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Georger is correct -- from my experience, you have to be flexible when putting together, and delivering, the agenda for a symposium. There are always surprises. You have to be flexible, keep your cool, go with Plan B, and just roll with the flow.
When Mr. Himmelsbach didn't make it to the Portland Symposium because of health reasons, Geoffrey Gray had to adjust and adapt. It appears he did so admirably.
When Mr. Himmelsbach didn't make it to the Portland Symposium because of health reasons, Geoffrey Gray had to adjust and adapt. It appears he did so admirably.
I found Sheridan Peterson, sort of.
Through a quirky twist of family upheaval, my Christmas trip back to New York routed my return through San Francisco, so I decided to hop off my flight and go look for Sheridan Peterson in Windsor California, about 60 miles north of SF.
By his own account, Sheridan has been investigated by the FBI twice in the DB Cooper case, and I have sought the man on and off over the past several years. Initially, we had an email correspondence, but Sheridan was mostly tangential and vague. Nevertheless, he definitively declared that he was not DB Cooper and I believe him.
However, he is an ideal suspect on paper - a former Boeing employee with a declared interest in the aft stairs of the 727, a former Marine from WW II, and a fearless skydiver and former smokejumper who reportedly jumped for a Boeing promo wearing only a business suit. Plus, he’s the right age for DB Cooper and has most of the physical characteristics.
Further, he has an oddball alibi for November 24, 1971, claiming he was living in a mud hut in Nepal with his new wife and two infant kids. As for grudges, he had a ton, including his disgust at US policy in Vietnam where he was working as a state department official in refugee affairs. In addition, he got busted by the local fuzz in Mississippi when he was a civil rights worker in Amite County during the mid-60s.
Most of what I know about Sheridan Peterson I have learned through his writings, for he is both a former high school English teacher – including at the nearby Lake Washington HS in Kirkland, WA and at a USAF base in the Philippines, and is an accomplished journalist.
His writings are fascinating. The guy has lived a remarkable life – one that I would like to hear more about. He’s worked throughout Asia, including Japan, China and Papua New Guinea, and has also lived in the Middle East, where he departed via a hairy-scary road trip through Iran with his two kids. Yikes!
In addition, I wanted to patch things up in our relationship. I greatly offended Sheridan with my writings about him – most notably my accounts of what his family says about him, and he has both hung up the phone on me (I think) and suspended all email communication.
Sheridan is about 85 years old – his exact age and birth date is a tad difficult to pin down, but he’s both old and in ill health. In the past year I have heard that he has been afflicted with advancing prostate cancer, which might has metastasized into an eye.
Others in the DropZone and the Cooper Sleuthing World have called repeatedly for me to follow-up with Sheridan, and have supported my efforts in a variety of important ways; including one DZer who gave me a huge basket of cheer on behalf of the whole crew to deliver to Sheridan should I ever meet him face-to-face.
So, landing in San Francisco on Friday, December 30, 2011 after a mind-numbing flight from JFK, I began my search for “Petey,” as many of us have nick-named him.
After a good night’s sleep, I drove a rented Suzuki econo-car through the bowels of San Fran, got on the five lanes of 101 north over the Golden Gate on a 60-degree December 30 Saturday afternoon, and headed to Windsor.
Petey’s last reported address was at an assisted-living abode called Vine Crest, ironically numbered 305 (The flight number of the hijacked airplane). His unit is a simple one-story cottage, and judging from what I saw chatting with his neighbors they seem to be a kind of studio apartment affair, with a bed in a large central room that contains a kitchen, with a couple of small rooms out back, which presumably includes a bathroom.
No one answered at 305, but I spoke with “Nancy” nearby. I spoke with her for awhile and learned that Sheridan had moved out a few weeks before. Other residents that I met in a spacious community room nearby confirmed that Sheridan had left the first week of November, 2011, but no one knew exactly where he had gone.
They also confirmed that Sheridan had lots of medical issues, most seriously the cancer.
“Maybe he’s at the Palo Alto VA,” one said. “He’s a vet and he needs lots of medical attention.”
