Spitfire List Web site and blog of anti-fascist researcher and radio personality Dave Emory.

For The Record  

FTR #871 Daniel Hopsicker Rides Again!

Dave Emory’s entire life­time of work is avail­able on a flash drive that can be obtained here. The new drive is a 32-gigabyte drive that is current as of the programs and articles posted by late spring of 2015. The new drive (available for a tax-deductible contribution of $65.00 or more) contains FTR #850.  

WFMU-FM is podcasting For The Record–You can subscribe to the podcast HERE.

You can subscribe to e-mail alerts from Spitfirelist.com HERE

You can subscribe to RSS feed from Spitfirelist.com HERE.

You can subscribe to the comments made on programs and posts–an excellent source of information in, and of, itself HERE.

This program was recorded in one, 60-minute segment

Introduction: Some listeners may be aware that investigative reporter Daniel Hopsicker had open heart surgery some months ago, accounting for his absence from the blogosphere. Fortunately, he is OK and still with us.

Daniel has been a long-time guest on For The Record, and his articles and books are consummately important contributions to the body of American political science.

From Barry and the Boys, through Welcome to Terrorland: Mohamed Atta and the 9/11 Cover-Up in Florida and continuing through Daniel’s array of articles on the intelligence community’s involvement in the drug trade, a cast of characters and institutions that frame decades of covert operations are chronicled in Daniel’s ongoing investigative efforts.

After Daniel reflects on his recent brush with mortality, the program highlights Jeb Bush’s denial of his presence on a C-130 that spirited away the Venice (Florida) Police Department’s files on Huffman Aviation, as well as Huffman’s operational documents.

The plane never made it to FBI headquarters, but apparently landed in Langley, Virginia, the site of CIA headquarters. Among the interviews we did with Daniel describing the Jeb Bush milieu, Katherine Harris and their remarkable behavior with regard to Wally Hilliard and the milieu around Huffman Aviation are FTR #’s 482483484.

Next, we turn to the deep politics surrounding CIA drug pilot Barry Seal, David Ferrie and Lee Harvey Oswald–all part of the Civil Air Patrol unit commanded by Ferrie. Seal apparently began his intelligence activities while a teenager serving in Ferrie’s unit, may well have participated in the “get-away” phase of the Kennedy assassination and then graduated to be a major cog in the Iran-Contra drug trafficking.

We then highlight some of Daniel’s overlapping stories about intelligence-connected drug trafficking.

Program Highlights Include:

  • The ownership of several planes linked to what Daniel has termed “Cocaine One” by the daughter of Nelson Bunker Hunt.
  •  The real story about the Mexican drug cartels.
  • A major drug bust on the property of Paris Hilton.
  • Drug smuggling in the Chicago area involving individuals and institutions grouped around Sharon Vaughn, the mother of actor Vince Vaughn.

1. Some listeners may be aware that investigative reporter Daniel Hopsicker had open heart surgery some months ago, accounting for his absence from the blogosphere. Fortunately, he is OK and still with us.

Daniel has been a long-time guest on For The Record, and his articles and books are important contributions to the body of American political science.

With Jeb Bush having finally announced his candidacy, we have more need than ever for Daniel’s efforts on the fascist, narco-sewer that is Florida, the state governed by the presumed “45.”

We hope listeners will join us in wishing Daniel a continued recovery and good health. He is a true American hero and deserves your thoughts, prayers and well wishes.

“A Muckraker’s Life, Interrupted” by Daniel Hopsicker; Madcowprod.com; 2/4/2015.

. . . . Last Fall, in early October, I nearly died. Or, as they say in the South, “I liked to died.”

Months earlier, I’d noticed some shortness of breath at a speaking engagement in Los Angeles, been diagnosed with bronchitis, and prescribed antibiotics. Whatever was causing the worrisome shortness of breath, I assumed, was lung-related.

It wasn’t. During a second visit to the doctor for more antibiotics, he uttered this fateful line, “I want you to get an EKG.”

Long story short, in early October my younger brother (we both live with our aging-yet-ageless Mom) drove me to the Emergency Room at Venice Regional Hospital. When the triage nurse at the admittance desk asked why I was there, I replied, truthfully, “Because I can’t breath.”

It was as if someone had pulled the fire alarm. I’d apparently just said the magic words and was swiftly dragged to the front of the line with what felt like unseemly haste. Minutes after shambling through the Emergency Room’s sliding-glass door, I’d been admitted, placed on a gurney, and wheeled down a long featureless corridor to the cardiac care unit, where one week later I underwent open heart surgery to replace a faulty aortic valve.

 Breathing: It’s simple. In. Out. Repeat.

Later I began to become dimly aware of what a near thing it had been. I had (literally) not had a moment to lose, the surgeon told me later, when he swung by on his post-op rounds.

When the operation began, they discovered my heart was weaker than they’d thought, he told me, and it had inhibited the anesthesiologist’s ability to sedate me, out of fear it might stop my heart. Whoa!

Coincidentally, the date of the operation, October 13th, is famous as the date of the Western World’s first extraordinary rendition. On Friday the 13th of October, 1307, hundreds of Knights Templar were arrested in France, then moved to secret locations (not on CIA planes), and tortured into confessions of heresy. Ever since, or so the story goes, Friday the 13th is considered an unlucky day.

