers just laughed,” said one, a Marine private. “I thought the whole thing wasn’t as dangerous as Vietnam.” “Gee, I was hoping to be hijacked to Africa or some other exotic place,” said another, who was returning to Long Island. One young woman was returning home after spending her honeymoon with her sailor husband on Guam. “The only thing that worried me about the hijacking was whether my luggage was safe,” she later said. “It’s new luggage and I don’t want to lose it.”9 After they landed in New York, the FBI and TWA stalled and negotiated for the release of the passengers. Trapnell let the passengers deplane and then agreed to allow a replacement crew on board. The relief flight crew included FBI agent Jim Nelson, dressed in a TWA pilot’s uniform. Nelson slipped a snub-​nosed .38 revolver into the right pocket of his pilot’s jacket. Holding the jacket and a chart case, he walked up the stairs to the plane. Trapnell stationed a stewardess and one of the pilots in the doorway to search the new crew as they came on board, while he watched from the cockpit doorway, holding the gun in his left hand. As the pilot searched Nelson’s bag, Nelson slipped the gun from his jacket pocket with his right hand, which Trapnell could not see because the coat was draped over Nelson’s left arm, and quickly “snapped off three shots.”10 “You have to get lucky, and I got very lucky,” Nelson later said. The first shot broke Trapnell’s left arm, sending the gun flying into the cockpit. It was cocked when they retrieved it. The next shot went through Trapnell’s hand and hit him in the neck. The third went over his head as he fell. Trapnell crumpled to the floor. Nelson pulled his hands free and pinned him down so that he could not detonate the bomb he claimed to have. “We saw you take one step on board and all hell broke loose,” agents watching on the ground through binoculars later told Nelson.11 Trapnell never saw it coming. Later, when Nelson was at the prison to interview someone else, Trapnell called out to him, “You had it hidden in your sleeve, didn’t you?” Nelson would not tell him.12 At his trial, Trapnell’s lawyer argued that he was insane at the time of the hijacking. But his insanity defense was undermined by an interview he had

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given to Cyrus Berlowitz, an editor for True magazine, in April 1971. Trapnell told Berlowitz that he had learned to feign insanity to escape punishment. “Well, after one of my first busts, a lawyer came to me and said: ‘Trap, look, you are going to prison for twenty years, or you can go to the state hospital.’ So I went to the state hospital and I dug the whole action, man,” Trapnell said. “It’s a license to kill. I could go out on the streets of New York and shoot ten people, and in six months, I’d be free.” Not this time. Trapnell was sentenced to life in prison.13 Barbara Oswald—​everyone called her Bobbie—​was forty-​two when she met Trapnell. She had run away from home when she was young and had been arrested several times for prostitution in the 1960s. In 1968, she joined the Army. To do so, she had to farm out her five children to relatives. Three years later, they rejoined their mother. Military life seemed to provide the stability and structure Oswald needed. She became an air traffic controller and a staff sergeant. She left the Army in 1975 after a motorcycle accident and earned an undergraduate degree from the University of Missouri–​St. Louis. Oswald was working on a master’s degree in criminal corrections at Webster College in St. Louis when she saw a 60 Minutes television episode on Trapnell and then read his biography, The Fox Is Crazy Too. She began visiting Trapnell at Marion and fell under his sway. “We thought he was great, that it was the best thing that had ever happened to Mom,” said Robyn Oswald, Bobbie’s youngest daughter. Robyn and her sister Katheryn visited Trapnell with their mother on weekends and attached notes to him at the bottom of her letters. “She’d been letting herself go. Now she began to look nice again,” Robyn said. “We thought if it did that for Mom, fine.” Robyn was sixteen and a member of the pom-​pom squad at her high school.14 Trapnell convinced Oswald and McNally to help him stage a daring helicopter prison break. McNally always had a knack for trusting the wrong people, and Trapnell was no exception. This time, the result would prove deadly. The break may have been inspired by Joel David Kaplan’s helicopter escape from a Mexican prison on August 18, 1971, which was widely covered in the press. In 1962, Kaplan, heir to a molasses and sugar fortune, was convicted of murdering his business partner, Luis Vidal, though the evidence against him was dubious and Kaplan claimed that Vidal was not even dead. The helicopter came in low and fast, landing in the prison yard at Santa Marta Acatitla Prison just after 6:30 p.m., where Kaplan and another prisoner were waiting. Ten seconds later, they were gone, as bewildered guards

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watched without firing a shot. An hour after that, they landed at a remote airstrip, where Kaplan boarded a Cessna 210, flown by Victor Stadter, who had planned the escape. They flew to Brownsville, Texas, where Kaplan crossed into the US using his correct name and identification. At the time, breaking out of prison in Mexico was only a crime if it involved violence or if other inmates or prison officials were involved. Kaplan and Stadter were on the set during the filming of the 1975 Charles Bronson and Robert Duvall movie Breakout, based on the escape. The movie version added chase scenes, with soldiers blazing away at the helicopter and the plane as Bronson and Duvall made their getaway. “I was more scared watching all this than when we did the caper,” Stadter said. Kaplan died in Miami in 1988.15 As her relationship with Trapnell deepened, Bobbie Oswald told Robyn that she planned to run away. She asked her daughter what she would do if she found Trapnell hiding in their basement. Robyn and Bobbie had never gotten along. On May 24, 1978, Bobbie hugged and kissed Robyn as she left the house, “something she had never done before. I started crying. I knew she wasn’t coming back.”16 That afternoon, Bobbie Oswald chartered a Bell Jet Ranger from Fostaire Helicopter in St. Louis, saying she wanted to “look at real estate” along the Mississippi River and pick up another person in Cape Girardeau in southern Missouri. Once airborne, she pulled a .44-​caliber pistol and ordered pilot Allen Barklage to fly to Marion and land in the prison yard, where Trapnell, McNally, and a third inmate, James Johnson, would be waiting. Johnson was a convicted bank robber who had already escaped from prison six times. Barklage was not just any helicopter pilot. He had flown helicopter gunships in Vietnam, where he was shot down three times during two tours from 1968 to 1971. As they approached the prison, Barklage suggested that Oswald open the door before they landed, so that the escapees could board quickly. As she leaned over to grab the handle, Barklage lunged for the gun. The helicopter careened wildly as they struggled. He pulled the gun free and, knowing that she had two more pistols in her bag, shot Oswald in the head, killing her instantly. He then landed outside the prison walls.17 FBI agents found Oswald’s station wagon parked at the municipal airport in Perryville, Missouri, forty miles from the Marion prison. A shotgun, a rifle, two handguns, ammunition, clothes, and a Massachusetts license plate were stowed in the back. Trapnell bragged that if the escape had worked, “we’d have been out of the country in seven hours.”18

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Another woman, Beth Meadows, was arrested that September and charged with aiding and abetting the attempted escape. She had moved from Norman, Oklahoma, to an apartment near the Marion prison several months before the escape attempt to be near James Johnson and visit him at the prison. In the days leading up to the break, Meadows worked with Oswald to collect guns and make plans. Meadows pleaded guilty to one count of conspiracy.19 After her mother’s death, Robyn Oswald stayed in touch with Trapnell. “He was like a father to her,” a friend said. At first, she resented his role in her mother’s death, but Trapnell wrote to her, convincing her that he had genuinely cared for Bobbie. “He has a lot of poise, sophistication, a good talker, a good looker, but he needs a little exercise,” Robyn later said. “If he was sitting here now he’d be leaning back like he was sitting on a yacht.” Soon she was visiting him again. “He promised me the rainbow,” Robyn said. “That he would get me a horse again someday. And a Renegade Jeep. I was 16 years old, and this man promised me everything. I was really gullible.”20 On December 21, 1978, seven months after the failed helicopter escape, Robyn Oswald boarded TWA Flight 541 in Louisville, a DC-​9 with eighty-​ seven passengers onboard. As the plane approached Kansas City, she handed the stewardess a note saying she had a bomb. The bomb was a fake, three railroad flares with a doorbell meant to look like a detonator. She wanted the plane flown to the Williamson County Airport, ten miles from the prison at Marion, and demanded Trapnell’s release. As she negotiated with the FBI after they landed, the plane ran out of fuel, the electrical system shut down, and the cabin began to heat up. “When we ran out of fuel, it got hot as blazes in the plane,” a passenger said. Oswald allowed the crew to open the front door, while she sat in back. Passengers began to slip out the open exit. “We sneaked off one by one,” a passenger said. “After a while there were only about a dozen left on board.” After nine hours, Robyn Oswald surrendered.21 As the hijacking drama played out at the airport in Marion, a jury was deliberating charges against Trapnell and McNally stemming from the helicopter escape attempt the previous May. Johnson and Meadows had already pleaded guilty to their roles in the plot. Two days before she hijacked the TWA flight, Robyn Oswald testified as a defense witness at the trial. Before she took the stand, she and Trapnell, who was acting as his own attorney, talked in private. The jury, unaware of the drama at the airport, found Trapnell and McNally guilty of conspiracy,

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attempted escape, aiding and abetting a hijacking, and aiding and abetting a kidnapping.22 Robyn Oswald’s case was adjudicated under the juvenile justice system. She was paroled after twenty-​two months.23 Since his release in May 2010, after thirty-​seven years in federal prison, McNally has freely admitted that he hijacked American 119 and has told his story numerous times. In fall 2020, he visited my History of Flight class at the University of Missouri via a video-​conferencing app. The students were fascinated by his story. “It was the stupidest thing I ever did,” he told them. “It ruined my life.” He urged them to stay in school and make something of themselves.

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Finding D.B. Cooper

D.B. Cooper is a celebrity unspoiled by reality. The hijackings and parachute jumps by Martin McNally, Richard LaPoint, Richard McCoy, Frederick Hahneman, and Robb Heady were as daring as Cooper’s and in some respects more so. But they were caught, and we know who they are. Cooper is compelling because he remains a mystery. Who was he, and what happened to him? Here are my best guesses, based on comparisons with the other parachute hijackers of 1972. I’ll start with the heist. I would bet that Cooper survived the jump. FBI agent Ralph Himmelsbach and others in the Bureau were convinced at the time that Cooper died when he hit the ground. This affected not only the hunt for Cooper but also the search for McNally. But none of the other hijackers who jumped died or was even seriously hurt when he landed. If the same was true for Cooper, it would explain why his body has never been found. Of course, Cooper jumped at night, in bad weather, and possibly over difficult terrain. But the parachute jumps of the other hijackers were equally daring. McNally had no parachuting experience and jumped at night with only a front reserve chute at 320 miles an hour, more than 100 miles an hour faster than Cooper. His only injuries were from the chute hitting him in the face when it deployed. Hahneman jumped at night over remote and rugged terrain in Honduras. Heady jumped at night at 300 miles an hour. LaPoint bailed out of a DC-​9 at nearly 200 miles an hour, suffering only a sprained ankle and wrist. “It would be a very safe drop,” a Boeing representative said the day after Cooper jumped. “He’d be away from the flaps and other engines and go straight down.” “He could do it in a bathing suit,” Linn Emerich of Seattle Sky Sports, a skydiving club, said at the time. “A 200-​mile blast of wind isn’t going to do

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him any harm. He’d slow down in a few seconds to a terminal velocity of 120 m.p.h.” Cooper did not need Special Forces training to have landed safely.1 If he survived his jump, Cooper eluded capture by following the cardinal rule of getting away with it: don’t talk. “There’s two things that get people caught,” said former FBI agent John Detlor, who refueled the plane hijacked by Frank Sibley at Reno in his undershorts. The first is to keep committing the same crime. “The guy that robs a bank doesn’t stop at one. He goes back and robs banks multiple times, and he eventually gets caught,” Detlor said. The other way to get caught is to talk. “They go back and do it again, or they talk about it,” Detlor said. McNally could not resist bragging about his caper, which sealed his fate. If Cooper survived, he was canny enough not to let his new celebrity status get the better of him.2 Cooper likely had an accomplice who drove him to the Portland Airport and was on call to pick him up on the ground, much as Walt Petlikowsky had done for McNally. If not, then he probably had a hideout arranged or a car stashed somewhere near where he hoped to land, as was the case with Heady. Cooper knew the area between Portland and Seattle. “That looks like Tacoma down there,” he had said to stewardess Tina Mucklow as they flew over the city. No one jumped without a plan. If he had an accomplice, that person never panicked or talked, whatever the outcome of the caper.3 There has been a great deal of debate about where Cooper landed, the so-​called drop zone. I have nothing of substance to add to this discussion, except to say that at 200 miles an hour, a few minutes can make a big difference. Since Cooper was the first hijacker to use a parachute, no one was prepared to watch for the now-​famous pressure oscillation or to pinpoint exactly where the plane was on radar when the jump happened. The pilots of American 119 had been ready for this. They knew about the pressure bump caused by jumping from the aft stairs and pressed the emergency code on their transponder at what they thought was the exact moment McNally let go. Somehow they were off by about thirty seconds, which in turn threw the search area off by several miles. That was enough for McNally to escape notice despite being surrounded by a small army of FBI agents, sheriff ’s deputies, and police. The FBI only found McNally’s parachute, hidden under a log, after they knew exactly where to look. It is not a stretch to imagine that Cooper got away in similar fashion. Whether Cooper landed with the money still in his possession is impossible to say. Of the other parachute hijackers, only McNally lost the money, and it was obvious why. Cooper was similarly improvising when he cut

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parachute shroud lines to tie the money bag to his body. But who knows? I would not bet much on this one either way. Perhaps someone, somewhere, has a forgotten twenty-​dollar bill with the right serial number stuffed in a drawer or box. It is also possible that he lost track of the money after he landed. McCoy stashed his money in a dry culvert and brought it home the next day before he was arrested. Heady hid his fishing vest stuffed with loot before hiking to his car, where he was arrested. McNally planned to do something similar, which was why he demanded a shovel along with the money. How $5,800 of the Cooper money found by eight-​year-​old Brian Ingram along the Columbia River in February 1980 got there, I have no idea. Who was Cooper? He was likely a combat veteran who had experienced the trauma of war, much as had been the case with Heinrick von George, McCoy, Heady, LaPoint, Hahneman, and, to some degree, McNally. Eyewitnesses can be unreliable, as was the case with McNally, but almost everyone agreed that Cooper was in his mid-​forties, or close to it. That would likely make him a veteran of World War II, although Hahneman was around the same age and had experienced his trauma in Vietnam. Cooper may have remained in the military for several years after his wartime experience, working in a position connected to aviation. This would help explain how he knew some of the intricacies of planes and flight. He knew that the phone connecting the cabin to the cockpit was called an interphone and that pilots could file a flight plan after they took off. He knew that lowering the wheels and flaps on a 727 would slow the plane down to a safer parachuting speed. He knew that the aft stairs could be kept lowered in flight and that this would necessitate flying below 10,000 feet, but he did not know exactly how the stairs worked. So, while he knew a good deal about planes, he was not thoroughly familiar with the 727. McNally, McCoy, Heady, LaPoint, and Hahneman all had military positions connected in some way to flight. Cooper probably did, too. Cooper may have done time in prison or been arrested for other crimes before his hijacking, as was the case with von George, LaPoint, and McNally, but, like them, he was not a sophisticated criminal. It is unlikely that the hijacking was Cooper’s first caper. Like war, prison has a way of unmooring people. Mental illness and racial violence can do the same thing, as was evident with other hijackers during this period. “I don’t have a grudge against your airline, Miss. I just have a grudge,” Cooper had told Mucklow. The other parachute hijackers felt this same sense of alienation from society and its rules.

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The composite sketch that emerges is that Cooper was a World War II combat veteran in his mid-​forties who did time in prison for some unrelated crime or had at least been arrested. He likely had some triggering event, a recent stressor, that pushed him over the edge. He survived his parachute jump, with or without the money. He escaped with the help of an accomplice and afterward had the sense not to talk about it. He wanted respect but not the sort of notoriety that came from getting caught. Over the years, many have speculated about Cooper’s identity, some more wildly than others. More than a few Cooper sleuths have become obsessed with the mystery, succumbing to the so-​called Cooper curse. Years of their lives have disappeared down the aft stairs of a metaphorical 727, searching for answers in the void. Some have suggested that Cooper was working for the CIA or some other covert government organization. The hijacking, they argue, was a black-​bag job, intended to shock the public and Congress into finally taking airline security seriously. But there had been any number of spectacular hijackings before Cooper, and airline security had remained unchanged. In June 1970, a year and a half before Cooper, Arthur Barkley had demanded a $100 million ransom when he hijacked a TWA flight after it departed Phoenix. The Cooper hijacking was brazen but no more so than others that preceded it. Nor was Cooper’s crime any more sophisticated than those of the other parachute hijackers. What finally led to better security was not Cooper but the increasingly violent nature of hijackings in the second half of 1972. A CIA connection seems far-​fetched at best.4 Nearly everyone tries to match their suspect to the FBI sketches of Cooper. But as we have seen with McNally, composite sketches and accompanying physical descriptions are often little more than an approximation. People who saw McNally in Peru, Indiana, immediately after he bailed out did not recognize him from the FBI sketch of the American 119 hijacker. The descriptions given by Mucklow and Florence Schaffner can best be used to rule out suspects who clearly do not fit what they remembered. If Cooper was wearing a toupee or heavy makeup, they would have noticed. The Cooper sketch is a good starting point, but a resemblance between a suspect and the sketch hardly proves anything. Apart from physical appearance, most theories rely on circumstantial evidence or alleged confessions. Various combinations of military service, criminal convictions, flying and skydiving experience, employment by airlines or Boeing itself, and purported CIA connections have been used to build cases for a list of suspects. Kenneth Christiansen trained as a paratrooper in World

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War II and then served as a purser for Northwest Orient based in Seattle. After his death, his brother became convinced that Christiansen was Cooper after watching a television documentary about the case. Jack Coffelt was a con man, ex-​convict, and purported FBI and CIA operative who confessed to a former cellmate that he was Cooper. Barbara Dayton was a private pilot who had served in the US Merchant Marine and the Army. In the late 1970s, she confessed to friends that she was the hijacker and had hidden the money in an irrigation cistern near Portland. McCoy, as we have seen, actually did hijack and parachute from a United Airlines flight in April 1972. Sheridan Peterson was a US Marine during World War II and a former smokejumper who worked for Boeing. Robert Rackstraw was a US Army helicopter pilot in Vietnam with a checkered past. Walter Reca was a paratrooper, recreational skydiver, and alleged CIA operative who confessed to a skydiving buddy that he was Cooper. Duane Weber was a World War II Army veteran who had done time in at least six prisons. On his deathbed, he made a garbled confession to his wife, Jo, who had never heard of Cooper, sending her on a decades-​long search for the true identity of her late husband. There are plenty of colorful characters on this list, but no clear evidence connects them or any other person of interest to the Portland Airport on November 24, 1971, or Northwest Orient Flight 305. In any event, the FBI has not been persuaded. The search for Cooper needs a fresh approach. Most attempts to find him start with identifying a suspect and then working backward to make the evidence fit. Perhaps a better approach would be to construct a profile of Cooper along the lines I have described above and then assemble a database of suspects. Admittedly this would involve some guess work, but a few informed choices could narrow the field considerably. In his book about the assassination of Martin Luther King Jr., Hellhound on His Trail, Hampton Sides describes how the FBI connected the fingerprints found on the rifle used to shoot King with James Earl Ray, first by guessing that this was not his first crime and then further surmising that he was an escaped convict, based on his behavior. This narrowed the number of fingerprint cards that had to be checked from three million to nineteen hundred. After adopting this approach, they identified Ray in a couple of days. There is a fingerprint card for Cooper somewhere.5 Cooper has almost certainly died by now, but he is out there, waiting to be found. When he is, plenty of people will be disappointed. No one could satisfy so many expectations. If he somehow found a way to keep a couple of packets of those twenties and used them to enjoy a few beers on a beach, well, who would begrudge him that?

