Short History Of... - D.B. Cooper

Episode Date: January 30, 2023

At approximately 8:13 p.m. on November 24th, 1971, a hijacker exited Northwest Airlines flight 305 at an altitude of 10,000 feet, carrying just a case, a bagful of money, and a parachute. The subsequent investigation became one of the largest and strangest in the FBI’s history. But was what the true identity of the man who called himself D.B. Cooper? And could he still out there, living among us? This is a Short History of D.B. Cooper. Written by Joe Viner. With thanks to Robert Edwards, author of the book D.B. Cooper and Flight 305 and Darren Schaeffer, host of The Cooper Vortex podcast. For ad-free listening, exclusive content and early access to new episodes, join Noiser+. Now available for Apple and Android users. Click the Noiser+ banner on Apple or go to noiser.com/subscriptions to get started with a 7-day free trial. Learn more about your ad choices. Visit podcastchoices.com/adchoices

It is almost 8 p.m. on the 24th of November, 1971. In the skies over Seattle, Washington, a Boeing 727 passenger plane struggles through heavy weather. Horizontal rain lashes against the cockpit window as Captain William Scott pushes the throttle and carefully eases the aircraft up into the gathering storm clouds. At this altitude and in this weather, he's flying blind. All Captain Scott can see is drizzle and fog. Eventually, they break through the clouds and emerge into the black, moonless sky. Alongside Scott, co-pilot Bill Ratajk radios down to air traffic control to confirm the successful completion of

takeoff. 51-year-old Scott makes his final configurations, methodically going through the same procedure he has run thousands of times before. But this is far from a routine flight. For starters, they are cruising at an altitude of just 10,000 feet, at a speed of no more than 200 miles per hour. That is much lower and slower than usual for a commercial airliner. In addition, they're flying with the landing gear down, the wing flaps set to 15 degrees, and the cabin unpressurized. It's an extraordinary abandonment of protocol, but these are the instructions they were given, and they don't dare defy them. Because the man calling the shots is a hijacker,

and he's got a bomb. After having stopped off to let the passengers free and collect the parachutes and bag full of cash he'd demanded from the FBI, instructed the pilots to fly to Mexico City. Now Captain Scott navigates south, keeping one eye on the speed indicator. Though, after decades of flying commercial aircrafts, he knows how to handle pressure.

Beneath the surface, Captain Scott is terrified. He knows that all he can do now is comply with the hijacker's demands and pray. Suddenly, the cockpit door flies open. It's the junior stewardess, Tina Mucklow. She's been in the cabin with the hijacker, and the flight crew are immensely relieved to see her alive. Without taking his eyes off the controls, Captain Scott listens intently as Tina breathlessly describes her ordeal. Apparently, moments earlier, the hijacker asked her how to correctly open the aft stairs that descend from the rear underbelly of the

plane's fuselage. Just then, a blinking red light appears on the control panel, indicating that the aft stairs have been activated. There's no doubt about it now. The hijacker is going to jump. Captain Scott glances nervously at his co-pilot, then he reaches for the intercom mouthpiece. Before speaking, however, Captain Scott hesitates. Before speaking, however, Captain Scott hesitates. If the hijacker does jump from this height and in this weather, this may be the last conversation he ever has. So Scott simply asks if the hijacker needs anything. There's a long pause, but then a single word rings out from the cabin in reply.

No. Meanwhile, at the back of the main cabin, a middle-aged man in a dark suit and sunglasses stands at the top of the open aft stairs. He can hardly hear himself think over the deafening roar of the elements, but he must keep his composure. Every aspect of this hijacking has been forensically planned. He isn't going to let one careless mistake undo all his hard work. The man double-checks his parachutes are securely fastened and that the duffel bag containing the cash is tightly zipped. He unclips his tie and tosses it to the cabin floor. Taking one step forward, he peers out into the howling darkness. One step forward, he peers out into the howling darkness. Down below, through the clouds, he can just make out the lights of small towns,

twinkling like constellations of stars on the surface of the Earth. Then he takes a deep, nerve-settling breath and jumps. At approximately 8.13 p.m. on November 24, 1971, the man who would become known by the epithet D.B. Cooper exited Northwest Airlines Flight 305. He jumped at an altitude of 10,000 feet with nothing but his case, a bag full of money, and a parachute. The FBI immediately launched an investigation, interviewing suspects based on witness testimonies,

and combed the vast expanses of wilderness that lay beneath the flight path. Soon, the inquiry grew into one of the largest and strangest in the FBI's history, a complex web of intrigue with one mysterious figure at the center of it all. But what was the true identity of the man in the dark suit? What motivated him to pull this extraordinary, daring stunt? What was the response of the aircrew, who found themselves entangled in his meticulously planned plot? aircrew who found themselves entangled in his meticulously planned plot? And perhaps, most tantalizingly of all, is the real D.B. Cooper still out there, living among us? I'm John Hopkins, and this is a short history of D.B. Cooper. It's about two in the afternoon on the 24th of November 1971, the day before Thanksgiving.

