Operation Overflight

by Francis Gary Powers

  SENATOR BYRD: The chairman has very ably covered the ground, and I will not ask any questions. I do want to join with Senator Saltonstall in expressing my opinion that this witness, Mr. Powers, has made an excellent presentation. He has been frank, and I am also very much gratified that Mr. McCone has testified before the committee that so far as he knows no action has been taken by you which was contrary to your instructions or contrary to the interests of this country.

  CHAIRMAN RUSSELL: Senator Smith?

  SENATOR SMITH. Mr. Chairman, my questions have been covered, thank you.

  Senator Stennis then questioned me regarding Grinev, my defense counsel, inquiring: “He rendered you a valuable service, did he?”

  POWERS: Well, I really don’t know. I never did trust him any more than the rest of them.

  SENATOR STENNIS. I mean by that he gave you information and talked to you, and you think you were better off at the trial than you would have been without his aid. What about that?

  POWERS: I really don’t know.

  SENATOR STENNIS: YOU have understood, I suppose, that at the time this occurred there was some publicity here, not a great deal, but some, that was not altogether favorable to you. Did you know about that?

  POWERS: I have heard about this since I—

  SENATOR STENNIS: This is just a prelude for my saying this—that it is with satisfaction that I learn that you have been fully exonerated by the men who most know how to judge what you did, what the facts were, by your superiors and those who employed you. Not only that, but they found that you have discharged all of your obligations to your country, and it is with satisfaction to us here, and I think to the American people, to learn that, to know it is true. I know it makes you feel mighty good.

  POWERS: There was one thing that I always remembered while I was there and that was that “I am an American.”

  SENATOR STENNIS: YOU are an American.

  POWERS: Right.

  SENATOR STENNIS: And proud of it?

  POWERS: Right.

  There was a spontaneous burst of applause from the audience which lasted several minutes. It more than made up for the applause that had greeted my ten-year prison sentence in Moscow.

  After asking several questions about the wreckage of the plane, Senator Case brought up the subject of the timing of the flight. I was hoping the senators could enlighten me on this, for I was as curious as anyone else as to why approval had been given so close to the Summit. But, aside from my bringing out that weather conditions had determined the particular day, we got no closer to an answer.

  Senator Symington, who had once visited Incirlik but had been denied information on Detachment 10-10 because he lacked the proper “need-to-know” approval (a refusal that greatly impressed him with our security), followed with a number of technical questions about the explosion. What did I think caused it, the former Secretary of the Air Force asked. I observed that the Russians had “stressed many, many times that they got me on the very first shot of a rocket, but they stressed it so much that I tend to disbelieve it.”

  I had been told, during the debriefings, that intelligence sources within Russia had claimed a total of fourteen rockets had been fired at me. Whether this was true or not, I didn’t know. I did suspect, however, that there had been more than one.

  SENATOR SYMINGTON: IS there any possibility that you were hit twice, once at a higher altitude, say, a near-miss, and again at a lower altitude?

  POWERS: No.

  I made that “No” as emphatic as possible.

  SENATOR SYMINGTON: You did your best to destroy the plane, but, because of the gs on you at the time, you were just unable to reach the controls; is that correct?

  POWERS: Yes, that is right.

  SENATOR SYMINGTON: Mr. Chairman, I would like to join you and other members of the committee in commending Mr. Powers for the way he handled himself in this unfortunate episode. I have no further questions.

  SENATOR BUSH: Mr. Chairman, I have no questions, but I also would like to say, having heard Mr. McCone’s reports today and having listened to Mr. Powers’ remarkable story, that I am satisfied he has conducted himself in exemplary fashion and in accordance with the highest traditions of service to one’s country, and I congratulate him upon his conduct in captivity and his safe return to the United States.

  Senator Jackson then asked me whether the Russians had attempted to indoctrinate me in Communism. I replied that there had been no direct attempt as such, but that the only news I received came from Communist sources. He also asked me to describe my release, which I did, noting that not until I had stepped across the line did I learn that it was an exchange, with Abel involved.