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Arrivals

Though no one knew it at the time, Martin McNally was the last parachute hijacker to jump. His trial in December 1972 marked the end of an era. There were thirty-​three hijackings of US commercial flights in 1972 but only one, unsuccessful, attempt in 1973.1 From our perspective, the epidemic of hijackings between 1968 and 1972 seems surreal. Passengers partying as they flew to Cuba, anticipating a romp on a tropical beach or carousing at Havana nightclubs. A hijacker running across the apron with a pillowcase over his head, gun in hand, or riding a bike with a rifle on the handlebars. Machine guns, rifles, shotguns, pistols, knives, hand grenades, dynamite, a gallon of gasoline, and all manner of bombs, mostly fake, carried on board past lax security. Fourteen-​year-​old hijackers, Black Panthers, a frustrated artist, an aspiring novelist, Bulgarian revolutionaries, and inebriates with penknives or a vague notion about going to Israel, the land of the Bible. Huge ransoms and air pirates parachuting into the night. Hijackers who became celebrities in the US (D.B. Cooper) and abroad (Raffaele Minichiello). Airline hijackings were a product of the jet age, which brought bigger planes that could fly farther. Small planes were occasionally hijacked to Cuba, but major airlines were more inviting targets for extortion. No one doubted that airlines would pay huge ransoms to protect passengers and crews. Until security on the ground matched what could be carried on a plane, hijackings were almost impossible to stop. The problem for extortion hijackers was how to get away with the loot. For a few months—​from the end of 1971 through the summer of 1972—​the parachute hijackers thought they had it figured out. The spree of parachute hijackings would not have happened without the Boeing 727 and its aft stairs. Preventing the stairs from opening in flight turned out to be an easy fix. The FAA ordered airlines to install a so-​called

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Cooper vane beginning in 1972. The device had a spring-​loaded paddle, or vane, that did not interfere with lowering the stairs on the ground. As the plane took off, the rushing air pushed the paddle across the gap between the fuselage and the stairs, preventing them from opening (this could also happen on the ground if the wind was blowing hard enough). In flight, there was no way to disengage the vane from inside the plane. Better airport security led to a steep decline in hijackings after 1972. Metal detectors were followed by X-​ray machines to scan carry-​on luggage, introduced at major airports in late 1972. That same year, bomb-​sniffing dogs, one of the best ways to detect explosives, were used in a test program at Washington National and Dulles International Airports.2 On February 15, 1973, the US and Cuba signed a five-​year pact agreeing to extradite or prosecute anyone who commandeered a plane or ship. Hijackings of US planes to Cuba had declined sharply since 1969 anyway, but the pact virtually eliminated Cuba as a refuge. There were no more successful hijackings of US commercial flights to Cuba until 1979.3 Airlines carried 177 million passengers worldwide in 1965 and 534 million in 1975. More flights meant greater risk. Among major carriers, perhaps only El Al, Israel’s national airline, had security robust enough to prevent hijackings. Between 1968 and 1972, nearly half of all hijackings were in the US, but the most violent and deadly attacks were perpetrated by terrorists in Europe and the Middle East. By comparison, the US hijackers were mostly amateurs.4 As the epidemic of US hijackings declined, the hijackers themselves faded from view. Most who returned from Cuba faced lengthy prison sentences. A few were able to slip back into the US and avoid detection for years. Felix Rolando Peterson-​Coplin, thirty-​four, was tired of paying taxes and wanted to go to the “most beautiful place in the world.” On September 7, 1969, he sat next to a stewardess and said, “I want to be diplomatic. I don’t want to hurt anybody, but I want to go to Cuba.” In Havana, the passengers were served steaks and espresso and offered Cuban cigars but limited to one beer each because the Cubans were mourning the passing of Ho Chi Minh, the former president of North Vietnam. On December 11, 1997, almost thirty years after the hijacking, Peterson-​ Coplin was arrested at a checkpoint, crossing from Canada into New York. He was on his way to get his car fixed. Sixty-​three at the time of his arrest, he had lived since 1990 in Kingston, Ontario, under his own name, listed in the phone book. A diabetic and school janitor, he had a six-​year-​old daughter. He became a Canadian citizen in 1994 and had crossed the border twenty or

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thirty times without incident. “He’s been America’s least wanted fugitive,” his lawyer said. “They could have tried directory assistance.” He was sentenced to six and a half years and released in September 1999.5 On July 29, 1971, Patrick Critton and four associates from a Black Panther splinter group, the Republic of New Africa, robbed a bank in upper Manhattan. Critton was the only one who escaped from a shootout with the police. He fled to Canada and, on December 26, hijacked an Air Canada flight to Cuba. He spent his first eight months in Cuba in jail. Two years later, he moved to Tanzania, where he married and had two sons. Critton had used his own passport when he boarded the Air Canada flight and told the stewardesses that he had escaped during a bank robbery in which his friends were gunned down. He said they could write to him at “Hijacker House.” He also left fingerprints on a can of ginger ale. Police knew who he was but not where. Critton applied for a passport at the US Embassy in Tanzania and returned to the US in 1994 without difficulty. He had been a schoolteacher in Brooklyn before the bank heist and returned to teaching. He was fingerprinted when he was hired. Later he moved to Mount Vernon, New York, where he taught school, and his sons were honors students. In August 2001, a Canadian constable, Donald Jorgensen, typed Critton’s name into a Google search, something new at the time. An article about him in a Westchester County, New York, newspaper popped up. It described Critton as a Black schoolteacher. What were the odds? “What took you so long? I’ve been waiting for that knock on the door for seven years,” Critton told the NYPD cops who arrested him on September 10, 2001. His fingerprints matched the ones lifted from the ginger ale can. “He told us he was almost relieved that we got him,” a detective recalled. Critton was sentenced to five years and released in June 2003. The judge recommended him for accelerated parole. “The need to . . . prevent others from mimicking a phenomenon all but unknown for three decades is far from clear and urgent,” he said. “You’ve got to make amends,” Critton said after his release. “I’m just a teacher. I’m just a human being. I’m a Black man. What happened . . . that’s three or four years of 54 years.”6 Critton was arrested the day before the terrorist attacks in New York and Washington, DC. As one era in airline hijackings ended, another took its place, with frightening consequences. The old security system, or lack thereof, in place before 1968 had proved inadequate to stop the wave of hijackings

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that began that year. After September 11, 2001, the measures instituted in the early 1970s appeared equally outdated. In between, airline deregulation, starting in 1978, had made air travel less expensive but also less of a luxury, and the number of passengers increased sharply. In this sense, we share a lot in common with travelers from the early 1970s. We live in a world that seems less certain than it used to. We have traded comfort and a measure of individual freedom for safety. The planes themselves are remarkably safe. It’s the people who are dangerous. We may be on the cusp of a revolution in flight, equal to the advent of the jet age. New kinds of aircraft, including eVTOL (electric vertical takeoff and landing), offer the possibility of shorter-​range air taxis, either flown by a pilot or, eventually, operating autonomously. Think of it as Uber in an oversized drone. It is still uncertain which designs will prove the most viable, but investors have funneled huge amounts of cash into this emerging technology. Joby Aviation has conducted tests flights with a prototype that seats four passengers and a pilot, with a range of 150 miles at up to 200 miles an hour. Vertical Aerospace and Archer Aviation have similar prototype designs.7 Other concepts are aimed at creating fast, fuel-​efficient planes that can carry half a dozen passengers on direct flights for about the same cost as commercial air travel. Otto Aviation’s prototype Celera 500L uses a laminar flow design to achieve nearly the performance of business jets at a fraction of the cost. According to Otto, the Celera 500L will carry six passengers at 460 miles an hour, with a range of more than 5,000 miles, at a cost of $328 an hour. It could provide direct access to more than five thousand airports in the US. So a flight for six passengers from, say, Columbia, Missouri, to Catalina Island, off the coast of Southern California, about 1,500 miles, would take less than four hours and cost less than $250 per passenger. You cannot get there any faster or for less flying commercial.8 There are also new airship designs, reviving a concept dormant since the Hindenburg disaster in 1937. Hybrid Air Vehicles and Lockheed Martin have flown prototypes of hybrid airships that use aerodynamics and helium to create lift. Electric motors generate thrust. These airships would offer a level of spacious comfort long since gone from most commercial flights. Like other new aircraft designs, they would also decentralize air travel. Airships can stay aloft for days, land just about anywhere, and produce low emissions.9 Whether we are headed back to a more decentralized system of air travel, something more like the network of smaller airports that existed before the introduction of big jets, remains to be seen. Whatever pattern emerges, it will doubtless come with a new set of security concerns.

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The parachute hijackers were clustered in the seven months from November 1971 to June 1972, beginning with D.B. Cooper and ending with Martin McNally. They fit the cultural moment, symbolizing the chaos that seemed to grip the nation. For a while, their exploits seemed more thrilling than sinister and less surprising than they would be today. When things turned violent in the second half of 1972, everyone agreed that something had to be done. That something was better security, beginning with metal detectors. Whatever comes next, there will be a D.B. Cooper or a Martin McNally waiting, looking for loopholes.

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Acknowledgments

I learned to fly from my dad, who had been a pilot from his teens. The first plane I remember was a Cessna 172. I was so small I could not see over the control panel, so I learned to fly by instruments. The artificial horizon confused me, so I flew by needle, ball, and airspeed, the same way pilots did it in the 1920s when they could not see a horizon. I’m sure I could not reach the rudder pedals, so my dad must have been taking care of those. On Saturdays, we would fly from Latrobe, Pennsylvania, to Johnstown or Altoona and have lunch at the airport cafés, which were a thing then. Later my dad had a Beechcraft Bonanza and a share in a Christen Eagle II. I did most of my aerobatic flying in a Decathlon, my favorite plane to fly. If it were not for my dad’s love of flying, I’m sure I would not have become a pilot. Thanks to everyone who agreed to an interview and generously shared their memories, including retired FBI agents, flight attendants, pilots, and some of the hijackers. Retired FBI agent Jack French helped me make initial key contacts with other former agents. Stephen Spence and Pam Anderson at the National Archives at Kansas City and Charles Miller at the National Archives at San Francisco guided me to federal trial documents. Beverly Parker at the Miami County Museum in Peru, Indiana, located material in its collections and helped make my visits to Peru a wonderful experience. Donna Koester generously shared documents and memories of her late husband, Art Koester. Linda Joiner Kolumbus and Mary Cahill Daniel helped me connect with former National Airlines flight attendants and pilots. Thanks to students at the University of Missouri who took my history of flight course. D.B. Cooper was their favorite lecture each semester, which encouraged me to expand the topic. In the fall of 2021, Tom Parker and Sharon Wetherley Matiyow visited the class via a video-​conferencing app to discuss the Martin McNally hijacking, a highlight of the semester.

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Acknowledgments

Mason Andrews did brilliant work as my undergraduate research assistant, starting in the fall of 2021. He sifted through newspapers and helped me appreciate the broader dimensions of the hijacking craze. He also created an invaluable comprehensive list of US hijackings from 1961 to 1975. My brilliant agent, Colleen Mohyde, encouraged this project from the start and helped me to see that it might not be a terrible idea. Tim Bent, my wonderful editor at Oxford University Press, made my writing better. Thanks to Donna Koester, Sharon Matiyow, Jonathan Root, Jay Shaw, Jonathan Sperber, Steve Watts, Allison Wigger, Bill Wigger, and Cassie Yacovazzi, who read drafts and provided insightful comments. Natalie Wigger drew the map showing where objects dropped from the plane landed near Peru, Indiana. My wife, Melodie Wigger, read everything at least twice and listened to me talk about planes and hijackings for hours and hours. I could not have done this without her. She and our delightful and talented daughters, Hannah, Allison, Natalie, and Emma, make all this worthwhile.

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Notes

Prologue 1. Author interview with Martin McNally, June 18, 2020; United States v. Martin Joseph McNally [hereafter U.S. v. McNally], 72 CR 167 (E.D. Mo. 1972), vol. 3, 540. C h a p t er 1 1. U.S. v. McNally, vol. 5, 1446–​1454. 2. U.S. v. McNally, vol. 3, 569, 608. 3. “‘Quiet, Clean-​Cut’ Man Is Held in $502,500 Hijacking of Jet,” Morning Call (Allentown, PA), June 30, 1972. 4. U.S. v. McNally, vol. 3, 609, 625; https://​gangl​andw​ire.com/​d-​b -​coo​per-​copy​cat-​ part-​3/​. 5. U.S. v. McNally, vol. 3, 533, 609, 625, 772–​776; https://​gangl​andw​ire.com/​d-​b -​coo​ per-​copy​cat-​part-​3/​. 6. U.S. v. McNally, vol. 3, 776. 7. U.S. v. McNally, vol. 3, 534; https://​gangl​andw​ire.com/​d-​b -​coo​per-​copy​cat-​part-​3/​. 8. U.S. v. McNally, vol. 3, 552; https://​gangl​andw​ire.com/​d-​b -​coo​per-​copy​cat-​part-​3/​. C h a p t er 2 1. U.S. v. McNally, vol. 3, 550, 551, 749; United States of America, Appellee, v. Martin J. McNally, Appellant, 485 F.2d 398 (8th Cir. 1973), https://​law.jus​tia.com/​cases/​ fede​ral/​appell​ate-​cou​rts/​F2/​485/​398/​399​299/​. 2. Author interview with Sharon Wetherley Matiyow, October 22, 2021. 3. Interview with Matiyow, October 22, 2021. 4. Interview with Matiyow, October 22, 2021. 5. Interview with Matiyow, October 22, 2021.

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Notes

6. Interview with Matiyow, October 22, 2021. 7. U.S. v. McNally, vol. 3, 534–​535, 553, 554. 8. Interview with Matiyow, April 29, 2021; U.S. v. McNally, vol. 3, 750–​752; Richard Anguiano, “Hijacked!” Ocala Good Life, July/​August 2020, 22–​27. 9. U.S. v. McNally, vol. 3, 554. 10. U.S. v. McNally, vol. 3, 555, 625. 11. U.S. v. McNally, vol. 1, 194. 12. U.S. v. McNally, vol. 3, 628–​629, 645, 649, 650, 666, 820. 13. U.S. v. McNally, vol. 3, 752. 14. Interview with Matiyow, October 22, 2021; U.S. v. McNally, vol. 3, 536, 704. C h a p t er 3 1. U.S. v. McNally, vol. 5, 1534–​1535; author interview with David Spellman, April 22, 2021. 2. Interview with Spellman, April 22, 2021; FBI FD-​302 interview with Sharon Wetherley, undated copy; U.S. v. McNally, vol. 1, 185. 3. Interview with Spellman, April 22, 2021; interview with Matiyow, October 22, 2021; U.S. v. McNally, vol. 1, 188; vol. 3, 704, 753–​754, 755, 801–​802. C h a p t er 4 1. Betty Burroughs, “‘Coffee, Tea, or Me’ Not for Connie Girls,” Morning News (Wilmington, DE), May 3, 1972; Victoria Vantoch, The Jet Sex: Airline Stewardesses and the Making of an American Icon (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 2013), 104. 2. Kathy Gautier, “In Days of Yore, Stews Were Flying Pioneers,” Honolulu Star-​ Bulletin, January 19, 1971. 3. Gautier, “In Days of Yore.” 4. Gautier, “In Days of Yore.” 5. Betty Riegel, Up in the Air (n.p.: Abby, 2020), 113, 114; https://​www.yout​ube.com/​ watch?v=​xFjJ​XFmu​EqM. 6. Trudy Baker and Rachel Jones, Coffee, Tea, or Me? The Uninhibited Memoirs of Two Airline Stewardesses (New York: Bartholomew House, 1967), 12. 7. Trudy Baker and Rachel Jones with Donald Bain, Coffee, Tea, or Me? The Uninhibited Memories of Two Airline Stewardesses (New York: Penguin, 2003), xi–​ xiv; Joe Sharkey, “A Retro Look at Flying and a Ghost Writer’s Ruse,” New York Times, May 13, 2003. 8. Bill Wenzle and Cornelius Wohl, How to Make a Good Airline Stewardess (Greenwich, CT: Fawcett, 1972); “Stewardess Lib May Come Next,” Tucson Dailey Citizen, December 7, 1972; Ellen Goodman, “The Life of a Stewardess: Glamor, Excitement, Dissatisfaction?” Philadelphia Inquirer, October 21, 1970.

237

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9. Vantoch, The Jet Sex, 5–​6. 10. Julia Cooke, Come Fly the World: The Jet-​Age Story of the Women of Pan Am (Boston: Houghton Mifflin Harcourt, 2021), 3. 11. “Step Up to an American Airlines Stewardess Career,” Orlando Sentinel, January 27, 1969; “Win Your Wings as a Stewardess with Pan Am,” Spokane Chronicle, January 27, 1969; Ron Berler, “Air Stewardesses Fight Arbitrary Weight Rulings,” Detroit Free Press, June 26, 1972. C h a p t er 5 1. Jerry Bledsoe, “Who Cares What Happened to a Middle-​Aged Hijacker?” Esquire, June 1, 1972, 85–​86. 2. “Slain Hijacker Robbed Fresno Hotel in 1947,” Fresno Bee, January 29, 1972. 3. “Slain Hijacker.” 4. B. W. Musgraves to “Mr. & Mrs. Howard Lerch,” October 18, 1945. 5. Merlyn to “Delma [Thelma] Stgeorge,” telegram, October 5, 1945. 6. D. D. Campbell to Thelma St. George, December 10, 1945; “Slain Hijacker.” 7. Olin F. Neal to Mrs. Thelma St. George, August 22, 1946. 8. “Slain Hijacker.” 9. Bledsoe, “Who Cares.” 10. Michael Widmer, “Profile of a Skyjacker,” San Francisco Examiner, February 5, 1972. 11. Bledsoe, “Who Cares,” 86–​88. C h a p t er 6 1. U.S. v. McNally, vol. 3, 536, 561, 613, 755–​756, 797. 2. Interview with Spellman, April 22, 2021; U.S. v. McNally, vol. 3, 565, 596, 622–​623, 713, 756; vol. 5, 1515, 1538. 3. U.S. v. McNally, vol. 3, 632; https://​gangl​andw​ire.com/​d-​b -​coo​per-​copy​cat-​part-​3/​. 4. U.S. v. McNally, vol. 3, 567, 615–​616; https://​gangl​andw​ire.com/​d-​b -​coo​per-​copy​ cat-​part-​3/​. 5. Interview with Matiyow, April 29, 2021; U.S. v. McNally, vol. 3, 570. 6. Interview with Matiyow, April 29, 2021; U.S. v. McNally, vol. 3, 559, 761. 7. U.S. v. McNally, vol. 3, 566, 570, 631, 633, 710, 711. 8. Interview with Matiyow, April 29, 2021; FBI FD-​302 interview with Jane Furlong, undated copy; U.S. v. McNally, vol. 3, 566, 570, 592, 613, 616, 717, 755, 768–​769. 9. FBI interview with Furlong, undated copy; interview with Matiyow, April 29, 2021; U.S. v. McNally, vol. 1, 198; vol. 3, 568, 604, 758–​759, 766. 10. U.S. v. McNally, vol. 3, 568; vol. 5, 1516. 11. U.S. v. McNally, vol. 3, 690–​693. 12. U.S. v. McNally, vol. 3, 694.

238

238

Notes

13. U.S. v. McNally, vol. 3, 696–​697; vol. 4, 845–​847. 14. U.S. v. McNally, vol. 3, 570–​571, 611; author interview with Martin McNally, December 27, 2022. 15. U.S. v. McNally, vol. 3, 572, 573, 574, 610. C h a p t er 7 1. Tom Gallagher, “Ten Hours of Terror,” Good Housekeeping, July 1972, 78–​79, 129–​133. 2. Gallagher, “Ten Hours”; Buddy Martin, “Day Off for Pilot a ‘Fringe Benefit,’” Courier-​Post (Camden, NJ), January 27, 1972. 3. Gallagher, “Ten Hours.” 4. Mohawk Airlines, log recorded by dispatcher William Walsh, January 26–​27, 1972. Copy courtesy of John Colliander. 5. Mohawk Airlines log; Bledsoe, “Who Cares.” 6. Gallagher, “Ten Hours.” 7. Mohawk Airlines log. 8. Gallagher, “Ten Hours”; Mohawk Airlines log. 9. Mohawk Airlines log. 10. Gallagher, “Ten Hours”; Mohawk Airlines log. 11. Mohawk Airlines log. 12. Mohawk Airlines log; Gallagher, “Ten Hours.” 13. Gallagher, “Ten Hours.” 14. Mohawk Airlines log. 15. Gallagher, “Ten Hours.” 16. Mohawk Airlines log. 17. Gallagher, “Ten Hours.” 18. Bledsoe, “Who Cares”; Gallagher, “Ten Hours.” 19. “Mohawk Hijacker Killed Near Poughkeepsie,” Ithaca Journal, January 27, 1972; Michael Widmer, “Profile of a Skyjacker,” San Francisco Examiner, February 5, 1972. 20. Bledsoe, “Who Cares.” C h a p t er 8 1. Life 10, no. 23, June 9, 1941, 56; Art Koester, “My Life, My Story,” unpublished memoir, February 2021. 2. Life, 40, no. 12, March 19, 1956, 123; Koester, “My Life”; Donna Koester, email to the author, October 25, 2021. 3. Koester, “My Life”; Art Koester, “Skyjack!” unpublished memoir, 2021; U.S. v. McNally, vol. 5, 1074. 4. U.S. v. McNally, vol. 5, 1162; Koester, “Skyjack!”

239

Notes 5. 6. 7. 8.

239

U.S. v. McNally, vol. 5, 1163. Koester, “Skyjack!”; U.S. v. McNally, vol. 5, 1163. Author interview with Jack French, March 25, 2021. Koester, “Skyjack!” C h a p t er 9

1. Author interviews with Robert Meredith, March 18 and April 19, 2021; U.S. v. McNally, vol. 4, 978–​979. 2. Robert Christman, “Hijacker Search Pushed,” St. Louis Post-​Dispatch, June 27, 1972; U.S. v. McNally, vol. 4, 849–​853. 3. Interviews with Meredith, March 18 and April 19, 2021; FBI FD-​302 interview with Robert H. Meredith; U.S. v. McNally, vol. 1, 162–​163, vol. 4, 961–​962, 965–​969. 4. U.S. v. McNally, vol. 5, 1518; Ed Wilks, “Victim’s Advice: Shun Red Pants,” St. Louis Post-​Dispatch, June 25, 1972. 5. U.S. v. McNally, vol. 5, 1519, 1520–​1523; Wilks, “Victim’s Advice.” 6. U.S. v. McNally, vol. 3, 576; Wilks, “Victim’s Advice.” 7. FBI FD-​302 interview with Diana Rash, undated copy; interview with Matiyow, April 29, 2021; U.S. v. McNally, vol. 3, 578, 587, 771. 8. U.S. v. McNally, vol. 3, 578. 9. Wilks, “Victim’s Advice”; FBI interview with Rash; U.S. v. McNally, vol. 3, 579–​ 580, 669. 10. Interview with Spellman, April 22, 2021. 11. U.S. v. McNally, vol. 3, 581, 807. 12. Interview with Matiyow, October 22, 2021; U.S. v. McNally, vol. 3, 582. 13. U.S. v. McNally, vol. 3, 583. 14. Interviews with Meredith, March 18 and April 19, 2021; FBI interview with Meredith, undated copy; interview with Spellman, April 22, 2021; U.S. v. McNally, vol. 1, 163–​166; vol. 4, 973–​976, 981. C h a p t er 10 1. FBI FD-​302 interview with Florence Schaffner, November 26, 1971, FBI Vault, D.B. Cooper, part 10, https://​vault.fbi.gov/​. 2. Interview with Bill Mitchell, Washington State Historical Society, October 3, 2013; FBI FD-​302 interview with Bill Mitchell, November 26, 1971, FBI Vault, D.B. Cooper, part 10, https://​vault.fbi.gov/​. 3. Ralph P. Himmelsbach and Thomas K. Worcester, NORJAK: The Investigation of D.B. Cooper (West Linn, OR: NORJAK Project, 1986), 11–​16, 63. 4. Interview with Mitchell, October 3, 2013. 5. FBI Interview with Schaffner, November 26, 1971.

