Tumultuousness at The Compound...D.B. Cooper Redux (he's back)...our story and we're sticking to it!

Happy Saturday everyone! I meant to post this yesterday (no really, I did), but it’s been a tumultuous couple of days here at The Compound. Things are beginning to slow down now, so what the heck…a day late. Did you miss me?

The most interesting thing going past me over the past couple of days is that a group of private investigators say they have cracked the case of the identity of D. B. Cooper by decoding a coded message in a letter Cooper sent out. Or they would have cracked the case, but the FBI closed the case just about two years ago. They (FBI) aren’t having a good year so far, are they?

As you long-time followers of CCB (all one or two of you) know, Cousin Fred solved at least part of the case then, but no one paid attention. It’ll be interesting to learn from the guy (his real name is Rakestraw) exactly how he managed to pull this off, if in fact it was him.

Here’s what we said in that post on 7/14/16:

Quote

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 be among the same 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-plus 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.

Unquote.

You can thank me later!
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That is all!
 
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