  SENATOR JACKSON: Mr. Chairman, I want to conclude by saying that I associate myself with the remarks previously made here. I think it is quite clear from what we have heard this morning and now that Mr. Powers has lived up to his contract.

  CHAIRMAN RUSSELL: Senator Beall?

  SENATOR BEALL: Mr. Chairman, I have no questions. I do want to associate myself with you and the balance of the committee in commending Mr. Powers for the very intelligent way he has handled himself. I was at the hearings this morning, and I am convinced that he has been very frank with us, and I congratulate him.

  CHAIRMAN RUSSELL: Senator Thurmond?

  SENATOR THURMOND: No questions, Mr. Chairman.

  CHAIRMAN RUSSELL: Senator Goldwater?

  SENATOR GOLD WATER: I have no questions.

  Following some queries regarding Soviet justice and the absence of the jury system in Russia, Chairman Russell asked: “Any further questions by any member of the committee?” There were none.

  Of the fourteen senators present, seven—Saltonstall, Byrd of Virginia, Stennis, Symington, Bush, Jackson, and Beall—had gone on record as stating their belief that I had lived up to my obligations, both insofar as my CIA contract was concerned and as an American. Chairman Russell, though he had made no statement, had indicated his agreement by the manner of his questioning. (Following the hearing, he told reporters that he agreed I had lived up to the terms of my contract.) Whatever the personal opinions of the remaining senators—Smith of Maine, Thurmond, Ervin, Byrd of West Virginia, Case, and Goldwater—they had declined to state them publicly. Later, however, on opening the envelope handed to me during the hearing, I found a Senate memorandum. Written in pencil, it read: “You did a good job for your country. Thanks. Barry Goldwater.”

  CHAIRMAN RUSSELL: I will ask all the policemen to please see that Mr. Powers and his CIA escort are able to get out before the rush. Will all of you please keep your seats.

  They disobeyed his instructions, however, bringing the hearing to an end with a standing ovation.

  Looking at my watch, I realized the hearing had lasted only ninety minutes. It had seemed much longer.

  As my two escorts and I were attempting to make our way through the crowd of well-wishers, Senator Saltonstall brought over two of my sisters. They were the only members of my family who had been able to attend the hearing; this was the first time I had seen them since my return to the United States. Our reunion was brief, however. The moment we reached the hall, a bevy of reporters descended upon us.

  “What are you going to do with your back pay, Mr. Powers?”

  “Spend it.”

  “How?”

  “Slowly.”

  Before I could answer any more questions, or talk further with my sisters, my escort rushed me out of the building.

  As for what followed, Time summed it up concisely: “Then he disappeared into a waiting government car—leaving behind him a persistent feeling that some of his story remained untold.”

  Following the Senate hearing, I checked into Georgetown University Hospital for rest and a complete physical examination. With little else to do, I resumed reading the newspapers. With few exceptions—Wallace Carroll of The New York Times, for example, wittily described the hearing as “hominy all the way,” glossing over the fact that it was not a Southerner but
a Yankee, Saltonstall of Massachusetts, who had taken the lead in commending me—accounts of the Senate hearing were mostly favorable.

  I had the feeling it had turned out much better than some people— possibly including President Kennedy—had anticipated.

  What was behind the canceled meeting with the President? By now it was obviously a cancellation, not a postponement because some urgent matter had taken priority. Perhaps the President had not wanted to steal the Senate’s thunder, as he would have done by greeting me prior to the hearing. Yet, if that were the case, why had the appointment been scheduled in the first place? It was more likely that the decision to cancel the meeting was political: not sure which way the hearing would go, perhaps Kennedy had not wanted to risk identifying himself with what might have turned out to be the losing side.