Rain cascades from grey Oregon skies, drumming against the windows of the departures terminal at Portland International Airport. At the gate for Northwest Airlines Flight 305 to Seattle, a ticket agent is punching boarding passes. Thanksgiving Eve is one of the busiest days of the year for travel, and one of the most exhausting for airline employees. The agent is approaching the end of a tiring shift, and the sooner this plane finishes boarding, the sooner he can clock off and go home. this plane finishes boarding the sooner he can clock off and go home at last he waves through the final passenger in the queue he reaches for the intercom and announces the final boarding call but as he does so a man in a dark suit and overcoat briskly approaches he is of average height and build cleanly shaven with slightly thinning brown hair. This, plus the loose, sagging skin around the collar of his white shirt, places the man in his mid-forties, perhaps a little older.

He's clutching a black attaché case in one hand, but there's nothing unusual in that. In fact, the most noteworthy thing about his appearance is how un-noteworthy it is. He's nondescript, ordinary, forgettable. In a neutral, undefinable accent, the man asks for a one-way ticket to Seattle, which he pays for with a $20 bill. There's no need to show ID to fly, so the ticket agent asks only for the passenger's name,

which he gives as Dan Cooper. Though it's just as ordinary as his appearance, it will soon be discovered to be a pseudonym. The reason why the hijacker chose this innocuous alias might provide the first clue about his real identity. Darren Schaefer is the host of The Cooper Vortex, a podcast about the D.B. Cooper case. So he gives his name as Dan Cooper. And I think at that time period, if you were buying a ticket, you would be more formal. Yeah, sure. You call yourself Dan, your friends call you Dan. But when you're signing up for something or you're getting a ticket or you're giving a name, I think you would say Daniel, especially during that time, Daniel Cooper.

But he doesn't. He gives his name as Dan Cooper. Well, there is a Belgian Franco comic book by the name of Dan Cooper that predates the skyjacking. And in this comic book, Dan Cooper is a Royal Canadian Air Force pilot, test pilot, and daredevil superhero guy. There is an issue of this comic where he defuses a bomb aboard a commercial airliner. There are issues of this comic where he is jumping out of an exploding airplane. So that's not direct evidence. That's just my theory. But I do enjoy the Dan Cooper comic angle. I think that is very interesting. After buying his ticket, Cooper thanks the agent and strides off towards the tarmac,

his unchecked briefcase held stiffly by his side. It might seem like an extraordinary failing on the part of airport security that a passenger could board a commercial flight with anything at all concealed in their hand luggage. But metal detectors won't be introduced to airports until a year from now, as a direct consequence of what is about to unfold after Cooper boards the plane. The current, lax security is a consequence of the airline's fearing that time-consuming safety precautions might discourage people from flying. In reality, by 1971 the golden age of air travel has

reached a fever pitch. Airfares are cheaper now than they ever have been. More and more ordinary people consider flying their go-to method of transport. It has never been simpler or more affordable to board a plane. Just turn up, pay the fare, and off you go. It's perhaps unsurprising, then, that as the number of people passing through America's airports has been steeply rising, so too have instances of an alarming new crime, airplane hijackings, also known as skyjackings. Between 1961 and 1973, nearly 160 skyjackings are reported in American airspace. That means that on average during this period, more than one plane is being hijacked every month.

These incidents are not acts of terrorism, nor by and large are they motivated by money. In fact, the majority of the hijackers have one very specific demand. During the 1960s, at the height of the Cold War, a travel ban was imposed between the United States and the communist nation of Cuba. The result is that if a communist sympathizer stuck on American soil wants to fly to Cuba, they have to commandeer an aircraft. Introducing the brief but colorful age of bring me to Cuba hijackings. Skyjackings were not uncommon at the time. They were going on sometimes multiple times a day.

And they weren't for ransom and people weren't jumping out. The skyjackings at the time tended to be for political reasons. A lot of bring me to Cuba type things. And it was so bad that they even thought about creating a fake Cuban airport outside of Florida that they could take people to where they would still be in the United States. It got really crazy. And because of this, the airlines really, they had a policy for skyjacking. And the policy was comply, save the aircraft, save the passengers, do whatever they say to keep our assets in the air and to keep our passengers safe.