240

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Notes

6. FBI Memorandum, SAC, Seattle to SAC, Albany, November 30, 1971, FBI Vault, D.B. Cooper, part 8, https://​vault.fbi.gov/​. 7. Himmelsbach and Worcester, NORJAK, 17–​41. 8. Himmelsbach and Worcester, NORJAK, 39–​42. 9. Himmelsbach and Worcester, NORJAK, 45–​49. 10. “No Trace Found of Hijacker, Cash,” Spokesman-​Review (Spokane, WA), November 27, 1971. 11. “An Unknown Hijacker Is Romanticized,” New York Times, December 19, 1971; “FBI Methodically Pushes Hunt for Hijack Skydiver,” Longview (WA) Daily News, November 30, 1971; Geoffrey Gray, “Unmasking D.B. Cooper,” New York Magazine, October 18, 2007. 12. Jocquin Sanders, “Hijacker D.B. Cooper: America’s Newest Folk Antihero,” Washington Post, February 13, 1972; “An Unknown Hijacker.” 13. Larry Batson, Star Tribune (Minneapolis), December 5, 1971; Sanders, “Hijacker D.B. Cooper.” 14. Himmelsbach and Worcester, NORJAK, 73–​74; Timothy von George, email to the author, June 23, 2021. C h a p t er 11 1. Author interviews with Tom Parker, March 26 and October 5, 2021. Also see Tim Weiner, Enemies: A History of the FBI (New York: Random House, 2012), 211–​303; Ronald Kessler, The Bureau: The Secret History of the FBI (New York: St. Martin’s Press, 2002), 135–​169; Richard Gid Powers, Broken: The Trouble Past and Uncertain Future of the FBI (New York: Free Press, 2004), 245–​299; Rhodri Jeffreys-​Jones, The FBI: A History (New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 2007), 149–​177; Frank Figliuzzi, The FBI Way: Inside the Bureau’s Code of Excellence (New York: HarperCollins, 2021), 12–​14, 23–​26. 2. Interview with Parker, March 26, 2021. 3. Interview with Parker, March 26, 2021; Koester, “Skyjack!,” 4. C h a p t er 12 1. Bernie Rhodes, D.B. Cooper: The Real McCoy (Salt Lake City: University of Utah Press, 1991), 7–​8. 2. Diane Surdam, emails to the author, August 18, 21, and 22, 2022; Murray Olderman, “Hijacking,” Brownwood Bulletin, May 21, 1972; Rhodes, D.B. Cooper, 12–​15. 3. Rhodes, D.B. Cooper, 15–​18, 152–​153; Olderman, “Hijacking.” 4. Surdam email, August 18, 2022. 5. Surdam email, August 22, 2022; Rhodes, D.B. Cooper, 46, 60–​62. 6. Rhodes, D.B. Cooper, 64–​65. 7. Rhodes, D.B. Cooper, 69–​70.

241

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8. Surdam email, August 22, 2022. 9. Author interview with John Detlor, March 1, 2022. 10. Surdam email, August 21, 2022; Rhodes, D.B. Cooper, 77–​79; “$499,970 Recovered from Provo Home of Suspect in Skyjacking,” Daily Herald (Provo, UT), April 10, 1972; John Keahey, “Evidence Listed in Hijack Trial,” Herald-​Journal (Logan, UT), June 28, 1972; Olderman, “Hijacking.” 11. Olderman, “Hijacking.” 12. John York, “Hometown Sympathetic to Hijacker,” Charlotte Observer, August 16, 1974; “N.C. Skyjacker Dies in Gunfight with FBI Agent,” Charlotte Observer, November 11, 1974. 13. Koester, “Skyjack!,” 5. 14. Koester, “Skyjack!,” 5. C h a p t er 13 1. FBI interview with Rash. 2. Interview with Matiyow, April 29, 2021. 3. Interview with Matiyow, April 29, 2021; U.S. v. McNally, vol. 3, 714. 4. FBI interview with Wetherley; interview with Spellman, April 22, 2021; U.S. v. McNally, vol. 5, 1541. 5. FBI FD-​302 interview with Leroy Berkebile, undated copy; U.S. v. McNally, vol. 5, 1164. 6. FBI FD-​302 interviews with Art Koester, Berkebile, and Furlong, undated copies; interview with Parker, March 26, 2021; U.S. v. McNally, vol. 1, 150–​151, 174, 177; vol. 3, 584–​585; vol. 5, 1075; Koester, “Skyjack!” 7. FBI interview with Wetherley, undated copy; interview with Matiyow, April 29, 2021; interview with Spellman, April 22, 2021; U.S. v. McNally, vol. 3, 586. 8. Interview with Matiyow, April 29, 2021; U.S. v. McNally, vol. 3, 588. 9. U.S. v. McNally, vol. 5, 1165; FBI interview with Berkebille; Koester, “Skyjack!” 10. Author interview with Martin McNally, June 18, 2020; FBI interview with Berkebile; U.S. v. McNally, vol. 1, 152. 11. Interview with Parker, March 26, 2021. 12. Interview with Parker, March 26, 2021. 13. U.S. v. McNally, vol. 5, 1077–​1078. C h a p t er 14 1. E. F. Porter Jr., “Hanley Could Have Been Hero at Lambert Field, Friend Says,” St. Louis Post-​Dispatch, July 2, 1972. 2. Porter, “Hanley Could Have Been Hero.” 3. E. F. Porter Jr., “Crash Driver Called ‘An Overgrown Kid,’” St. Louis Post-​Dispatch, June 25, 1972; E. F. Porter Jr., “Driver Charged in Car-​Jet Crash,” St. Louis Post-​ Dispatch, June 26, 1972; Porter, “Hanley Could Have Been Hero.”

24

242 4. 5. 6. 7. 8. 9.

Notes Porter, “Crash Driver Called.” Porter, “Crash Driver Called.” Mel DeGraw, email to the author, December 20, 2021. DeGraw email, December 20, 2021. Porter, “Crash Driver Called.” Porter, “Crash Driver Called.” C h a p t er 15

1. DeGraw email, December 20, 2021. 2. Interview with Parker, March 26, 2021; FBI FD-​302 interviews with Koester and David Spellman, undated copies; U.S. v. McNally, vol. 3, 718, 1078–​1079. 3. U.S. v. McNally, vol. 3, 719; interviews with Parker, March 26 and October 5, 2021. 4. DeGraw email, December 20, 2021. 5. DeGraw email, December 20, 2021; author interview with Ron Kelly, April 1, 2021; U.S. v. McNally, vol. 3, 540. 6. Koester, “Skyjack!” 7. Interview with Spellman, April 22, 2021; U.S. v. McNally, vol. 3, 720–​721, 742, 747, 812. 8. U.S. v. McNally, vol. 5, 1079–​1080. 9. DeGraw email, December 20, 2021; U.S. v. McNally, vol. 3, 813. 10. Eric L. Zoeckler, “Hanley Still Seeking Way to End Hijacking,” St. Louis Post-​ Dispatch, December 7, 1972; Porter, “Crash Driver Called”; Porter, “Driver Charged.” 11. DeGraw email, December 20, 2021. C h a p t er 16 1. Carroll V. Glines and Wendell F. Moseley, The Legendary DC-​3 (New York: Van Nostrand Reinhold, 1979), 23–​27, 41–​42, 195–​200; Henry M. Holden, The Legacy of the DC-​3 (Niceville, FL: Wind Canyon, 1997), 34–​35, 43, 104–​105, 113, 122, 151, 224. 2. William H. Cook, The Road to the 707: The Inside Story of Designing the 707 (Bellevue, WA: TYC, 1991), 211–​241; Eugene Rodgers, Flying High: The Story of Boeing and the Rise of the Jetliner Industry (New York: Atlantic Monthly Press, 1996), 193–​203; Robert J. Serling, Legend and Legacy: The Story of Boeing and Its People (New York: St. Martin’s Press, 1992), 121–​143; Claude G. Luisada, Queen of the Skies: The Lockheed Constellation (Atglen, PA: Schiffer Military History, 2014). 3. Rodgers, Flying High, 210–​216. 4. Serling, Legend and Legacy, 129–​131; Russ Banham, Higher: 100 Years of Boeing (San Francisco: Chronicle, 2015), 141–​143; Sam Howe Verhovek, Jet Age: The Comet, the 707, and the Race to Shrink the World (New York: Penguin, 2010), 31–​36, 192–​194. 5. Serling, Legend and Legacy, 179–​185; Rodgers, Flying High, 213–​214.

243

Notes

243

6. Erika Armstrong, “Flying the Amazing Boeing 727,” Disciples of Flight, https://​ discip​leso​ffli​ght.com/​boe​ing-​727/​. 7. Peter Gilchrist, Boeing 727 (Shepperton, UK: Ian Allen, 1996), 33–​38, 54; Serling, Legend and Legacy, 184–​192; J. E. Steiner et al., A Case Study in Aircraft Design: The Boeing 727 (Reston, VA: American Institute of Aeronautics and Astronautics, 1978), 1–​8, 29–​31. 8. Steiner, A Case Study, 53. C h a p t er 17 1. FBI interview with Berkebille; interview with Parker, March 26, 2021. 2. “Air Pirate’s Odd History,” The Record (Hackensack, NJ), July 25, 1971; James W. Sullivan, “Hijacker Shot, Fatally Wounded While Trying to Fly to Fiance,” Newsday (Hempstead, NY), July 24, 1971; Henry Lee, “Hijacker’s Possible Aim: To Visit a Girl in Milan,” New York Daily News, July 25, 1971; “Skyjacking: Death at the Terminal,” Time, August 2, 1971; author interview with Idie Zaman, April 19, 2023; email from Idie Zaman to the author, April 15, 2023. 3. Jack Anderson, “For FBI, Hoover Likes Efrem Zimbalist Look,” Boston Globe, August 18, 1971. Hoover denied disciplining Lovin. See Jack Anderson, “The Case against J. Edgar,” Miami Herald, September 22, 1971. 4. FBI interview with Spellman. 5. Interview with Spellman; U.S. v. McNally, vol. 3, 722, 840; vol. 5, 1082; Karen Blecha, “Prospect Heights Pilot Tells 5-​Hour Ordeal with Hijacker,” Daily Herald (Chicago), June 29, 1972. 6. FBI interview with Rash; U.S. v. McNally, vol. 3, 743, 831–​832. 7. Interview with Parker, March 26, 2021; FBI interview with Koester; U.S. v. McNally, vol. 1, 222; vol. 3, 723, 814, 835; vol. 5, 1083, 1542. 8. DeGraw email, December 20, 2021; U.S. v. McNally, vol. 3, 724. 9. Interview with Parker, March 26, 2021; FBI interview with Koester; U.S. v. McNally, vol. 3, 724, 815; vol. 5, 1085. 10. American Airlines, “Report of Irregularity”; U.S. v. McNally, vol. 3, 725; vol. 5, 1087. The flight number was derived from the second plane’s tail number, N6821. The first plane’s tail number was N6837. U.S. v. McNally, vol. 5, 1088–​1089, 1167. C h a p t er 18 1. 2. 3. 4. 5. 6. 7. 8.

Author interview with Clifford Spingler, March 19, 2021. Interview with Spingler, March 19, 2021. Author interview with Don Jones, March 29, 2021; U.S. v. McNally, vol. 5, 1188–​1190. Interview with Jones, March 29, 2021; U.S. v. McNally, vol. 5, 1188–​1190. Author interview with Richard Herman, March 22, 2021. Interview with Herman, March 22, 2021. Interview with Jones, March 29, 2021; U.S. v. McNally, vol. 5, 1188–​1190. U.S. v. McNally, vol. 5, 1191–​1194.

24

244

Notes C h a p t er 19

1. “Ready to Make the Gas,” Evening Star, July 30, 1908; “Baldwin Jumps Again,” New York Times, August 30, 1887. 2. “Leap from a Balloon,” The Standard (London), July 30, 1888; “Professor Baldwin at Aston,” Birmingham Daily Post, September 4, 1888; “Airship Is Ready to Try Its Wings,” San Francisco Examiner, July 29, 1904; “Baldwin’s Career as Pioneer in Aviation,” St. Louis Post-​Dispatch, May 19, 1923; “Major Baldwin, Pioneer Aviator, Balloonist, Dies,” Buffalo Courier, May 18, 1923. 3. Tiny Broadwick, interviewed by Kenneth Leish, May 1960, National Air and Space Museum Archives, 3; George Vecsey and George C. Dade, Getting off the Ground (New York: E. P. Dutton, 1979), 32; Elizabeth Whitley Roberson, Tiny Broadwick: The First Lady of Parachuting (Gretna, LA: Pelican, 2001), 13; T. H. Pearce, “First to Jump,” The State, January 1975, 8–​10. 4. Roberson, Tiny Broadwick, 14–​15; Vecsey and Dade, Getting off the Ground, 34. 5. Broadwick, Leish interview. 6. “Tiny Girl Ascends in Balloon: Parachute Drops on Roof and Young Aeronaut Breaks Arm,” Baltimore Sun, May 28, 1910; “Child Makes High Flight: ‘Tiny’ Broadwick, Aged 14, Comes to Grief as Aeronaut,” Pittsburgh Post-​Gazette, May 28, 1910; “News Oddities,” Brooklyn Daily Eagle, May 28, 1910; “Trifling with Death,” Oregon Daily Journal, August 13, 1911; Broadwick, Leish interview; Roberson, Tiny Broadwick, 26; Vecsey and Dade, Getting off the Ground, 33–​34. 7. Broadwick, Leish interview; James R. Greenwood, The Parchute: From Balloons to Skydiving (New York: E. P. Dutton, 1964), 21–​27. 8. Arthur Gould Lee, No Parachute (London: Grub Street, 2018), 216, 226. 9. “Arrests Pilot for Low Flight at Stagg Field,” Chicago Daily Tribune, October 22, 1925; Bill Rhode, Chewing Gum, Bailing Wire, and Guts: The Story of the Gates Flying Circus (Oradell, NJ: H.V., 1993), 117–​119. According to the record of his marriage on December 28, 1925, in Duval, Florida, Ahearn was born in Missouri in 1904. See records for Roy L. Ahearn at familysearch.org. 10. “Daredevil Sets New Record for Speedy Courtship in the Air,” San Francisco Examiner, February 28, 1926. 11. Rhode, Chewing Gum, 119–​121; “Brossier and Associates of Journalista Properties Here Yesterday—​Day Will Be Remembered as Starting of a New Era: Mabel Cody’s Troupe of Dare Devils Thrill Crowd of 6000 at Cocoa Beach—​Ahearn Leaps from Burning Plane into the Ocean for Greatest Thrill of Afternoon,” Miami News, March 3, 1926. C h a p t er 20 1. U.S. v. McNally, vol. 3, 568; interview with McNally, December 27, 2022. 2. FBI interview with Rash; U.S. v. McNally, vol. 3, 714.

245

Notes

245

3. Interview with McNally, June 18, 2020; interview with Spellman, April 22, 2021; U.S. v. McNally, vol. 5, 1539. 4. FBI interviews with Koester and Berkebile; U.S. v. McNally, vol. 5, 1089–​1092, 1127–​1128, 1167, 1171. 5. FBI interview with Koester; U.S. v. McNally, vol. 5, 1093–​1095, 1131–​1132. 6. U.S. v. McNally, vol. 3, 726, 816. 7. Interview with Parker, March 26, 2021. 8. Interview with Spellman, April 22, 2021. 9. Author interview with Donna Koester, March 30, 2021. 10. FBI interviews with Koester, Berkebile, Rash, and Spellman; U.S. v. McNally, vol. 1, 152–​153; vol. 3, 727, 817; vol. 5, 1097–​1102, 1135–​1136, 1545, 1546. At the trial in December 1972, Koester and Berkebile said that the hijacker came to the cockpit four times. U.S. v. McNally, vol. 5, 1102, 1168. 11. Air Traffic Control transcript for Flight 821, courtesy of Chuck Berkebile; U.S. v. McNally, vol. 5, 1096, 1149–​1152. 12. FBI interviews with Berkebile and Rash; U.S. v. McNally, vol. 3, 728, 818; vol. 5, 1104–​ 1105, 1111, 1138–​1140, 1148–​1149, 1172–​1174, 1177, 1548. At the trial in December 1972, Koester remembered their true airspeed as 263 knots. U.S. v. McNally, vol. 5, 1106, 1141. By the time air traffic controller Ronald Lane saw 7700 pop up on his scope in Indianapolis, the plane was already four miles east of Peru. U.S. v. McNally, vol. 5, 1158–​1159. 13. U.S. v. McNally, vol. 5, 1191–​1194. C h a p t er 21 1. Interview with McNally, June 18, 2020. 2. Rafael Alvarez, email to the author, July 21 and August 2, 2021; author interview with Rafael Alvarez, August 9, 2021. 3. Alvarez email and interview; interview with McNally, June 18, 2020; Bud Sellick, Skydiving: The Art and Science of Sport Parachuting (Englewood Cliffs, NJ: Prentice-​ Hall, 1961), 174–​177. 4. FBI interview with Berkebile; interview with Parker, March 26, 2021; U.S. v. McNally, vol. 3, 818; vol. 5, 1112, 1549. 5. U.S. v. McNally, vol. 5, 1113. 6. Interviews with Donna Koester, March 30 and April 10, 2021. C h a p t er 2 2 1. 2. 3. 4.

Author interview with Bob Braver, May 13, 2021. Betty Medsger, The Burglary (New York: Alfred A. Knopf, 2014), 163–​182. Interview with Braver, May 13, 2021; Medsger, The Burglary, 158–​159. Interview with Braver, May 13, 2021.

246

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Notes C h a p t er 2 3

1. David Satter, “Pilot Says He Maneuvered Jet in Way to Kill Hijacker,” Chicago Tribune, June 26, 1972. 2. Satter, “Pilot Says.” 3. Robert Christman, “Hijacker Search Pushed,” St. Louis Post-​Dispatch, June 27, 1972; U.S. v. McNally, vol. 4, 872. 4. Walter Glover, “Hijacker Jumps in Peru Area,” Peru Daily Tribune, June 24, 1972. 5. Don Grubbs, “What Happened to the Skyjacker?” Peru Tribune, June 26, 1972. 6. Jack Howey, “A Frantic Saturday Morning,” Peru Daily Tribune, June 26, 1972. 7. Glover, “Hijacker Jumps.” 8. Glover, “Hijacker Jumps.” 9. “Harrisons, Neighbors Will Never Forget This Morning,” Peru Daily Tribune, June 24, 1972. 10. Author interview with Brice Umstead, July 17, 2021. 11. Interview with Umstead, July 17, 2021. 12. Interview with Umstead, July 17, 2021. C h a p t er 2 4 1. Curb Burger advertisement, Peru Tribune, June 29, 1972. 2. Ron E. Withers, Nature’s School: The Role of the Wabash River in the Early History of Peru, Indiana, 1829–​1913 (Bloomington: iUniverse, 2013), 9–​49. 3. Withers, Nature’s School, 55–​62. 4. Withers, Nature’s School, 95–​110. 5. Kreig A. Adkins, Peru: Circus Capital of the World (Charleston, SC: Arcadia, 2009), 8–​24. 6. Adkins, Peru, 24–​26, 88, 92, 95, 99–​100, 122–​127. 7. John A. Beineke, Hoosier Public Enemy: A Life of John Dillinger (Indianapolis: Indiana Historical Society, 2014), 66. 8. Beineke, Hoosier Public Enemy, 67–​68. 9. “Moving Isn’t Easy as Hotel Closes,” Peru Tribune, September 1, 1979. C h a p t er 25 1. 2. 3. 4. 5. 6. 7.

Himmelsbach and Worcester, NORJAK, 63. Himmelsbach and Worcester, NORJAK, 64–​67. Himmelsbach and Worcester, NORJAK, 68. Himmelsbach and Worcester, NORJAK, 69. Himmelsbach and Worcester, NORJAK, 74. Himmelsbach and Worcester, NORJAK, 88–​89. Himmelsbach and Worcester, NORJAK, 101.

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C h a p t er 26 1. FBI interview with Rash; U.S. v. McNally, vol. 1, 196, 197; vol. 3, 705, 712, 747. 2. FBI interview with Furlong; U.S. v. McNally, vol. 1, 215; vol. 3, 549, 552, 561–​562, 564, 599, 603. 3. FBI interview with Wetherley; U.S. v. McNally, vol. 3, 761, 763, 764. 4. U.S. v. McNally, vol. 3, 798–​799, 829. 5. FBI interview with Spellman; U.S. v. McNally, vol. 1, 189; vol. 5, 1543. 6. U.S. v. McNally, vol. 1, 167; vol. 4, 971–​972. 7. FBI interview with Koester; U.S. v. McNally, vol. 5, 1116–​ 1117, 1121–​ 1122, 1147–​1148. 8. FBI interview with Berkebile; U.S. v. McNally, vol. 5, 1170, 1180–​1183. 9. U.S. v. McNally, vol. 1, 153, 167, 177; vol. 5, 1145. 10. Glover, “Hijacker Jumps.” C h a p t er 27 1. “N.H. Police Chief Recalls Hijacker,” Boston Globe, January 22, 1972; “Seabrooker Held for Hijacking,” Portsmouth (NH) Herald, January 21, 1972; Peter Cowen, “Accused Air Pirate ‘Liked Nice Things,’” Boston Globe, January 23, 1972. 2. “LaPoint Changes Plea to Guilty on Air Piracy Charge,” Fort Collins Coloradoan, April 13, 1972. 3. “N.H. Police Chief ”; “Seabrooker Held.” 4. “Seabrooker Held”; “Hijack Trial Starts,” South Idaho Press, April 12, 1972. 5. “Seabrooker Held”; “New Englander Accused of Skyjacking Airliner,” The Missoulian (Missoula, MT), January 22, 1972. 6. “Seabrooker Held”; “Young Woman in Small Plane Helped Trail Skyjack Suspect,” Reno Gazette-​Journal, January 21, 1972; Kit Minidler, “Skyjacker a Colorado Oddity?” Denver Post, January 21, 2001. 7. “Judge Denies Bail in Vega Hijacking,” Palm Beach Post-​Times, January 22, 1972; “Accused Hijacker Is Held without Bail,” The Mercury (Pottstown, PA), January 22, 1972; Anthony Ripley, “Ex-​Paratrooper Is Held in Hijacking,” New York Times, January 21, 1972. 8. “New Englander Accused.” 9. “Accused Hijacker Is Held”; “New Englander Accused.” 10. “Hearing Wednesday on Jumping ‘Jacker,’” Independent-​Record (Helena, MT), January 23, 1972; Cowen, “Accused Air Pirate.” 11. Pete Stevenson, “FBI Seeks Death Penalty for A-​B -​E Skyjacker,” Morning Call (Allentown, PA), June 3, 1972; “4 Charges Leveled against Easton Man for Parachute-​Hijacking,” Wilkes-​Barre Times Leader, June 13, 1972; Bob Golden and Ken Siegel, “$303,000 Ransom Paid in A-​B-​E Skyjacking Shows Up in Florida,” Morning Call (Allentown, PA), May 9, 1973.

