Karl Fleming article 'The Tale of D.B. Cooper' (Oct. 21, 1972, pages 20-22) with accompanying photographs

20 16-1-2111-3[illegible] LA October 21, 1972

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THE TALE OF

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A LONER, D.B. COOPER TELLS HOW HE STOLE PLANE AND GOT AWAY

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By Karl Fleming

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D.B. COOPER AROSE AT 6 A.M. THAT day, leaving his wife of 25 years asleep in their ranch-style suburban Seattle home, dressed hurriedly in a dark business suit, and packed his briefcase with the tools he would need to carry him through this, the most important day of his life.

Cooper, age 49, a balding unpreposessing out-of-work Boeing engineer, had never been arrested for anything more serious than a traffic violation.

This day, Thanksgiving Eve of last year, he would hijack a Northwest Airlines Boeing 727 between Portland and Seattle, would successfully bail out with $200,000 of the airline's money, and then would vanish as if it evaporated. He still hasn't been discovered by the law.

Cooper planned the hijacking for more than a year. Every detail had been carefully researched. Every step had been painstakingly rehearsed. Every possible foul-up had been anticipated—even marked money and bad weather. Every [minute hijacking had been patiently... text continues/cut off]

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the hijack note. Under his suit, he wore a heavy sweatshirt. It would be cold that night when he jumped. On his feet he wore high-topped Western style boots. They could pass as dress shoes, and at the same time could protect his ankles when he hit the ground after parachuting from the plane.

Making Plans As he drove, he listened idly to the radio and methodically reviewed his plan—the landing site, the weather, the timing, the getaway route, all the minute details he had brooded over with slide-rule precision for months. He originally had wanted to bring in a confederate. That would make the job easier [espe-... text cut off]

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in flight so that a jump could be accomplished without ripping a chute to pieces.

Also, this particular daily commuter flight was chosen because of the route it followed. Cooper chose it after patiently studying dozens of aerial maps. The route, over rural terrain where the land was hilly, but not too rough, was close enough to a freeway to make a getaway possible. It was sufficiently removed from water and high tension lines, which a parachutist always fears and was remote enough so he could land without detection.

The spot Cooper selected was just east of the tiny farming village of La Center, less than five miles from Inter[state 5—text cut off]

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or windy enough to make the jump overly hazardous.

The day he chose was perfect: rainy, overcast and gusty—which would discourage light planes and helicopters from following. And he had chosen this day for another reason: It was a holiday. He had wanted July 4, but hadn't been able to get his plan perfected in time. He wanted a holiday because people in airports would be in a festive mood, there would be huge crowds and a lot of confusion.

The Triangle Cooper turned off Interstate 5 at Woodland at about 9:45 a.m., drove along the macadam rural road to Main Street in La Center, and parked his car in the gravel lot beside the post office. He applied his make-up—stuff to alter his facial coloring and white paste to obscure his old-topped teeth—then he drove into the adjacent countryside to set his radio transmitters in place. There were three of them—pocket-sized [text cut off]

Seattle could successfully bail out with the money, vanish and evaporate. He still hasn't been discovered by the law.

Cooper planned the hijacking for more than a year. Every detail had been carefully researched. Every step had been painstakingly rehearsed. Every possible foul-up had been anticipated—even marked money and bad weather. Every previous hijacking had been patiently studied. They had all failed, at least by D.B. Cooper's standards: The perpetrators all had been caught, killed or set down empty-handed in some distant place like Cuba.

Cooper was no political fanatic. Nor was he a nut. He was an ordinary, God-fearing, patriotic, country club-oriented, upward-climbing WASP engineer, (salary: about $25,000 a year) who was motivated by two things: anger, and money. He had no desire to be either hero or martyr. He simply wanted to get the money, and get away.

As he tooled down Interstate 5 that rainy morning, he carefully reviewed what he had stashed in the briefcase to pull the job off: two cheap hairpieces (cost: $35); an altimeter, a compass, a stop-watch, a walkie-talkie, three small radio transmitters, black gloves, dark wrap-around sunglasses, a make-up kit, a foul weather jacket, a black cap. And a replica of a bomb—three red flares of the type police use to mark auto accidents, wired cleverly together and attached to what appeared to be a detonating device.

In the right-hand inside pocket of his dark business suit jacket, he carried

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Making...

