Operation Overflight by Francis Gary Powers & Curt Gentry

Author:Francis Gary Powers & Curt Gentry
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Potomac Books, Inc.
Published: 2004-05-26T16:00:00+00:00

FOUR

USA

One

Reporters were watching all the major airports, but particularly Andrews Air Force Base, outside Washington, D.C. Possibly this was because it was here that President Kennedy had met the two RB-47 pilots, though I strongly suspect the CIA had also planted a rumor the plane would be landing there.

It did. Only it stopped first at Dover, Delaware, where Murphy and I alighted. Then it went on to Andrews, where Donovan and a man of my approximate height and build evaded pursuit by immediately taking off in a helicopter.

My welcoming committee consisted of agency security men; my first steps on American soil—the runway at Dover—were on a run, from plane to waiting automobile. Though a reporter had been assigned to Dover, one of the agency representatives invited him into base operations for a cup of coffee. By the time he had finished it, we were off the base and en route to a “safe” house on Maryland’s eastern shore.

Why the tight security? They replied, without elaboration, that the agency wanted to debrief me before exposure to the press.

That was fine with me. For more months than I cared to remember, I had lived by a set routine. The sudden change, coupled with all the excitement, was exhausting. I looked forward to a couple of days of privacy and rest.

I didn’t know then that the “couple of days” would end in being over three weeks, and that few of those days would be restful.

We arrived at the “safe” house, Ashford Farms, a private estate near Oxford, Maryland, about five A.M. After several hours’ sleep I awoke to a pleasant realization. My irregular heartbeat had disappeared. Thinking back, I realized I hadn’t noticed it since crossing the bridge.

Other discoveries followed. The bathroom had hot and cold running water. And a toilet with a seat. And a mirror. And all sorts of other marvelous conveniences, including a scale. From the tight fit of my pants I had assumed that, despite the limited diet, I’d gained weight in prison. Before my capture I’d weighed between 175 and 180 pounds. Stepping onto the scale, I found I now weighed 152. A loss of twenty-three to twenty-eight pounds; the extra two inches around the middle was due solely to lack of exercise.

Following a large breakfast, only a small portion of which I could eat, photographs were taken, for release to the press. This time there was no need to tell me to smile. I grinned all over the place. Then I saw another doctor—a psychiatrist. Had the Russians drugged me? No, not to my knowledge. Had I been brainwashed? No, at least not in the sense that we usually define brainwashing. How was I feeling now? Extremely nervous. I had felt so since learning I would see Barbara and my parents after lunch. He gave me some tranquilizers, the first I had ever taken. They helped.

My mother and father arrived first. It was a very emotional, though jubilant scene. While in prison I had often wondered whether I would see either of them again.

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