248

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Notes

12. “$303,000 in Ransom Paid Out,” Morning Call (Allentown, PA), May 6, 1972; “That’s Him, Skyjacking Passengers Agree,” Morning Call (Allentown, PA), June 2, 1972. 13. “$303,000 in Ransom Paid Out”; “‘Thought It Was Sick Joke,’ Passenger Says on Landing,” Morning Call (Allentown, PA), May 6, 1972. 14. “$303,000 in Ransom Paid Out.” 15. “4 Charges Leveled”; Ken Siegel, “Hahneman: 7 Jobs in 17 Years,” Morning Call (Allentown, PA), June 3, 1972; Pete Stevenson, “Easton Hijack Suspect Gives Up,” Morning Call (Allentown, PA), June 4, 1972; “Suspect Named in Ransom Hijacking,” Wisconsin State Journal, June 2, 1972. 16. Siegel, “Hahneman: 7 Jobs.” 17. Siegel, “Hahneman: 7 Jobs.” 18. Stevenson, “Easton Hijack Suspect.” 19. “4 Charges Leveled”; “Easton Man Sought as Parachute Pirate,” Evening Standard (Uniontown, PA), June 2, 1972; “News of Suspect Soured Easton Neighborhood ‘Joke,’” Morning Call (Allentown, PA), June 2, 1972. 20. Stevenson, “FBI Seeks Death Penalty”; “Rope Rigged around Pilot . . . Cocked Gun at His Back,” Morning Call (Allentown, PA), June 3, 1972. 21. Dan Pearson and Anibal T. Diaz, “Reward Spurs Vast Honduras Skyjacker Hunt,” Morning Call (Allentown, PA), June 2, 1972; “Suspect Named”; Golden and Siegel, “$303,000 Ransom Paid”; Ken Siegel, “Sketch Raises Hijack Debate,” Morning Call (Allentown, PA), May 9, 1972. 22. Pete Stevenson, “Hahneman Expected to Plead Guilty in Hijacking,” Morning Call (Allentown, PA), September 11, 1972; Pete Stevenson, “Did Hahneman Expect Honduran Uprising?” Morning Call (Allentown, PA), June 16, 1972. 23. Stevenson, “Hahneman”; “4 Charges Leveled”; Stevenson, “Easton Hijack Suspect.” 24. Pete Stevenson, “Home Used by Suspect, Envoy Says,” Morning Call (Allentown, PA), June 20, 1972; Ken Siegel, “Will Kill Tipster, Hahneman Quoted,” Morning Call (Allentown, PA), June 20, 1972; Stevenson, “Easton Hijack Suspect”; Siegel, “Sketch Raises Hijack Debate.” 25. “Hijacker Given Life Sentence,” Latrobe Bulletin, September 30, 1972; Frank Whelan, “A-​B-​E Hijacker Who Parachuted into Jungle Is Free from Prison,” Morning Call (Allentown, PA), June 30, 1985. 26. “Eastern Recovers ’Chute Jump Hijack Loot,” Naples (FL) Daily News, May 9, 1973; Golden and Siegel, “$303,000 Ransom Paid.” 27. Bruce A. Smith, “The Hunt for DB Cooper—​An Interview with a So-​Called Cooper Copycat—​Skyjacker Robb Dolin Heady,” Mountain News, March 28, 2013, https://​themou​ntai​nnew​swa.net/​2013/​03/​28/​the-​hunt-​for-​db-​coo​per-​an-​ interv​iew-​with-​a-​so-​cal​led-​coo​per-​copy​cat-​skyjac​ker-​robb-​dolin-​heady/​. 28. Ken Smith, “$200,000 Paid in Ransom Money: Some Recovered,” Reno Gazette-​ Journal, June 3, 1972; Smith, “The Hunt for DB Cooper.”

249

Notes

249

29. Smith, “The Hunt for DB Cooper.” 30. Smith, “The Hunt for DB Cooper.” 31. Smith, “$200,000 Paid”; Smith, “The Hunt for DB Cooper.” 32. Mary Solaro, “Heady Interested in Police Science,” Reno Gazette-​Journal, June 5, 1972. 33. Mike Goodkind, “Hijack Suspect Undergoes Tests,” Reno Gazette-​Journal, June 16, 1972; Smith, “The Hunt for DB Cooper.” 34. “Reno Jet Hijacker Gets 30-​Year Jail Sentence,” Los Angeles Times, August 22, 1972; Smith, “The Hunt for DB Cooper”; “Parole Hopes May Soar for Heady,” Reno Gazette-​Journal, October 27, 1972. C h a p t er 28 1. “Search Continues for Skyjacker,” Peru Daily Tribune, June 26, 1972; U.S. v. McNally, vol. 3, 544; vol. 5, 1200. 2. “Search Continues for Skyjacker”; interview with Umstead, July 17, 2021. 3. Dave Maroney, “A Needle in a Haystack,” Journal and Courier (Lafayette–​West Lafayette, IN), June 26, 1972. 4. Author interview with Neal McLaughlin, March 22, 2021. 5. Interview with McLaughlin, March 22, 2021. 6. Author interview with Walter Valentine, July 16, 2021; author interview with Taylor Eubank, March 25, 2021. 7. Interview with Valentine, July 16, 2021. 8. “Pistol Found at Five Corners Sunday,” Peru Daily Tribune, June 29, 1972. 9. Author interview with John Vettel, November 15, 2021; Wally Glover, “Farmers Upstage Lawmen,” Peru Daily Tribune, June 27, 1972; U.S. v. McNally, vol. 5, 1212. 10. Interview with Vettel, November 15, 2021; Glover, “Farmers Upstage Lawmen”; U.S. v. McNally, vol. 5, 1213–​1216, 1220–​1221. 11. Author interview with Martial Robichaud, March 22, 2021. 12. Interview with Robichaud, March 22, 2021; U.S. v. McNally, vol. 5, 1221–​1222. 13. Interview with Robichaud, March 22, 2021; U.S. v. McNally, vol. 5, 1222–​1225. 14. Glover, “Farmers Upstage Lawmen”; “Elliott Refuses Trip, Awaits Word on Reward,” Peru Daily Tribune, June 28, 1972; interview with Vettel, November 15, 2021. 15. Glover, “Farmers Upstage Lawmen”; U.S. v. McNally, vol. 5, 1226–​1232. After finding the gun, Miller turned it over to FBI agent Bob Braver. U.S. v. McNally, vol. 5, 1232, 1233–​1234. 16. Glover, “Farmers Upstage Lawmen.” 17. U.S. v. McNally, vol. 5, 1240, 1242–​1243, 1246, 1252–​1257. 18. Wally Glover, “More Clues Are Found,” Peru Daily Tribune, June 28, 1972. 19. Glover, “More Clues Are Found”; U.S. v. McNally, vol. 5, 1259–​1263. Chalk is spelled “Chock” in the trial transcript.

250

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Notes C h a p t er 29

1. Kurt Dove, “Elliott Refuses $10,000 Gift,” Peru Daily Tribune, June 29, 1972. 2. Jack Howey, “etaoin shrdlu,” Peru Daily Tribune, July 1, 1972; interview with Vettel, November 15, 2021. 3. “Elliott May Be in Seclusion,” Peru Daily Tribune, July 8, 1972; “Decides $10,000 Is Fair Reward,” St. Louis Post-​Dispatch, August 6, 1972; interview with Vettel, November 15, 2021. C h a p t er 30 1. Author interview with George Plotner, November 16, 2021; author interview with Harry Plotner, November 17, 2021; interview with McNally, December 27, 2022; Howey, “etaoin shrdlu”; Don Grubbs, “McNally Might Have Stayed in Hotel Here,” Peru Daily Tribune, June 29, 1972; U.S. v. McNally, vol. 5, 1271–​1272. 2. U.S. v. McNally, vol. 5, 1273–​1274. 3. Howey, “etaoin shrdlu”; U.S. v. McNally, vol. 5, 1275. 4. “Did Police Chief Give Hijack Suspect Ride in Indiana?” Detroit News, June 29, 1972; Grubbs, “McNally Might Have Stayed”; U.S. v. McNally, vol. 5, 1279, 1529. 5. U.S. v. McNally, vol. 5, 1278, 1283. 6. “Did Police Chief Give”; Grubbs, “McNally Might Have Stayed”; U.S. v. McNally, vol. 5, 1282. 7. Interview with McNally, December 27, 2022; “News Reporter Traces Hijack Suspect’s Steps in Indiana,” Detroit News, July 2, 1972. 8. Grubbs, “McNally Might Have Stayed”; Don Grubbs, “McNally Did Stay in Hotel,” Peru Daily Tribune, June 30, 1972; John Peterson, “Jet Suspect Was under FBI’s Nose,” Detroit News, June 30, 1972; U.S. v. McNally, vol. 5, 1298–​1302, 1306, 1308–​1309, 1317, 1319. 9. Grubbs, “McNally Might Have Stayed”; Grubbs, “McNally Did Stay”; U.S. v. McNally, vol. 5, 1320–​1321. 10. “News Reporter Traces.” 11. U.S. v. McNally, vol. 5, 1291–​1292. C h a p t er 3 1 1. Author interview with Henry Latini, March 19, 2021. 2. Author interview with Marcus Kaspar, March 24, 2021. 3. Interview with Kaspar, March 24, 2021. 4. Interview with Kaspar, March 24, 2021; interview with McNally, December 27, 2022. 5. Interview with Kaspar, March 24, 2021; U.S. v. McNally, vol. 4, 858; vol. 5, 1263–​1269. 6. U.S. v. McNally, vol. 5, 1196–​1211.

251

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251

C h a p t er 3 2 1. U.S. v. McNally, vol. 1, 18–​21. Pawlzak is also spelled “Pawlza” in the trial transcript. 2. U.S. v. McNally, vol. 1, 22–​26; author interview with Robert Krichke, April 6, 2021. 3. U.S. v. McNally, vol. 1, 27–​29; interview with Krichke, April 6, 2021; author interview with Larry Bonney, March 22, 2021. 4. Interview with Krichke, April 6, 2021; interview with McNally, December 27, 2022; “Brought Suspect Home, Man Admits,” Detroit News, June 30, 1972. According to McNally, the stolen car was a 1964 Triumph. 5. U.S. v. McNally, vol. 1, 31–​33; interview with Krichke, April 6, 2021. C h a p t er 3 3 1. Author interview with Dan Valascho, January 6, 2022. 2. Interview with Valascho, January 6, 2022; interview with McNally, December 27, 2022. 3. Interview with Valascho, January 6, 2022; author interview with Theodore Galeski, November 22, 2021; interview with McNally, December 27, 2022. 4. Interview with Valascho, January 6, 2022; interview with McNally, December 27, 2022. 5. Dan Valascho, email to the author, January 23, 2022; Joe Dowdall, “It Isn’t Easy Task to Pick Best of Gridders,” Detroit Free Press, November 4, 1962. 6. Interview with Valascho, January 6, 2022. 7. Interview with McNally, December 27, 2022; https://​gangl​andw​ire.com/​d-​b -​coo​ per-​copy​cat-​part-​2/​. 8. Author interview with Bill Wilber, March 30, 2021. 9. Interview with Wilber, March 30, 2021; author interview with Mike Munz, March 30, 2021; author interview with Gary Klausmeyer, April 1, 2021. 10. Interview with Wilber, March 30, 2021; interview with Munz, March 30, 2021; interview with Klausmeyer, April 1, 2021; author interview with Jim Goheen, March 30, 2021; Salfisberg emails, February 25 and 26, 2022. 11. Martin McNally, email to the author, March 15, 2021; Salfisberg emails, February 25 and 26, 2022; “7 Feared Dead in Navy Crash,” Pittsburgh Press, January 11, 1963; “5 of 12 Survive Navy Crash,” Orlando Evening Star, January 11, 1963. There are photos of McNally and Salfisberg as members of the First Lieutenant in the VP-​2 1963–​ 1964 Cruise Book; http://​patr​on2.com/​files/​gall​ery/​g6364​cbk/​A1Lt​_​01.html. McNally remembered the crash that he responded to as happening in 1964, three days before the Alaska earthquake on March 27. Interview with McNally, December 27, 2022. 12. Author interview with Wanda Glacken Burns, October 29, 2021. 13. George Bullard, “Hijacker Was a Nice Guy Who Kept Shades Drawn,” Detroit News, June 29, 1972; U.S. v. McNally, vol. 5, 1340.

25

252

Notes

14. Bullard, “Hijacker Was a Nice Guy.” 15. Bullard, “Hijacker Was a Nice Guy.” 16. Interview with Burns, October 29, 2021; interview with Galeski, November 22, 2021. Petty denies engaging in any criminal activity with McNally or Clifton Rose. Author interview with James Petty, December 17, 2021. 17. Interview with Burns, October 29, 2021; author interview with Clifton Rose Jr., December 14, 2021; https://​gangl​andw​ire.com/​d-​b -​coo​per-​copy​cat-​part-​2/​. 18. Interview with Burns, October 29, 2021; interview with Rose, December 14, 2021; interview with McNally, December 27, 2022; U.S. v. McNally, vol. 1, 110. 19. Interviews with Rose, December 14 and 15, 2021; interview with McNally, December 27, 2022. 20. Interviews with Rose, December 14 and 15, 2021; interview with Galeski, November 22, 2021; interview with McNally, December 27, 2022. 21. Interviews with Rose, December 14 and 15, 2021. 22. Interview with Burns, October 29, 2021. 23. Interview with Burns, October 29, 2021; Judgment of Divorce, Wanda L. McNally v. Martin J. McNally, Circuit Court for the County of Wayne, July 9, 1971. 24. Interview with Burns, October 29, 2021. 25. https://​gangl​andw​ire.com/​d-​b -​coo​per-​copy​cat-​part-​2/​. C h a p t er 3 4 1. “FBI: Hijacking Plotted 5 Months,” St. Louis Post-​Dispatch, July 1, 1972; interview with McNally, December 27, 2022. 2. U.S. v. McNally, vol. 5, 1446–​1454; https://​gangl​andw​ire.com/​d-​b -​coo​per-​copy​ cat-​part-​2/​. 3. U.S. v. McNally, vol. 3, 591–​592. 4. Interview with Galeski, November 22, 2021; interview with McNally, December 27, 2022. 5. U.S. v. McNally, vol. 5, 1328–​1331. 6. U.S. v. McNally, vol. 5, 1332–​1333. 7. https://​gangl​andw​ire.com/​d-​b -​coo​per-​copy​cat-​part-​3/​. C h a p t er 3 5 1. 2. 3. 4. 5. 6.

U.S. v. McNally, vol. 5, 1466–​1468. U.S. v. McNally, vol. 5, 1464–​1465, 1477. U.S. v. McNally, vol. 5, 1468–​1469. Interview with Latini, March 19, 2021. Grubbs, “McNally Did Stay”; “News Reporter Traces.” U.S. v. McNally, vol. 5, 1143, 1195, 1471–​1474, 1548.

253

Notes

253

C h a p t er 3 6 1. U.S. v. McNally, vol. 1, 54–​59; interview with Bonney, March 22, 2021. 2. U.S. v. McNally, vol. 1, 110–​111. 3. U.S. v. McNally, vol. 1, 111–​112; interview with McNally, December 27, 2022. 4. U.S. v. McNally, vol. 1, 63. 5. U.S. v. McNally, vol. 1, 61–​73; interview with McNally, December 27, 2022. 6. U.S. v. McNally, vol. 1, 77, 79, 112–​113. 7. U.S. v. McNally, vol. 1, 79–​82, 127–​128; vol. 3, 545; vol. 5, 1398–​1299; interview with Bonney, March 22, 2021; author interview with Roger Schweickert, March 18, 2021. C h a p t er 37 1. U.S. v. McNally, vol. 3, 821; vol. 5, 1112. 2. Interview with McNally, December 27, 2022. McNally remembered tearing up the notes and attempting to throw them off the aft stairs, only to see pieces of the note swirl back into the plane. 3. U.S. v. McNally, vol. 3, 819; vol. 4, 878–​900. 4. U.S. v. McNally, vol. 4, 904–​906. 5. U.S. v. McNally, vol. 4, 907–​908. 6. Interview with Bonney, March 22, 2021; author interview with Richard Farley, March 23, 2021. 7. U.S. v. McNally, vol. 4, 911–​926. C h a p t er 3 8 1. U.S. v. McNally, vol. 2, 301; interview with Bonney, March 22, 2021. 2. Aubrey Whelan, “Neil J. Welch, 90, FBI Agent Who Oversaw Abscam Investigation,” Philadelphia Inquirer, July 1, 2017. 3. U.S. v. McNally, vol. 2, 287. 4. U.S. v. McNally, vol. 1, 35–​38; interview with Krichke, April 6, 2021. 5. U.S. v. McNally, vol. 5, 1349, 1356. 6. Author interview with Dick Marquise, March 23, 2021. 7. Interview with Marquise, March 23, 2021. 8. U.S. v. McNally, vol. 2, 300, 327–​330. 9. U.S. v. McNally, vol. 2, 229–​230, 248, 251; interview with Marquise, March 23, 2021. 10. Interview with Marquise, March 23, 2021. 11. Interview with Marquise, March 23, 2021. 12. Interview with Marquise, March 23, 2021; U.S. v. McNally, vol. 2, 230–​231, 250, 288; vol. 3, 546. 13. Interview with Marquise, March 23, 2021; U.S. v. McNally, vol. 2, 231–​232, 250–​251; vol. 5, 1373–​1375; interview with McNally, December 27, 2022.

254

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Notes

14. Interview with Schweickert, March 18, 2021. 15. Interview with Marquise, March 23, 2021; U.S. v. McNally, vol. 5, 1353, 1364, 1365. C h a p t er 3 9 1. U.S. v. McNally, vol. 1, 120–​122; vol. 2, 232; vol. 5, 1376, 1379–​1380, 1381, 1384. 2. U.S. v. McNally, vol. 3, 564; vol. 5, 1365–​1370. The agents riding in the car with McNally were Perry Itkin, Robert Louys, and John Jackson. U.S. v. McNally, vol. 1, 121; vol. 5, 1411, 1420. 3. U.S. v. McNally, vol. 1, 130–​134; vol. 2, 236–​238, 254–​257, 291. 4. Interview with Marquise, March 23, 2021. 5. Louis J. Sugo, “Anguished Father to Stand by Son,” Detroit News, June 29, 1972. 6. Sugo, “Anguished Father.” 7. Sugo, “Anguished Father.” 8. Interview with Burns, October 29, 2021. 9. Interview with Marquise, March 23, 2021. 10. U.S. v. McNally, vol. 1, 96, 101–​102; vol. 2, 267–​269. 11. U.S. v. McNally, vol. 1, 137; vol. 2, 269, 295–​296; vol. 5, 1395–​1397, 1434–​1435. 12. U.S. v. McNally, vol. 2, 271–​272, 316, 325. 13. U.S. v. McNally, vol. 2, 272–​275, 284. 14. U.S. v. McNally, vol. 5, 1424–​1428. 15. U.S. v. McNally, vol. 2, 296–​297; vol. 5, 1389–​1394. 16. On Course the Kane Way (Minneapolis: Kane Aero Company), 1958. I purchased a copy of the booklet and accompanying computer in February 2022. 17. U.S. v. McNally, vol. 2, 282–​283; vol. 5, 1441–​1442, 1444–​1457. The magazine was from an M-​3 submachine gun but fit in the Spitfire. The manufacturer of the Spitfire never made a magazine specifically for it. 18. U.S. v. McNally, vol. 4, 929–​932, 946–​954. 19. U.S. v. McNally, vol. 1, 154–​161, 168–​171, 179–​180, 184, 198–​201, 215, 219, 221; vol. 3, 729–​730, 822–​823, 825; vol. 4, 977, 984; vol. 5, 1148. 20. U.S. v. McNally, vol. 5, 1497, 1499; interview with Farley, March 23, 2021. 21. U.S. v. McNally, vol. 1, 180, 190, 207, 220–​223. 22. Interview with Farley, March 23, 2021; U.S. v. McNally, vol. 1, 181; vol. 5, 1549–​ 1551. Koester and Dumanois noticed the close resemblance between McNally and Farley, though they had no doubt who the hijacker was. U.S. v. McNally, vol. 1, 161; vol. 3, 833. 23. U.S. v. McNally, vol. 3, 733. C h a p t er 4 0 1. “Brought Suspect Home”; interview with Bonney, March 22, 2021; interview with Krichke, April 6, 2021.

