A COLD WAR COVER UP

A SON’S STORY

This is the story of the disappearance of my father, Navy plane commander Lt. Jesse Beasley. He disappeared, January 4, 1954 while flying armed reconnaissance along the coasts of North Korea and China. I present this story from the perspective of family letters, documents discovered, documents denied, documents found missing and correspondence with knowledgeable veterans .

Charles (Satch) Beasley

Request to Present Administration Response

(Click to enlarge.)

"Great nations like great men must keep their word. When America says something, America means it, whether a treaty or an agreement or a vow made on marble steps. "

President George Bush

THE FAMILY OF A NAVY MAN

(Polly, Satch, Bud, and Sarah)

"Hi Sugah, ( My Aunt Mary ) ( No Date )

We’re not to far from getting orders---- maybe as early as November---- and we’re already getting itchy feet. Bud requested duty in Memphis. There is still hope we’ll get it but Hutchinson, Kansas looms ominously on the scene. They have reactivated the base there.
Love from us all, Polly"

"Mary Darling, November 1953

A hurried letter to tell you of our change in plans. It’s grim! Our tour of two years was up Dec. 1. For some unexplainable reason Bud was told it had been moved up to Aug. 54. He leaves the day after Christmas for six months in Japan. The children & I will stay here.
Dearest love, Polly"

The last time I saw my father was Christmas day 1953 at our duty station at the Whidbey Island, Naval Air base in Washington state. It was a wonderful day. My sister Sarah and I received the traditional toys for our ages. Mine was a three-speed English bicycle which Daddy spent the day teaching me how to ride. The next day his squadron, VP-2, deployed across the Pacific to Iwakuni, Japan.

Deployment Day December 26, 1953
Navigator Ensign Burt Mulford standing in front of and waving from 3 CapeCod.
His body recovered January 6, 1954.
Autopsy Finding: Exhaustion due to overexposure

When school started after the holidays, mother allowed me to ride my new bike to school so that I could return home for lunch. Upon arriving home for lunch there were many strange men and women standing all around in our small apartment. Mother’s eyes were red but our neighbor from across the street, who was the pregnant wife of Daddy’s plane captain, was crying inconsolably. Into the somber atmosphere of the room I walked. Mother told me, "Daddy is missing." Now at the age of eight, one of the uniformed men standing before mother, turned to me and said "you are now the man of the house."

I suppose that it was Mother’s World War II Army Nurse experience that allowed her to hold it in at this time. Over the next few years I would witness her having nervous breakdowns, requiring several days of attendance by doctors and relatives before subsiding. There was a total of five children born to the wives of the missing men, which added to the already six brought the total to 11 fatherless children. One month after Daddy was reported missing my brother David was born. One month after his birth Mother moved her brood back home to Tennessee. Mother always remained faithful to Daddy, never remarrying. She always told us that Daddy was the love of her life, that there could be no other. It was her intention to raise her family in the country on Daddy’s 75 acre portion of a larger ancestral family farm surrounded by many aunts, uncles and cousins. Originally, the land had been a Revolutionary War Grant that our ancestors have lived on since 1795 dating back to President George Washington and predating Tennessee’s statehood by 4 years. The farm has now been passed to my two children who are the seventh continuous generation to own the land.

Eulogy to Jesse Beasley

Delivered January, 1954

at Dixon Springs, Tennessee

by ‘ Cousin’ Web Allen

(Note: Jere Mitchell shot D-Day on Normandy Beach-KIA

Bill Cox B-17 gunner shot down over France

K.I.A., buried at Arlington)

If one goes down to the little village of Dixon Springs, one of the oldest towns by the way, in this section of Tennessee, one sees a public highway leading toward the South and known as the Rome and Dixon Springs road. This road leads by and to where Jere Mitchell lived, where Bill Cox lived, and where Jesse Beasley lived, but they don’t live there any more. They have paid the supreme sacrifice, they have answered to the call of country and of duty.

Today we build a new road not to the home of these boys, but a road that will lead to them where ever God in his infinite mercy has placed them.

And what will we call this road?

Why we will call it Memory Lane, and we will pave it with our love and water it with our tears.