The policy of compliance at all costs is one that flight attendant Florence Schaffner knows well. But she welcomes the passengers for this afternoon's 30-minute puddle jump to Seattle cheerfully, as she's paid to do. Though she's just 23 years old, Florence is the second most senior stewardess on board. Young and attractive, Florence possesses all the qualities expected of a Northwest Airlines flight attendant. This is the 1970s, in which airlines advertise their services not by trumpeting the affordability of their fares, but the brevity of their stewardesses' skirts. Florence is paid not just to do her job, but to be polite, demure, and charming at the same time. As the pilots wait their turn for the runway, she moves through the cabin taking

drinks orders. She soon reaches the back row, where the nondescript middle-aged man with the attaché case is sitting alone. Florence asks if he'd like any refreshments, and he orders a bourbon and seven-up. When the stewardess returns with the beverage, she instinctively braces herself for the inevitable chat-up line. She's been in this job long enough to know what to expect from unaccompanied businessmen. But he makes no advances. He simply pays for his drink and nods in thanks. At approximately 2.50 p.m., flight 305 is cleared for takeoff. Florence straps herself into the jump seat at the rear of the cabin. The rain is still coming down in sheets

as the plane taxes onto the runway. The pilot sparks the throttle and the plane accelerates, the high-pitched whine of the engine turning into a guttural roar as the airliner lifts off and begins its climb. Moments after takeoff, the man on the back row twists around in his seat and gestures for Florence's attention. When she leans across the aisle, he hands her a note. Florence sighs inwardly but takes it and slips it inside her purse unread, assuming it's just another unsolicited proposition. But a few seconds later, the man signals to Florence again. He leans over and gestures towards her purse. In a calm, quiet voice, he says, excuse me, miss, you'd better look at that note. I have a bomb.

Florence's stomach drops. Her hands tremble as she retrieves the note and unfolds it. Miss, she reads, I have a bomb in my briefcase and want you to sit by me. Florence has never experienced a skyjacking, but she is well briefed in the airline's compliance policy. Trying to maintain her composure, she does as the man says and buckles into the empty seat alongside him. To make sure he's not bluffing, she asks to see inside the briefcase. Robert Edwards is the author of the book D.B. Cooper and Flight 305. He opens the briefcase and he shows one of the stewardesses what is in the case, and it consists of several cylindrical sticks wrapped in what looks like red tape.

So obviously the intention is to convey that this is explosive. There is a device which looks like a battery, and there are some wires. So it looks like what you or I would imagine is a bomb. It's sufficiently convincing that they believe it's a bomb. After showing Florence the bomb, Cooper lists his demands. He wants $200,000 and four parachutes. He asks for two front chutes and two back chutes. Back chute is your primary, front chute is your reserve.

And he wants this ready before the plane lands in Seattle. Florence makes a note of Cooper's requests and hurries to the cockpit, where she breaks the news of the hijacking to the pilots. Though Captain Scott will relay the demands shortly, right now he attends to the first priority. He's got a man with a bomb on a plane full of passengers, and it's the job of the crew to keep the situation under control. He instructs Florence to remain in the cockpit for the duration of the flight.

They will need her here to convey any messages to the hijacker. cockpit for the duration of the flight. They will need her here to convey any messages to the hijacker. But somebody has to stay in the cabin with him to ensure he remains calm. And with Florence in the cockpit, that job falls to the junior stewardess, 21-year-old Tina Mucklow. A few minutes later, Tina takes her seat beside the man with the suitcase. Just like Florence, Tina has been trained to keep any anxiety under wraps. It's no mean feat when the man beside you has enough explosives to blow you out of the sky. But as the time passes, Tina finds herself put at ease by the hijacker's demeanor. He is polite and softly spoken.

