Alone

by Richard D. Logan PhD

  Other people stopped at the scene minutes later. They later said that Harvey was seen simply standing on the bridge watching as others dived in to search for the two women. They noted that he talked in an oddly calm way as he stood watching the search, and they were shocked that this fit young man wasn’t helping. Instead he seemed to be boasting when he told how easy it was to get out of the airborne car because he had so much experience escaping from wrecked airplanes. People who talked with him also sensed a complete lack of any strong feelings over the loss of the women, echoing the comments of some who observed Harvey after the Bluebelle incident years later. He seemed only to talk about himself.

  Harvey had said he had opened the door and jumped out while the car was in the air. Yet two divers who went down to retrieve the bodies found all the doors closed but the driver’s window was down. To them and others this indicated that Harvey had not gotten out by opening the door while airborne, as he boasted, but had ridden the car down, rolled the window open, and swam out when the car was under water, not even bothering to assist his wife and mother-in-law. This apparent lie by Harvey caused many to wonder if the incident had been a deliberate act staged to look like an accident. But even more telling was the fact that a vigorously healthy Harvey simply swam away and made no effort to save the two women in the critical seconds after the crash, or even later while he watched others jumping in to try to help.

  The next day his wife’s distraught father came to the base commander’s office demanding an investigation, flat out accusing Julian of murder. But investigators found no evidence that would stand up in court, and there were ambiguities as to whether the matter fell under civil or military jurisdiction. So once again, Harvey had shown he was good at surviving wrecks – and possibly staging them – and once again, nothing derogatory was entered into his record. Shortly thereafter he collected on his wife’s life insurance.

  In the wake of the car crash and all the questions surrounding it, a military doctor at Eglin became curious about Harvey and talked to him informally a few times, trying to get a feel for his character. He was not assigned to do an official inquiry. He concluded in 1949 that underneath Harvey’s veneer of charm and sophistication was an amoral man with no real empathy for others, a man who could be dangerous. In other words, a possible sociopath. So more than a decade before the Bluebelle, someone had seen a darker side of Harvey’s persona. But the military doctor was not a psychiatrist and nothing regarding his views ever was entered in Harvey’s record.

  Within weeks of the death of his wife Joan, Harvey was living with another woman.

  In 1950, Lieutenant Colonel Julian Harvey was transferred to Randolph Air Force Base in San Antonio, Texas. Here he soon met a young Texas businesswoman named Jitty. After a few months, she too accepted his proposal of marriage even though she, too, saw that he was vain and self-centered. They were married in late 1950. Interviewed by reporters a year after the Bluebelle tragedy, she not only spoke of his egotism, but also said that Harvey could show a violent temper. A friend who witnessed one outburst actually told her that she was concerned that Jitty might not be safe with him. Jitty also commented on Harvey’s constant working out. “He loved only himself,” she told reporters. Although she was his fourth wife, she said she had been led to believe that she was only his second.

  Around this time, something seemed to have been happening, however, to the formerly confident Julian Harvey, according to his fourth wife. Harvey, who had seemed so self-assured in the past, was beginning to appear less confident and more awkward at Air Force social occasions, especially around superior officers. His stammering started again. Looking back, Jitty wondered if the B-24 ditching had been too powerful a reminder that he was a mere mortal, and the drowning of his previous wife, Joan, made him worry that he might be discovered.

  Three months after Jitty and Julian were married, Julian was transferred to Korea to fly Sabre jets, as he had requested. When he returned two years later, after flying 114 combat missions in Korea, he told Jitty exactly what he told his second wife, Ethel, years earlier: “I don’t love you anymore.” In 1953 Julian and his fourth wife were divorced on the grounds of incompatibility. The secretary in his divorce lawyer’s office said he had actually asked her for a date when he came to see the lawyer. The secretary said she accepted because “he was one great big gorgeous hunk of man.” She added that she declined a second date, however. “Something about him made me uneasy.”