Another told me that there was a VA out-patient clinic in Windsor that might know the whereabouts of Sheridan, and a third told me that they thought he had moved to another senior residence, “Perhaps the one that was near the Safeway.”
Needing a cuppa java I went looking for all of the above in downtown Windsor. I found a Peet’s Coffee and Tea in an upscale shopping plaza that also contained a Safeway. Buying a 12 ounce drip and a chocolate chip cookie I settled in, organized my notes, and started kibitzing with a few sassy broads my age at the table next to mine.
Thirty minutes later I finished my joe, got up and headed towards the door. Halfway there a little voice spoke in my head, the little voice that is so often so right, and it said to ask the gals about Petey. Hence, I stopped and turned around.
Kibitzing is one thing; but being approached by a strange hulking guy wearing three coats on a warm winter day in California is another.
“Excuse me, but do any of you know a fella named Sheridan Peterson?” I asked, plowing through my social anxiety and the conventions that forbid such boldness.
“As a matter of fact, I do,” said one, a woman named Jeanette.
I explained my purpose, saying I was a friend, a colleague really, who was looking for Sheridan Peterson and had just learned he had left the Vine Crest apartments. I described much of what I knew about Petey to assuage their anxieties that I might be a real loony. I even gave them a business card, which seemed to satisfy some deep investigatory need in me and them.
“I can’t tell you too much,” said Jeanette, “because I have a professional relationship with Sheridan and I need to protect his privacy. But I have a friend named Claire that knows him and she may be able to help you make contact.”
Jeannette didn’t offer any contact information, but she did say that she thought that Sheridan may have moved to a senior facility in Santa Rosa, and she gave me a lead in that direction to pursue.
I then asked if they could deliver the basket of cheer.
“Hunh?!!!” was their immediate response.
“I’m not sure I will meet with Sheridan before I have to fly back to Seattle,” I continued. “Could you deliver this to Sheridan or give it to Claire, or anyone else who might be able to get into Sheridan’s hands.”
Jeanette and her crew looked surprised, but broke into wide smiles when I retrieved the gift from my Suzuki and plunked it down on their table.
“Sure, I guess we can deliver it,” said Jeanette with a distinct tone of bewilderment.
I last saw Jeanette waddling out to her car with a heavy and awkward load of wine, cheese and crackers, and I had no idea what would happen next, but I was sure we were heading in the right direction.
I drove next to Santa Rosa, Palo Alto and all the other suggestions that folks had given me for Sheridan - but they all came up blank.
I returned home a few days later and the calls started coming in. First, Claire called, and then Jeanette emailed. They were on the Hunt, and joyfully announced that they had made contact with Sheridan and were going to see him soon.
On Thursday, January 5, they made contact and delivered the basket. Sheridan was touched. My DZ associate had scored a homerun. The gals called and emailed to k’vel about their achievement, but they advised me that Sheridan had insisted that they not reveal his whereabouts or contact information.
Nevertheless, Sheridan emailed later that evening to thank me, and demanded that I tell him exactly who and how this fabulous gift had come to him, stressing that he wanted to know how some guy claiming to be a reporter came all the way from Yelm, WA to bring him a basket of cheer. He shared his profound surprise and deep appreciation that the DZ guys cared about him, an old and lonely skydiver. Sheridan exchanged a few more emails with me and along the way he asked that I share one with the DZ, expressing his thanks to all of you.
Astonishingly, he says he is blocked from posting on the DZ. Hence, with a great deal of honor I am carrying his thanks to all of you.
Here is Sheridan’s email:
"Bruce Smith,
Who would believe it? You received this gift from a "drop zone" chum and traveled all the way from Yelm, Washington to Windsor, CA present it to me. Not finding me at Vinecrest Senior Apartments, you handed it to someone who knew someone who knew me.. The two women delivered the package just now.