But the 13th of October was not an unlucky day for me. (For one thing, it was a Monday.) Today, almost four months later, I am enormously grateful and humbled just to be alive, feel healthy, even fairly vigorous. . . .

2. Heroic investigative journalist Daniel Hopsicker is still rockin’! “Back in the [journalistic] saddle,” he relates that Jeb Bush stumbled badly when asked about his actions on the day after 9/11.

When asked about his presence on a C-130 cargo plane carrying the files of Huffman Aviation to the Washington D.C. area, he denied it.

In his landmark book Welcome to Terrorland: Mohamed and the 9/11 Cover-Up in Florida, Daniel discussed this and referenced information provided to him by, among others, Venice police officer Mike Treanor (who died of cancer at the ripe old age of 47 in 2008.)

Among the interviews we did with Daniel describing the Jeb Bush milieu, Katherine Harris and their remarkable behavior with regard to Wally Hilliard and the milieu around Huffman Aviation are FTR #’s 482483484.

“Jeb Bush’s 9/11 Problem” by Daniel Hopsicker; Mad Cow Morning News; 9/4/2015.

On the campaign trail in New Hampshire two weeks ago, Jeb Bush was asked a question for which he clearly wasn’t prepared, which hearkened back to Bush’s time as Florida Governor. You can see the question here.

“According to Sergeant Marty (Mike) Treanor and other law enforcement officials in Sarasota Florida, the files pertaining to 9/11 hijacker pilots Marwan Al-Shehhi and Mohamed Atta from Huffman Aviation Flight School in Venice Florida were loaded onto two Ryder trucks and driven onto a C-130 cargo plane which left Sarasota the day after 9/11,” began newly-minted radio talk show host Mike Jackman, who with his brother comprise a media outlet pols this election season can ill afford to miss appearing on called “Jackman Radio.”

“Is it true that you were onboard the C-130? And, if so, can you tell us what became of the files?”

According to those who were there, a certain amount of discomfort ensued. Bush, who has appeared as limp as overcooked spaghetti on the campaign trail, visibly stiffened.

“Is it true that you were onboard the C-130? And, if so, can you tell us what became of the files?”

According to those who were there, a certain amount of discomfort ensued. Bush, who has appeared as limp as overcooked spaghetti on the campaign trail, visibly stiffened.

“No. Not true,” he replied. Then, as an aside to those sitting in front row of his town hall meeting, he said, “How weird.”

Bush began taking another question, then stopped. His voice rising slightly to convey indignation, he said, “I was in the Emergency Operations Center trying to make sure the state of Florida was safe… trying to work with local officials to figure out how to make sure another attack wouldn’t hit and devastate our economy…That’s what I did.”

“So, that was kind of a weird… (question.)”

No, Governor, not really. What would be “weird” would be if you could back up your off-the-cuff and very startled assertion that on the day after 9/11 you were in the Florida Emergency Center with anything like proof. Because there are a number of people who know you can’t.

Jackman’s question refers to evidence uncovered during my investigation into the activities of the 9/11 hijackers in Venice. And somewhere in there Jackman had also referenced Wally Hilliard and Rudi Dekkers, the principals in Hoffman Aviation. When he did, one observer noted, Bush seemed to freeze slightly.

Perhaps that has something to do with the little-known fact that a Learjet belonging to Hilliard, who owned the Venice flight school that trained both pilots who flew planes into the World Trade Center Towers, had been caught carrying 43 pounds of heroin by DEA agents in July of 2000.

Just weeks earlier, Jeb Bush’s Secretary of State, the infamous Katherine Harris, had heaped praise on Hilliard’s start-up commuter airline, Florida Air.

Requiem for an honest cop

What follows is a re-cap from primary sources who were there —including local official and aviation observers—about what took place on the day after 9/11.

And, after that, one final astonishing disclosure, a world exclusive, revealed here for the first time.

But first, a word about the sources of the information about Bush, who it came from, and how I learned of it. In his question, Jackman references Mike (Marty) Treanor from the Venice Police Department.

Treanor was the first person to tell me of Jeb Bush’s flight to Washington with the files from Huffman Aviation and the Venice Police Department. But not the last.

“The FBI took all our files, everything,” Treanor told me. “They loaded the files right outside this window into two Ryder trucks, then drove them right onto a C-130 military cargo plane at the Sarasota Airport, which took off for Washington with Jeb Bush aboard.”

Treanor wasn’t a flake, or a name I made up. He’d been quoted in national news reports right after 9/11.

“Det. Sgt. Mike Treanor of the Venice Police Department said that FBI agents had obtained the two suspects’ school records from the Huffman school and the Voss home and identified them as two of the men who agents believe flew the hijacked jets,” reported the LA Times on Sept 13 2001.

“Treanor said FBI agents were drawn to Venice after finding Arabic language flight manuals in a car at the Boston airport.”

“’This one man, Atta,” said Treanor, “was confirmed on one of the planes that hit the towers.’”

“Like Leisure World…without the bright lights”

My personal involvement began the day after 9/11, with the news that three of the four terrorist pilots had learned to fly in tiny Venice Florida, a sleepy retirement community on Florida’s Gulf Coast. And immediately—there’s no other way to say this—I smelled a rat. For two reasons:

First, I knew Venice. My parents retired there in the early 80’s. And being a (semi)-dutiful son, I’d visit them regularly, flying in from California, where I lived. And if by the third or fourth night I was there I was restless enough to feel the need to go out and have a beer, I knew from personal experience that there was no place to go, and nothing to do… because Venice, Florida has the second oldest population in the entire United States. Picture Sun City, or Leisure World… only without the bright lights.