He gazes out of the window, identifying towns and cities below. After a while, Tina plucks up the courage to ask the hijacker about his motives. Does he have a grudge against the airline? The hijacker ponders this for a moment, then answers, No, I just have a grudge. When the hijacker pulls out a cigarette, Tina reaches over to light it for him. One stewardess that sat next to him for over three hours, Tina Mucklow, she comments immediately after the skyjacking that he was always polite,

never unkind, never cruel or hostile towards her. And, you know, Cooper's age is pegged somewhere between mid to late 40s, which is an unusual age for a bold, daring skyjacker. If you just heard this story for the first time, you were probably picturing him as being in his early 20s. But he's an older dude. He smoked and had a glass of bourbon and soda. I always find it interesting that Tina Mucklow lit his cigarettes for him, which it just also says something about the era. I don't smoke, but if I did, I couldn't imagine my wife lighting my cigarettes for me. Cooper's cool, collected demeanor will contribute to his legend, hoping to build the impression of this

hijacker as a swashbuckling rogue, a suave high woman of the sky. But to the crew, he's a dangerous criminal. From the cockpit, Captain Scott contacts the airline headquarters in Minnesota to relay the demands, and on the ground, the airline's standard procedure is initiated. The $200,000 is sourced, and they coordinate with the relevant authorities in Seattle to conduct the handover. And as the plane nears its destination, the next stage of Cooper's elaborate scheme is put in motion. First, the aircraft enters a holding pattern above Puget Sound, the ocean inlet upon which Seattle sits.

They circle over the water for almost two hours to provide the agents on the ground enough time to gather the money and parachutes. But there is another, darker reason the pilots stay out here. If Cooper detonates the bomb, it's far better the plane and its passengers crash into the ocean rather than raining down on the busy streets of Seattle. The crew announced that the delays are due to bad weather. Eventually, the plane lands at Seattle Tacoma Airport, and the passengers are allowed off. It's only once they've disembarked that they begin to understand the mortal peril they were in. By now, the FBI have arrived with the money, supplied by the airline.

Once the plane is clear of passengers, Tina Mucklow leaves the aircraft to collect the duffel bag full of cash from the federal agents on the tarmac. Then she returns to the cabin and hands the money over to the hijacker. But having secured the ransom, Cooper's heist is far from over. Now at this point in time, Cooper has some new demands. He wants to be flown to Mexico City, but more important than where to fly, he tells them how to fly there. He wants the plane to fly no higher than 10,000 feet, no faster than 200 miles an hour. He wants the landing gear down. The plane will remain unpressurized and the wing flaps set to 15 degrees. He also wants to take off with the plane's aft stairs down. And this is a 727 that had aft stairs. So back in the day, if you flew into an airport that didn't have ramp trucks

or anything, you could board and deplane using those aft stairs. And at this point, the pilots are a little freaked out. They're not sure if the plane can fly with the aft stairs down, little freaked out. They're not sure if the plane can fly with the aft stairs down, nevertheless take off. So they call in air traffic control. Hey, can this plane fly with the aft stairs down? They have no idea either. So they reach out to Boeing and Boeing says, yes, we've actually tested that that plane can fly with the aft stairs down. So they talk with Cooper some more based on the configuration he wants. The plane doesn't have enough fuel to get to Mexico City. They debate a couple of refueling stops and agree to stop and refuel in Reno. Additionally, the pilot said they refused to

take off with the aft stairs down. It was just too dangerous in a plane filled with fuel. Interestingly, Cooper says that he disagrees with their assessment, but he's willing to lower the stairs in flight. Indeed, Cooper seems to know exactly what this aircraft is capable of, more so than the pilots themselves. Also, coupled with the demand for parachutes,

the specification about the stairs makes it clear that Cooper intends to jump from the moving plane. Could it be that he has performed a jump like this before? Or possibly several? There were some interesting CIA activity in Vietnam that predated this, where they were using 727s to drop troops and cargo in Vietnam, because if you looked at it, it would look like, oh, that's a commercial airliner, when in reality, they're using it to drop troops and gear. So there would have been a very small

number of people on the planet that knew you could jump from a 727. people on the planet that knew you could jump from a 727. As field agents fulfill his demands, the FBI are already trying to pin down Cooper's true identity. Could he have been a Vietnam veteran with CIA training? Maybe, but this is already shaping up to be a case in which what is possible outweighs what is factual. shaping up to be a case in which what is possible outweighs what is factual. Cooper is alone on the aircraft with the flight and cabin crew. The ransom money and parachutes have been provided, and darkness has fallen across the Pacific Northwest,

bringing with it a persistent, spitting rain. At this point, Cooper allows the cabin crew to disembark, but he doesn't release everybody. He still needs the two pilots to actually fly the aircraft, and a flight engineer in case of any mechanical issues. Lastly, Cooper decides to keep one stewardess behind, to act as his liaison with the flight crew, Tina Mucklow. At just after 7pm, the plane takes off for a second time. Tina remains in the cabin with a hijacker. At this stage, she detects a shift in Cooper's mood. He is still polite and considerate, but there's a steeliness about him, the intense focus of somebody making a series of rapid calculations with impossibly high stakes. Shortly after takeoff, Cooper asks Tina how

to correctly open the aft stairs. Dutifully, Tina points out the controls. That done, Cooper thanks her and tells her to go to the cockpit. All she can do is hope that if Cooper does jump, he will take the bomb with him. While Cooper prepares to execute the next stage of his daring heist, the authorities on the ground scramble military chase planes in response. Shortly after Flight 305 leaves Seattle, two F-106 fighter jets leave from McCord Air Force Base in Washington, while a T-33 bomber departs from the oregon national guard air base in portland but catching up with cooper will prove an impossible task we have to bear in mind that this was dark by this time uh visibility was poor they were above cloud and they probably had very little ground reference.