  As Jitty reflected on the Harvey she had known, her life with him, and the Bluebelle story, she told a reporter at the time, “I guess I am lucky to be alive.” She added that, despite his egotism and bad temper, she never suspected that he could be the kind of person he evidently turned into on the deck of the Bluebelle. “Anyway, he didn’t have me insured,” she added, wryly.

  It turned out that, as early as 1951, many of Harvey’s Air Force colleagues were concerned that when he was sent to Korea that he was, or was becoming, psychologically troubled. But no one sensed that he could be dangerous. It was more a matter of Harvey appearing uncharacteristically fearful and anxious. In Korea he no longer showed the same bravado and cool confidence he had displayed when he ditched the B-24 – although he had, in fact, been able to avoid some of the most dangerous bombing missions as early as 1943 in World War II.

  As it happened, he also avoided some combat situations in Korea. On some occasions when his flightmates engaged MIGs in dogfights, he claimed engine trouble and broke for home. He showed a marked lack of assertiveness in other situations, failing to take on MIGs when he had the chance. He also was on record as having three dead-stick landings (landings when his engine was out) in Korea. On 114 missions, he had many more “engine failures” than any of his peers, although his superiors never made any formal note of it. While his superiors wrote commendations lauding his skill in bringing planes back safely with no engine, his peers talked to each other about how he would deliberately cut his engine when he knew he could glide safely back to base. But he was still a highly skilled pilot, and he still knew how to make himself look good. There had developed a continuing pattern in Harvey’s career of impressing his superiors while raising the eyebrows of his peers.

  Harvey was also struggling when it came to continuing to make himself look good in his command role. He was a lieutenant colonel, but when he briefed lower-ranking officers under his command, he frequently stammered again. Harvey even asked a subordinate to write speeches for him, which he delivered – stiffly. He was so awkward that some of his men could not avoid laughing nervously. No one dared question him directly, however, or go over his head to his superiors, for fear he could ruin their careers. And everyone – superiors, peers, and subordinates – still saw Harvey through the lens of his status as decorated war hero; thus, the fact that he might be “losing it” never got the attention of superiors during most of Harvey’s tour in Korea.

  When Harvey left Korea in mid-1953, it had become clear that he had, at the very least, severe anxiety problems. He exhibited facial muscular tics, a rolling right eye, and stammering to the point that many now were seriously aware of his problem with “nerves.”

  Still, Harvey was a decorated war hero, and the Air Force tries to treat its heroes well, sometimes giving them more leeway than other officers. That may have gotten in the way of Harvey being seen more objectively earlier on. In any case, once his problems were recognized, if not fully understood, he was relieved of flight duty and “kicked upstairs” as a staff officer for a time at the Pentagon. His performance drew no special recognition, and at least one fellow officer called it “undistinguished.”

  For years there were those who knew Harvey less well who still saw him as a World War II hero and brave test pilot. It seems that, for many years, people were seeing one of two Julian Harveys. One was Harvey, the handsome and charismatic shining knight who fearlessly flew right into the face of death, looked it square in the eye, and then smirked and nonchalantly combed his hair. This was the persona t
hat the public and casual acquaintances knew, and that his superiors saw and commended.

  The other was the darker Julian Harvey, hiding behind the mask – vain and arrogant, given to fits of rage, and periodically cruel to his wives. He seemed to be doing constant battle with the fears and anxieties that threatened to undermine the knightly image built on his successes and achievements, and constantly struggling to cover his insecurities and keep control of his humiliating stammering problem. This other persona was seen by his peers, but not his superiors; by his wives, but not by legions of other women who were attracted to him, or his casual acquaintances. It was observed by some experts early on – but by others, not at all.

  In Washington, the glamour-boy Harvey was still robust enough to win his fifth wife: Georgiana was yet one more woman of substance. Harvey’s reputation, charm and looks all still worked for him. Georgiana, who spoke six languages, had a strong personality. The result was, by all accounts, a stormy relationship. Unlike Harvey’s earlier wives, she seems not to have stayed dutifully at home while Harvey philandered – which he still did. Harvey, still stationed in Washington, decided that now would be a good time to pursue another love. He wanted to fulfill his lifelong dream and become a sailor and ship master, perhaps with an eye toward a second life after retirement. In 1954, he and his wife bought the old, sixty-eight-foot yawl Torbatross.