I was a bit chagrin when you posted an interview of my brother and sister-in-law on Drop Zone. It was quite terrible and left me in a state of fury for weeks. Then I learned that Carr was an FBI agent and so I assumed that you may be too. Being an ardent liberal and hating Obama for betraying us, I grew cautious. So many evil things have surfaced lately such as Obama renewing the Patriot Act, the preditor drones, and then yesterday the signing into law a bill that will allow the president to incarcerate innocent Americans and confine them as long as he wishes.
A Kiwi from Christchurch , New Zealand sent me an article on Facebook from a small town in Washington. suspecting me of being D. B. .Cooper ( Wow, what a sentence.). Now I know who wrote it..
However, I was thrilled to get the marvelous gift as any lonely old man would be. It is quite horrible getting old in America especially if one is so totally isolated as I am..Tell me. Who is (your DZ chum)? Are you allowed to tell? I am not paranoiac, for paranoia is fear and loathing without reason. I assume that you are a rather complex person with a great deal of curiosity. Nevertheless, I must thank the giver of the gift. I can't rest until I do.
Thank you,
Sheridan."
© 2011 Bruce A. Smith
Through a quirky twist of family upheaval, my Christmas trip back to New York routed my return through San Francisco, so I decided to hop off my flight and go look for Sheridan Peterson in Windsor California, about 60 miles north of SF.
By his own account, Sheridan has been investigated by the FBI twice in the DB Cooper case, and I have sought the man on and off over the past several years. Initially, we had an email correspondence, but Sheridan was mostly tangential and vague. Nevertheless, he definitively declared that he was not DB Cooper and I believe him.
However, he is an ideal suspect on paper - a former Boeing employee with a declared interest in the aft stairs of the 727, a former Marine from WW II, and a fearless skydiver and former smokejumper who reportedly jumped for a Boeing promo wearing only a business suit. Plus, he’s the right age for DB Cooper and has most of the physical characteristics.
Further, he has an oddball alibi for November 24, 1971, claiming he was living in a mud hut in Nepal with his new wife and two infant kids. As for grudges, he had a ton, including his disgust at US policy in Vietnam where he was working as a state department official in refugee affairs. In addition, he got busted by the local fuzz in Mississippi when he was a civil rights worker in Amite County during the mid-60s.
Most of what I know about Sheridan Peterson I have learned through his writings, for he is both a former high school English teacher – including at the nearby Lake Washington HS in Kirkland, WA and at a USAF base in the Philippines, and is an accomplished journalist.
His writings are fascinating. The guy has lived a remarkable life – one that I would like to hear more about. He’s worked throughout Asia, including Japan, China and Papua New Guinea, and has also lived in the Middle East, where he departed via a hairy-scary road trip through Iran with his two kids. Yikes!
In addition, I wanted to patch things up in our relationship. I greatly offended Sheridan with my writings about him – most notably my accounts of what his family says about him, and he has both hung up the phone on me (I think) and suspended all email communication.
Sheridan is about 85 years old – his exact age and birth date is a tad difficult to pin down, but he’s both old and in ill health. In the past year I have heard that he has been afflicted with advancing prostate cancer, which might has metastasized into an eye.
Others in the DropZone and the Cooper Sleuthing World have called repeatedly for me to follow-up with Sheridan, and have supported my efforts in a variety of important ways; including one DZer who gave me a huge basket of cheer on behalf of the whole crew to deliver to Sheridan should I ever meet him face-to-face.
So, landing in San Francisco on Friday, December 30, 2011 after a mind-numbing flight from JFK, I began my search for “Petey,” as many of us have nick-named him.
After a good night’s sleep, I drove a rented Suzuki econo-car through the bowels of San Fran, got on the five lanes of 101 north over the Golden Gate on a 60-degree December 30 Saturday afternoon, and headed to Windsor.
Petey’s last reported address was at an assisted-living abode called Vine Crest, ironically numbered 305 (The flight number of the hijacked airplane). His unit is a simple one-story cottage, and judging from what I saw chatting with his neighbors they seem to be a kind of studio apartment affair, with a bed in a large central room that contains a kitchen, with a couple of small rooms out back, which presumably includes a bathroom.