But the short story is neither the F-106s nor the T-33 ever made visual contact with flight 305. Therefore, they never saw the hijacker jump and could not say anything about when and where he jumped. The chase planes have come up short. But while the action unfolds above the clouds, down on the ground, news of the hijacking is spreading fast. It's 8 p.m. inside Yore's Top Notch Diner in Portland, Oregon. Special Agent Ralph Himmelsbach sits on a leatherette stool, his FBI badge and holstered pistol resting on the Formica countertop.

The waitress slides over his usual, a bacon cheeseburger and gravy fries, and he raises his shaggy eyebrows in thanks. He's midway through his meal when his walkie-talkie crackles. It's a Code 164, another skyjacking. Himmelsback has spent his career investigating serious offenses, bombings, murders, bank heists. Recently, though, he's found himself specializing in this increasingly common crime, one that often risks the life of scores of innocent people at a time. But the worst thing is, the public often see the perpetrators as heroes, like modern-day Robin Hoods stealing from the rich.

Himmelsbach sighs and replies that he's on his way, then smooths his handlebar moustache and heaves himself up from the stool. After wishing the waitress a happy Thanksgiving and slapping a five-dollar bill down on the counter, he picks up his gun and badge and slips towards the exit. Back aboard Flight 305, Tina Mucklow is inside the cockpit with Captain William Scott, co-pilot Bill Ratajk, and flight engineer Harold E. Anderson. From this point on, we can only make educated guesses as to Cooper's actions based on the reports of the crew. At around 8 p.m., a red light appears on the control panel signaling that the aft stairs have been activated. Then, flight engineer Anderson reports seeing oscillations on the rate of climb meter, an indication that the air pressure in the cabin has changed. A few moments after that, at roughly 8.13 pm, members of the crew report feeling a slight

popping in their ears due to the plane's altitude shifting, a phenomenon known as a pressure bump. It's not unlike the sensation of a shift in suspension inside a car when someone exits the vehicle. These reports will come to form a major part of the FBI's investigation. If accurate, they can point to roughly where Cooper jumped and where he might have landed. But what could have been a vital clue will actually turn out to be a stumbling block for the FBI. Their misunderstanding of the crew's testimony will become one of several mistakes made in the early stages of the investigation.

The oscillations and the pressure bump were separate phenomena completely. One was on a gauge, the other was physically felt in the ears. Somehow they got conflated and compressed into a single event and that's the way the FBI understood it. To their misfortune, because they started looking in the place where they thought the oscillations had occurred and in fact they should have been looking at the place where the pressure pump occurred which could have been minutes later and if you're flying at three nautical miles a minute, that's a long way away. The FBI will later determine that Cooper jumped somewhere above the tiny hamlet of Ariel

in the south of Washington state. Based on the time at which the oscillations appeared on the pressure gauge, they calculate Cooper's drop zone to be within a 23-square-mile parallelogram centered around this small settlement. But as we now know, this hypothesis might have been based on a wrong assumption entirely. been based on a wrong assumption entirely. The earliest time at which the hijacker could have jumped would have been 8.13 p.m. Pacific time. But I believe at that point, the airplane was leaving Washington state and was over the

Columbia River heading for Oregon. So my central hypotheses essentially give the earliest time for the hijacker's departure to be over the Columbia River. And I also propose other points even further south, but obviously in Oregon state and not in Washington. Did Cooper land in Washington or Oregon? No one can say for sure. But what is beyond doubt is that when the plane lands in Reno to refuel two hours later, Cooper is no longer on board. All that's left of him is a discarded clip-on tie and a few scattered cigarette butts. When FBI agents arrive with sniffer dogs, they retrieve the cigarette butts and send them to a lab to check for fingerprints. Of course, these cigarettes are loaded with a hijacker's DNA. But this is all

taking place long before DNA technology becomes readily available to forensic criminologists. Another missed opportunity. 1971 DNA, it's not a thing. And so the cigarette butts get sent in to their crime lab and it said, take a look at these and see if you can pull any fingerprints or get any evidence from them when you're done with them, throw them away. And I really think that the thought behind that was obviously, again, DNA doesn't exist. But if you have to store evidence in a locker forever, do you want to store cigarette butts in there? They'd probably just stink. We don't need these around. They're garbage. That's all cigarette butts are in 1971.

