D. B. Cooper

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D. B. Cooper: The Enigmatic Skyjacker Who Vanished with $200,000

On November 24, 1971, a man calling himself Dan Cooper boarded Northwest Orient Airlines Flight 305 in Portland, Oregon, setting the stage for the only unsolved case of air piracy in commercial aviation history. Dressed in a business suit, this unassuming passenger hijacked the Boeing 727, demanded $200,000 and four parachutes, and then parachuted into the stormy night over the Pacific Northwest, never to be seen again. The audacious heist, executed with meticulous planning, has captivated the public for over five decades, spawning countless theories, suspects, and cultural references. Despite extensive FBI investigations, the true identity and fate of D. B. Cooper remain shrouded in mystery, making this case a cornerstone of unsolved phenomena.


This audacious act wasn’t just a crime; it was a masterclass in evasion that exposed vulnerabilities in early 1970s aviation security. The FBI’s exhaustive investigation, dubbed NORJAK (Northwest Hijacking), spanned 45 years, considered over 800 suspects, and generated a 66-volume case file, yet no definitive answers emerged. The discovery of a portion of the ransom money in 1980 only deepened the enigma, as no trace of Cooper or the bulk of the cash was ever found. This article dives into the intricate details of the heist, the investigation, and the enduring fascination with a man who seemingly outsmarted the system.


The Hijacking of Flight 305

The day before Thanksgiving 1971, a man in his mid-40s, described as 6’1”, 170-175 pounds, with olive skin and dark hair, purchased a one-way ticket for $18.52 in cash at Portland International Airport. Identifying himself as Dan Cooper—a name later misreported as D. B. Cooper due to a media error—he boarded the 30-minute flight to Seattle, carrying only a black attaché case. Once airborne, Cooper handed a note to flight attendant Florence Schaffner, who initially thought it was a flirtatious gesture. The note, written in felt-tip pen, revealed his chilling intent: he had a bomb and demanded she sit beside him. Opening his briefcase, Cooper showed Schaffner wires, a battery, and eight red cylinders, convincing her of the threat’s seriousness. His demands were precise: $200,000 in “negotiable American currency,” four parachutes (two primary and two reserve), and a fuel truck ready in Seattle. The note’s use of “negotiable American currency” suggested Cooper might not be a U.S. citizen, possibly hinting at a Canadian or foreign origin, a detail noted by FBI agent Larry Carr.


Cooper’s calm demeanor and specific instructions set him apart from typical criminals. He directed the pilot to inform passengers of a “minor mechanical difficulty” to avoid panic, and the plane circled Seattle for two hours while authorities scrambled to meet his demands. Upon landing at Seattle-Tacoma Airport, Cooper ensured the plane was parked in a brightly lit, isolated section of the tarmac, minimizing the risk of sniper intervention. Northwest Orient’s Seattle operations manager, Al Lee, delivered the ransom—10,000 $20 bills with recorded serial numbers—and the parachutes via flight attendant Tina Mucklow. Cooper released the 36 passengers and two crew members, keeping only the pilot, co-pilot, flight engineer, and Mucklow. He then ordered the plane to fly to Mexico City via Reno for refueling, at an altitude below 10,000 feet, a speed under 200 knots, with landing gear down, wing flaps at 15 degrees, and the rear staircase open. Despite Northwest’s objection that opening the staircase in flight was unsafe, Cooper insisted, revealing his familiarity with the Boeing 727’s unique rear airstair feature. Somewhere between Seattle and Reno, around 8:00 p.m., Cooper lowered the stairs and jumped into the night, carrying the money and two parachutes, one of which was a non-functional training reserve chute, sewn shut—a detail he likely missed.