No one answered at 305, but I spoke with “Nancy” nearby. I spoke with her for awhile and learned that Sheridan had moved out a few weeks before. Other residents that I met in a spacious community room nearby confirmed that Sheridan had left the first week of November, 2011, but no one knew exactly where he had gone.
They also confirmed that Sheridan had lots of medical issues, most seriously the cancer.
“Maybe he’s at the Palo Alto VA,” one said. “He’s a vet and he needs lots of medical attention.”
Another told me that there was a VA out-patient clinic in Windsor that might know the whereabouts of Sheridan, and a third told me that they thought he had moved to another senior residence, “Perhaps the one that was near the Safeway.”
Needing a cuppa java I went looking for all of the above in downtown Windsor. I found a Peet’s Coffee and Tea in an upscale shopping plaza that also contained a Safeway. Buying a 12 ounce drip and a chocolate chip cookie I settled in, organized my notes, and started kibitzing with a few sassy broads my age at the table next to mine.
Thirty minutes later I finished my joe, got up and headed towards the door. Halfway there a little voice spoke in my head, the little voice that is so often so right, and it said to ask the gals about Petey. Hence, I stopped and turned around.
Kibitzing is one thing; but being approached by a strange hulking guy wearing three coats on a warm winter day in California is another.
“Excuse me, but do any of you know a fella named Sheridan Peterson?” I asked, plowing through my social anxiety and the conventions that forbid such boldness.
“As a matter of fact, I do,” said one, a woman named Jeanette.
I explained my purpose, saying I was a friend, a colleague really, who was looking for Sheridan Peterson and had just learned he had left the Vine Crest apartments. I described much of what I knew about Petey to assuage their anxieties that I might be a real loony. I even gave them a business card, which seemed to satisfy some deep investigatory need in me and them.
“I can’t tell you too much,” said Jeanette, “because I have a professional relationship with Sheridan and I need to protect his privacy. But I have a friend named Claire that knows him and she may be able to help you make contact.”
Jeannette didn’t offer any contact information, but she did say that she thought that Sheridan may have moved to a senior facility in Santa Rosa, and she gave me a lead in that direction to pursue.
I then asked if they could deliver the basket of cheer.
“Hunh?!!!” was their immediate response.
“I’m not sure I will meet with Sheridan before I have to fly back to Seattle,” I continued. “Could you deliver this to Sheridan or give it to Claire, or anyone else who might be able to get into Sheridan’s hands.”
Jeanette and her crew looked surprised, but broke into wide smiles when I retrieved the gift from my Suzuki and plunked it down on their table.
“Sure, I guess we can deliver it,” said Jeanette with a distinct tone of bewilderment.
I last saw Jeanette waddling out to her car with a heavy and awkward load of wine, cheese and crackers, and I had no idea what would happen next, but I was sure we were heading in the right direction.
I drove next to Santa Rosa, Palo Alto and all the other suggestions that folks had given me for Sheridan - but they all came up blank.
I returned home a few days later and the calls started coming in. First, Claire called, and then Jeanette emailed. They were on the Hunt, and joyfully announced that they had made contact with Sheridan and were going to see him soon.
On Thursday, January 5, they made contact and delivered the basket. Sheridan was touched. My DZ associate had scored a homerun. The gals called and emailed to k’vel about their achievement, but they advised me that Sheridan had insisted that they not reveal his whereabouts or contact information.
Nevertheless, Sheridan emailed later that evening to thank me, and demanded that I tell him exactly who and how this fabulous gift had come to him, stressing that he wanted to know how some guy claiming to be a reporter came all the way from Yelm, WA to bring him a basket of cheer. He shared his profound surprise and deep appreciation that the DZ guys cared about him, an old and lonely skydiver. Sheridan exchanged a few more emails with me and along the way he asked that I share one with the DZ, expressing his thanks to all of you.
Astonishingly, he says he is blocked from posting on the DZ. Hence, with a great deal of honor I am carrying his thanks to all of you.