So unfortunately, those are lost. With every hour that passes, the chances of catching Cooper alive dwindle. He judiciously chose to commit this hijacking in November, just before the winter cold sets in. The sprawling wilderness beneath the flight path, where the Federal search will be concentrated, will soon be frozen over. Any potential evidence, a shred of parachute silk, or a fluttering dollar bill, will be buried beneath a thick layer of snow and ice. None of this is lost on Special Agent Ralph Himmelsbach as he scans the endless expanse of pine forest from the window of his private plane. Last night, word came through from his FBI colleagues in Nevada.

Somewhere on the flight path from Seattle to Reno, the hijacker jumped from Flight 305. So as soon as it was light, he left nearby Portland in his twin propeller plane and began tracing the length of that flight path, known to air traffic control as Victor 23. But all he can see are treetops, mountains, and rivers stretching for hundreds of miles in every direction. Disappointed, Himmelsbach admits defeat. Finding Cooper is going to be like finding a needle in a haystack. With a sigh, he turns the plane around and heads back for Portland. Himmelsbach's a very old school law and order guy. I mean, you see him with his handlebar mustache and you could just tell the kind of person

he is. Very serious. It's all about doing the right thing. And if you do the wrong thing, you pay the price, was kind of the guy he was. And his take on Cooper, if you listen to some of his interviews, becomes angrier and angry over the years. And Cooper becomes a worse and worse person, according to him. One of his final interviews, he's like, Cooper used foul language the whole time and he was a nasty, slimy criminal.

There's really no evidence to support that. He's the only person that's saying that. Himmelsbach leads the investigation from the FBI's Portland office, drawing up a list of suspects. But as witness testimonies are gathered, the inconspicuous exterior the hijacker presented starts to pay off. Discrepancies outweigh convergences. Some describe him as over six feet tall. Others maintain he was 5'10 at most. Some remember blue eyes, others brown. One witness claims that the man had a dark, olive-skinned

complexion and was possibly Hispanic in origin, while the majority will insist that he was Caucasian. Though it's unlikely the hijacker used his real name. One of the first moves is to question anyone named Dan Cooper living in the Pacific Northwest. One of the individuals interviewed is a Portland man called D.B. Cooper. Rushing to meet a deadline, a local journalist confuses this name with the alias chosen by the hijacker. When the United Press International Wire Service reprints the journalist's error, the name D.B. Cooper becomes the official epithet for the

hijacker. But while news outlets around America seize upon this headline-grabbing story, the race to find the hijacker's current whereabouts is already well underway. The FBI outsourced the ground search to the Sheriff's Department of Clark and Cowlitz Counties in southern Washington, Cooper's supposed drop zone. Local police and civilian volunteers comb the countryside. A military submarine is used to investigate the region's lakes.

The FBI have mapped out this search area based on the testimony of the flight crew, the best information at their disposal. But it's no easy task. It is a very rural area. It's probably 60% trees, 40% farmland with many lakes and creeks and rivers. There are small towns in there and railroad tracks, but some pretty dense forest. And so they don't really have a drop zone for Cooper for something like 40 or 50 hours that they can explore. And then from that point, they just start marching through the woods to see if they

can find anything. They had some volunteers. But the weather is also getting bad at this point. So searching in the snow in that area would be tough. So they really suspend searching until spring when they at that point have the National Guard, Sheriff's Department, and a ton of volunteers, including like Boy Scouts, marching through the woods, basically hand in hand to see if they could find Cooper's body, a parachute, anything. They don't. They end up finding a corpse of a missing person, like a teenage girl that had gone missing like 10 years earlier. But no D.B. Cooper.

