Cousin Fred loses his mind over Pokémon GO, but solves the D.B. Cooper mystery!

Happy Thursday everyone! I’m headed out to big snake country this morning to view the remains of a very old structure and determine whether or not it can be saved and/or moved back to the more civilized confines – well, there are fewer snakes anyway…the slithering kind anyway – of Cosmic City. O’ the lengths I’ll go to for Oklahomana (sic)!

I have my snake boots, a pith helmet, a peanut butter sandwich (in case of breakdown), and super deluxe military grade surplus night vision goggles (in case of breakdown after dark). I was thinking about wearing my old Navy flight suit (has dog tags attached to the zipper), but it no longer fits (go figure). I’m sure everything will be fine. You’ll see. It’ll turn out better than you think!

I had hoped to have Cousin Fred along to walk in front of us with a long pole smashing the grass and calling “flee snakes, flee!” But, he’s too wrapped up in Pokemon GO to be of any use to anyone. Last I saw him, he was headed out across one of the pastures in the dark chasing after something with his iPhone.

Cousin Fred got the Pokemon GO bug last evening after watching a segment on the CBS Evening News. I heard that NBC had a really great segment on the newest thing in gaming, BUT WE DON’T GET ANY NBC AT THE COMPOUND SINCE DISH DECIDED TO TAKE THE NETWORK HOSTAGE – or is the other way around?

Regardless, I still gets no KFOR out here. Me thinks it’s time to find a new service.

But, before Cousin Fred downloaded the app, he and I were sitting around reading the frigging fishwrap from OKC whose motto taken from the Latvian is “Yeah, we know we aren’t worth a crap, but what are you gonna do?”

Cousin Fred was reading an article about the FBI dropping their pursuit of D.B. Cooper after so many decades of no one being able to find him or for that matter, even figure out who he is.

For those of you who don’t care…lucky devils that you are…here is the bare bones, Cliff Notes version. On Thanksgiving Eve 1971, some guy who identified himself as Dan Cooper bought a one-way ticket from Portland, OR to Seattle, WA. He carried nothing but a briefcase with him. (Quick note for those of you playing along at home – there were no secure terminals or TSA back then. No one even checked the stuff you were carrying. I know, very Norman Rockwell (Google it), huh? And, you could actually walk right up to the departure gate and buy a ticket).

Once the plane was airborne, he presented a note to the flight attendant announcing that his briefcase held a bomb which he threatened to detonate unless his demands for $200,000, four parachutes and a fuel truck were met.

The plane lands in Seattle. His demands were met (go figure). The plane was refueled and he allowed the passengers on board to disembark (check the overhead bins - oops, there were none then - and be sure to take all of your personal possessions with you). He made a minimum number of aircrew stay aboard and then ordered the plane to take off again.

Cooper’s instructions to the aircrew was to steer the plane in a southeast direction toward Mexico City (ίOlé!). At some point over Oregon, the aircrew got an indication that the aft airstair on the 727 was being lowered and the passenger compartment was depressurizing. One of the parachutes and all of the money was gone by the time the airliner made it back to the ground in Reno, NV.

Nothing was ever found, except pieces of a parachute and a wad of rotting 20 dollar bills totaling $5,800 determined to the some of the serial numbers that had been handed over to Cooper in Oregon. That was in 1980, I think.

Ever since, there has been speculation about whether or not Cooper survived the jump. He was dressed in a business suit and loafers for crying out loud. At the plane’s altitude that meant an ambient air temp of -34 degrees Fahrenheit. Not to mention that he leaped from a plane moving at roughly 200 mph.

So the FBI engaged in a manhunt for the past 45 years, but no signs. No real clues. Nada. Zilch. Zero. Butkus. 

According to Cousin Fred, reading the story, the Feebs finally gave it up because according to them, they were expending too many resources on chasing a ghost that could be directed elsewhere (the resources, not the ghost).

At that point, I was only half-listening. But then, Cousin Fred announced that he figured out the D.B. Cooper thing years before. I’m still only half-listening.

“Uh huh,” I said.

“No, seriously. He never left the plane. He was still on it when it landed in Reno.”

Now he had my attention.

According to Cousin Fred, who did some time in the Air Force years ago, there were a “gazillion” access points for maintenance personnel to get to key components in the fuel, flight control, and hydraulic systems on the old 727’s.
Cousin Fred said that Cooper could easily have slid down inside the bowels of the plane and stayed there until it was parked.

I started to ask a question, but he interrupted me. He pointed out that there had been speculation for years that Cooper was a former Air Force or possibly Navy (they used the same model of 727) load master. As evidence of that, investigators pointed out that he wanted the aft airstair ramp lowered before takeoff from Seattle. The pilot told him the plane couldn’t take off with the airstair extended. Cooper argued that it damn well could, but finally agreed to let it stay up and then he (Cooper) would lower it when the plane was airborne.

Cousin Fred figures that Cooper lowered the rear ramp, dumped one parachute and the wad of $5,800 out the back and then secreted himself into one of the maintenance holds just beneath the flight deck.

By the way, the plane landed in Reno with the rear stair ramp still lowered.

In all of the theories I’d read on the case over the years, I don’t recall any about Cooper still being on board. I said as much to Cousin Fred.

He gave me a “hrrmph” and then began reading aloud a story about the start of Woodyfest in Okemah.

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