So what were young men with no known fetishes for blue-haired widows doing in Venice? Especially considering there are 220 other flight schools in Florida alone?

It didn’t make sense.

And second, the way the news quietly dribbled out didn’t make sense, either. That three of the four terrorist pilots—including both pilots who slammed planes in the World Trade Center Towers—had learned to fly in Venice instantly made Venice Florida the biggest September 11th crime scene that wasn’t reduced to rubble.

But when I rolled into Venice Florida three months after 9/11, there hadn’t been any spotting of Bob Woodward or Seymour Hersh or Michael Isikoff at any local watering holes.

The town seemed eerily quiet. Quiet but jittery, I discovered. In 25 years of visiting the parents I hadn’t remembered ever even seeing a cop, but on my first day in town, I was pulled over twice by local police.

Neither traffic stop resulted in a ticket. But when I wondered aloud if it might be prudent to pay a courtesy call on the Police Chief, the courteous officer allowed that it might.

Paying a courtesy call on the Chief

So I slid on by the new Police Headquarters to say hello. The Chief wasn’t in, or if he was, wasn’t receiving. And that’s how I met the Sergeant on duty, Mike Treanor, who proved congenial enough for me to ask the burning question I had about Huffman’s manager Rudi Dekkers, who had been everywhere on television during the days after the attack.

My strong suspicion was that every word out of his mouth had been a lie. So I asked my question. “Does Rudi Dekkers’ have any local priors (prior arrests)?”

Sergeant Treanor sighed. He started to say something. He thought better of it. And then he sighed again.

“Trust local before state. And never trust the Feds”

When Treanor died of cancer in 2008, his obituary in the Sarasota Herald Tribune called him the “voice of the Venice Police Department.”

“His professionalism, compassion and occasional humor had earned him the respect of his colleagues in law enforcement,” said a fellow officer. “He was gregarious, friendly and had a big heart.”

Moreover, he wasn’t afraid of speaking his mind. He was openly critical of a Venice Chief of Police— even filing a complaint against him for improperly handling a criminal investigation—for more than a year before the Chief was forced out.

3. Visiting the sub-rosa conspiratorial dynamics concerning an earlier Presidency, we examine CIA officer David Ferrie’s Civil Air Patrol unit, which included both Barry Seal and Lee Harvey Oswald.

“Ferrie, Oswald, Seal: ‘Committing’ Journalism in New Orleans” by Daniel Hopsicker; Mad Cow Productions; 10/13/2015.

Leading up to this weekend’s Oswald Conference in New Orleans, over the next few days I will be publishing interviews and video of eyewitnesses who knew three men Americans were violently prevented from hearing.

David Ferrie, Lee Harvey Oswald, and Barry Seal—each with intimate knowledge of the plot to kill JFKmet at a two-week Louisiana Civil Air patrol summer camp at Barksdale Air Force Base in Shreveport Louisiana.

It turns out a lot of people in New Orleans— pilots, aviation professionals, and former members of the Louisiana Civil Air Patrolstill remember them.

“Dude, you’re harshing my mellow”

Fifteen years ago I left my home for more than a decade in Newport Beach California to spend two years in and around New Orleans Louisiana investigating the life and brutal assassination of a life-long CIA pilot who Federal prosecutors called the “biggest drug smuggler in American history.”

His name was Barry Seal.

At least initially, I was just looking for eyewitnesses who knew him from his role in the explosive growth of cocaine trafficking during the 1980’s.

I was driving a beat-up ’83 Audi and clutching a Sony camcorder that had been dropped on its head, and now delivered images that seemed to glow in the dark.

It hadn’t always been like that.

Before I became interested in Seal, I was producing a business TV show airing internationally, documentaries and new product introductions for major American companies whose names are household words, and, it almost goes without saying, driving a BMW.

“Definitely second unit meat”

I even went to Cannes for a few years. Not the glamorous Festival de Cannes; I went to MIPCON, the more-subdued and less classy TV version. Still, I partied on a few yachts, and distinctly remember carousing at an all-night MTV affair under a full moon in a 12th Century castle perched high above the city overlooking the Mediterranean.

Those days are gone. No more helicopter shots. Hell, no more dolly shots, even. No more 2-or-3-man crews, no editing sessions in Hollywood with catered lunches. Its pretty much been what a huge red-haired bear of a sound engineer once described to me with a grimace as “definitely second unit meat.”

Still, even with all that, today I wouldn’t change a thing. I was an eyewitness to history, Well, maybe not exactly. Instead, I was able to interview several dozen people who were eyewitnesses to our—to America’s—secret history. Many had never before spoken—or even been approached—to tell anyone about what they’d seen.

What happens in New Orleans

What’s odd about that is that those in the mainstream media who are only too eager to use labels to discredit anyone with the temerity to question the official story, are never keen—or even curious—about interviewing any eyewitness who possesses what called “inconvenient knowledge.”

Here’s what I learned: What happens in New Orleans doesn’t absolutely have to stay in New Orleans. But good luck trying to get any of the really juicy bits out.