25

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2. Interview with Bonney, March 22, 2021; interview with Farley, March 23, 2021. 3. “Second Man Arrested in Lambert Hijacking,” St. Louis Post-​Dispatch, June 30, 1972. 4. “FBI: Hijacking Plotted”; “Two Indicted Here in Lambert Hijacking,” St. Louis Post-​Dispatch, July 10, 1972. 5. Cheryl McCall, “FBI Left My Son’s Home in Shambles, Suspect’s Dad Says,” Detroit News, June 30, 1972; interview with McNally, December 27, 2022. 6. Interview with Schweickert, March 18, 2021. C h a p t er 4 1 1. “Reno Airport Out to Change Image,” Chico Enterprise-​Record, September 1, 1972. 2. Tom Reedy, “Bullets Fell Hijacker after ‘War Protest,’” Fresno Bee, August 19, 1972. 3. “‘Illegal War’ Said Motive for Hijacking,” The Times (San Mateo, CA), October 17, 1972; “Wounded Sibley Answers Hijacking Charge Today,” The Californian, August 21, 1972. 4. Reedy, “Bullets Fell Hijacker”; “Reno Hijacking Figure’s Bail Is $500,000,” Reno Gazette-​Journal, August 22, 1972; “Sibley to Enter Plea of Innocent to Hijacking,” Redlands Daily Facts, August 31, 1972; “The Bike Hijacker,” San Francisco Examiner, August 27, 1972; “Skyjacking: Stopping Mad Dogs,” Time, August 28, 1972. 5. Author interview with John Detlor, March 1, 2022. 6. Reedy, “Bullets Fell Hijacker.” 7. “Friends Say Divorce Preceded Hijacking,” Sacramento Bee, August 20, 1972; “Sibley Didn’t Show Interest in Viet War,” Reno Gazette-​Journal, August 21, 1972; Phil Barber, “Sibley Opposed Viet War—​Ex-​Wife Tells Background,” Reno Gazette-​Journal, August 25, 1972. 8. “Friends Say Divorce Preceded Hijacking”; “Sibley Didn’t Show Interest”; “FBI Foils $2 Million Skyjacking,” Press Democrat (Santa Rosa, CA), August 20, 1972; Barber, “Sibley Opposed Viet War”; “Renoan Charged in Skyjacking Pleads Innocent,” Sacramento Bee, September 5, 1972; “Hijacked Reno Plane Captain: ‘Our Lives Were on the Line,’” Reno Gazette-​Journal, October 17, 1972; “Sibley Given Life in Prison, Tests Ordered,” Reno Gazette-​Journal, November 28, 1972. 9. “Accused Hijacker Visited Sacramento Aug. 16,” Sacramento Bee, August 24, 1972; “Sibley Didn’t Show Interest.” 10. Interview with Detlor, March 1, 2022; Reedy, “Bullets Fell Hijacker”; “Wounded Reno Skyjacker to Face Court Tomorrow,” Oakland Tribune, August 20, 1972. 11. Interview with Detlor, March 1, 2022; John S. Detlor, “Frank Markoe Sibley, Jr. Hijacking,” Society of Former Special Agents of the FBI (Paducah, KY: Turner, 1999), 51. 12. Interview with Detlor, March 1, 2022; Detlor, “Frank Markoe Sibley, Jr. Hijacking,” 51. 13. Interview with Detlor, March 1, 2022; “Friends Say Divorce Preceded Hijacking.”

256

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14. Phil Barber, “Wife of Hijack Figure ‘Hoping It’s Not Him,’” Reno Gazette-​Journal, August 19, 1972. 15. “Wounded Reno Skyjacker.” 16. “Reno Hijacking Figure’s Bail”; “Ex-​Navy Pilot Guilty,” Lebanon (PA) Daily News, October 19, 1972. 17. “Hijacker Asks Speedy Trial,” Santa Cruz Sentinel, August 23, 1972. 18. “Sibley to Enter Plea”; “Hijacked Reno Plane Captain.” 19. Interview with Detlor, March 1, 2022. 20. “Sibley Given Life”; “Hijacker Tearfully Asks Forgiveness,” Bellingham (WA) Herald, March 1, 1973. 21. “Hijacker Says He Flew Missions for CIA,” Longview (WA) Daily News, February 2, 1978. 22. “Hijacker Back to Prison,” News Tribune (Tacoma, WA), February 20, 1978; “Frank M. Sibley,” Arizona Republic, November 19, 1981. Sibley’s obituary said that in addition to his Navy flying, he flew as a civilian pilot for the royal family of Saudi Arabia and in the Congo and as a tanker pilot fighting fires in Arizona, California, and Montana. C h a p t er 4 2 1. John Connors, “Grand Jury Indicts Airliner’s Hijacker,” Miami Herald, June 30, 1961; “Aerial Hijacker Indicted,” Tampa Tribune, June 30, 1961; “U.S. Indicts Air ‘Pirate,’ Getting Him Won’t Be Easy,” Springfield (MO) Leader and Press, June 29, 1961. 2. Miguel Perez, “Hijacker: Cuba Suspected Spying,” Miami Herald, November 27, 1975; Joe Crankshaw, “Probation Is Denied for Ortiz,” Miami Herald, March 5, 1976; Barry Bearak, “Hijackers—​They’re Still Flying High,” Los Angeles Times, August 4, 1983. 3. “Miami Waiter Fled Family to Hijack Airliner,” Detroit Free Press, July 27, 1961; “Cuban-​Born Waiter Named as Hijacker,” Orlando Sentinel, July 27, 1961. 4. “Airliner Captives Freed,” El Paso Herald-​Post, August 3, 1961. 5. Stephen Trumbull, “The Floridian Fidel Hates Most,” Tampa Bay Times, August 20, 1961; Paul Vitello, “Erwin Harris, Ad Executive Who Seized Cuban Assets, Dies at 91,” New York Times, March 18, 2013. 6. “Plane Gun Attack Meaningless,” San Francisco Examiner, August 2, 1961; “Gunman Blinds Menlo Pilot,” The Times (San Mateo, CA), August 1, 1961; Charles S. Ryckman, “Pilot Blinded by Would-​Be Pirate Becomes a Broker,” Freemont Tribune, March 15, 1963; Charles S. Ryckman, “Aid Needed for Pilot in Peril,” Freemont Tribune, July 13, 1964; “Skyjacker Draws 3 Prison Terms,” Ventura County Star, September 5, 1961. 7. “Man and Son Fail in Attempt to Hijack Jet for Cuba Trip,” Chattanooga Daily Times, August 4, 1961; “Hijacking Surprises Mrs. Bearden,” El Paso Times, August 4, 1961; “California Ends Parole for Bearden,” Fresno Bee, August 4, 1961.

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8. “How We’ll Fight Hijacks,” Miami News, August 4, 1961; “Airline Scheme Puzzles Bearden’s Wife, Friends,” Fresno Bee, August 4, 1961. 9. “Airliner Captives Freed,” El Paso Herald-​Post, August 3, 1961; “Plane Hijacking Ends in Failure,” Chattanooga Daily Times, August 4, 1961; Andrew Tully, “Father-​ Son Hijacking Team Never Made It to Cuba,” Kansas City Star, December 15, 1965; Michael Scanlon, “Memories of 1st Hijacking Dim after a Quarter-​Century,” El Paso Times, July 27, 1986. 10. “Airliner Captives Freed.” 11. “Kennedy and Congress Act on Latest Piracy,” Miami News, August 4, 1961; “Kennedy’s Order Forbade Any Deals with Hijackers,” Chattanooga Daily Times, August 4, 1961; Cope Routh, “Suspense of Jet Hijacking Recalled,” Odessa (TX) American, September 10, 1972. 12. “Kennedy and Congress Act.” 13. Author interview with Cody Bearden, July 7, 2022; Frank H. Hunter, “Cody Bearden Was Terrified Kid Following Plane Hi-​Jacking,” El Paso Times, August 29, 1965. 14. Hunter, “Cody Bearden Was Terrified Kid.” 15. Interview with Bearden, July 7, 2022; “Jet Airplane Hijacker Gets Life Term in Pen,” Albuquerque Tribune, October 31, 1961; Tully, “Father-​Son Hijacking Team”; Hunter, “Cody Bearden Was Terrified Kid”; Scanlon, “Memories of 1st Hijacking.” 16. “Hijacker’s Wife Describes Mate as Moody Artist,” Philadelphia Daily News, August 11, 1961; “The Lowdown on the Hijacker,” New York Daily News, August 11, 1961; “His Name in Ad Made Him Mad,” Miami News, August 10, 1961; “‘Wild-​ Eyed’ Hijacker Plagued by Troubles,” Miami Herald, August 11, 1961. 17. “Plane Pirated by Frenchman,” Star-​Gazette (Elmira, NY), August 10, 1961; “Hijacked Jetliner Back in Miami; 82 Aboard Safe,” Tallahassee Democrat, August 10, 1961; “The Lowdown.” 18. “Plane Pirated by Frenchman”; Larry Allen, “Jetliner Pirate Sentenced to 8-​Year Term in Mexico,” Fort Worth Star-​Telegram, October 27, 1962. 19. “Cubans Cheered Wild Hijacker,” Tallahassee Democrat, August 11, 1961; “Plane Pirated by Frenchman.” 20. Allen, “Jetliner Pirate Sentenced”; Larry Allen, “Freedom Near for Airplane Hijacker,” Fort Worth Star-​Telegram, July 8, 1966. In a bizarre twist, Cadon was arrested as a stowaway on a Norwegian ship in Baltimore in 1971. “FBI Arrests Plane Pirate,” Cumberland (MD) News, February 13, 1971. 21. “Skyjacking over Cuba: 3 Slain,” Miami Herald, August 11, 1961; Allen, “Jetliner Pirate Sentenced”; “Fourth Plane Hijacked, but Castro Releases It,” Tampa Tribune, August 10, 1961; “Hang Air Pirates,” El Paso Times, August 4, 1961. 22. “Filth of Principe Prison Shocks Pilot—​Victim of Hijacking Pair,” Pensacola News, April 21, 1962; “Two Men Reindicted for Kidnapping, Airplane Piracy,” Fort Lauderdale News, June 7, 1962; “FBI Seizes 5 after Return from Havana,” Chicago Tribune, April 21, 1962; Miller Davis, “Miami Pilot Flies Free from Cuba,” Miami

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News, February 21, 1964; Mary Louise Wilkinson, “Plane Hijackers Received U.S. Aid,” Miami News, February 21, 1964; “Hijacked Pilot Still in Cuba,” Orlando Evening Star, February 19, 1964; Mike McQueen, “Judge Throws Out Hijack Case,” Miami Herald, June 22, 1990; Liz Balmaseda and Mike McQueen, “Prisoner, Patriot, Pariah,” Miami Herald, June 17, 1990. 23. “HAL Incident Recalls Pilot Who Buzzed Waikiki,” Honolulu Star-​Bulletin, September 2, 1965; “Youth May Face Piracy Count,” Honolulu Advertiser, September 1, 1965; “Plane Terrorizer Sent to Koolau,” Honolulu Advertiser, October 19, 1965. 24. Howard Benedict, “3 Helped to Subdue Would-​Be Hijacker,” Corpus Christi Times, November 18, 1965; Nancy Taylor, “Stewardess Describes Harrowing Experience,” Corpus Christi Times, November 18, 1965. 25. “Brownsville Man to Fly to Son’s Side in New Orleans,” Corpus Christi Times, November 18, 1965; “Teenager Pleads Guilty to Intimidation of Pilot,” Corpus Christi Caller-​Times, March 3, 1966; Chris Kraft, Flight: My Life in Mission Control (New York: Dutton, 2001), 238–​239. 26. Inez Robb, “Agent Offers Hijack Tour to Airlines,” News-​Press (Fort Myers, FL), August 14, 1967. C h a p t er 4 3 1. Throughout this section, I have relied on a couple of sources on US airline hijackings during this period. The first is a database of all US hijackings from 1961 to 1972, compiled by my research assistant, Mason Andrews. The second is Federal Aviation Administration, “Aircraft Hijackings and Other Criminal Acts against Civil Aviation Statistical and Narrative Reports,” May 1983, Washington, DC. Both are comprehensive and agree in nearly every detail. For an early assessment of the hijacking epidemic, see James A. Arey, The Sky Pirates (New York: Charles Scribner’s Sons, 1972). 2. Don Bohning, “Half Million Cuban Exiles Live in U.S.—​45 Want Out,” Miami Herald, August 5, 1968; Fred Anderson and Frank Soler, “U.S. Bought Tickets for Cuban Skyjackers,” Miami Herald, June 6, 1969; Lillian Guerra, Visions of Power in Cuba: Revolution, Redemption, and Resistance, 1959–​1971 (Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 2012), 227–​255, 290–​316; Julia E. Sweig, Cuba: What Everyone Needs to Know, 3rd ed. (New York: Oxford University Press, 2016), 46–​47; Luis Martinez-​Fernandez, Revolutionary Cuba: A History (Gainesville: University Press of Florida, 2014), 111–​112. 3. “Family Hijacks, Goes Home to Havana,” Central New Jersey Home News, June 23, 1969; “Plane Forced into a ‘Mercy Mission,’” Fort Lauderdale News, June 23, 1969. 4. Author interview with Bennett Shelfer, August 15, 2022; Mike Baxter, “Hijacked Plane Returns after Unusual Delay,” Miami Herald, November 1, 1970; Irwin Ross, “Take This Plane to Havana!” Reader’s Digest, May 1969, 113–​117.

259

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5. “Pirated Commercial Aircraft Toll Soars to 10 So Far in New Year,” Pensacola News, January 29, 1969. 6. “Hijacker Says He Missed Mom,” Tallahassee Democrat, August 15, 1969; Ross, “Take This Plane to Havana!” 7. Kathy Kraus, “Penknife Hijacker’s Only Weapon,” Baltimore Sun, June 30, 1969; “6 Hijackers Surrender on Return from Cuba,” Baltimore Sun, November 3, 1969; “6 Men Wanted in Hijackings Turn Themselves in to FBI,” Miami Herald, November 3, 1969; Theodore Hendricks, “Hijacker on Alcoholic Spree Gets 15 Years for ’69 Flight,” Baltimore Sun, October 6, 1970. 8. Milt Sosin, “‘Clacker’ Jacker Strikes,” Miami News, April 1, 1971; “Calley Verdict Angers Hijacker,” Tallahassee Democrat, April 1, 1971. 9. Merwin K. Sigale and Milt Sosin, “Hijack Passengers Tell Ordeal,” Miami News, June 2, 1971; “Hijacked Plane Returns,” Tampa Bay Times, June 3, 1971. 10. “Jet Crewman Thwarts Hijacker by Taking Pistol Left on Seat,” St. Louis Post-​ Dispatch, June 5, 1971; “Co-​pilot Foils Hijacker,” Orlando Evening Star, June 5, 1971; “Retired Miner Arrested after Hijacking Airliner,” Beckley (WV) Post-​Herald and Register, June 6, 1971; “Death Penalty Not Sought for Boone County Hijacker,” Raleigh Register (Beckley, WV), October 28, 1971. 11. “Agent’s Sideburns Bothered J. Edgar,” Raleigh Register (Beckley, WV), June 15, 1971. 12. “Hijack Suspect Lauded,” Tampa Times, January 16, 1969; “Accused Skyjacker Turned over to FBI,” The Gazette (Montreal), May 6, 1969; “Hijack Suspect Is Returned,” Miami Herald, May 7, 1969; “Hijacker’s Wife Testifies Gun Unloaded, Didn’t Work,” Pensacola News Journal, November 20, 1969; Frank Frosch, “Cell Was a ‘Living Tomb’ for Hijacker in Havana,” Miami Herald, January 25, 1970; “Hijacker Tells about Cuba Jail,” Boston Globe, January 25, 1970; Judie Glave, “Author Recounts History of an Icon in Blue Denim,” Kansas City Star, December 19, 1995. 13. “Man Arrested in Hijack Try,” Tampa Bay Times, August 6, 1969; “Hijacker Ruled Incompetent,” Charlotte Observer, August 15, 1969; “Court Commits Man in Plane Hijack Attempt,” Tampa Bay Times, August 15, 1969; Ross, “Take This Plane to Havana!” 14. “Plan Mental Tests for Skyjacker,” Wilmington News-​Journal, November 14, 1969; Terry Flynn, “Hijack: It Looked So Easy,” Tulare (CA) Advance-​Register, November 11, 1969. 15. “Would-​ Be Hijacker’s Apology Too Late,” Springfield (OH) News-​Sun, July 6, 2009. 16. Ralph Pugh, “No, No, Not My Son,” Pensacola News Journal, November 4, 1968; “State Youth Tries Hijack,” Montgomery Advertiser, November 3, 1968; “Youth Pleads Guilty to Plane Incident,” Alabama Journal, July 19, 1969; “Mobile Schoolboy Hijacks Airliner,” Montgomery Advertiser, March 9, 1971; Lillian Foscue

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Notes Vann, “Would-​Be Hijacker to Spend Summer with His Benefactor,” Birmingham Post-​Herald, June 8, 1971. C h a p t er 4 4

1. Anthony Bryant, Hijack (Fort Lauderdale: Freedom Press International, 1984), 148. 2. “Complaint Filed in ‘Hoosiers’ Plane Hijacking,” Indianapolis Star, August 2, 1969; “Hijacking Suspect Was ‘Model’ Prisoner,” Hartford Courant, August 2, 1969; Ken Stephens, “Lester Perry Gets 25-​Year Term in 1969 Hijacking over Kansas,” Wichita Eagle, June 23, 1981; John O’Brien, “The 12-​Year Odyssey of a Loser,” Chicago Tribune, October 25, 1981. On July 4, 1968, John Hamilton Morris was being transported from Leavenworth prison to San Francisco to consult with his attorney when he gave a stewardess a note saying he had a bomb and wanted to go to Mexico. The plane stopped in Las Vegas, where Morris was removed. “Would-​Be S.F. Jet Hijacker Foiled,” Oakland Tribune, July 5, 1968. On May 30, 1969, Terrance Niemeyer was being transported from Little Rock, Arkansas, to New Orleans by sheriff ’s deputies when he passed the stewardess a note saying he had a grenade, which was a ruse. He broke his leg while attempting to escape by jumping from a third-​floor prison window on July 16, 1969. “U.S. Prisoner Breaks Leg in 3-​Story Plunge,” Shreveport Journal, July 17, 1969. 3. Other Vietnam veterans who hijacked planes to Cuba between 1968 and 1971, along with the dates of their hijackings, include Willis Jessie (August 4, 1968), Everett White ( January 29, 1969), Gregory Alexander Graves (August 20, 1970), Robert LaBadie (August 24, 1970), and Robert Lee Jackson ( July 2, 1971). Also see Larry Mahoney, “Many Hijackers Share Strong Ties to Military,” Miami Herald, January 27, 1969. 4. “Hijacker Seized,” Los Angeles Times, November 1, 1969. 5. “Hijacker’s Parents Wonder Why He Did It,” Sacramento Bee, November 2, 1969; Max Lerner, “The Hijacker and the Pilot,” Times-​Advocate (Escondido, CA), November 9, 1969. 6. Reynolds Packard, “Italy Refuses to Extradite Hijacker,” New York Daily News, November 2, 1969. 7. “Hijacking ‘Fiasco,’” Los Angeles Times, November 3, 1969; Peter McLaughlin and Paul Meskil, “Hijacked Crew Calls FBI Action Reckless,” New York Daily News, November 3, 1969; Joseph Lelyveld, “Plane’s Commander Blasts FBI’s Role,” Sacramento Bee, November 2, 1969. 8. Leonora Dodsworth, “An Ex-​Skyjacker Who Survived an Earthquake Himself Rushes Aid to Italy’s Homeless,” People, December 15, 1980. 9. “All Girls in His Hometown Want to Wed Jet Hijacker,” Los Angeles Times, November 8, 1969; “Movie Based on Hijack Planned,” Los Angeles Times, November 8, 1969; “Hijacker of U.S. Plane Indicted by Italy Court,” Los Angeles Times, April 9, 1970. Even the Vatican weighed in in support of Minichiello. “L’Osservatore See

261

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Hijacker as Mental Case,” The Californian, November 13, 1969; “Carlo Ponti Plans Film on Hijacker,” San Bernardino County Sun, December 6, 1969; “Leniency Asked in Plane Hijacking,” Oakland Tribune, November 8, 1970. 10. “Italy Frees Jet Hijacker Minichiello,” Los Angeles Times, May 2, 1971; Joseph Volz, “Italy May Keep Four,” New York Daily News, October 13, 1985; Dodsworth, “Ex-​ Skyjacker Who Survived an Earthquake”; Emily Burnham, “A Hijacked Plane Stopped in Bangor on Its Way to Rome 50 Years Ago This Week,” Bangor Daily News, October 30, 2019. Luigi Minichiello died of a stroke in March 1970. 11. Susan Holmes, “Sad World of Henry Shorr,” Detroit Free Press, October 23, 1969; Don Bedwell, “Suburban Youth Hijacks Jet,” Detroit Free Press, October 22, 1969; Bob Talbert, “School Ruckus Led to Hijacker’s Zeal,” Charlotte Observer, October 23, 1969. 12. James Reed, “U.S. Hijackers in Cuba Facing Segregated and Unhappy Life,” New York Times, December 20, 1970; “Hijacker’s ‘Suicide’ Disputed,” Detroit Free Press, December 20, 1969. C h a p t er 4 5 1. Reed, “U.S. Hijackers in Cuba.” On hijacking and US-​Cuba relations, see Teishan A. Latner, Cuban Revolution in America: Havana and the Making of a United States Left, 1968–​1992 (Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 2018), 123–​151. 2. Anthony Bryant, Hijack (Fort Lauderdale: Freedom Press International, 1984), 3–​4. Other Black Panthers or members of Black Power groups not discussed in this section who hijacked planes to Cuba between 1968 and 1971, along with the dates of their hijackings, include Raymond Johnson (November 4, 1968); Byron Booth and Clinton Smith ( January 28, 1969); Lorenzo Ervin (February 25, 1969); Michael Finney, Ralph Goodwin, and Charles Hill (November 27, 1971); Joseph Terron Bennett and James William Brewton (March 7, 1972). 3. Bryant, Hijack, 39–​41, 51–​52; Larry Meltzer, “Ex-​Black Panther Wants to Warn World of Dangers,” Palm Beach Post, December 21, 1982. 4. Bryant, Hijack, 3, 18, 98; Meltzer, “Ex-​Black Panther.” 5. Bryant, Hijack, 6–​8; Joe Averill, “Cuba Returns Cash Stolen by Hijacker,” Miami Herald, March 6, 1969. 6. Bryant, Hijack, 17–​31. 7. Bryant, Hijack, 94, 171, 298, 428. 8. Eric Pace, “Tony Bryant, Former Hijacker Turned Castro Foe, Dies at 60,” New York Times, December 26, 1999; Meltzer, “Ex-​Black Panther”; Ray Waddle, “Prison Converts One-​Time Hijacker to Campaigner against Communism,” The Tennessean, May 14, 1985. 9. William Lee Brent, Long Time Gone (San Jose: toExcel, 1996), 137–​138. 10. Brent, Long Time Gone, 9, 33, 43, 47. 11. Brent, Long Time Gone, 87, 92, 95.