This case is proving deeply frustrating for the Bureau. This case is proving deeply frustrating for the Bureau. And to make matters worse, this hijacker who has made a mockery of the FBI is rapidly becoming a national folk hero. In the early 1970s, acts of anti-establishment rebellion are all the rage. With the war in Vietnam casting a dark cloud over America, with unemployment rising and the economy in freefall, D.B. Cooper's flagrant disrespect for authority is something many Americans can get behind. Cooper stuck it to the man and got away with it. Many claim they would do what Cooper did if they only had the guts,

and indeed, in the years following the hijacking, several individuals do attempt to emulate Cooper, with varying degrees of success on april 7 1972 a vietnam veteran named richard mccoy hijacks united airlines flight 855 from newark to los angeles wielding an unloaded pistol and a fake hand grenade, McCoy manages to obtain a $500,000 ransom before parachuting out of the moving Boeing 727. It's almost an identical crime to Cooper's, and given the physical similarities between the two hijackers, it is no surprise that McCoy becomes a leading suspect in the D.B. Cooper case. But whereas Cooper's crime was technically flawless, this hijacker is less careful. He ends up bragging about the stunt to an acquaintance, who promptly notifies the police. When detectives turn up at McCoy's door with a search warrant,

they quickly discover the duffel bag full of cash and place him under arrest. But that isn't the end of Richard McCoy. Shortly after being thrown in jail, he pulls off an improbable escape by commandeering a garbage truck and smashing through the prison gates. Three months later, the FBI tracks him down

to Virginia Beach, North Carolina. On the 9th of November, 1974, he arrives home to find three federal agents waiting for him. Never one to give up without a fight, he starts shooting. The agents return fire, and McCoy is killed in a hail of bullets. Richard McCoy was undoubtedly a daring crook, but was he D.B. Cooper? The FBI agent who fired the lethal shot is convinced of it.

But for all their similarities, there are plenty of differences too. The FBI agent that shot him said, when I shot Richard McCoy, I killed D.B. Cooper. He ends up helping writing a book, D.B. Cooper, The Real McCoy. There's just no evidence. The fact that he did a similar skyjacking doesn't mean that he was Cooper. The MO is different. McCoy, at the time of Flight 305, he's 28 years old. So Tina Mucklow says that D.B. Cooper had no discernible accent, that he was mid to late 40s. He was a smoker, obviously. He drank. McCoy, 28 years old, he's Mormon, non-smoker, non-drinker. Sure,

you could smoke or drink, but he smokes eight cigarettes in five hours. I challenge any non-smoker to smoke eight cigarettes in five hours and let me know how that goes. Probably not going to be awesome. Case closed, perhaps. But long before Richard McCoy perishes in a firefight with the FBI, the search for D.B. Cooper is already hitting stumbling blocks. Despite enlisting the help of civilians, the local county sheriff's departments, and even the U.S. military, the ground search proves fruitless. The FBI don't seem to be making any progress in the hunt for the mysterious skyjacker. So the Bureau decides to change tack. At that point, the whole strategy then switched to specific directions.

Number one, that they interviewed all the parachute clubs in the entire United States, interviewed all the parachute clubs in the entire United States, which I think was probably a mistake because this guy was not a civilian skydiver. His actions were not those of a sports skydiver. And he was way too old to be a sports skydiver. Sports skydiving is something you do when you're 20. You don't do it when you're 45. By that time, you're smarter. You know, you have given it up. And the other direction they went in was to ask the public to come up with proposals on the basis of the sketches, which led to over a thousand leads, none of which led anywhere. The case is quickly going cold. Despite compiling a groaning file of potential suspects, every road the FBI follows leads to dead ends and blind alleys.

But then, nine years after the hijacking, a momentous discovery will breathe new life into the investigation. It is the 10th of February, 1980. Eight-year-old Brian Ingram sits on a grassy bank by the Columbia River. He's on a vacation with his family at Tina Bar, a riverside beachfront in Washington, and he is terribly bored. Behind him, his parents are packing up their picnic, quarreling as usual. Despondently, Brian trails a stick in the muddy sand, wishing he was somewhere else.

But then the stick catches on something, a flash of green. Brian clears away the muck, and his eyes widen. It's money. Three tightly wrapped bundles of $20 bills, almost $6,000 in total. The bills have almost completely disintegrated. Clearly they have been submerged for some time. Brian jumps to his feet and runs off to tell his parents about his exciting discovery. His family report the finding to the authorities, who cross-reference the serial numbers

to prove that indeed Brian has just discovered some of D.B. Cooper's ransom money. Immediately, the FBI cordon off the area where Brian found the degraded bills. Federal agents begin carefully excavating the site, looking for more clues. But after a week of painstaking digging, they make no further discoveries. They will have to make do with what they've got. digging, they make no further discoveries. They will have to make do with what they've got. It will soon become abundantly clear to the FBI, however, that the discovery of the money will not lead to any major breakthroughs.