And if you do, prepare to be called a “conspiracist,” or a “conspiracy theorist.”

Or worse.

And I thought Hollywood was a ‘Company’ Town”

Something strange was going on in the Louisiana Civil Air Patrol in the mid-Fifties that leads like a trail of bread crumbs through the signal events of America’s secret history during the second half of the 20th Century.

In New Orleans, I found and interviewed eyewitnesses to America’s secret history: pilots, aviation professionals, and former members of the Louisiana Civil Air Patrol, who in those long-ago days in 1955 trained with David Ferrie, Lee Harvey Oswald, and/or Barry Seal.

For example, the story of how David Ferrie recruited Lee Harvey Oswald and Barry Seal into America’s “clandestine services” has long been a well-kept secret, and for good reason.

No more. A picture of 16-year old Barry Seal preparing to step onto a US Air Force plane bound for a two-week summer camp of the Louisiana Civil Air Patrol at Barksdale Air Force Base in July of 1955 where he will meet fellow cadet Lee Harvey Oswald, and where both will fall into the orbit of the freakish David Ferrie was published in “Barry & ‘the boys.’”

A close perusal offers more than a glimpse into what really happened: While still an impressionable teenager both Barry Seal and Lee Harvey Oswald came under the tutelage of a man you wouldn’t want your worst enemies’ kid to know, pedophile David Ferrie.

Had no one known? Of course they had. They’ve just been afraid to talk.

High Concept: Interview eyewitnesses. Write down what they say.

Today Collin Hamer is an archivist and librarian at the New Orleans Public Library who still retains attendance records from his time in the CAP with Ferrie and Oswald, where he was one of Ferrie’s protégés.

Oswald attended more than a dozen CAP meetings led by David Ferrie in an Eastern Airlines hangar at Moisant Airport, he testified to the House Select Committee on Assassinations.

“Ferrie was a unit leader. He headed the Civil Air Patrol Unit during the period that Oswald attended,” Hamer told the Committee. “They were both there.”

He recounted a story to me about how Ferrie came to move his CAP unit from  Lakefront Airport to New Orleans International (Moisant.)

“Our CAP unit was all-boy, which was just the way Ferrie liked it,” said Hamer, “until a woman named Gladys Durr brought her girl scout troop over, and we all paired off,  boys and girls together. Dave Ferrie didn’t like that one little bit. He and Durr got into a hot clash, and he moved to the Moisant unit.”

One reason Ferrie used the CAP was for the procurement of young boys for what Hamer wryly called “unauthorized physicals.”

A ‘special’ CAP unit for military drills

Eddie Shearer was another cadet in Ferrie’s Civil Air Patrol unit before joining the Air Force.  I read him a quote about the military demeanor of Ferrie’s outfit, and he quickly affirmed its truth.

“The entire reason for the existence of Ferrie’s New Orleans Squadron was national drill competitions. We attended three years in a row,” said Shearer.

“The accent in the New Orleans unit was totally on professionalism. Almost all of Ferrie’s cadets intended to go into the Air Force, and if you had your CAP “Certificate of Proficiency” when you entered, you automatically had a leg up, and began basic training with one stripe already.”

Shearer spent time hanging around the gas station that Carlos Marcello gave Ferrie right after the Kennedy assassination.

“There’s never been any doubt in my mind that Dave’s gas station, a Gulf station out on Airline Highway, was his CIA cover,” said Shearer.

“Some people I knew pretty well hung out there, and it was the funniest thing: if you drove in to fill up with gasoline—which is what a gas station is supposed to be for, right?—you could sit in your car for just about forever waiting for someone to come out and tell you they were “closed.”

“Whatever they were doing there, pumping gas wasn’t it.”

Barry Seal owned one, too

Jim Garrison noticed the same thing.

In “Heritage of Stone,” he wrote, “Although Ferrie to all intents and purposes was unemployed at the time except for part-time investigative work for a lawyer, an examination of his bank account at the Whitney National Bank revealed that during the three week period prior to the President’s assassination he deposited $7,093.02.”

“Then a few months after the assassination, Ferrie suddenly acquired a large service station.”

“He ran it in much the same way he maintained his apartment. On one occasion he had just filled the gas tank of an acquaintance and then waved him away, turning down payment for the gas.”

“Forget it,” said Ferrie. “The government’s paying for it anyway.”

Skeletons in the closet… and in the backyard

“Dave was a brilliant individual, interested in all kinds of things,” said Shearer. “He had a workshop in his backyard, out back of the house. And I know this sounds weird, but he had a skull out there, hooked up to a skeleton, and he had different colored electrical wire—blue, red, green—to simulate the nervous system, and better understand human physiology.”

Shearer several times met Dave Ferrie’s mother, who was visiting him, and she told Shearer that Dave’s brother was a nuclear physicist. Intrigued, I tracked Ferrie’s only living relative, his brother the nuclear physicist, who was living in California. He was unwilling to talk.

“There were constant examples of Dave Ferrie’s brilliance when I hung around with him,” said Shearer. “For example, he had a little lawnmower that he couldn’t get to start. One day I was out back and he had me repeatedly pull on the little rope that should have started it, while he watched.”

“‘What a waste of efficiency,’ Dave mused out loud. ‘If we could only just get rotary motion from a motor at the start!’”