26

262

Notes

12. Brent, Long Time Gone, 123, 132, 134. 13. “Hijacked Oakland Jet Lands Safely in N.Y.,” San Francisco Examiner, June 18, 1969; Nora Hampton, “Story of Pirated Jetliner—​‘Our Gal in Havana,’” Oakland Tribune, June 18, 1969; Del Lane, “FBI Agents Seek Identity of ‘Desperate’ Hijacker,” Oakland Tribune, June 18, 1969. 14. Brent, Long Time Gone, 154. 15. Brent, Long Time Gone, 170, 180–​181; Reed, “U.S. Hijackers in Cuba”; Martin Schram, “2 U.S. Hijackers in Cuba Are Ready to Come Home,” Newsday, August 20, 1971. 16. Brent, Long Time Gone, 205–​207, 221, 241–​256, 261; Jocelyn Y. Stewart, “William Lee Brent, 75; Black Panther Hijacked Plane to Cuba,” Los Angeles Times, November 20, 2006. 17. Schram, “2 U.S. Hijackers in Cuba.” 18. Brent, Long Time Gone, 227–​228; Helen Fogel, “Hijackers’ Hell,” Miami Herald, February 21, 1978; “Hijacker Prefers Death in U.S. to Cuban Life,” Pittsburgh Press, February 13, 1978; “Accused Hijackers Back from Cuba,” Pittsburgh Press, March 22, 1978. 19. “Six U.S. Hijackers Return from Cuba,” Courier Post (Camden, NJ), March 22, 1978; Garland J. Grant, “Skyjacker Recalls His Years in Cuban Prison,” Miami News, September 2, 1980. 20. “Six U.S. Hijackers Return”; Jim Smith, “Skyjacker Returns, Gets 15 Year Term,” Philadelphia Daily News, June 27, 1978. 21. Jim Bishop, “Hijackers Come to Earth,” Kingston (NY) Daily Freeman, April 30, 1973. Babler remained in Cuba until 1992. He was arrested in Austria that November and extradited to the US. David Lyons, “Suspect in ’67 Hijacking to Cuba Arrested,” Miami Herald, July 8, 1993; “Years Later, Hijacker to Be Sentenced,” Miami Herald, April 20, 1994. There were reportedly seventy-​five or eighty hijackers living in Cuba in October 1980. Gary Moore, “‘Man without a Country’ Adjusts to Cuba Exile,” Miami Herald, October 31, 1980. C h a p t er 4 6 1. Richard Halloran, “F.B.I. Finds Crime Rate Has Risen 148% in Decade,” New York Times, August 13, 1970. A 1973 study sponsored by an agency of the Department of Justice found that for some types of crime, including rapes, robberies, and aggravated assaults, the actual rate might be five times the official number. Bill Kovach, “Federal Study Indicates Crime Far Exceeds Reported Levels,” New York Times, April 27, 1973. 2. Robert D. McFadden, “Hard Drugs Fade on Campuses, but Use of Soft Drugs Is Wide,” New York Times, November 20, 1972. 3. Ross, “Take This Plane to Havana!” 4. “Travel: What to Do When the Hijacker Comes,” Time, December 6, 1968.

263

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5. Caroline Drewes, “Judy’s Skyjack View of Cuba,” San Francisco Examiner, February 14, 1969; “Her Second Hijack Ordeal a ‘Breeze,’” Oakland Tribune, February 1, 1969; “‘Tired of Seeing People Starve,’ He Hijacks Jet,” Los Angeles Times, February 1, 1969. Sheffield spent time in Yugoslavia and Sweden before he was extradited to the US in 1976. He was sentenced to fifteen years in federal prison for the hijacking. “’69 Hijack Suspect Arraigned,” Press-​Telegram (Long Beach, CA), October 22, 1976; “Ex-​Berkeley Hijacker Gets 15 Years,” Chico Enterprise-​Record, February 5, 1977. 6. Allen Funt, “Some Thought Hijack Was Funt Stunt,” Orlando Evening Star, February 4, 1969. 7. John L. Moore, “Hijackings Are Costly to Airlines,” Honolulu Advertiser, December 20, 1968. 8. William Montalbano, “Castro Pockets about $2,500 per Hijacking,” Miami Herald, January 4, 1969. 9. “Eastern Recovers ’Chute Jump Highjack Loot,” Naples (FL) Daily News, May 9, 1973. 10. “Slain Jet Passenger Planned Move Here,” Albuquerque Journal, June 13, 1971; Harry Moskos, “Albq Man Slain by Jet Hijacker While Trying to Aid Stewardess,” Albuquerque Tribune, June 12, 1971; Jean Crafton, “Quietly, She Tells of Flight with Killer,” New York Daily News, June 13, 1971; “Heroism during Hijack Brings Praising Notes,” Clovis (NM) News-​Journal, July 7, 1971; “Wounded Gunman Arraigned in N.Y.; Bond Is $200,000,” Chicago Tribune, June 13, 1971; Charles Mount, “Stewardess’ Story,” Chicago Tribune, June 13, 1971. 11. “Briton Blames Skyjackings on Cuban Reds,” Sacramento Bee, November 29, 1971. 12. “FBI Seeking Identity of Latest Skyjacker,” Florida Today, July 19, 1968. 13. “Those Unwanted Flights to Cuba,” Los Angeles Times, November 26, 1968. 14. “Can’t Halt Hijackings, FAA and Airlines Agree,” Los Angeles Times, July 4, 1968. 15. Arnold Markowitz, “Hijacker’s ‘Grenade’: Shaving Lotion,” Miami Herald, July 18, 1968; “Wife Says Pilot Expected Hijacking,” San Antonio Express, July 18, 1968; “Quotes in the News,” Daily Herald (Provo, UT), July 19, 1968. 16. John S. Lang, “Skyjack: More Piracy, More Laws,” Longview (WA) Daily News, March 25, 1972. 17. Russ Blain, “Airport Security Pushed,” Tampa Times, January 6, 1972; “Airport Security Remains Hit-​Miss Job,” Morning Call (Allentown, PA), November 19, 1972; “Badges Due for Airport Security,” Miami Herald, May 16, 1972. 18. “Sky Marshal Project Hasn’t Worked Out,” San Francisco Examiner, January 21, 1972. 19. “Sky Marshals’ Program Will End April 1,” Los Angeles Times, March 9, 1972; “Wrong Solution to Hijackings,” New York Times, June 6, 1972. 20. Airlines also consulted with psychiatrist David G. Hubbard, author of The Skyjacker: His Flights of Fantasy (New York: Macmillan, 1971). 21. Zoeckler, “Hanley Still Seeking Way”; “Auto Insurer Contests Liability for Plane Damage,” St. Louis Post-​Dispatch, October 26, 1972; Roy Malone, “David Hanley

264

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Still Waits Trial in Hijacking Case,” Terre Haute Tribune, September 28, 1972; Eric L. Zoeckler, “Auto Driver Has No Recollection of Ramming Hijacked Plane,” St. Louis Post-​Dispatch, June 24, 1973. 22. Marion Hanley Engelhorn, email to the author, August 10, 2021; “David J. Hanley Sued for Divorce,” St. Louis Post-​Dispatch, December 4, 1973; “Bad-​Check Charge against David Hanley,” St. Louis Post-​Dispatch, December 5, 1973; “Rammer of Hijacked Jet Enters Democratic Presidential ‘Battle,’ ” Indianapolis Star, February 10, 1976. C h a p t er 47 1. Robert Levey, “Accused Hijacker Called Serious Worker, Unpredictable,” Star-​ Gazette, June 5, 1970; Harold K. Milks, “Mrs. Barkley Husband Alone against World,” Arizona Republic, June 5, 1970. 2. “Pilots Jump Hijacker as FBI Agents Storm Jet,” Sacramento Bee, June 5, 1970; “Suspect ‘Believes in His Country,’” Miami Herald, June 5, 1970. 3. Robyn Urrea, “Stewardess Describes Flight with Armed Hijacker Aboard,” Sacramento Bee, June 5, 1970. 4. “Hijacking Foiled on 2nd Landing,” Arizona Republic, June 5, 1970; “Phoenician Ruled Insane in Hijacking,” Arizona Daily Star, November 17, 1971; “Pilot Survived One of 1st Hijacking Ordeals,” Los Angeles Times, April 7, 1980. Hupe had served at Guadalcanal in World War II with Nixon, who called him after his surgery. “Nixon Phones Pilot Wounded in Jet Hijack,” Chicago Tribune, June 6, 1970. 5. Daniel O’Malley and Harry Stathos, “Skyjacker Asks 500G to Save Crew,” New York Daily News, May 29, 1971. 6. “Ex-​Cop’s Hijack Stopped,” Tampa Times, May 29, 1971; “Hijacker Nabbed by EAL Official,” News-​Press (Fort Myers, FL), May 30, 1971; “Hijacker Caught with Big Ransom,” Kansas City Star, May 29, 1971; “Ex-​Cop Hijacker Acquitted in N.Y.,” Tampa Tribune, December 30, 1971. 7. “Rod’s Sorry about Script,” Press and Sun-​Bulletin (Binghamton, NY), May 29, 1971. C h a p t er 4 8 1. John Doig, “Skyjacker’s Lament,” Calgary Herald, October 21, 1978; Alan Mettrick, “Paul Cini—​A Walking Contradiction,” Calgary Herald, June 15, 1972; Carol Howes, “Paroled Hijacker Given Jail Term in Hooker Assault,” Calgary Herald, September 26, 1987; “Ransom Note of an Airline Hijacker,” Daily Herald Tribune (Grande Prairie, Alberta), April 11, 1972. 2. Philip Hager and Richard West, “2 Hijackers’ Plan to Take Passengers Along Reported,” Los Angeles Times, July 6, 1972. 3. Larry Jenkins, “Witness to Skyjacking,” Sacramento Bee, July 6, 1972.

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4. Philip Hager and Richard West, “Two Hijackers, Passenger Slain at S.F. Airport,” Los Angeles Times, July 6, 1972; “Hijacked Passengers Tell of 6-​Hour Ordeal,” Los Angeles Times, July 6, 1972; Ted Fourkas, “Shootout at SF Airport Kills Two Hijackers, Passenger,” Fresno Bee, July 6, 1972. 5. “Bullet Kills Man, Dream,” San Bernardino County Sun, July 7, 1972. 6. Hager and West, “Two Hijackers, Passenger Slain”; “For Injured Actor, Drama Aboard Jet Was Too Real,” Fresno Bee, July 6, 1972. 7. Philip Hager and Daryl Lembke, “U.S. Discloses Tougher Stand on Air Pirates,” Los Angeles Times, July 7, 1972; “Quiet, Little-​Known Men Were ‘Not Hijacker Type,’” Sacramento Bee, July 6, 1972; Larry D. Hatfield, “Accomplice Hinted in Fatal Skyjack,” San Francisco Examiner, July 7, 1972; Tom Emch, “The Anatomy of a Hijack,” San Francisco Examiner, September 17, 1972. 8. Author interview with Lubomir Peichev, July 12, 2022; Lubomir Peichev, Petition for Naturalization, August 6, 1971, California, Northern U.S. District Court Naturalization Index, 1852–​1989; California Divorce Index, 1966–​1984. 9. U.S. v. Lubomir Peichev, United States District Court, Northern District of California, November 3, 1972, 4, 9, 12, 13, 15, 18, 64. 10. Interview with Peichev, July 12, 2022; Peter Trask, “Puntzi Passenger ‘Very Nice,’” Vancouver Sun, July 13, 1972; “3rd Conspirator Arrested,” Chico Enterprise-​Record, July 13, 1972. 11. U.S. v. Peichev, 26, 29–​30, 48–​49. When the rental agent was shown a set of photographs by a Royal Canadian Mounted Police corporal, she picked out a man named Zaimoff as the one who returned the car, not Illia Shishkoff. U.S. v. Peichev, 52–​53. 12. Interview with Peichev, July 12, 2022; Philip Hager, “Hijack Suspect Loses Bid for Canada Trip,” Los Angeles Times, October 28, 1972; “Skyjack Suspect’s Testimony Slated,” San Francisco Examiner, November 10, 1972; “Witness Says Suspected Hijacker Said Air-​Piracy Job Easy to Get Away With,” Napa Valley Register, November 14, 1972; “Life Sentence in S.F. Skyjack Plot,” San Francisco Examiner, December 21, 1972; U.S. v. Lubomir Peichev, U.S. Court of Appeals for the Ninth District, June 21, 1974. 13. Bob Yeager, “Precedent Set in Hijacking,” Napa Valley Register, July 6, 1972. 14. Steve Wilson, “Holt Remembered as Honor Student,” Indianapolis News, December 25, 1971; “Hijack Suspect Said under Mental Stress,” Indianapolis Star, December 26, 1971; “Judge Orders Everett Holt Hospitalized,” Daily Register (Greenfield, IN), June 24, 1972. 15. Z. Joe Thornton, “Jet Hijacking Foiled; Houston Man Charged,” Fort Worth Star-​ Telegram, January 13, 1972; Jim Brigance and Eloy Aguilar, “Charges Due after Dallas Hijack Try,” Abilene (TX) Reporter-​News, January 13, 1972; “Plane Hijacker Surrenders,” Tyler (TX) Morning Telegraph, January 13, 1972; Godfrey Anderson, “Air Hijacker Born to Lose,” Corpus Christi Caller-​Times, January 14, 1972; James

26

266

Notes

R. King, “‘Born Loser’ at 22 Is Flop as Hijacker, Too,” Tampa Tribune, January 14, 1972; “20-​Year Term in Prison Due Man in Hijack,” Tyler (TX) Morning Telegraph, February 3, 1973; William H. Inman, “A Pilot Recalls Hijack Terror,” Kilgore (TX) News Herald, June 21, 1985. 16. “Hijacking Suspect Wrote Numerous Notes on Plane,” Chico Enterprise-​Record, April 10, 1972; “San Diego Pilot Surprised Trick Worked on Hijacker,” San Bernardino County Sun, April 11, 1972; “Hijacker Labeled Kind, Gentle Man by Ex-​ Mate,” Progress Bulletin, April 12, 1972; “Accused Hijacker Doesn’t Want Insanity as Defense,” Napa Valley Register, November 7, 1972; “Hijacker Might Be Aspiring Novelist,” Hawaii Tribune-​Herald, April 10, 1972. 17. Brendan I. Koerner, The Skies Belong to Us: Love and Terror in the Gold Age of Hijacking (New York: Broadway, 2013). 18. “‘And by the Way, I Want $50,000 and a Parachute,’” Tampa Tribune, July 2, 1972; “Accused Sent to Hospital,” Corvallis (OR) Gazette-​Times, July 7, 1972. 19. Jon Nordheimer, “Skyjack Suspect’s Family Blame War for Son’s Behavior,” San Bernardino Sun, January 7, 1973. 20. “Passengers Tell of Gun Terror,” Oakland Tribune, July 7, 1972; “Youthful Skyjack Suspect Is Arraigned in US Court,” Sacramento Bee, July 8, 1972. 21. “Hijack Hit Him Twice,” Napa Valley Register, July 7, 1972. 22. John Berthelsen and Art McGinn, “PSA Skyjacker,” Sacramento Bee, July 7, 1972; Lee Fremstad, “Mexican Standoff,” Sacramento Bee, July 8, 1972. 23. “Hijacker ‘Cased’ Airport Two Days,” Napa Valley Register, July 8, 1972. 24. Will Jones, “CHP Officer Hero of PSA Hijack,” Oakland Tribune, July 7, 1972. 25. Bernard Hurwitz, “PSA Hijacker Gets 30 Year Sentence,” San Bernardino County Sun, February 13, 1973. 26. Author interview with Linda Joiner Kolumbus, July 19, 2022. 27. Interview with Kolumbus, July 19, 2022; Mike Leary, “The Hijackers,” Philadelphia Inquirer, July 14, 1972; Paul Critchlow, “They Failed ‘Behavior Profile’ but Presented Identification,” Philadelphia Inquirer, July 14, 1972; Mike Leary, “The Pilot,” Philadelphia Inquirer, July 14, 1972; Thomas Madden, “Trapped Hijackers Surrender with $600,000,” Philadelphia Inquirer, July 14, 1972; “Two Hijackers Surrender to End 22-​ Hour Ordeal,” Orlando Sentinel, July 14, 1972; Susan Stranahan, “Wild Skyjack Flight Described,” Philadelphia Inquirer, May 23, 1973. 28. Interview with Kolumbus, July 19, 2022; “Sit Down with Steve: Former Flight Attendant Linda Joiner Kolumbus Talks about Being Hijacked in July 1972,” Space Coast Daily, June 25, 2022. 29. Interview with Kolumbus, July 19, 2022; Carole V. Norris, “Stewardess Says Hijacking Suspect Saved Her Life,” Philadelphia Inquirer, May 30, 1973; Don Haskin, “Hijack Suspect Tells of Head Injury,” Philadelphia Daily News, June 7, 1973; Harry Gould, “Air Pirate Sentenced to 50 Yrs.,” Philadelphia Inquirer, March 19, 1974.

267

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267

30. Don Haskins, “Co-​ Suspect Was Friend, Hijacking Defendant Testifies,” Philadelphia Daily News, June 8, 1973; “60-​Yr. Term for Skyjack,” Philadelphia Daily News, December 3, 1974. 31. Katherine Hatch, “Gun Not Loaded, Bomb Not There,” Daily Oklahoman, July 14, 1972; “Weeping Oklahoman Held on Charge of Air Piracy,” Austin American, July 14, 1972; “Oklahoma Man in Jail on Skyjacking Charge,” Pampa (TX) Daily News, July 14, 1972; “Man Surrenders in Okla. Hijack,” Fort Worth Star-​Telegram, July 13, 1972. 32. John Greiner, “Pilot Recalls Piracy Events in First Day of Fisher’s Trial,” Daily Oklahoman, September 26, 1972; “Accused Hijacker Pleads Innocent,” El Paso Herald Post, August 26, 1972. 33. “The Passengers,” Philadelphia Inquirer, July 14, 1972. 34. “Airline Sued by 2 after Hijacking,” Corpus Christi Times, August 30, 1972; “Man Surrenders.” 35. Ed Blair, Odyssey of Terror (Nashville: Broadman, 1977), 66. 36. “2 Skyjackers Bitter against City, Police,” Detroit Free Press, November 12, 1972; Robert Allen, “Detroiter’s Desperation Led to ’72 Skyjacking Drama,” Detroit Free Press, June 6, 2016; Blair, Odyssey of Terror, 41–​45; “Pirated Jet Flight Bizarre,” Anniston (AL) Star, November 13, 1972. 37. Allen, “Detroiter’s Desperation”; Blair, Odyssey of Terror, 28–​31, 51. 38. Blair, Odyssey of Terror, 51. 39. Brendan Koerner, “Louis Moore Hijacked a Plane to Teach the City of Detroit a Lesson,” Slate, June 19, 2013; Blair, Odyssey of Terror, 58–​61, 70–​71. 40. Jo Thomas and Louis Heldman, “Hijack: 29 Hours of Blind Terror,” Detroit Free Press, November 14, 1972. 41. Blair, Odyssey of Terror, 107. 42. Interview with Schweickert, July 12, 2022; Blair, Odyssey of Terror, 126–​128. 43. Allen, “Detroiter’s Desperation”; Blair, Odyssey of Terror, 135–​137. 44. Blair, Odyssey of Terror, 138–​139. 45. Neal Embry, “Arkansas Pilot Recalls 1972 Airplane Hijacking,” Seattle Times, November 12, 2017. 46. Blair, Odyssey of Terror, 141–​168. 47. “Hijackers Sought Deal with Castro,” Anniston (AL) Star, November 14, 1972; Blair, Odyssey of Terror, 199–​212. 48. Blair, Odyssey of Terror, 217–​222. 49. Interview with Schweickert, July 12, 2022; Embry, “Arkansas Pilot Recalls.” 50. Embry, “Arkansas Pilot Recalls”; Allen, “Detroiter’s Desperation”; Blair, Odyssey of Terror, 232–​234. 51. Interview with Schweickert, July 12, 2022; Blair, Odyssey of Terror, 235–​237. 52. “Swiss Route One Plan of Hijackers,” Anniston (AL) Star, November 14, 1972. 53. Blair, Odyssey of Terror, 239–​291.