  Personally, I was pleased with the hearing, not so much because I had been “vindicated,” but because it was now over and I could resume my life. Yet I knew the committee’s response wouldn’t satisfy everyone. The senators had been briefed by McCone; the public hadn’t. They didn’t know what was being withheld, if anything. Until such time as the whole truth could be told, doubts would remain, and the hearing itself would appear to some to be a “whitewash.”

  I had been looking forward to the time in the hospital, since it would give me a chance to think about my future. Now that I had the chance, however, I found it difficult to make plans. Despite the threat of Senator Young, I had learned there would be no difficulty about my returning to the Air Force. Yet I didn’t want to go back in immediately, at least not until after the publicity had died down and I could slip back into the routine as just another pilot. I briefly considered Kelly Johnson’s offer; but I had no idea what my job would be, nor did I know how serious his offer had been. The agency had suggested that, until making up my mind, I could work in the new CIA headquarters at Langley, Virginia. My duties were unspecified, except that I would probably be spending a portion of my time in the training section. That appealed to me for one reason: I had been almost totally unprepared for capture. If I could help others to better equip themselves for what they might encounter in similar circumstances, the experience wouldn’t have been wasted. The drawback, however, was that I would be grounded. And I doubted if I could ever be happy in anything other than a flying job.

  And there was my marriage. That too called for a decision. I evaded that, also, by telling myself I couldn’t leave Barbara now, not when she seemed to need me most. Had I faced the facts squarely, I would have been forced to admit that the continual arguments comprising most of our time together were helping neither of us.

  My problems were by no means unique. Like any returning veteran, I needed time to adjust, wasn’t anxious to make any big decisions, at least not yet.

  I left the hospital with all my problems intact. As for the checkup, it had only revealed what I already knew, that one souvenir of my sojourn in Russia was a bad stomach condition which I would probably have for the rest of my life.

  Ironically, most of the foods I had dreamed about eating while I was in prison in Russia, I now couldn’t have.

  This particular souvenir caused me trouble until 1968, at which time—after Lovelace Clinic and others had failed to alleviate the condition—a private physician prescribed medication that immediately relieved the pain. Only during the past two years have I been able to eat salads, corn, and sundry other foods I so missed. The condition remains, however; one day off the pills, and the symptoms come back. Imprisonment may be an effective method of diet, but I don’t recommend it.

  Two men from the agency drove me to The Pound. I had expected they would remain, but to my surprise they returned to Washington. I was finally on my own.

  Lonely I was not. My sisters, their husbands and their children, plus more relatives than I knew I had, attended the homecoming. Some eight-hundred people crowded into the National Guard Armory at Big Stone Gap, Virginia, to witness the VFW award ceremony. There were two high-school bands. Beside me on the platform sat my mother and father. This was really their day. More than any other single person, my father could claim credit for effecting my release, by first suggesting the trade for Abel. I was immensely proud to see him receive his due.

  On my own initiative, rather than instructions from the agency, I had decided if possible to avoid the press. However, when it’s raining, the roads have turned to mud, and cars are stuck outside your front door with no one else to help pull them out, what can you do? Too, they had gone to the trouble of driving all the way to The Pound, and it seemed unfair not to see them. One, Jim Clarke of radio station WGH, Newport News, Virginia, arrived about eleven o’clock the night of the award ceremony. Most of the family had already gone to bed exhausted. After some persuasion, I consented to tape an interview which was broadcast a few days later. As with the other reporters, I told him little more than I had told the Senate. Although Clarke was pleasant and did his best to put me at ease, his interview had one bad aftereffect. At one point I stated I “thought” I had seventy seconds on the destruct device. As mentioned earlier, not all of the timers worked uniformly, some with a variance of as much as five seconds either way. Tired after the long emotional day, my mind blanked. I couldn’t remember exactly how accurate this particular timer might have been.

  Later, at least one reporter picked up that qualifying word and used it to resurrect the whole conspiracy theory first proposed by the Soviets, that is, that the pilots weren’t sure they had a full seventy seconds; they were afraid the CIA had rigged the device to explode prematurely, killing them too.