“This was, remember, years before the rotary engine was patented, before anyone had ever even heard of a Wankel motor. But Dave had had the same idea, just talking out loud.”

Flies to D.C. Returns flashing big wad. Huh.

Like many in New Orleans at the time, Shearer was used to seeing Ferrie at the airport with Sergio Arcacha Smith, the Cuban Revolutionary Front leader for whom he (Ferrie) was training exile pilots.

“There were a lot of things about Dave that just didn’t fit, unless you added them up another way,” says Shearer. “Just his appearance…good god. You have to wonder how Eastern was able to keep him as long as they did.

“I remember him taxi-ing his Eastern Convair one time, on his weekday Houston-New Orleans ‘milkrun.’ He would always pull in way faster than any other airline pilots did, and he’d be leaning out of one side of his cockpit window, looking like a damn railroad engineer.”

Two weekends a month Dave would fly a Constellation up to Washington D.C., said Shearer. “If while he was up there he was meeting with his CIA contacts, it would make sense. Because I was with him on three or four occasions after he returned, and when he opened his wallet, he had hundred dollar bills.”

“You’ve gotta remember, this was in the Fifties,” Shearer continued. “Anyone who was working back then can tell you, everybody got paid in twenties. Nobody got paid in hundred dollar bills. You hardly ever even saw hundred dollar bills.”

“Every time I think I’m out…”

Shearer received convincing proof of Dave Ferrie’s career in clandestine services  five years after his death.

“In 1972 I was asked to join the senior CAP, which is an outfit with no cadets. There I met Herb Wagner, a Navy flier in World War II who’d been recruited by the OSS at the end of the war, and after we got friendly, I’d go over to his house, and sometimes he’d reminisce about things he’d done for the CIA during the mid-’50’s.”

“Herb who told me, ‘Once you’re in the CIA, its hard to get out.’ He’d tried to get out when he got married and settled down. He and his wife adopted a baby girl, and he wasn’t the daredevil he’d once been.

“But still they pressured him to fly for them,” he told me.

“One time I saw him just after he’d received a visit from the CIA asking him to go do something he quite obviously no longer really wanted to be doing. And he was really down, and later I thought that was maybe why he loosened up a bit about Dave Ferrie.”

“He said ‘if the truth was ever known about him, he’ll be recognized as one of the true unsung heroes of the United States.'”

“That’s when I realized that Ferrie had been a regular CIA guy, not just some ‘asset,’ or ‘contract operative.'”

Forget the mice. Look into my eyes.

Of the many fringe controversies swirling around Dave Ferrie’s life—like the one about whether he was attempting to induce cancer in lab mice kept in cages in his apartment—none is “fringe-ier” than his supposed talent for hypnotism.

But the evidence for this was not merely persuasive: it was overwhelming. From numerous sources I heard unsolicited first-hand testimony about his preoccupation with hypnotism, as well as his ability to hypnotize people.

A report on David Ferrie by FBI agents Eugene P. Pittman and John C. Oakes dated December 2, 1963 refers to remarks from Gene Barnes, an NBC cameraman.

“Barnes said Bob Mulholland, NBC News, Chicago, talked in Dallas to one Fairy, a narcotics addict now out on bail on a sodomy charge in Dallas. Fairy said that Oswald had been under hypnosis from a man doing a mind-reading act at Ruby’s ‘Carousel.’ Fairy was said to be a private detective and the owner of an airline who took young boys on flights ‘just for kicks.'”

Bob Mulholland will later become President of NBC News; “Fairy” (Ferrie), who did own an airline, United Air Taxi Service, will three short years later be dead.

Using it on the kids

Eddie Shearer brought the subject (hypnosis) up himself.

“The hypnotism business was the thing about him that bothered me most. I remember, one time, we were marching in formation—drilling—out at Lakefront Airport, getting ready to go to the CAP nationals drill competition. And  this one kid was twirling a ‘guidon’—a metal thing, a fleur de lis on the top of the pole with the units’ colors—and it got away from him and it cut his hand pretty deeply. I mean, a real deep gash.”

“The kid gets up holding his hand, and blood is running all down his arm past his elbow.  Dave walked over to him, and put his hand out in front of the kid’s face  like he’s giving him a stiff-arm. Then he said, ‘Sleep. You will feel sensation but no pain.'”

“And then we were all waiting for an ambulance to take the kid to the hospital,” Shearer continued, “and the kid is bleeding all over. But he’s not in pain anymore. And Dave goes over to him again, and says,  ‘You will stop bleeding.'”

“And he did. Later, when I was in the Air Force, I learned that this is possible, that it can be done. But it can’t be done with a subject unless you’ve been working, hypnotically, with that subject for a pretty long period of time. You can’t just walk over to someone, in other words,  and tell them to stop bleeding.”

“So it was clear to me that Dave Ferrie had been working hypnosis with that kid for a long time without anyone knowing it. At least I had never heard of it before, and I spent a lot of time out there, hanging around that airport.”

“The FBI was always struggling to catch up”

Shearer remembered something else he thought was strange.

“It was back in ’58 and ’59 that Dave became convinced the FBI was tapping his phone. So he warned us not to say anything on the phone that we didn’t want to have overheard. And when he would pick it up before dialing, sometimes we’d hear him swearing a blue streak into the receiver, like he was talking to whoever was tapping his phone.”