  Within a year, with Harvey at the helm, the Torbatross ran aground on the wreck of the World War I battleship Texas in Chesapeake Bay. The Torby sank. Since the battleship was a wreck for which the Coast Guard, and therefore the federal government, was responsible, Harvey sued for damages alleging that the wreck was not adequately marked. After a prolonged and controversial court case, Harvey won a settlement of $14,258 along with collecting on the insurance he took out on the Torby.

  The Torbatross case seemed straightforward and that would have been the end of it except that, after the case was decided, acquaintances who were with Harvey on the boat at the time of the grounding said the wreck of the Texas was, in fact, marked well. They had to admit that in their view, Harvey had run into it intentionally. One of the Coast Guard officers investigating this case was Robert Barber, who was later involved in the Bluebelle case. He was certain when interviewed in 1992 that Harvey had rammed the wreck of the Texas deliberately, but a court decided differently.

  At about the same time as the loss of the Torbatross, Harvey was sent back to Eglin Air Force Base near Pensacola, Florida, as deputy commander of the 3243rd Fighter Test Group. He also was to be a senior test pilot after lobbying hard to fly again. He had not liked desk duty, and he seemed to his superiors to once again be his old confident self. He appeared ready to be back on flight status.

  As luck would have it, on one of his first flights in January of 1957, while flying the latest-generation F-86H Sabre, Harvey had an engine flameout (apparently entirely real). He had to eject. His chute opened with a powerful yank that severely injured his shoulder. While Harvey was recovering, many noticed that his facial and muscular tics and his stammering had returned with a vengeance.

  While at Eglin, he and Georgiana bought the eighty-one-foot yawl Valiant, using proceeds from the Torbatross settlement. They sailed it around the Gulf Coast while Harvey recuperated. Being at sea and living his dream of the sailing life seemed to help Harvey recover from his injuries, and from the stress and anxiety that had provoked his tics and stammering.

  Looking once again like the capable and reliable Julian Harvey that fit his hero knight reputation, Harvey was transferred to Edwards Air Force Base in California, which was becoming the site for the testing of the latest and hottest jets. Harvey, however, was assigned to be Special Assistant to the Commander of the 6515th Maintenance Group, not a flying assignment. Although Harvey was now at the hottest place for jet jockeys who had the “right stuff,” his superiors decided they were not going to take the chance of putting him through the stresses of being either a full-time pilot or a commander of pilots. But they did want other younger hotshots to have the example of genuine hero around, even if he was semiretired. As far as the younger pilots were concerned, Harvey had long since paid his dues to the gods of flight and to the Air Force.

  Even though he was no longer on full-time flight status, Harvey still flew occasionally so he could keep his flight certification – and draw flight pay, a bonus given to every pilot as long as he flew a minimum number of hours. So, some time in early 1958, Harvey, with a younger flyer as copilot, went for a flight in a T-33 trainer, a very reliable and forgiving plane to fly. As it turned out, however, this plane also had an engine failure and both pilots had to bail out. The bailout was far from routine, however, as the canopy would not detach. Harvey struggled to restart the engine and get control of the plane.

  Finally, as they approached a dangerously low altitude, Harvey ordered his copilot to eject through the Plexiglas canopy (a riskier but engineered-for contingency in an ejection scenario). The copilot did so safely, the back of his ejection seat shattering the Plexiglas as it is designed to do and, in the process, knocking the entire canopy free. Harvey bailed out after him. The copilot landed safely, but Harvey was again seriously injured, hitting a piece of farm equipment when he landed. When he was picked up by a military ambulance, he was in great pain and screaming hysterically.

  This reaction was completely out of character for a hero like Harvey, and was far beyond the previous muscular tics, anxieties, and stammering. It was a sign he had really lost it this time. He raged about how his entire life had been too violent and that he had had everything happen to him that could happen to a pilot besides get killed. “I am sick of it!” he screamed.