  After that I refused all interview requests. I felt—with some justification, I believe—no small amount of resentment toward at least some members of the fourth estate, particularly those who had presumed to try me in absentia before all the facts were in and when there was no way I could defend myself.

  While in The Pound I saw McAfee, my father’s attorney, and asked him about the two-hundred-dollar fee demanded for an interview with Kennedy. McAfee refused to identify the person, however. He would say only that it was someone in the White House. I had no choice but to leave it at that.

  From The Pound I went to Milledgeville, Georgia, to pick up Barbara. By this time I had decided to accept the CIA’s offer, at least until such time as I could make up my mind as to what I wanted to do.

  I had been in Milledgeville only a short time before I sensed a strong hostility toward Barbara there. She explained it was because she was a “celebrity”; people resented her fame. But I felt something else on coming into contact with residents: pity, not for Barbara but for me. It was as if everyone knew something I didn’t and felt sorry for me. I didn’t like that a bit. Fortunately, our stay was brief. On returning to Washington, we found an apartment in Alexandria and I went back to work for the CIA, grounded in the first nine to five job I’ve ever had in my life.

  Since my return I had received a great deal of mail, some sent in care of my parents, but much of it directed to me at the CIA. Of several hundred letters, only a few were critical. Most were warmly congratulatory. I heard from friends not seen since boyhood, pilots I’d last seen in the service. The majority, however, were from people I had never met, many from mothers who had prayed for my release. And there were some surprises, among them a letter from Cardinal Spellman, thanking me for coming to his defense during my trial.

  As surprising were the large number of offers to buy the rights to my story. On reporting to work at the agency there was a whole sheaf of telegrams and urgent telephone messages. One book publisher, wasting no time on preliminaries, offered a flat $150,000 advance.

  Thus far my side of the story hadn’t been told. Because of national security, I realized it might be years before some aspects could be made public. However, there was much that could—no, should— be known, if for no other reason than to avoid repeating the same mistakes in the future. For mistakes had been made, bad ones. The U-2 incident was an almost classic textbook case of unp
reparedness. Too, the story told the American people was heavy with lies and distortions. This seemed a good way to set the record straight. I made inquiries within the agency as to whether there would be any objection to my writing a book about my experiences. I realized it would take some time for the request to travel up the chain of command, but was prepared to wait.

  At the same time, I also asked if I could write to my former cellmate. The answer came back quite promptly. Negative. It would look bad if anyone found out you were writing someone inside Russia.

  Though I abided by the decision, it was less for this reason than another. I didn’t want to cause Zigurd any trouble. And there was just a chance that by writing to him I might do so.

  Admittedly, my previous experience with the agency had spoiled me. I had been part of a select, smoothly functioning team of experts who had a job to do and did it, with a minimum of fuss. As such, I had seen only glimpses of the actual organizational structure of the CIA. They were enough, however, to convince me that things had now changed.

  By this time both Dulles and Bissell had left, the latter offering his resignation as deputy director of plans just seven days after my release. Bissell had survived the U-2 episode, but not the Bay of Pigs, becoming just one of the scapegoats for that tragic fiasco. Controversy over it was still raging within the agency. The plan had been good but poorly executed. It never would have worked. Kennedy was responsible for its failure by withdrawing air support. Kennedy had never authorized air support in the first place, therefore couldn’t have withdrawn it. So the arguments went.

  Although a year had passed, everyone still seemed to be searching for someone else on whom to pin the blame.

  Maybe I was naïve. Maybe it had always existed without my noticing it. But politics now seemed to dominate the agency, almost to the exclusion of its primary function, collecting intelligence. Everything had to be justified, especially in the light of how it might appear in the press. Decisions were avoided because of possible backlash if they proved wrong (though this was not new to me with my military background). Concern appeared to be less with what the facts were than with how such information would be accepted. And it takes little insight to realize that when intelligence is shaped to be what its recipients want to hear, it ceases to be intelligence.