Here is Sheridan’s email:
"Bruce Smith,
Who would believe it? You received this gift from a "drop zone" chum and traveled all the way from Yelm, Washington to Windsor, CA present it to me. Not finding me at Vinecrest Senior Apartments, you handed it to someone who knew someone who knew me.. The two women delivered the package just now.
I was a bit chagrin when you posted an interview of my brother and sister-in-law on Drop Zone. It was quite terrible and left me in a state of fury for weeks. Then I learned that Carr was an FBI agent and so I assumed that you may be too. Being an ardent liberal and hating Obama for betraying us, I grew cautious. So many evil things have surfaced lately such as Obama renewing the Patriot Act, the preditor drones, and then yesterday the signing into law a bill that will allow the president to incarcerate innocent Americans and confine them as long as he wishes.
A Kiwi from Christchurch , New Zealand sent me an article on Facebook from a small town in Washington. suspecting me of being D. B. .Cooper ( Wow, what a sentence.). Now I know who wrote it..
However, I was thrilled to get the marvelous gift as any lonely old man would be. It is quite horrible getting old in America especially if one is so totally isolated as I am..Tell me. Who is (your DZ chum)? Are you allowed to tell? I am not paranoiac, for paranoia is fear and loathing without reason. I assume that you are a rather complex person with a great deal of curiosity. Nevertheless, I must thank the giver of the gift. I can't rest until I do.
Thank you,
Sheridan."
© 2011 Bruce A. Smith
http://www.columbian.com/news/2011/nov/26/captivated-by-cooper/?fb_comment_id=fbc_10150430042237372_20074447_10150439476512372#f3b8b00be94744e
This has a family "relative" of mine quoted. I almost spit my Jack Daniels and Coke (light on the coke) out!
He is a SF Vet, 5th GRP, Viet Nam, A Team Leader. He, like I, believe that "Cooper" jumped and survived the jump, then we disagree on the survival post landing.
Matt
This has a family "relative" of mine quoted. I almost spit my Jack Daniels and Coke (light on the coke) out!
He is a SF Vet, 5th GRP, Viet Nam, A Team Leader. He, like I, believe that "Cooper" jumped and survived the jump, then we disagree on the survival post landing.
Matt
An Instructors first concern is student safety.
So, start being safe, first!!!
So, start being safe, first!!!
Quotehttp://www.columbian.com/news/2011/nov/26/captivated-by-cooper/?fb_comment_id=fbc_10150430042237372_20074447_10150439476512372#f3b8b00be94744e
This has a family "relative" of mine quoted. I almost spit my Jack Daniels and Coke (light on the coke) out!
He is a SF Vet, 5th GRP, Viet Nam, A Team Leader. He, like I, believe that "Cooper" jumped and survived the jump, then we disagree on the survival post landing.
Matt
Quote
Who's the "family" member, Matt? What does he think about Ted Braden, and would he care to chat about MAC V SOG? I'd love to talk with him.
brucesmith@rainierconnect.com; (360) 832-6248
Thanks. Bruce
QuoteIf you think Marla's continually changing her story: Write your article (with your sources) of how her story has changed.
Then, before publishing to your web site, send it to Marla and invite her to respond. If she does, publish both your article and her response.
I've read too many written interviews where the writer either misquotes, over-simplifies or just plain gets it wrong.
Regarding reporters and writers: Mr. Bennett the sentence I Highlighted in your post above I have found to be true over and over for the last 16 yrs. This is exactly why I continue to stay in this thread and try to tell what I know ON MY OWN, because when I have been interviewed - It does not come out the way I was saying it or trying to say it.
Many times I do NOT know how to express myself and in my mind everyone has followed my post and knows as much as I do about Weber but, that unfortunately is my undoing. I am unable to tell the story in a manner which allows others to follow and I loose them in my ramblings.
I keep hoping someone will actually hear me in the thread - to actually take my posts and try to follow what I have been trying to tell for yrs. I bounce around with the theories as they come along in the thread, but that is what is necessary to sort out truths and facts - or attempt to find the truth.