One of the worst sins that we can commit, for sin it is, is the sin of forgetfulness. Surely, surely we will not forget that these boys died with their country’s banner floating over them; that banner that is today the bulwark for the safety, the peace, the happiness of all mankind.

Let us remember that had it not been for them, and others like them we, ourselves, might not have the privilege of meeting here, to worship God according to the dictates of our own conscience, and even now the Red Tide which fears neither God nor man threatens to overcome and engulf the entire world.

There are some who ask, what trait of character, what element, tends most toward intensness of purpose, to true nobility, some might say that in the pursuit of religion, the religious, but always the devotee of religion would have before his eyes that greatest of all prizes, the hope of immortality, the promise of life to come.

I say to you my friends that the one thing which tends most to ennoble the individual is patriotism, that patriotism which has no other hope, or promise of reward, than that proud conscience which comes from duty done.

It has been said that " Memory is a truant Jade", and this is indeed most true. There is no limit to its boundary, no confine to its realm.

Today, with me, it wanders far afield, with the eye of the mind I would turn back the pages of time for almost thirteen years and I would envision that day of infamy and of blood the seventh day of December in the year of our lord one thousand nine hundred and forty one.

It was a lords day morning that day set apart to the service and the memory of him who was called the prince of peace.

The scene was Honolulu, so justly called "the pearl of the Pacific".

The sun, a red ball of fire, had just begun to rise from it’s watery resting place, when high in the distant sky there appeared what seemed to be a flock of giant birds.

My friends, they were birds of a different kind, birds of ill omen, piloted by vultures looking for their unsuspecting prey, and then they unleashed their horrid cargo, and death and destruction rained down from the sky.

The pride of our Navy lay at the bottom of the harbor and the ground ran red with human blood.

And then there was the call to arms, to arms.

From factory and field, from every walk of life, from the mountains and the valleys, the people of the greatest nation on earth today answered to the call.

They went overseas, they fought on the land, in the air, on the sea and under the sea.

And then two deadly bullets found their shining mark, and Jere Mitchell and Bill Cox, whom we had known and liked and loved, were gone from us forever.

No more will we hear the sound of their marching feet, but somewhere out yonder in a vast and never ending eternity their immortal feet are marching on, marching on to triumph, and victory.

Fate, inexorable fate, perhaps in a way was kinder to little Jesse.

For more than a decade he flew over land and sea.

He seemed, as it were, almost to have had a charmed life, neither accident nor injury came to him, and then the giant plane that had carried him so long and so well carried him to a watery grave.

There are some people who scatter sunshine, there are some people who strew shadows," Bud" was one of those who scattered sunshine.

He was one of that rarest type of God’s creations, a perfect gentleman.

I don’t believe he was all Tom’s, I don’t believe he was all Kate’s,

I believe that he was part ours, for all of us loved him,

and when the news came to me that we would see him no more forever,

I felt almost as if I had lost one of my own.

Today his body lies in an uncharted grave, deep, deep, beneath the waters of the Yellow Sea.

Today we would say to each wave, carry this message to him where ever he lies: Jesse we love you, you are not forgotten.

Some days ago in the Capital of our nation I saw the statues erected there to the great and near great.

Today we erect nothing in marble or bronze, but we plant a flower, deep, deep in the garden of our memory and we write on one petal Bill, on another Jere and another "Bud".

They will be remembered so long as men live, who believe, who appreciate, the higher, the nobler, the better things of life.

As an adult I would follow my father’s foot steps by becoming a pilot, earning an Airline Transport Pilot license as well as a commercial helicopter license and holding instructors ratings in single-engine, multi-engine, instrument, glider, and helicopter. Additionally I earned an Airframe and Power plant mechanics license and a BS degree from the University of Tennessee in Knoxville.

My dear "Satch"- Aug. 16, 1999

I remember your Dad- and you as a little boy and your Mom. So long ago. Paul thought so highly of Jesse-all the men did. He was such a sweetheart, and so respected."

Excerpted letter to me from Paul Morrelli’s widow, Beth

"Mary Darling, January 11, 1954
I feel Lewis, Mack & Ted can & will do much to replace the children’s loss & for that reason am thinking of settling near them.

