It's Dan Cooper, my son, DB was coined by the press to throw them off a little more.

I am getting old. Very old. It was never about the money. The bit found in 1980 was never intentional. I did it to try to show how security was far too weak and a message to Nixon. I got hurt but I made it out. Burned my old outfit. I landed only a little far off my intended mark where I had stashed more proper winter attire to trek through the forest. Police were helpful in future proofing my crimes. Those cigarettes I smoked and that stir stick on the bourbon and coke cocktail I had? They could have been used to eventually identify my DNA. But they were gotten rid of. Very helpful. I quit smoking and drinking right after.

It was hard. But I had a change of heart. Was it really going to spark a change? That high jacking? Was the 200K I took going to do anything? I had time to think in my trek back, I realized it didn't matter ultimately. I wasn't alone back then, but I am now. Mr. Miner (that's what I will call him) who stole the dynamite and fashioned the bomb I had? He died in a mining accident not too long after. And miss glamour (what i will call her) who helped with the makeup job so well that it hid my true appearance. I don't look a thing like the composite drawing. She passed away, struck by a drunk who couldn't take no for an answer.

Now I am alone and I am not long for this world. I had to keep my identity secret because mysteries allow people to fill in their own details. I did want to change the world somewhat... and I did. Airport security implemented after me aided in stopping the spree of hijackings that was so endemic to the time.

You want to know who I really am? I finally worked up the courage to say it here