268

268

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54. “Skyjacker Recalls Living Hell of Cuban Prisons,” Miami News, January 7, 1984; Allen, “Detroiter’s Desperation”; “Cuban ‘Freedom’ Offer Rejected,” Battle Creek (MI) Enquirer, December 4, 1980. C h a p t er 4 9 1. “Skyjacking: Stopping Mad Dogs,” Time, August 28, 1972. 2. U.S. v. Walter John Petlikowsky, 72 CR 308 (E.D. Mo. 1972); “Admits He Drove Suspect,” St. Louis Post-​Dispatch, November 29, 1972; “10-​Year Term for His Role in Hijacking Here,” St. Louis Post-​Dispatch, May 13, 1973. 3. “Hijacking Trial Here to Be Dec. 4,” St. Louis Post Dispatch, November 15, 1972. 4. Interviews with Matiyow, April 29 and October 22, 2021. 5. Interview with Matiyow, April 29, 2021; Sharon Wetherley Matiyow, email to the author, December 30, 2022. 6. U.S. v. McNally, vol. 1, 8, 12, 14, 51; vol. 3, 660; vol. 4, 788–​793; vol. 5, 1507. 7. U.S. v. McNally, vol. 4, 886–​891, 904–​932. 8. Interview with Schweickert, March 18, 2021; U.S. v. McNally, vol. 3, 546; vol. 5, 1351–​1352. 9. U.S. v. McNally, vol. 1, 135–​137, 143–​145; vol. 2, 235, 241–​242, 244, 258, 260. 10. U.S. v. McNally, vol. 2, 292, 335–​339, 342–​343, 349–​352, 358–​359. 11. U.S. v. McNally, vol. 5, 1520–​1521, 1549–​1552, 1554. 12. Ted Gest, “McNally Plans Appeal,” St. Louis Post-​Dispatch, December 13, 1972; U.S. v. McNally, vol. 5, 1620–​1621. 13. “2 Life Terms for Hijacker of Jets Here,” St. Louis Post-​Dispatch, May 14, 1973. C h a p t er 5 0 1. Eliot Asinof, The Fox Is Crazy Too: The True Story of Garrett Trapnell, Adventurer, Skyjacker, Bank Robber, Con Man, Lover (New York: William Morrow, 1976), 17–​ 18, 138–​139, 141, 144, 192, 193, 305. 2. Asinof, The Fox Is Crazy Too, 49–​56. 3. “Crime Fling Patterned on Psychology Course,” Times Dispatch (Richmond, VA), September 24, 1958; “Three Fugitives Nabbed in Raleigh,” Herald-​Sun (Durham, NC), September 24, 1958; “Hitchhikers Get 20 Years for Hold-​Up,” Baltimore Sun, October 25, 1958; Asinof, The Fox Is Crazy Too, 293–​294. 4. “Roving Imposter Uses Dime Store Pistol, Badge,” Daily Notes (Canonsburg, PA), August 7, 1964; Asinof, The Fox Is Crazy Too, 78–​81. 5. John Leach, “Hunt Is Pressed for Jewel Thief,” Palm Beach Post, March 12, 1970; Jack Owen and John Leach, “Riviera Police Think They Spotted Gem Theft Suspect’s Car,” Palm Beach Post, March 13, 1970. 6. Asinof, The Fox Is Crazy Too, 218–​220.

269

Notes

269

7. Frank Mazza, “No Detector Used on Skyjack Flight,” New York Daily News, January 31, 1972. 8. Margaret Carroll, “Testimony Ends in Court Fight over Ownership of Yacht,” Miami Herald, September 25, 1971; Thomas Pugh and Henry Lee, “FBI Agent Shoots a Hijacker at JFK,” New York Daily News, January 30, 1972; Asinof, The Fox Is Crazy Too, 9–​21. 9. Bernard Rabin, “Passengers Ride It Out with Collective Cool,” New York Daily News, January 30, 1972. 10. Author interview with Jim Nelson, March 27, 2021. 11. Interview with Nelson, March 27, 2021; Asinof, The Fox Is Crazy Too, 26, 38–​ 39, 42–​43. 12. Interview with Nelson, March 27, 2021. 13. Kermit Jaedikerm, “Sane or Insane?” New York Daily News, March 4, 1973; Robert Kapstatter, “Skyjacker Draws Life Here,” New York Daily News, July 21, 1973; Asinof, The Fox Is Crazy Too, 241, 242, 294. The True interview was not published. 14. Jake McCarthy, “A Teen-​age Hijacker Tells Her Own Story,” St. Louis Post-​Dispatch, April 1, 1981; Richard H. Weiss and Victor Volland, “2 Inmates in Woman’s Escape Plot Were Convicted In Plane Hijackings,” St. Louis Post-​Dispatch, May 26, 1978; Douglas Frantz, “Strange Characters Cast in Bizarre Hijack Tale,” Chicago Tribune, December 22, 1978; Ann Schottman, “Army Veteran, Mother of 5 Died—​but Who Knows Why?” Southern Illinoisan, May 26, 1978; “Skyjacker Grad Student,” Springfield (IL) Leader and Press, May 26, 1978. 15. Eliot Asinof, Warren Hinckle, and William Turner, The 10-​Second Jailbreak: The Helicopter Escape of Joel David Kaplan (New York: Holt, Rinehart and Winston, 1973), 3–​13, 214–​236; Anthony Ripley, “Prison Escape by Helicopter—​How It Worked,” St. Louis Post-​Dispatch, September 13, 1971; Lily Rothman, “The Strange Case of the Non-​Criminal Jail Break,” Time, June 8, 2015; “Mexico: Whirlaway,” Time, August 30, 1971, 27–​28; “Adventure: More on the Kaplan Caper,” Time, September 20, 1971, 15. 16. McCarthy, “A Teen-​age Hijacker.” 17. Anthony Burton, “The Thief Who Outfoxed the Law,” New York Daily News, July 9, 1978; O. R. Walley, “Pilot Kills Hijacker, Foils Prison Break,” Southern Illinoisan, May 25, 1978; Ann Schottman, “‘She Was Very Calm’—​Pilot,” Southern Illinoisan, May 25, 1978; John M. McGuire, “A St. Charles Home Where Helicopters Roam—​ and Land,” St. Louis Post-​Dispatch, October 7, 1987. 18. “Woman’s Car Yields Weapons,” Springfield (IL) Leader and Press, May 26, 1978; Weiss and Volland, “2 Inmates”; Robert Goodrich, “Convict Blames Himself in Copter Plot Fatality,” St. Louis Post-​Dispatch, July 2, 1978. 19. J. Pulitzer, “Woman Arrested in E. St. Louis after Indictment In Copter Plot,” St. Louis Post-​Dispatch, September 29, 1978; Shirley E. Johnson, “Helicopter Pilot Tells of Hijack Slaying over Prison,” Southern Illinoisan, December 15, 1978.

270

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20. McCarthy, “A Teen-​age Hijacker”; Frantz, “Strange Characters.” 21. Daniel Egler and Michael Hirsley, “Teen Girl Frees 87 on Jet, Ending Daylong Hijacking,” Chicago Tribune, December 22, 1978. 22. John O’Brien, “Jury, Unaware of Hijack, Convicts 2,” Chicago Tribune, December 22, 1978. 23. McCarthy, “A Teen-​age Hijacker.” C h a p t er 5 1 1. “Intensive Search Is On,” Port Angeles (WA) Evening News, November 26, 1971; “FBI Methodically Pushes Hunt.” 2. Interview with Detlor, March 1, 2022. 3. Himmelsbach and Worcester, NORJAK, 29. 4. Geoffrey Gray, Skyjack: The Hunt for D.B. Cooper (New York: Broadway Paperbacks, 2012), 263–​268; Carl Laurin, D.B. Cooper & Me: A Criminal, a Spy, My Best Friend (Grand Rapids, MI: Principia Media, 2018), 171–​196. 5. Thomas J. Colbert and Tom Szollosi, The Last Master Outlaw: How He Outfoxed the FBI Six Times but Not a Cold Case Team (Simi Valley, CA: Jacaranda Roots, 2016); Max Gunther, D.B. Cooper: What Really Happened (Chicago: Contemporary Books, 1985); Rhodes, D.B. Cooper: The Real McCoy; Richard Thomas Tosaw, D.B. Cooper Dead or Alive? (Ceres, CA: Tosaw, 1984); Gray, Skyjack; Laurin, D.B. Cooper & Me; Skipp Porteous and Robert Blevins, Into the Blast: The True Story of D.B. Cooper, rev. ed. (Seattle: Adventure Books of Seattle, 2011); Bruce A. Smith, DB Cooper and the FBI, 3rd ed. (Abbeville, SC: Moonshine Cove, 2021); Peter Rose, “Film Maker Consumed by Tangled Story of Hijack,” Arizona Republic, July 6, 1980; John Benson, “Real D.B. Cooper Was Island Man, Magazine Claims,” Honolulu Star-​Bulletin, November 24, 1983; Robert Macy, “D.B. Cooper: Was He a Missouri Con Man?” Spokane Chronicle, November 18, 1983; Douglas Perry, “‘Charming’ D.B. Cooper Suspect Sheridan Peterson Dies at 94, Spent Years Dedicated to Political Causes,” The Oregonian, September 3, 2021, https://​www.ore​gonl​ive.com/​hist​ory/​2021/​01/​ charm​ing-​db-​coo​per-​susp​ect-​sheri​dan-​peter​son-​dies-​at-​94-​spent-​years-​dedica​ted-​ to-​politi​cal-​cau​ses.html; Hampton Sides, Hellhound on His Trail: The Electrifying Account of the Largest Manhunt in American History (New York: Anchor Books, 2011), 319–​321. C h a p t er 5 2 1. On January 2, 1973, Charles Wenige was talked into surrendering by a Catholic cardinal and a psychiatrist two hours after he used a pistol to take two Piedmont Airlines stewardesses hostage at Baltimore. Alan Doelp and Nick Yengich, “Shehan Counseled Gunman on Plane,” Baltimore Evening Sun, January 3, 1973; James Day, “$100,000 Bail Set; Lawyer Appointed,” Baltimore Evening Sun, January 3, 1973.

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2. “Pan Am Introduces X-​ray Scanning Device,” Poughkeepsie Journal, November 15, 1972; Jack Swanson, “Some Fume and Fumble over Sterile Concourse,” Arizona Republic, August 7, 1973; “Dogs Trained to Deter Skyjackings,” Honolulu Register, January 12, 1972. 3. “Hijack Pact but That’s All Now,” New York Times, February 18, 1973; “Cuba, U.S. to Sign Anti-​Hijack Pact Today,” Miami Herald, February 15, 1973. The 1979 hijacker was Eduardo Guerra Jimenez. “Is Jet Hijacker ’69 Defector? Similarities Are Remarkable,” Tampa Tribune, June 13, 1979. The Mariel boatlift led to a spate of hijackings by Cubans who wanted to return to the island after 1980. Bearak, “Hijackers—​They’re Still Flying High.” 4. Jin-​Tai Choi, Aviation Terrorism: Historical Survey, Perspectives and Responses (New York: St. Martin’s Press, 1994), 2, 6; Der-​Ann Hsu and Richard E. Quandt, “Statistical Analysis of Aircraft Hijackings and Political Assassinations,” Research Memo 194, Econometric Research Program, Princeton University, February 1976, 3, 16. 5. “Latin ‘Tired’ of U.S. Taxes Hijacks Jet with 96 to Cuba,” Philadelphia Daily News, September 8, 1969; Greg B. Smith, “FBI Snags Havana Hijack Suspect,” New York Daily News, December 12, 1997; “Sentence in ’69 Hijacking,” Newsday, June 26, 1998; Mary Perham, “Vacations from Hell,” Star-​Gazette, July 17, 1998; Bev Wake, “Only the ‘Suspicious’ Raise Red Flags,” Ottawa Citizen, January 12, 2001. 6. “Kidnapping Charge May Be Sought against Hijacker,” Star-​Phoenix (Saskatchewan), December 28, 1971; Michele McPhee, “Nabbed after 30 Years,” New York Daily News, September 11, 2001; Mike Oliveira, “How Police Finally Caught Canada’s Only Successful Hijacker,” Ottawa Citizen, June 12, 2002; Mike Oliveira, “Hijacker Could Serve Less Than a Year in Jail,” The Expositor, June 13, 2022; Michele McPhee, “Panther Days Over,” New York Daily News, June 29, 2003. 7. https://​www.jobya​viat​ion.com. 8. https://​ottoa​viat​ion.com. 9. https://​www.hybrid​airv​ehic​les.com.

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273

Index

For the benefit of digital users, indexed terms that span two pages (e.g., 52–​53) may, on occasion, appear on only one of those pages. aft stairs American Airlines 119 hijacking, 21, 52, 68 boarding through, 68 on Boeing 727 airliner, xiii, 64, 68, 224, 225, 227–​28 Cooper, D. B., 38, 40–​41, 195 Fisher, Melvin Martin, 204 Hahneman, Frederick William, 101–​2 Heady, Robb, 103 Hughes Airwest Flight 800 hijacking, 98 Lapoint, Richard Charles, 98 McCoy, Richard, 47–​48 McNally, Martin, 21, 52, 68, 70–​71, 76–​77, 134–​35, 137, 213, 224 opening prevention, 227–​28 as passenger escape, 191 pressure bump and, 48, 80, 86, 223 Sibley, Frank Markoe, 150 United Airlines 239 hijacking, 150 United Airlines 855 hijacking, 47–​48 Ahearn, Roy, 74–​75 airline deregulation, 12, 229–​30 airline-​hijacking movies, 192–​93

air piracy, 92, 99, 102, 150, 153, 164, 169, 175, 178–​79, 185, 186–​87, 192–​93, 194, 210, 211 airport security. See security measures at airports Air Traffic Control, 7, 25, 70, 77, 78 Alexiev, Dimitr, 195–​98 Alexiev, Joan, 198 Allen, Bill, 63 Allison, Marvin, 108 Alvarez, Rafael, 79, 80 ambulance, 60, 191, 196 American Airlines 119 hijacking. See also Dumanois, Jennifer; Furlong, Jane; McNally, Martin; Rash, Diana; Wetherley, Sharon bailing out, 76–​78, 79–​80 Blair, Richard, 70, 113–​16, 130, 131, 212–​13 Cadillac Eldorado impact, 56, 57–​60 chase planes, 69–​71 fallout from, 147–​49 fingerprint identification, 137–​38 ground chase after hijacker, 83–​85 Hanley, David, 54–​56, 57–​60 hijacking of, 3–​4

274

274

Index

American Airlines 119 hijacking (cont.) informant, 134–​36 parachute/​parachuting, 34–​37, 67, 117–​19 parachutes and, 34–​37 Parker, Tom, 43–​44, 50–​53 Peru, Indiana, 89–​91 pilots of, 31–​33 planning of, 128–​30 reward money, 109, 111–​12 search for hijacker, 86–​88, 106–​8 sketch of hijacker, 94–​96 snipers and, 65–​68 switch pilot, 44, 50–​53 American Airlines Stewardess College, 5, 15 American Flight Operations Center, 33 Ames, George. See Hahneman, Frederick William Anthony, Raymond, 167 Archer Aviation, 230 artificial horizon, 52–​53 Ashley, George, 168 Audit and Security Department (AA), 9–​10 Auto Club, 189 auxiliary power unit, 64 AWOL (Absent Without Leave), 17–​18, 97, 174, 200 Azmanoff, Michael, 195–​98 Babler, Gabor, 181 bailing out. See also parachutes/​ parachuting American Airlines 119 hijacking, 76–​ 78, 79–​80 Eastern Air Lines 175 hijacking, 101–​2 Hughes Airwest Flight 800 hijacking, 97–​99 United Airlines Flight 239, 103 Bain, Donald, 13 Baker, Trudy, 13 Bakker, Jim, 178–​79

Baldwin, Thomas S., 72 Ballard, Carl, 162 Barklage, Allen, 219 Barkley, Arthur, 190–​91, 225 barnstormers, 61, 74 Batson, Larry, 42 B-​47 bomber, 62 B-​52 bomber, 62 Bearden, Cody, 159–​61 Bearden, Leon, 159–​61 Bearss, Daniel, 90–​91 Beaver, Gerald, 202–​3 Belch, James, 191 Bell Jet Ranger helicopter, 6, 219 Bennett, James, 191–​92 Berkebile, Leroy as airline pilot, 51, 52–​53 Hanley, David and, 58 hijacker bailing out and, 76–​78, 86 hijacker description, 96 hijacker search, 86–​87, 118–​19 McNally trial and, 212–​13 pilot overview, 32–​33 plane transfer, 65, 67–​68 Berlowitz, Cyrus, 217–​18 Bettini, Maria Garzia, 175 Binney, David, 118–​19 Blackburn, Peter, 98 Black Panther Party, 177–​78, 179 Black Power groups, 177 Blair, Richard, 70, 113–​16, 130, 131, 212–​13 blue glove, 22, 118 Boeing 707 airliner, 62–​63 Boeing 727 airliner. See also American Airlines 119 hijacking aft stairs of, xiii, 64, 68, 224, 225, 227–​28 in commercial aviation, xiii, 3, 32–​33, 45, 61–​64, 227–​28 Boeing 747 Jumbo Jet, 12 Boeing 377 Stratocruiser, 62 bombs/​bomb threats Bennett, James, 192–​93

275

Index Cooper, D. B., 38, 39 fake bombs, 192–​93 Lapoint, Richard Charles, 99 McNally, Martin, 80 Northwest Orient Airlines Flight 305 hijacking, 38–​39 Ramirez, Diego, 168 Von George, Heinrick, 15, 24, 26, 28–​29 bomb-​sniffing dogs, 228 Bonney, Larry, 120, 134–​36, 138, 143 Booth, David, 170–​71 Bradley, Rod, 7, 36 Braver, Bob, 83–​84, 116, 117–​18 Breakout (film), 219 Brent, William, 179–​80 Britt, Bruce, 158–​59 Britt, Melba, 159 Broadwick, Charles, 72 Broadwick, Tiny, 72–​74 Brown, James, 167 Bruening, Beate Jenney, 151–​52 Bryant, Tony, 177–​79 bulletproof vests, 90, 208 bumper sticker, 103 Burkhardt, Don, 97–​98 Cadillac Eldorado impact, 56, 57–​60. See also Hanley, David Cadon, Albert Charles, 161–​62 Cadon, Charlotte, 161–​62 Candid Camera TV show, 185 Capitol Airways, 11 Carnagey, Lois, 159 Carre, Daniel Bernard, 200 Carter, E. H. Stanley, 196 Carver, John, 25 Cassel, Bob, 107–​8, 132–​33 Castro, Fidel, 157, 158, 160, 162–​63, 165, 177–​78, 208, 210 Celera 500L jet, 230 Cessna 172 Skyhawk, 69 Chalk, Alvin, 110

275

chase planes, 69–​71 Chicago O’Hare Airport, 31, 32, 129, 137, 185, 198 Chicago Tribune, 86, 96 Christiansen, Kenneth, 225–​26 Cini, Paul, 194–​95 Citizens’ Commission to Investigate the FBI, 83 Cleal, Oscar, 158–​59 clean-​cut hair, 3, 113–​14, 125 Cleaver, Eldridge, 177 C-​9 military airplane, 70–​71 C-​47 military airplane, 35, 61 Cochran, Jay, 33 Coffee, Tea, or Me? The Uninhibited Memoirs of Two Airline Stewardesses (Bain), 13 Coffelt, Jack, 225–​26 COINTELPRO (Counter Intelligence Program), 83, 139 Colliander, Ralph, 25 Collins, Carl, 138, 145, 213 Colliton, Greg, 169 commercial aviation Boeing 707 airliner, 62–​63 Boeing 727 airliner, xiii, 3, 32–​33, 45, 61–​64, 227–​28 Boeing 747 Jumbo Jet, 12 Boeing 377 Stratocruiser, 62 overview of, 9, 11–​14 security measures at airports, 187–​89 Concepcion, Idie Maria, 65, 66–​67 Continental Air Services, 153 Coolidge, Calvin, 43 Cooper, D. B. aft stairs and, 38, 40–​41, 195 bombs/​bomb threats, 38, 39 NORJAK code name, 92 overview of hijacking, 38–​42, 69 parachute use, 195, 225 possible identifications of, 225–​26 ransom money, 223–​24 search for, 92–​93, 222–​26

276

276

Index

copycat hijackings/​hijackers Bearden, Leon and Cody, 159–​61 Britt, Bruce, 158–​59 Cadon, Albert Charles, 161–​62 Eastern Air Lines 175 hijacking, 99–​103 Hahneman, Frederick William, 99–​103 Heady, Robb, 102–​5 Hughes Airwest Flight 800 hijacking, 97–​99 Lapoint, Richard Charles, 97–​99 McCoy, Richard, 45–​49, 86, 97 Mohawk Airlines 452 hijacking, 15–​ 19, 24–​30 Oquendo, Wilfredo Roman, 157–​ 58, 160 Ortiz, Antulio Ramirez, 157 Robinson, Thomas, 163–​64 Sibley, Frank Markoe, 150–​54 Trapnell, Garrett, 215–​21 United Airlines 239 hijacking, 102–​ 5, 150–​54 United Airlines 855 hijacking, 45–​49 Von George, Heinrick, 15–​19, 24–​ 30, 42 Cota, John, 110 Crabtree, Billie, 12 criminal hijackers, 172–​73 Critton, Patrick, 229–​30 Crosby, Francis, 160 Cuba/​Cuban hijackings, 159–​60, 162–​63, 164, 165–​71, 173, 177–​81, 183, 184–​ 85, 186–​88 Cuban Aerovias Q airliner battle, 162–​63 Culver, Catharine, 185–​86 Cunningham, Dave, 55, 68 Curd, Melvin, 206–​10 Curtiss JN-​4 “Jennies,” 61, 74 Damiani, Ann, 161

Davidon, William, 83 Davis, Angela, 216–​17 Davis, Benjamin O., 188–​89 Dayton, Barbara, 225–​26 DC-​3 airplanes, 9, 11, 35, 61–​62, 158, 163, 205 DC-​6 airplanes, 32, 207–​8, 209 DC-​8 airplanes, 63–​64, 162, 166, 188, 194 DC-​9 airplanes, 70, 97–​98 death penalty, 147, 162–​63, 174, 186 Deeghan, John, 110 DeGraw, Melvin, 55, 58–​59, 60, 68 Detlor, John, 151, 223 Detroit Free Press, 205 Dillinger, John, 90, 117–​18 Dillman, Rex, 115–​16 Dodds, Charles, 204 Dolan, Bernice, 13 Doolittle, Jimmy, 52–​53 Doomsday Flight (film), 192 Douglas Aircraft Company, 61 Dowd, James, 54–​55 drop zone, 87, 88, 93, 118–​19, 223 drug use, 182–​83 Dulles Airport, 100, 169, 190–​91, 228 Dumanois, Jennifer FBI interview of, 95 hijacking experience, 5, 7, 20 as hostage, 20, 23, 67–​68 McNally trial and, 212–​13 Dunton, Faye, 115 Duvalier, François “Papa Doc,” 9 Duvalier, Jean-​Claude “Baby Doc,” 9 dynamite, 7, 21–​22, 38, 40, 97–​98, 194, 198, 227 Eastern Air Lines 175 hijacking, 99–​103 Edwards, Walter, 141 Ehrlichman, John, 207 Elder, Robert, 186 Elliott, Lowell, 108, 109, 111–​12