Barry Seal and Dave Ferrie were in the same business, and also shared an unusual trait that’s a clear plus for any would-be secret agent. Both had photographic memories. (So, too, for that matter, did Richard Bissell, the CIA agent in charge of the Bay of Pigs disaster.)

So it comes as no surprise that they had similar experiences with Federal law enforcement, and at about the same time. According to Jerry Chidgey, Barry’s roommate and friend, there was quite a bit of federal interest in Barry Seal. The FBI was even following him.

“When I met Barry I owned ‘The Amber Bottle,’ a folk club in Baton Rouge, and that was where Barry used to hang,” Chidgey recalled. “We were capitalizing on the folk craze. We became good friends and ended up living together. One day two FBI guys showed up asking questions while he was gone on a trip.”

“Later that same year, I think 1960, I flew to Dallas. And two men in black suits followed me, both there and back. And unless they were making a practice of shadowing folk club owners, the only reason I could figure out was it must have had something to do with Barry.”

“Cause it makes your hair ‘do-right.”

James Poche is a pilot and the kind of colorful character Louisiana seems to produce with some regularity, a living embodiment of the laid-back Caribbean ‘Margarita-ville’ lifestyle popularized at some now-dim moment in time in a previous century by singer Jimmy Buffet.

Poche wears sandals, his shirt hangs outside his jeans, and he’s got a ‘do-rite’ rag wrapped around his head. When I asked why it’s called that, he grinned.

“My oldest sister hooked me up with Barry,” he explained. “They went to school together, and I took a couple of flying lessons from him in 1958, and that was how it started. I used to make signs and banners for him.”

“I was the son of a Louisiana state trooper who ran security at the State House in Baton Rouge,” he told me. “So—in the Louisiana way of things— I had some family connections.

James was (typically) being modest. His father, Pappy Poche, was Governor Earl Long’s personal bodyguard, as well as something of a local  legend.

“Pappy  would  go  partying  on  Bourbon  Street  with  the  Guv  at  the Famous Door,” he recalls. “And the girls would come around passing the cap, and Pappy would take his gun out and set it in the hat, and  they’d go nuts. One  time he pulled  a .38 and commandeered a horse carriage in Jackson Square, just throwing some tourists out.  You could get away with that kind of thing back then.”

Poche became  one of Barry Seal’s oldest and best friends, as well as a smuggling buddy. He explained,  “I was a young kid and wanted to learn to fly, partly just to have some escape from a dysfunctional family, with all that entails. So I just gravitated towards Barry. He taught me a lot.”

“Find kids whose parents won’t miss ’em much.”

Poche had described a family situation remarkably similar to Seal’s own, which was similarly troubled under the surface. His Father,  B.C. Seal, drank, and Seal moved in and out of the house during adolescence.

Had David Ferrie, Seal’s recruitment officer, been looking to recruit boys in just these circumstances?

“He would go off for two or three weeks at a time, and then be back like nothing had happened. And he had a lot of secrets. He seemed pretty mysterious. He was an enigma in Baton Rouge. No one there had ever seen anything like him before, or could ever figure out just what he was really up to.”

James first began working for—and later flying with—Barry Seal in the early 1960’s.  Then, in the mid-70’s, he went into ‘marijuana importation’ with him.

“Baton Rouge is kind of a go-nowhere place,” Poche explained. “And Barry had a lot of ‘soldier of fortune-type’ ideas, which made him seem glamorous to kids around the airport. Barry had the James Bond Syndrome.”

James’ sister, Nancy Poche, the childhood friend of Seal’s who’d introduced them, agrees with her brother about the kind of dead-end life available locally.

“Louisiana is the kind of place,” she told me, “where as soon as you cross the Sabine River coming in from Texas, the  road begins to go galump, galump, galump. And this is on the Interstate, for god sakes, and you’ve got to wonder: Where does all the money go?”

Even then, Elvis was fixin’ to leave the building

As Barry Seal began jumping in with both feet into the cocaine smuggling business, Poche was mostly content to watch him from the sidelines, especially when Barry began to building an increasingly-paramilitary organization. For as long as he could ( for a long long time) James Poche held on to a romantic ideal: the lone bush pilot and occasional marijuana smuggler.

“Elvis,” some of his buddies were calling Barry Seal. It seemed to describe him. At least the Elvis who once said “Ambition is a dream with a V8 engine.”

“We would fly down to New Orleans from Baton Rouge for the evening,” Poche said. “Drink at the Playboy Club, visit the sheriff’s brothel in Opelousas, that sort of thing. We were living in his airplane hanger, and hanging out with Johnny Rivers, the musician, who’s from Baton Rouge. And that was how Barry met Elvis, through Johnny.”

By now, Barry was the subject of open gossip among his pilot friends about what he was doing, and for whom. Taking mysterious trips that were never explained, then coming back and hanging out at the Playboy Club as if nothing had happened. Maybe it was Elvis wished he could be more like Barry Seal. After all, he did always want to be a spy.

A “Secret Agent Man” State of Mind

A curious sidelight: many believe, as Poche does, that Johnny Rivers one big hit, “Secret Agent Man,” was about Barry Seal.  Today it looks as if this early 60’s cultural focus on “secret agent men” was a way that our national  ‘collective unconscious’ found to tell a deep truth about what was happening in America.