As he drove, he listened idly to the radio and methodically reviewed his plan—the landing site, the weather, the timing, the getaway route, all the minute details he had brooded over with slide-rule precision for months. He originally had wanted to bring in a confederate. That would make the job easier, especially if he could get an accomplice who could fly a helicopter and scoop him up when he touched down and rush him to safe obscurity. But he finally discarded that idea. Too risky. A partner might talk. And besides, when the chips were down, could he really count on somebody else? No, he decided. [illegible]

Cooper was tense, but confident. Since he had worked at Boeing for 15 years, he knew the Boeing more intimately than he knew his motorboat. He had chosen this particular flight in part for that reason: 727s were used exclusively on the Seattle-Portland run, and the 727 was the only airplane in commercial use that opened in the rear, making a parachute jump feasible. And further, the 727 could be slowed down enough

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enough [illegible] possible [illegible] from water and high [illegible] which a parachutist always [illegible] mote, enough so he [illegible] detection.

The spot Cooper [illegible] east of the tiny farming village [illegible] Center, less than five miles from Interstate 5, and about 30 miles north of Portland. There was water around (Lake Merwin) but Cooper felt he could jump and avoid it, even at night—and there were high-tension lines but Cooper believed he could steer away from them.

The weather was [illegible] 'a cloudy, overcast' even at night. He reasoned that other planes would be dispatched to follow the hijacked craft (C-130s were in fact used), so he wanted cloud conditions and rain, anything that would reduce visibility and make spotting him difficult if not impossible when he bailed out. He couldn't afford to have it known exactly where he was jumping. Hence he needed inclement weather, but not rainy enough

[illegible] Center and parked [illegible] [illegible] amplified his [illegible] his radio transmitters [illegible] There were three of them [illegible] battery-powered [illegible] talked at friend [illegible] This friend of mine— [illegible] time prior to that [illegible] were talking, discussing [illegible] and transmitters, and [illegible] make one up for [illegible] sale [illegible] have radar [illegible] If a fellow had a little transmitter, because if he were going to a fishing area somewhere, and he should happen to get soaked in by fog or something, could use the transmitter to [illegible] his position. So I said 'something if you are thinking about it, how about making me up a couple of them?' So he did,' Cooper said.

The tiny radio transmitters each had a small antenna, and each emitted a 'beep' signal which could be picked up by a walkie-talkie, tuned to the proper frequency. The transmitter [illegible] essential to his plan [illegible]

Cooper drove out and placed one of the transmitters in a wood patch near a rural church; he placed another one in a ditch beside the road; he left the third one in the trunk of his car. The placement of the three transmitters formed a loose triangle, so that when he received the signal from all three of them on his walkie-talkie, he would know precisely where he was. If flying, he would be able [illegible] between the clouds, would be able to see the highway and the lights down there, but 'I wanted to have that beep-beep signal in case anything went wrong,' Cooper said.

A Little Satire...

Cooper had made practice runs on the Portland-Seattle flight—a half-dozen times—checking the terrain, checking the compass route, familiarizing himself with landmarks, and on the final [illegible]

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Fleming clandestinely interviewed D.B. Cooper outside Seattle.

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Karl Fleming was associated with Newsweek magazine as correspondent, Los Angeles bureau chief and contributing editor for 11 years before resigning April 15 to found L.A. While with Newsweek, he covered virtually every significant civil rights story of the turbulent '60s, including Birmingham, Selma, Ole Miss, Little Rock and Watts. He covered the assassinations of President John F. Kennedy and his brother Robert and those of Martin Luther King and Medgar Evers. He was assigned to Richard Nixon during the last Presidential [illegible]

[...continued from previous page...] what to [guess: stash] [illegible] in the briefcase to pull the job [illegible] two cheap half-[illegible] cost [illegible] an altimeter, a compass, a stop-watch, a walkie-talkie, three small radio transmitters, black gloves, dark wrap-around sunglasses, a make-up kit, a foul weather jacket, a black cap. And a replica of a bomb - three red flares of the type police use to mark auto accidents, wired cleverly together and attached to what appeared to be a deto- nating device [illegible]. In the right-hand inside pocket of his dark business suit jacket, he carried

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[illegible] and make spotting him difficult [illegible] [illegible] when the bailout [illegible] couldn't afford to have it known exactly where he was jumping. Hence he needed inclement weather, but not rainy enough [illegible] [...] [illegible] could see the transmitter, and he [illegible] thinking about it, how about making [me] up a couple of these? So he did," Cooper said.

The tiny radio transmitters each had a small antenna and each emitted a 'beep' signal which could be picked up by a walkie-talkie tuned to the proper frequency. The transmitters were cru- cial to his plan.

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[Caption]: Fleming clandestinely interviewed D.B. Cooper outside Seattle.