  In the hospital he was treated for severe anxiety and given sedatives to control the anxiety and the severe twitching that now seemed to plague his entire body. While in the hospital, Harvey finally admitted to a couple of his colleagues that he actually began, as he put it, to “crack up” in 1952 in Korea. This was the same time that some of his peers were seeing signs of psychological problems and so many of his fellow pilots were noting he was beginning to avoid really engaging in air combat.

  In March of 1958, Harvey was given a medical discharge from the Air Force with a pension based on the rank of major, since his rank of lieutenant colonel had never been made permanent. He was to receive a pension of half his base pay as a major. Harvey was furious. He refused to accept that arrangement and took his protests up the chain of command. Finally, he managed to get a retirement package where he would receive 60 percent of his base pay as a lieutenant colonel, even though he had never held that rank permanently.

  Julian Harvey, decorated war veteran, former brave pilot and Air Force poster boy, then turned his back on the Air Force – except for continuing to benefit from his image and reputation – and looked toward fulfilling his lifelong dream to sail, have his own sailing yacht, and live his life at sea. He spent as much time as he could with Georgiana and his son, Lance, on his boat, the Valiant. However, this marriage was on the rocks, and in 1958 Georgiana sued for divorce, citing extreme mental cruelty.

  While the divorce case was pending, Harvey took the Valiant to Cuba. A few miles offshore, it burned and sank. Harvey was picked up by a passing boat. He told how a fire broke out that quickly became a raging inferno and he barely escaped. Once again there was an insurance claim and a ruling in favor of Harvey. But years later one of Harvey’s friends chuckled over the incident.

  “Julian told the Coast Guard a beautiful story,” he said. “He was a real expert at story-telling, because he had had so much experience talking himself out of trouble. He told me he set the fire himself because he was in a financial jam and needed the insurance money.”

  Since the Valiant also had caught fire some months earlier in the marina, but a passerby spotted it and put it out, there was more than a little suspicion of Harvey.

  Harvey used this settlement to buy the seventy-foot schooner White Swan and begin a lucrative charter business to the Baha
mas. Along the way he took another trip to Cuba. There were rumors after this trip that Harvey had smuggled guns and ammunition to Fidel Castro. No official records back this up, however.

  Meanwhile, Georgiana was in court seeking a final divorce settlement. She claimed that in addition to extreme mental cruelty, Julian had simply come home one day and announced, much like he had to other wives, “I don’t love you anymore. I don’t want you to live on the boat with me anymore. Go get a divorce.” They separated in June 1958, and were finally divorced in 1959.

  For reasons not entirely clear, Harvey sold the White Swan in 1959. He worked as a deckhand for a while on the windjammer Polynesia. He also traveled to California for a few months and looked for sailing opportunities there. Back in Florida, Harvey soon began to figure in still more rumors around the Miami sailing community.

  At the time, insurance investigators were gathering evidence on a boat-sinking racket that had cost their companies several million dollars. The racket involved owners “leasing” their craft to men who arranged for them to sink “accidentally” so the owners could collect the insurance. Some boat owners reportedly made dual deals with men who made additional big money running refugees from Castro’s Cuba. The men would make several trips to Cuba to bring out well-to-do refugees, then sink the boats before they became too well known to the Coast Guard, customs and police.

  It was a lucrative racket for all concerned because it was easy to insure a boat for far more than it is worth. One insurance investigator, looking into what law enforcement came to call “Sinking, Inc.,” said that “everywhere we went, we were always running into [the name of] Julian Harvey. He was a known companion of many of the suspicious characters. He was associated with owners and workers on boats that were apparently sunk for profit.”

  These investigations, plus the suspicious endings of both the Torbatross and the Valiant, meant that Harvey was coming under greater suspicion and scrutiny from law enforcement even before he met his sixth wife-to-be, Mary Dene Jordan, and before the Duperraults arrived in Fort Lauderdale.