It was a more serious truth than anyone realized at the time.

“Though Barry, I met a lot of the ‘players,’” said Poche. “I knew Dave Ferrie; and flew around with him a couple of times. He was a friend of mine. Me and another friend, Charlie Heck, bought a Cessna 170 and kept it out at Lakefront, where Ferrie was based. In fact, I’ve even got copies of David Ferrie’s signature in my log books.”

What is today known as “Lakefront Airport” was not—back in the early Sixties—just the small public airport it appears to be today. It was, instead, a Naval Reserve facility where Cubans trained as pilots before the Bay of Pigs invasion.

“We used to live together in (Barry’s mother) Mary Lou’s spare bedroom. Barry was involved in all sorts of things. One time I remember helping him figure out how to drop 50,000 leaflets over Baton Rouge with pictures of apples with a worm in them.” Poche grinned. “It got a guy named “Apple” Sanders un-elected from the State Senate that year, that’s for sure.”

“You gotta remember: Barry smuggled for the Democrats.”

What football is to Nebraska, state politics is to Louisiana. It’s a contact sport, and Barry Seal was a player, at Grady Partin’s behest. James Poche told us, “Barry was hanging out at Grady Partin’s (a famous Teamster, and enemy of  Jimmy Hoffa) during ‘62 and ’63.

An old Teamster official  confirmed Barry’s friendship with Partin, which he said explained Seal’s frequent appearances with him at the local Teamster hiring hall.

“Hell, back then we was kings in this state,” says Butch McKeown, today a bail bondsman. “We absolutely ruled this state back then.”

Who was the “we” Butch was referring to? When I learned more about Grady Partin, I was less puzzled. Later still, Butch told me, in one sentence, more than I’d learned poking around the drug trade  for a year.

“You gotta remember,” Butch said to me, looking serious, “Barry smuggled for the Democrats.”

Three cheers for drug abuse

After Jimmy Carter’s election, his White House Strategy Council on Drug Abuse  was worried about the influx of drugs from Afghanistan and Pakistan. They were stonewalled by the CIA, and reportedly denied access to all classified information on drug trafficking, even as the CIA and the Army jointly set up a special aviation operation called “Seaspray.”

This was old news to local and state police in high trafficking areas, where the cynical manipulation was used to flood America with a river of drugs.Barry Seal was there during a period which saw the growing clout and importance of Special Forces. In late 1961 the Air Force set up—as part of this increased emphasis on Special Forces— a Special Ops Air Base in the middle of Eglin Air Force Base in the Florida panhandle, pulling in aircraft and crews from the world-wide “Air America” system.

His pilot’s logs reflect the change. He began flying regularly to a destination which he coyly listed as “Pensacola,” the town nearest the base. At the age of only 22, Barry Seal was learning tradecraft.

“Barry would call me from the road every so often,” said James Poche. “Once I got a call from him, and he was all excited. ‘I’m in Karachi, Pakistan,’ he said. ‘You should come right over.’”

In 1987 New York Times reporter Seymour Hersh revealed that when the Reagan Administration sought to expand covert paramilitary operations in Central America, the CIA was “forced” to rebuild its capabilities illegally,relying on outside assets like Barry Seal.

They called it Operation Seaspray.

The CIA and the Army jointly set up a special aviation operation called “Seaspray.” Every  pilot was handpicked by a group of Army and CIA officers, among whom were experienced pilots and special operations personnel.  However this was already old news to local and state police in high trafficking areas, being flooded with a river of drugs.

Over Colombia, Seal’s by-now small fleet of planes flew through “windows” in Colombian airspace: precise periods,  paid for with $25,000 bribes, when the military would “look the other way,” although they must have had to look straight down at the ground  to avoid seeing the dozens of flights which took off every night at dusk.

“You would be sitting in your plane overlooking the sea, on a runway hacked out of a mountainside,” smuggler pilot James Poche told us. “Then as if on cue, as soon as the sun went down you would see dozens of tiny specks taking off and flying out over the water as soon as the sun went down, heading north.”

Pilots returning to the US over the Gulf with a load of dope often flew just 60 feet above the water, with waves from the Gulf splashing up onto the windshield, in what was— except for the dim lights of the instrument panel—total darkness.

When law enforcement authorities debriefed convicted “drug smuggler” Seal in late 1985, one of the cops present spoke to Seal brusquely.

He said, “We already know about Seaspray.”

4. We then do a journalistic “touch-and-go” on some of Daniel’s recent stories, including: a cocaine-laden plane landing on property owned by Paris Hilton; a recent drug-smuggling operation involving a constellation of individuals and institutions grouped around the mother of actor Vince Vaughn; discussions of the so-called “war on drugs” in Mexico.

Discussion

2 comments for “FTR #871 Daniel Hopsicker Rides Again!”

  1. Daniel Hopsicker for President, and give him a Pulitzer to boot!

    Posted by GK | November 1, 2015, 7:44 am
  2. Here’s the latest reminder that the 9/11 attacks weren’t just widly successful. They were also inexplicably successful:

    Politico
    ‘The Attacks Will Be Spectacular’

    An exclusive look at how the Bush administration ignored this warning from the CIA months before 9/11, along with others that were far more detailed than previously revealed.