27

Index Ellis, Dock, 182–​83 Ellis, Karen, 206, 207 emergency exit, 7, 203, 210 Emerich, Linn, 222–​23 Equal Rights Amendment, 13 eVTOL (electric vertical takeoff and landing), 230 extortion hijackings, 185, 187, 190–​93, 194, 198, 210, 227 extradition pact, 228 Fain, H. B., 211–​12 Farley, Richard, 120, 134–​36, 138, 145 Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas (Thompson), 183 Federal Aviation Administration (FAA), 25, 26, 28, 33, 98, 142–​43, 160, 170, 187, 188–​89, 201, 227–​28 Federal Bureau of Investigation (FBI) American Airlines 119 hijacking, 43–​ 44, 55, 86–​87 Citizens’ Commission to Investigate the FBI, 83 decision-​making process regarding hijackings, 33 fingerprint identification, 137–​38 hijacker search, 86–​87 hijacking procedures, 25, 26 informant, 134–​36 Mohawk Airlines 452 hijacking, 27, 28, 29–​30 Northwest Orient Airlines Flight 305 hijacking, 39, 40, 41 in Peru, Indiana, 89–​91 profiling program, 46 Quantico training base, 43–​44 rookie agents, 34 snipers, 65–​68 special agents, 22–​23, 34 storming airplanes, 198 switch pilot, 44

277

United Airlines Flight 239 hijacking, 150–​54 F-​102 fighter jets, 26 F-​106 fighter jets, 26, 41, 100 fingerprint identification, 137–​38 Fioravante, Cheryl, 12–​13 Fisher, Melvin Martin, 204, 205 Fletcher, Charles, 46 flight engineer, 7, 32–​33, 36, 51–​52, 77–​ 78, 169, 202 “Fly Me” advertising campaign, 12–​13 Folgado, Frances, 125 Folks, James, 140, 142 Fowler flaps, 63–​64 The Fox Is Crazy Too (Asino), 218 Franks, Howard, 185–​86 Freedom Flights, 165 front reserve chute, 36–​37 Funt, Allen, 185 Furlong, Jane FBI interview, 95 hijacking experience, 4, 5, 6–​7, 21 as hostage, 21, 23, 35–​36 McNally trial and, 212–​13 Galeski, Ted, 122–​23, 126, 130 GI Bill, 32 Glacken, Wanda (Wanda McNally), 125, 126, 127 Godwin, Lorrita, 115 Goldinher, Donna, 184 Good, Arlen, 87 Goodell, Francis, 200–​1 Good Housekeeping magazine, 24 Grabham, Richard, 108–​9 Grant, Garland Jesus, 180–​81 Green, Michael Stanley, 201–​4 Greenwood, Carl, 166–​67 grenades, 3, 7, 10, 21–​22, 46, 59, 87–​88, 128, 188, 192–​93, 199, 205, 207, 227 Gresoski, Frank, 22–​23

278

278

Index

Grissom Air Force Base, 78, 84, 87, 110, 113–​14 guns machine guns, xiii, 3, 4, 10, 50, 59, 77–​78, 87–​88, 109, 110, 118–​19, 128, 129, 135, 136, 143, 144–​45, 147–​48, 150–​51, 186, 192–​93, 205, 207 M-​1 rifle, 150, 152, 173, 194 Remington 12-​gauge shotgun, 55 Smith & Wesson .38 Special, 53, 65 use in hijacking, 7 Walther PPK 7.65mm automatic, 216 gyroscopic artificial horizon, 52–​53 Haake, Edward, 163–​64 Haas, William R. “Billy Bob,” 205–​10 Hahneman, Frederick William, 99–​ 103, 222 hair of hijackers, 9–​10, 65, 94–​96, 113–​14, 125, 130, 159, 195, 198 Hancock, Alice, 39–​40 hand grenades. See grenades Hanley, David, 54–​56, 57–​60, 94–​95, 183, 189 Harris, Erwin, 158 Harris, Hester Faye, 131–​33, 212–​13 Harrison, Jeanne, 88 Harrison, Tom, 88 Heady, Robb, 102–​5, 199–​200, 215, 222 Hearn, Gerry, 46 helicopters, 6, 26, 40, 41, 46, 48, 87, 88, 92, 93, 97, 106, 109–​10, 117, 201, 218–​19, 220, 225–​26 Helmey, Robert McRae “Red,” 169–​70 Herman, Richard, 70 Hicks, Bill, 158 Hicks, Thelma, 125, 142 Hijack House, 176, 177–​81 Hill, Tom, 199 Himmelsbach, Ralph, 39, 40, 41, 42, 93, 222 Hindenburg disaster (1937), 230 Holder, William Roger, 199–​200

Holman, Donna, 205, 206 Holt, Everett Leary, 198 homing devices, 26, 37 Hoover, J. Edgar, 43, 67, 84, 139, 169 Howe, Marjorie, 11–​12 How to Make a Good Airline Stewardess (Wenzel), 13 Huey helicopter, 40 Hughes Airwest Flight 800 hijacking, 97–​99 Hunt, Trudi, 97–​98 Hunter, Frank, 161 Hupe, Dale, 191 Hurst, Billy Eugene, 198–​99 Hutcheson, Ronald, 22–​23 Hybrid Air Vehicles, 230 hydraulically boosted controls, 63 Ingram, Brian, 224 interphone, 24, 28, 29, 40–​41, 46, 52, 99–​100, 224 Jackson, Henry, 205–​10 jets, 12, 26, 28, 41, 44, 62, 66, 70, 98, 100, 183, 187, 197, 230 The Jet Sex (Vantoch), 13 Joby Aviation, 230 Johnson, Harold, 205, 208, 209 Johnson, Hillary, 114 Johnson, James, 219, 220 Johnson, Mathew Bowen, 108–​9 Johnston, Tex, 63 Joiner, Linda, 202, 203 Jones, Don, 70–​71 Jones, Patricia, 98 Jones, Rachel, 13 Jordan, Marilyn, 171 Jorgensen, Donald, 229 José Martí Airport, 166–​67, 170, 183, 208 jump seat, 51, 70–​71, 77–​78 Kaiser, Carl, 100 Kaiser, Mary Jane, 100

279

Index Kane dead-​reckoning computer, 144 Kaplan, Joel David, 218–​19 Kaspar, Marcus, 118 KC-​135 Stratotanker, 26, 62 Kelly, Ron, 57–​59 Kennedy, John F., 160 Kennedy Airport, 6, 52, 66, 68, 174 Kerkow, Catherine, 199–​200 Koerner, Brendan, 199–​200 Koester, Art as airline pilot, 51–​53 Hanley, David and, 59–​60 hijacker bailing out and, 76–​78 hijacker description, 96 hijacker search, 86–​87 McNally trial and, 212–​13 pilot overview, 31–​33 plane transfer, 67–​68 Kovalenko, Ted, 7, 10, 20 Kowsly, Frederick, 192 Kraft, Chris, 163, 164 Krichke, Robert, 120–​21, 131, 134, 139–​ 40, 147 Krueger flaps, 63–​64 LaGuardia Airport, 3, 6, 9–​10, 24, 25, 26, 65, 66, 191, 192 Landaeta, Ivan, 168 landing gear, 40, 58, 59, 77, 189 Lapoint, Richard Charles, 97–​99, 215 Late Great Planet Earth (Lindsey), 183 Latini, Henry, 117–​18, 132 Learjet, 70 Lee, Arthur Gould, 73–​74 Lerch, Harold L. See Von George, Heinrick Lewis, Oren, 102 Life magazine, 31 Lindbergh, Charles, 34, 61–​62 Lindsey, Hal, 183 Lingnau, Franz, 201 Lockheed Constellation, 9, 62 Lockheed Martin, 230 Lockheed P-​2 Neptune, 124

279

Lockheed T-​33 airplane, 41 Los Angeles Times, 187 Louys, Robert, 142 Lovin, Kenneth, 66–​67 machine guns, xiii, 3, 4, 10, 50, 59, 77–​78, 87–​88, 109, 110, 118–​19, 128, 129, 135, 136, 143, 144–​45, 147–​48, 150–​51, 186, 192–​93, 205, 207 magnetometers, 187 mailbag, xiii, 67 Mallory, Aubrey, 35, 213–​14 Malone, John, 25 Mariel boatlift, 173 Marquise, Dick, 140–​41, 142, 213 Martin, Amy, 115, 132 Martin, Glenn, 73–​74 Martin, Jim, 84, 117 Masefield, John, 186–​87 Mathews, John Morgan, 171 McAllister, Eileen, 15, 24–​26, 27–​29 McCance, Jim, 140, 141 McCoy, Fletcher, 48–​49 McCoy, Richard, 45–​49, 86, 97, 224 McCreery, John, 170 McDonnell Douglas executive jet, 44 McDowell, Tom, 41 McNally, Martin. See also American Airlines 119 hijacking aft stairs and, 21, 52, 68, 70–​71, 76–​77, 134–​35, 137, 213, 224 arrest of, 139–​41 bombs/​bomb threats, 80 evidence against, 142–​46 fallout from hijacking, 147–​49 fingerprint identification of, 137–​38 imprisonment, 215 informant, 134–​36 leads/​tips about, 120–​21 overview of, 122–​27 parachuting of, 6, 36, 222 planning of hijacking, 128–​30 ransom money, 7

280

280 McNally, Martin (cont.) telling about hijacking, 131–​33 trial of, 211–​14 McNally, Patrick, 114–​16, 142 McNally, Walter, 142–​43, 148 Meadows, Beth, 220 Medrano, Agustin Esquivel, 165–​66 Meredith, Bob, 34, 36–​37, 49, 95, 145, 212–​13 metal detectors, 3, 65, 129, 187, 188, 195, 201–​2, 205, 216, 228, 231 Miller, Ronald, 109 Millick, Lore, 11 Minichiello, Raffaele, 173–​75 Mitchell, Bill, 39 Mitchell, Martha, 192 Mohawk Airlines 452 hijacking, 15–​19, 24–​30, 42, 216 Moore, Louis, 205–​10 Moros, Horace, 164 Mouw, Bruce, 57 M-​1 rifle, 150, 152, 173, 194 Mucklow, Tina, 38–​39, 41, 223 Mullaly, William, 186 Murrell, W. Francis, 140 Myers, Dotty, 132 Nash Rambler, 57 National Airlines, 12–​13, 157, 163, 166, 167, 171, 177, 184, 186–​87, 201–​2, 204, 233 National Airlines Flight 496 hijacking, 201–​4 Nelson, Jim, 217 New York Times, 29, 158, 182, 188 Nixon, Richard, 191, 201, 207, 214 NORJAK (Northwest Airlines Hijacking), 92 North American Aerospace Defense Command (NORAD), 25 Northwest Orient 305 hijacking. See Cooper, D. B.

Index Nyrop, Donald, 40 Obergfell, Richard, 65–​67 Oestereich, Frank, 34–​35, 87 O’Gara, Carl, 140, 141, 142, 213 O’Hara, Bill, 24, 28 Olderman, Murray, 48 Oliver, Sidney, 187–​88 O’Neill, John, 192 Oquendo, Wilfredo Roman, 157–​58, 160 Ortiz, Antulio Ramirez, 157 Oswald, Barbara, 218–​20 Oswald, Robyn, 215–​21 Otto Aviation, 230 Overcast, Pat, 169–​70 Owens, Jesse, 102–​3 oxygen masks, 12, 27 Pacific Southwest Airlines (PSA), 188, 195, 199 Padilla, Jorge, 216–​17 Palmer, Floyd, 130 Palmieri, Salvatore, 175 Pan American Airlines, 12, 13–​14, 61, 157–​58, 162, 168, 176, 185 pants found by searchers, 110 worn by hijackers, xiii, 50, 95, 96, 113–​ 14, 128–​29, 130, 134–​35, 170, 188 worn by others, 12–​13, 35, 36, 51, 213–​14 parachutes/​parachuting. See also bailing out aft stairs and, 227–​28 American Airlines 119 hijacking and, 34–​37, 67, 76–​78, 79–​80, 117–​19 bailing out, 76–​78, 79–​80 Carre, Daniel Bernard, 200 Cini, Paul and, 194–​95 Cooper, D. B., 195, 225 demands for, 6, 26 front reserve chute, 36–​37 Goodell, Francis, 200–​1

281

Index Hahneman, Frederick William, 99–​ 103, 222 Heady, Robb, 102–​5, 199–​200, 215, 222 Holt, Everett Leary, 198 Hurst, Billy Eugene, 198–​99 Lapoint, Richard Charles, 97–​99, 215 McCoy, Richard, 47 McNally, Martin, 6, 36, 222 Northwest Orient Airlines Flight 305 hijacking, 39, 40 reserve chutes, xiii, 36–​37, 47, 79–​ 80, 222 short history of, 72–​75 Speck, Stanley Harlan, 199 spring-​loaded pilot chute, 36–​37, 79 T-​10 parachute, 79 United Airlines 239 hijacking, 103 United Airlines 855 hijacking, 46, 47 Parker, Tom, 43–​44, 49, 50–​53, 65, 77–​ 78, 137, 145, 212–​13 Pastorcich, Roger, 171 Paul, Irving, 153 Pawlzak, James, 120 Peichev, Lubomir, 197–​98 People magazine, 175 Perkins, Rayenold, 97 Perry, Lester Ellsworth, 172–​73 Peru Daily Tribune, 87, 88, 112 Peterson-​Coplin, Felix Rolando, 228–​29 Petlikowsky, Walter, 128–​30, 131, 135, 147–​48, 211 Petty, James, 120, 126–​27, 131, 134–​36 Phelps, Dean, 143 Playboy magazine, 13 Plotner, George, 113 Pollitt, Allen, 74 Pollitt, Miriam Ann, 74 post-​traumatic stress disorder (PTSD), 16–​17, 30, 104 pressure bump, 48, 80, 86, 223 pressure oscillation, 41, 223

281

profile/​profiling hijackers, 30, 44, 154, 188–​89, 200, 210 Quantico training base, 43–​44 radar, 21–​22, 28, 41, 78, 87, 124, 137, 145–​ 46, 207, 223 Ramirez, Diego, 168 ramp agents, 34, 36, 47, 49, 150, 152 ransom money American Airlines 119 hijacking and, 34–​36, 108–​10 Barkley, Arthur, 225 Cooper, D. B., 223–​24 extortion hijackings, 185, 187, 190–​93, 194, 198, 210, 227 Hahneman, Frederick William, 100 McCoy, Richard, 47, 224 McNally, Martin, 7, 20–​23, 87–​88 Mohawk Airlines 452 hijacking, 26 Northwest Orient Airlines Flight 305 hijacking, 39 recovering of, 185, 199–​200, 215 Southern Airways Flight 49 hijacking, 207–​8 Trapnell, Garrett, 216–​17 United Airlines Flight 239 hijacking, 152 United Airlines 855 hijacking, 46, 47 Rash, Diana. See also American Airlines 119 hijacking FBI interview, 94–​95 hijacker bailing out and, 76–​78 hijacking experience of, 5, 7, 20 as hostage, 20, 21–​22, 23, 50, 59, 67 McNally trial and, 212–​13 Reader’s Digest, 166–​67 Reagan, Norman, 202–​3 Reed, James, 176, 177 Regan, John K., 212, 214 Reilly, Tom, 139 Remington 12-​gauge shotgun, 55

28

282

Index

Reno Airport, 102–​3, 104, 150–​54 Republic of New Africa, 229 reserve chutes, xiii, 36–​37, 47, 79–​80, 222 reward money, 109, 111–​12 Riegel, Betty, 12 Rieth, Karl, 24, 26, 27–​29 Riggs, Glen Elmo, 168–​69 Rikards, Byron, 159, 160 Ringling, John, 90 Ripps, Irving, 187 Robichaud, Martial, 108–​9 Robin Hood, 42, 48–​49 Robinson, Thomas, 163–​64 Rockne, Knut, 61–​62 Rolling Stone magazine, 183 Rose, Cliff, 126–​27 rubber gloves, 3, 4, 22 Salfisberg, Dan, 124 Salmonson, Donald, 191 Salvation Army, 18 San Francisco Examiner, 184 Sauerwein, John, 54 Schaffner, Florence, 38–​40 Schley, Edward, 143, 144 Schweickert, Roger, 136, 141, 142, 143–​45, 149, 207, 209, 213 Seattle Sky Sports, 222–​23 security measures at airports, 187–​89, 201, 228 sentencing death penalty, 147, 162–​63, 174, 186 length of, 48–​49, 99, 104, 154, 157, 159, 162, 167, 173, 177, 178–​79, 181, 201, 203–​4, 210, 211, 228–​29 life sentences, 102, 153, 161, 194, 198, 214, 217–​18 parole and, 215 September 11, 2001 terrorist attacks, 229–​30 Shay, Judy, 184–​85 Sheffield, Allan Creighton, 184

Shelfer, Ben, 166 Shorr, Henry, 175–​76, 177 shovels, 6, 23, 35, 37, 67, 224 Sibley, Frank Markoe, 150–​54 60 Minutes (TV show), 218 sketches of hijackers, 38, 51–​52, 94–​96, 102, 115, 225 The Skies Belong to Us (Koerner), 199–​200 skydiving, 6, 46, 49, 75, 79, 101–​2, 103, 222–​23, 225–​26 Skyjacked (film), 192–​93 sky marshal program, 188, 206 Smith, Bruce, 103 Smith & Wesson .38 Special, 53, 65 smoke grenades. See grenades snipers, 65–​68 Southern Airways 49 hijacking, 205–​10 Southwest Airlines, 12–​13, 195 Speck, Stanley Harlan, 199 Spellman, David hijacker bailing out and, 76, 77–​78 hijacker description, 95 hijacking experience, 9–​10, 20, 36, 50–​ 51, 65, 67–​68 McNally trial and, 212, 213–​14 Spingler, Clifford, 69–​70 Spitfire machine gun, 3, 4, 128, 143, 144–​45 sport coats, 95, 106–​7, 110 spring-​loaded pilot chute, 36–​37, 79 SS Henry Bergh, 16 St. George, Merlyn LaVerne. See Von George, Heinrick St. George, Thelma, 30 St. Louis Airport, 3, 10, 20–​23, 33, 34–​35, 43–​44, 52, 53, 54–​56, 57–​60, 69–​ 70, 95, 129–​30, 134–​36, 140, 183, 189, 211 St. Louis Post-​Dispatch, 87 Stadter, Victor, 218–​19 stalling tactics, 26, 160, 194, 217

283

Index Steiner, Jack, 63 stewardesses. See also individual stewardesses in commercial aviation, 9, 11–​14 as hostages, 21 uniforms of, 12–​13 Stewart, Jerry, 4 Stilling, Richard, 137–​38, 213 stimulants, 76, 100, 206, 208 Stockholm syndrome, 21, 203 Storvoid, Bert, 197 Stover, David, 110 Sturm, Richard, 7, 21 Sugimoto, Diana, 45–​46 Sullivan, Bill (William), 22–​23, 33, 34, 44 Sullivan, Deborah, 173 sunglasses use by hijackers, 4, 38, 41, 45, 50, 51–​52, 77, 94–​95, 96, 115, 195, 198 Surdam, Diane, 45, 46–​47, 48 switch pilot, 44, 50–​53 temporary insanity plea, 170, 211–​12 Tennis, Larry, 32, 33, 44 terminal velocity, 79, 80, 222–​23 Tesfa, Lulseged, 201–​4 Thompson, Bruce, 104 Thompson, Georgia Ann. See Broadwick, Tiny Thompson, Hunter S., 183 Tidwell, Rita, 206–​7 Time magazine, 183–​84, 211 T-​10 parachute, 79 transponder code 7500, 24 transponder code 7700, 78 transponders, 24, 28, 59, 78, 118–​19 Transportation Security Administration (TSA), 189 Trapnell, Garrett, 215–​21 True magazine, 217–​18 Trujillo, Rafael, 157 turbulence, 12, 78, 86, 135

283

Turner, Lloyd, 201 TWA Ford Trimotor, 61–​62 TWA 335 hijacking, 65–​67 Umstead, Brice, 88 United Airlines, 11, 45, 65, 102–​3, 150, 168, 169, 225–​26 United Airlines 239 hijacking, 102–​ 5, 150–​54 United Airlines 855 hijacking, 45–​49 urban crime, 182 Urrea, Robyn, 191 USS Lexington, 16 US Supreme Court, 190, 191 USS Yorktown, 16 US Transportation Department, 188 Valascho, Dan, 122–​23 Vantoch, Victoria, 13 Vertical Aerospace, 230 Vettel, John, 108 Vidal, Luis, 218 Vietnam veterans as hijackers, 173–​75 Vietnam War, 6, 104, 105, 150–​51 vigilantes, 189 Vogt, Fred, 208 Von George, Barbara, 15–​19, 29–​30, 42 Von George, Heinrick, 15–​19, 24–​ 30, 42 VORs (very-​high-​frequency omni-​ directional range), 103 Wallace, Benjamin E., 90 Walther PPK 7.65mm automatic, 216 Warde, George, 32–​33 Washington Evening Star, 100 Washington Post, 83 weather radar, 21–​22, 78 Weaver, Ben, 70–​71, 78 Webster, T. W., 36 Weiss, Eleanor, 162 Welch, Neil, 139–​40, 147

284

284

Index

Wetherley, Sharon. See also American Airlines 119 hijacking FBI interview of, 9–​10, 95 hijacking experience, 5–​8, 212 as hostage, 21, 23, 35–​36, 50–​51 McNally trial and, 212–​13 Wheeler, Allan, 158–​59 Whitaker, Allen, 118 White, Gregory, 185–​86 wig use by hijackers, xiii, 3, 4, 6, 45, 50, 51–​ 52, 59, 94–​95, 96, 128–​29, 135, 194 Wilkinson, Bob, 57 Williams, Billy, 190 Wilson, Dick, 87

Wilson, Robert, 129, 130. See also McNally, Martin Wilt, Frederick, 145 wing flaps, 40 Witt, Richard, 180, 181 X-​ray machines, 228 Yarborough, Ralph, 162–​63 Young Socialists Alliance, 175 Yung, Victor Sen, 196 Zimmerman, Peter, 48 Zito, Joseph, 186

285

286

287

28

289

290