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Karl Fleming was associated with Newsweek magazine as correspondent, Los Angeles bureau chief and contributing editor for 11 years before resigning April 15 to found LA. While with Newsweek, he covered virtually every significant civil rights story of the turbulent '60s, including Birming- ham, Selma, Ole Miss., Little Rock and Watts. He covered the assassinations of President John F. Kennedy and his brother Robert and those of Martin Luther King and Medgar Evers. He was assigned to Richard Nixon during the last Presiden- tial campaign and has covered Lyndon Johnson, George Wallace, Hubert Hum- phrey, Barry Goldwater and Ronald Rea- gan. He also reported on the Charles Man- son and Jack Ruby trials for Newsweek and the trial of Pueblo spy ship captain Lloyd M. Bucher. Early this year, Fleming made contact with a man who claimed to be D. B. Cooper, the only person ever to skyjack an airliner and get away with his identity unknown. In this and the next two installments, Fleming tells what hap- pened.

Copyright 1972 Platypus Publications

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Cooper drove out and placed one of the transmitters in a weed patch near a rural church; he set another one in a ditch beside the road; he left the third one in the trunk of the car. The place- ment of the three transmitters formed a loose triangle, so that when he received the signal from all three of them on his walkie-talkie, he would know precisely where he was. "I figured I would be able in between the clouds, would be able to see the highway and the lights down there, but I wanted to have that 'beep, beep' signal in case anything went wrong," Cooper said.

A Little Satire

Cooper had made practice runs on the Portland-Seattle flight a half-dozen times, checking the terrain, checking the compass route, familiarizing him- self with landmarks and on the final checkride he had placed his small trans- mitters and had taken his walkie-talkie on board with him. Approaching the planned jump spot, he concealed the walkie-talkie in a pillow and held the pillow up to his ear. Sure enough, when he was over the right place - and could see where he was - the signals began to come in, demonstrating the system would work.

After setting them out on the day of the hijacking, Cooper returned to the post office lot, parked the car, walked

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A HIJACKING

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22 [publication name illegible] October 21, 1972

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COOPER BAILED OUT AND

[...] ways a problem. So he chose the w[ord] [illegible] Portland. the stewardess. taking orders for drinks had worked her way back to Cooper's seat. When she asked him what he wanted to drink. "I was very keen. I had to be very alert. I didn't want to get lost in conversation" The captain inf[ormed] the passengers [of] a minor mecha[nical problem] [illegible] [...] ticket from Portland to Seattle as well. [...] rear of the plane and just waited. On the practice flights, he had used [several aliases, including] Montgomery and Wright. For the bi[g] trip, he chose [the] name D.B. Cooper. [illegible] worked at Boe[ing] where noise was al[ways a problem...] decibels, and [took the letter D...] and wha[t] he said, would make [more noise than a lot of decibels] [illegible] was rounding up the parachutes. Cooper sent [word] when the plane landed he [wanted it] parked away from the terminal, [in a well-]lighted area so he could see Cooper reached inside his jacket handed her the note. It was [typewritten] on plain white paper, and [the message] was plain: I have a bomb in [this briefcase.] I [am] hijacking this plane [illegible] protect himself

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along the road to Woodland, went into a restaurant and had a ham and cheese sandwich and a piece of apple pie, while he waited for the Greyhound bus. He had already purchased a ticket, to Portland, for 90 cents, and had a plane ticket from Portland to Seattle as well. On the practice flights, he had used several aliases, including Montgomery and Wright. For the big trip, he chose the name D.B. Cooper. It was a little satire, he said. He had worked at Boeing where noise was always a problem. So he chose the word decibels, and took the letter "D" from it. And what, he said, would make more noise than a lot of decibels [in...]

of the plane. Had there been air marshals on board, which was happening on some flights, he planned just to sit tight and take a normal flight to Seattle. No marshals were on board, however, so Cooper took a seat in the extreme left rear of the plane and just waited. "I was still safe. I still had the note. I still had the option just to take a ride. But I knew this was the beginning. Right here. All the work that had gone on before, that was just an accessory. Because nobody knew what I was doing. And I wasn't doing wrong to anybody. "Odd as it may seem, I had prepared for this so long that when it actually

might not open. But other than me, nobody was endangered at any time," Cooper said. The crucial flight was about six minutes late leaving. When it was about 10 minutes out of Portland, the stewardess, taking orders for drinks, had worked her way back to Cooper's seat. When she asked him what he wanted to drink, Cooper reached inside his jacket and handed her the note. It was typewritten, on plain white paper, and the message was plain: "I have a bomb in this briefcase. I am hijacking this plane." The stewardess's eyes widened. "Sur-prised?" Cooper said. "Just follo[w...]

she was from Minnesota, so we talked briefly about Minnesota and how did she like flying and this sort of thing. But actually, the atmosphere wasn't too conducive to idle conversation. Because I was very keen. I had to be very alert. I didn't want to get lost in conversation." The captain informed the passengers there was a minor mechanical problem. While the FBI was rounding up the money and parachutes, Cooper sent word that when the plane landed he wanted it parked away from the terminal, in a well-lighted area so he could see out the windows and protect himself from possible ambush. When she was [...]

along the road to Woodland, went into a restaurant and had a ham and cheese sandwich and a piece of apple pie, while he waited for the Greyhound Bus. He had already purchased a ticket, to Portland, for 90 cents, and had a plane ticket from Portland to Seattle as well.