    By Chris Whipple

    November 12, 2015

    “Bin Laden Determined to Strike in U.S.” The CIA’s famous Presidential Daily Brief, presented to George W. Bush on August 6, 2001, has always been Exhibit A in the case that his administration shrugged off warnings of an Al Qaeda attack. But months earlier, starting in the spring of 2001, the CIA repeatedly and urgently began to warn the White House that an attack was coming.

    By May of 2001, says Cofer Black, then chief of the CIA’s counterterrorism center, “it was very evident that we were going to be struck, we were gonna be struck hard and lots of Americans were going to die.” “There were real plots being manifested,” Cofer’s former boss, George Tenet, told me in his first interview in eight years. “The world felt like it was on the edge of eruption. In this time period of June and July, the threat continues to rise. Terrorists were disappearing [as if in hiding, in preparation for an attack]. Camps were closing. Threat reportings on the rise.” The crisis came to a head on July 10. The critical meeting that took place that day was first reported by Bob Woodward in 2006. Tenet also wrote about it in general terms in his 2007 memoir At the Center of the Storm.

    But neither he nor Black has spoken about it publicly in such detail until now—or been so emphatic about how specific and pressing their warnings really were. Over the past eight months, in more than a hundred hours of interviews, my partners Jules and Gedeon Naudet and I talked with Tenet and the 11 other living former CIA directors for The Spymasters, a documentary set to air this month on Showtime.

    The drama of failed warnings began when Tenet and Black pitched a plan, in the spring of 2001, called “the Blue Sky paper” to Bush’s new national security team. It called for a covert CIA and military campaign to end the Al Qaeda threat—“getting into the Afghan sanctuary, launching a paramilitary operation, creating a bridge with Uzbekistan.” “And the word back,” says Tenet, “‘was ‘we’re not quite ready to consider this. We don’t want the clock to start ticking.’” (Translation: they did not want a paper trail to show that they’d been warned.) Black, a charismatic ex-operative who had helped the French arrest the terrorist known as Carlos the Jackal, says the Bush team just didn’t get the new threat: “I think they were mentally stuck back eight years [before]. They were used to terrorists being Euro-lefties—they drink champagne by night, blow things up during the day, how bad can this be? And it was a very difficult sell to communicate the urgency to this.”

    That morning of July 10, the head of the agency’s Al Qaeda unit, Richard Blee, burst into Black’s office. “And he says, ‘Chief, this is it. Roof’s fallen in,’” recounts Black. “The information that we had compiled was absolutely compelling. It was multiple-sourced. And it was sort of the last straw.” Black and his deputy rushed to the director’s office to brief Tenet. All agreed an urgent meeting at the White House was needed. Tenet picked up the white phone to Bush’s National Security Adviser Condoleezza Rice. “I said, ‘Condi, I have to come see you,’” Tenet remembers. “It was one of the rare times in my seven years as director where I said, ‘I have to come see you. We’re comin’ right now. We have to get there.’”

    Tenet vividly recalls the White House meeting with Rice and her team. (George W. Bush was on a trip to Boston.) “Rich [Blee] started by saying, ‘There will be significant terrorist attacks against the United States in the coming weeks or months. The attacks will be spectacular. They may be multiple. Al Qaeda’s intention is the destruction of the United States.’” [Condi said:] ‘What do you think we need to do?’ Black responded by slamming his fist on the table, and saying, ‘We need to go on a wartime footing now!’”

    “What happened?” I ask Cofer Black. “Yeah. What did happen?” he replies. “To me it remains incomprehensible still. I mean, how is it that you could warn senior people so many times and nothing actually happened? It’s kind of like The Twilight Zone.” Remarkably, in her memoir, Condi Rice writes of the July 10 warnings: “My recollection of the meeting is not very crisp because we were discussing the threat every day.” Having raised threat levels for U.S. personnel overseas, she adds: “I thought we were doing what needed to be done.” (When I asked whether she had any further response to the comments that Tenet, Black and others made to me, her chief of staff said she stands by the account in her memoir.) Inexplicably, although Tenet brought up this meeting in his closed-door testimony before the 9/11 Commission, it was never mentioned in the committee’s final report.

    And there was one more chilling warning to come. At the end of July, Tenet and his deputies gathered in the director’s conference room at CIA headquarters. “We were just thinking about all of this and trying to figure out how this attack might occur,” he recalls. “And I’ll never forget this until the day I die. Rich Blee looked at everybody and said, ‘They’re coming here.’ And the silence that followed was deafening. You could feel the oxygen come out of the room. ‘They’re coming here.’”

    Tenet, who is perhaps the agency’s most embattled director ever, can barely contain himself when talking about the unheeded warnings he says he gave the White House. Twirling an unlit cigar and fidgeting in his chair at our studio in downtown Washington, D.C., he says with resignation: “I can only tell you what we did and what we said.” And when asked about his own responsibility for the attacks on 9/11, he is visibly distraught. “There was never a moment in all this time when you blamed yourself?” I ask him. He shifts uncomfortably in his chair. “Well, look, there … I still look at the ceiling at night about a lot of things. And I’ll keep them to myself forever. But we’re all human beings.”

    “To me it remains incomprehensible still. I mean, how is it that you could warn senior people so many times and nothing actually happened? It’s kind of like The Twilight Zone.”

    Posted by Pterrafractyl | November 24, 2015, 6:25 pm

Post a comment