Duane was some kind of Secret Ghost - and perhaps I will never know who or what he was. I do know the man was involved in many things - and perhaps he was a very astute liar as some have suggested. The astute liar thing just does NOT fit. I am the one who lived with this man for more yrs than he lived with his own mother.
Weber seldom used "I" in his stories except for "I'm Dan Coooper" and "I used to know Paperlegs" and then in WA when he said pointing North into ID and spoke of an Indian Reservation and several small towns stating "I used to know a boy, we got in some trouble there and I can never go back". I pumped for more information and as usual he would change the subject when it come to his past.
The trip to WA was full of "I's" and actually the only part of our marriage that actually revealed anything about his past. Everything else was in 3rd person. For instance his taking me to Treasure Island/St. Pete on a return trip from seeing my parents - when he told me about a guy who was arrested in the area and when asked his occupation - replied "Crook". The FBI had never told me about Duane's past and it was only in the last couple of yrs I learned about Duane Weber's arrest in FL and his declaration of his occupation.
I remember when I read this article posted by one of our members here (right now I forgot who) and the the subsequent copies of the news article that Georger and others tried to provide in a format I could actually see and read and to print. That particular finding "hurt" but it only enforced what I have tried to tell.
I knew little to nothing about the man I spent 17 yrs with and it was at that time I realized that all of the other stories he had told me were also in the 3rd person...He had actually told me about his life in the only way he could. Perhaps this is why I have started to call Weber a Ghost. That's all he was - a GHOST - I never got to know the real person...except during those last few months. During our marriage he seldom volunteered things about his past.
Copyright 2006, 2007, 2008, 2009, 2010, 2011, 2012 2013, 2014, 2015 by Jo Weber
Quote
Don't confuse Marla with someone who has a theory on the Cooper case, or wants to discuss a legitimate subject about it with others. Her motivations lie entirely elsewhere and have zero to do with the actual case. She is about capitalization and money, not facts. She has changed her story several times now to fit the real facts, but she just keeps digging herself a bigger hole. I won't help contribute to this effort. Don't worry. Those speaker slots will fill easily before August. And no one will even miss her.
If you want her story, just friend her at Facebook.
Seems like I would fall within that same guideline. According to JT I have changed my story several times - but, I know I haven't. (It was a matter of relating what I was able to visually remember in a way someone else could understand or visualize what I was describing). So what draws the line between Marla and myself, other than I was mature adult in 1979 and an old lady today?
I. for one am not capable of presenting my case - and just do NOT do well in public or even standing up before the class in school as a girl. I know my story but it encases so many yrs of my life that one could NOT do it in 30 minutes if I was even capable of telling it at all in front of people.
Copyright 2006, 2007, 2008, 2009, 2010, 2011, 2012 2013, 2014, 2015 by Jo Weber
QuoteWhy did I try to discredit her story? Because I think it's a load of baloney and there is not even ONE shred of corroborating evidence to support it. I would like to hear from all you Marla supporters about this. If even her own family cannot confirm a single thing she claims about the events of 11-25-71, (and they were there right along with Marla)...then where does that leave her story? Her own brother, who was THERE on Thanksgiving, called it a load of crap.
Robert,
Ok, I'll bite.
Fair question. I don't want to answer for Marla (and I'm not going to make a habit out of this), but I believe she's answered this before.
-- None of her siblings were outside when her uncles drove up.
-- Her father told her this was very serious and she should never tell anyone what she saw.
-- Her uncles left soon after
You don't have to believe Marla's story. But, if you had started with "Marla. I'm writing an article about your DB Cooper story. I must tell you I'm skeptical. These are the parts I'm having trouble with and I wanted you to respond to them before I published it.", I don't think you'd have had a problem from anyone in this forum -- including Marla.
well Im not totaly sure they did buy his alibi. It
might have been a legal-tactical decision to persue
the one for prosecution without opening the other -
They had him dead-to-rights on the one count which
was enough to clsoe the door on him forever -
Later.
Is there any place to go with McCoy? He was only 29, didn't match the description and they must have checked his fingerprints against the ones they had.