The Investigation and Its Challenges

The FBI launched an immediate and sprawling investigation, interviewing hundreds of witnesses and scouring the aircraft for evidence. They recovered a black clip-on tie, a mother-of-pearl tie clip, eight Raleigh cigarette butts, and a single hair from Cooper’s headrest, but no fingerprints or the original note, which Cooper retrieved. The search for Cooper focused on a 28-square-mile area in southwestern Washington, near Lake Merwin, based on the plane’s flight path (Victor 23) and the timing of a pressure bump felt by the crew, indicating the moment Cooper jumped. Using helicopters, fixed-wing aircraft, and ground teams from the Oregon Army National Guard, FBI, and Fort Lewis soldiers, authorities combed Clark and Cowlitz Counties in 1972, but found only broken treetops and unrelated debris. A submarine search of Lake Merwin’s 200-foot depths by Electronic Explorations Company yielded nothing. The harsh terrain—forested, hilly, and blanketed by rain and snow—combined with Cooper’s attire (loafers, a trench coat, and no survival gear) led the FBI to speculate he didn’t survive. Special Agent Larry Carr noted that no experienced parachutist would attempt such a jump in a storm, at night, with 200-mph winds, and the sewn-shut reserve chute further diminished his chances. 
A significant break came in 1980 when eight-year-old Brian Ingram found $5,800 of the ransom money—three packets of deteriorated $20 bills—on Tena Bar, a Columbia River beach near Vancouver, Washington, 45 miles from Cooper’s suspected landing zone. The serial numbers matched the ransom, reigniting public interest, but no additional bills surfaced, and the find raised more questions than answers. Why was the money there? Did Cooper lose it during his jump, or did he deliberately discard it? The FBI’s theory that Cooper perished was bolstered by the fact that none of the remaining $194,200 ever reentered circulation, as the serial numbers were widely publicized. However, Cooper’s meticulous planning—his knowledge of the 727’s mechanics, aviation terminology, and evidence retrieval—suggested he was no amateur. Profilers concluded he was intelligent, methodical, and likely desperate, possibly an aviation industry worker, such as a cargo loader, with basic parachute training. The investigation considered over 1,000 suspects, including Richard Floyd McCoy Jr., who staged a similar hijacking in 1972, but discrepancies in age and alibi ruled him out. In 2016, the FBI suspended active investigation, citing resource priorities, but preserved the case file for historical purposes, leaving the mystery open to public scrutiny.

Over the decades, numerous suspects emerged, none definitively linked to Cooper. Duane Weber, a career criminal, was implicated by his widow, Jo Weber, who recalled his 1979 trip to Tena Bar and a deathbed confession: “I’m Dan Cooper.” Weber’s criminal record and a knee injury from a supposed plane jump fueled speculation, but no concrete evidence connected him. Lynn Doyle “LD” Cooper was proposed by his niece, Marla Cooper, who claimed he arrived bloodied at her grandmother’s Oregon home on Thanksgiving 1971, muttering about a hijacking. Marla passed a polygraph, but the FBI found her story inconclusive. William Gossett, a military veteran with jump training, was suspected after allegedly showing his sons a sketch of Cooper and claiming responsibility; a key to a Vancouver bank deposit box hinted at stashed ransom, but Gossett’s 2003 death left the theory unverified. Robert Rackstraw, a pilot and ex-convict, drew attention after a 1978 arrest, with a coded letter allegedly sent by Cooper pointing to him, but he denied involvement until his 2019 death. Recent forensic analysis, including rare earth metals on Cooper’s tie suggesting an aviation industry job, and a 2023 claim by siblings of Richard McCoy Jr. about a parachute found on their family farm, have kept the case alive, though the parachute was later debunked as the wrong model. 
The D. B. Cooper mystery transcends its criminal roots, becoming a cultural phenomenon. Cooper’s non-violent approach—releasing passengers unharmed—and his apparent escape cemented his status as a folk hero, inspiring songs, books, movies like The Pursuit of D. B. Cooper (1981), and documentaries such as Netflix’s D. B. Cooper: Where Are You?! (2022). The annual CooperCon in Vancouver and Ariel, Washington’s D. B. Cooper look-alike contest reflect ongoing fascination. The heist’s impact on aviation security was profound: the FAA mandated passenger and luggage screening, cockpit peepholes, and the “Cooper vane,” a latch preventing rear stair deployment mid-flight, named after the hijacker himself. Theories abound—did Cooper die in the wilderness, or did he vanish into a new identity? The phrase “D. B. Cooper” evokes not just a crime but a symbol of defiance and mystery, a puzzle that continues to challenge sleuths and captivate the imagination.


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