To understand why the public would never accept the suave Cooper had perished, one must understand that all other skyjackings had been crude— scruffy political dissidents wielding guns and demanding to go to Cuba. In the case of attempted robberies, the thug skyjacker brandished a weapon and demanded ransom, terrifying the passengers. By contrast Cooper was cool, looked like James Bond, calmly drank 2 bourbon and waters. He was the first to use a bomb, which made him untouchable (previously, flight crews had overpowered skyjackers with guns). He made sure the entire event remained low key. The passengers didn’t even know a skyjacking was underway. Smooth.

   By the time ransom loot was found, he was a Robin Hood and William Tell all in one. A festival in his honor was held yearly at Ariel, Washington. A movie was in the works, to debut in a year starring Robert Duvall and Treat Williams: The Pursuit of D.B. Cooper. The cool James Bond of skyjacking couldn’t have fumbled it, not with all he had put into it. He could not have been dead all these years. That would make this an unsuccessful skyjacking and he a terrible failure.

   The disciples of the folk hero image actually had a number of points in their favor. Flight 305’s flight path combined with the probability the money came into the Columbia River from one of its tributaries meant D.B. Cooper didn’t splatter. If his chute hadn’t opened he and his 21 pound satchel of filthy lucre would have dropped like a deadweight over the farm communities to the north of Portland.

     This means his chute opened and he drifted. . .but where?

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