It will simply add more layers of complexity to the case. Up until now, the consensus has been that Cooper landed somewhere near Lake Merwin in southern Washington. But that's downstream from Tina Bar. How could a portion of the money have come loose and floated here? Years later, in 2020, a team of citizen sleuths will examine the dollar bills under a microscope. They will find that they contain diatoms, microscopic algae commonly found in lakes. But there is a problem. The microorganisms are springtime diatoms. That means that the money found its way into the river many months after the hijacking. The only evidence that we have post-hijacking is the money found at Tina Bar, which, you know,

I almost wish that that money was never found because it doesn't answer any questions. It just adds more mystery to the story. It doesn't tell us if he survived the jump. It doesn't even tell us where the plane was. You have this research done on it where it has springtime diatoms on the bills, which tells us the money got wet in spring or summer and not during winter or fall. So if Cooper jumps during the fall, but the bills don't get wet till spring or summer, how did they get there? Yet again, the investigation falters. But while the FBI has never been able to settle on a probable suspect, investigation falters. But while the FBI has never been able to settle on a probable suspect,

they are nevertheless inundated with confessions. During most criminal investigations, an admission of guilt is the golden ticket, the last missing piece in the puzzle. In the case of D.B. Cooper, however, confessions are a dime a dozen. That's partly due to the fact that, unlike most dangerous criminals, Cooper has become an attractive figure in the eyes of many, a romantic symbol of anti-establishment resistance. For some, confessing to being D.B. Cooper is a way of vicariously living out their fantasies. You know, with this case, he seems like a gentleman. You know, he has sort of a James Bond vibe. He's in a suit. He puts sunglasses on.

He's smoking a cigarette and drinking bourbon. It's, and then pulls off this daring heist with a daredevil escape out of the airplane, parachuting at night into the unknown, never to be seen or heard from again. It's, it's cool. It's not the Zodiac killer. It's not, oh, you know, those kids that were murdered on Lover's Lane. It's cool. It's not the Zodiac killer. It's not, oh, you know those kids that were murdered on Lover's Lane? It was me. That's not a cool confession. No one's like, whoa, dude, that's awesome. With D.B. Cooper, especially in the Pacific Northwest, he's cool.

So confessing to this crime, I think is a way to, maybe you lived a boring, dull life and you wanted to have some attention. You wanted to thank people. You did something cool and amazing. The confessions keep coming, some more credible than others. But none bring the FBI any closer to solving this perplexing, mystifying crime. Over time, the case will fade into the past, consigned to dusty evidence boxes in FBI vaults. But as D.B. Cooper the man drifts out of focus, D.B. Cooper the myth gradually takes shape. A thriving society of amateur detectives and conspiracy theorists

grows around the mystery. When the FBI suspends the case in 2014, the investigation continues on internet forums and at annual DB Cooper conventions, or Cooper cons. What motivates this ever-growing community is that there are still stones left unturned, avenues left unexplored. But at the heart of this cultural phenomenon, once the hypotheses and rumors are stripped away, what is left is a middle-aged man in a dark suit

and a clip-on tie, a man with a past. But if he survived the jump, maybe a man with a future too. the future too. Parachutes work. That's the point. And I just, there seems to be so much more supporting the idea that he survived the jump than there is the idea that he died in the jump. We never found a body. There was no parachute hanging in a tree. There is the idea that he never pulls the ripcord, but look at the other copycats. Look at soldiers that were ejecting from planes that were shot down. Not ideal jump conditions. And, you know, well over nine out of 10 times,

they land safely on the ground. If Cooper did pull his chute and died in the woods, I think we would have found him right away. I would very much like for the FBI to reactivate the case. I mean, maybe there's nothing to be found, but the briefcase, even 50 years later, even shattered into fragments. There must be some traces of it somewhere on the flight path. He didn't carry the briefcase down with him on the jump. He let it go.

I suggested where to look for it. A flat object like a briefcase is going to fly. It'll land, and it's on some farmer's field somewhere. Some are willing to wait for answers. Some believe there will never be a final chapter to the story. But others are still out there, searching for a conclusion to the abiding, intoxicating mystery

of D.B. Cooper. Next week on Short History Of we'll bring you a short history of the Indian partition. There are so many bizarre things about that time, but I don't think anything is more bizarre than independence granted for Pakistan on August 14, independence granted for India on August 15, 1947, and then the partition line being announced two days later on August 17.

So in fact, people were independent before they knew what side of the border they were on. There are cases recorded of cities or people in those cities thinking they are part of one country, raising the flag of that country for three days, and then changing the flag three days later when the border is eventually announced. That's next time on Short History Of.