On the practice flights, he had used several aliases, including Montgomery and Wright. For the big trip, he chose the name D.B. Cooper.

It was a little satire, he said. He had worked at Boeing where noise was always a problem. So he chose the word decibels, and took the letter "D" from it. And what, he said, would make more noise than a lot of decibels in a barrel? Thus "B." And who makes barrels? A "cooper". Thus, D.B. Cooper, just the kind of name a methodical-minded engineer would choose.

When the bus reached Portland, at about 1:45 p.m., Cooper caught a taxi to the airport, arriving at about 2:15. The flight was scheduled to leave at 2:40 p.m. Cooper strolled around the terminal to kill time, then walked directly to the gate, carrying his briefcase. He watched as the check-in line formed, apprehensive for fear federal agents would be at the gate searching hand luggage. There were no such agents present, so Cooper tagged along at the end of the line, so he could get a seat at the back

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of the plane. Had there been air marshals on board, which was happening on some flights, he planned just to sit tight and take a normal flight to Seattle. No marshals were on board, however, so Cooper took a seat in the extreme left rear of the plane and just waited.

"I was still safe. I still had the note. I still had the option just to take a ride. But I knew this was the beginning. Right here. All the work that had gone on before, that was just an accessory. Because nobody knew what I was doing. And I wasn't doing wrong to anybody.

"Odd as it may seem, I had prepared for this so long that when it actually took place, it was just like having a dress rehearsal," Cooper said.

The Crucial Flight

Cooper avoided any weapons—he said he dislikes guns—and the way his plan was to go the only person who would even see his "bomb" would be the stewardess. And she would be "scared to death, and wouldn't know a real bomb from anything at all. I could have made it out of paper and she wouldn't have known any difference."

"So, what was the worst that could happen? They could apprehend me. Or, if I got as far as putting the plan into motion, and left the plane with a chute I wasn't familiar with, then the chute

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might not open. But other than me, nobody was endangered at any time," Cooper said.

The crucial flight was about six minutes late leaving. When it was about 10 minutes out of Portland, the stewardess, taking orders for drinks, had worked her way back to Cooper's seat. When she asked him what he wanted to drink, Cooper reached inside his jacket and handed her the note. It was typewritten on plain white paper, and the message was plain: "I have a bomb in this briefcase. I am hijacking this plane."

The stewardess's eyes widened. "Surprised?" Cooper said. "Just follow my instructions. Exactly! And everything will be fine and no one will be any wiser. Just report this to your captain."

That was the substance, if not the verbatim words, of the conversation. For the next two and a half hours, Cooper and the stewardess were seatmates. He kept her beside him and used her as a courier to take instructions to the captain. When the plane reached Seattle and began circling, Cooper instructed her to go forward and tell the captain "to advise Seatac (Seattle-Tacoma Airport) and Northwest to procure $200,000 in $20 bills and four parachutes, and have them at the plane."

While the plane circled, Cooper and the stewardess chatted. "She told me

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she was from Minnesota, so we talked briefly about Minnesota and how did she like flying and this sort of thing. But actually, the atmosphere wasn't too conducive to idle conversation. Because I was very keen. I had to be very alert. I didn't want to get lost in conversation.

The captain informed the passengers there was a minor mechanical problem. While the FBI was rounding up the money and parachutes, Cooper sent word that when the plane landed he wanted it parked away from the terminal, in a well-lighted area so he could see out the windows and protect himself from possible ambush. When that was done, and the money and parachutes were delivered to the plane by courier, a bus came out, and everyone deplaned except one stewardess. She was vital to Cooper's plan and was involved in his ordering of four parachutes.

The Order for Two

No one had pulled this kind of skyjacking before, so Cooper had had some careful planning to do. "The one thing I had to watch very carefully was the chutes. I decided to order two complete sets. Why? Because if they thought I was going out of that plane alone, I wouldn't have given you a plugged nickel for my chances. Because they wouldn't care if I dropped out and went straight

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n4NMT∪N01 ∞COO4NMT∪N01 ∞OO4NMT∪N01 ∞OO0HNMT∪N01 ∞OO0HNMT∪N [continues]

October 21, 1972 [page number: 23]

FELL FREE FOR 22 SECONDS...

[Illustrated diagram: Northwest Airlines Boeing 727 aircraft depicted in flight against a night sky with stars. Below the aircraft, a parachutist is shown descending under an open parachute toward a ground-level map. Visible map labels at bottom of illustration include: WOODLAND [partially obscured] and LA CENTER. Additional zigzag lines suggest terrain or a river system.]