Love you so very much, Polly"

"Lo’ Darling, ( My Aunt Mary )

Everyone exclaims about my bravery & I’m beginning to regret the deceptions. Actually, I’m panic stricken inside. Wondering if I’m doing things best for the children & and if so how long I can keep it up. The future--- the mere thought--- frightens me beyond words.

In trying to grope for some consolation. I look back over Bud’s life and find conviction in the thought that his was a full life. He had the absolute love of three women--- yours, Diddy’s and mine--- and the adoration of a son and daughter.

All my love,

Polly" ( Diddy was my grandmother's pet name)

END OF THE COLD WAR

My father had survived World War II serving as a Naval transport pilot in the pacific; he had survived the Korean War flying long dangerous patrols along the eastern coast of Russia; he would not survive the Cold War.

" I suppose Polly has mentioned my wanting to stay in the Navy. I know that I will have a hard time selling you all on the Navy but here’s the way I look at it. I have worked myself up to a good position. I will always have security and the best of everything."

Excerpt from an undated letter from my father to my uncles and aunt.

Anecdote [Year 1944-VPB-199]

"Dear Satch,

Bud-"Satch" your Dad was special and always will be, and so will be, Polly to us.

Satch was my co-pilot in PV-2 aircraft at Whidbey Is. and these orders "came out of the blue to us". We were training and headed eventually to the Aleutians. Not a happy future, and we were both excited about these orders and a new adventure into an unknown area.

Our orders, dated 12 Dec.,44, were a bit strange, issued verbally and as we soon learned involved special flight instructions from the Marine Corps. For about 6 weeks all flying was under instrument conditions; including take off under the hood, and landings just prior to touch down. This included stalls at 8-10,000 ft., single engine emergency, small field procedure, very little instrument radio range work. The last week was spent flying the Corps Supply run to Mojave Desert ( secret test base)-Santa Barbara, El Toro Marine Base, San Diego Base & return to El Centro.

There were 5 complete crews involved in this special Corps training and all planes were brand new with latest NAV. equipment and (2) long range tanks built into the main cargo space behind the main bulkhead near the radio compartment.

We surmized ( but could never prove) later that this special set-up was to drop the atomic bomb on Japan. The bomb size unknown (but quite large) would be slid out the cargo door on tracks over designated target. Later, when the B-29 was developed, higher authority decided to use that A/C.

Mean while, all three of us ended up at UFU, Honolulu, happy to fly every day in decent weather with excellent maintenance, housing, good food, and hopes for the future. We had more A/C than pilots and often flew with no copilots. Navigators were not needed and in a few weeks , Satch and Jess, were Plane Commanders along with the rest of us in support of the Marine Division at Hilo, Hawaii and other out lying islands in training for the island invasions later on.

Love to you and yours,"

Anecdote forwarded to me:

" I served in VP-2 with Lt. Beasley and knew him quite well. While in Whidbey and after a few at the club, Bud proceeded to climb the water tower and planted the Confederate flag on the tank. Next morning, the Admiral saw the flag and ordered it taken down. Problem-no one volunteered to climb Tower in daylight which Bud had done at night! It was finally removed after several days. I was transferred out of VP-2 prior to their deployment to Iwakuni."

Anecdote:

Dear Charles,

I knew your dad and he was my division officer when he was in charge of the Material Office. I was a recruit from the North Carolina hills and had never been out of the county I was born in until I joined the navy.

I have a short story I would like to relate to you about your dad and mom. There was a time when we were at Whidbey when Mr. Beasley ask three of us to help move some things(furniture I believe) to their home. It was on a Saturday morning. We got through and he asked us to eat lunch. We sat at the table and your mom brought the food on to the table. With the food was a large bowl of Pinto beans and also onions and corn bread. He had heard me talk about eating beans, onions and corn bread back home. I will always remember that."

Excerpted from an email from a former member of VP-2

"On behalf of men like me who live comfortably under an umbrella of electronic surveillance and countermeasure targeted at the DMZ, thank you for the sacrifice your father and men like him have made."

SSgt J.-- H. ---

Kunsan AB, Republic of Korea

Photo from the Bruce Berger collection.

"All that I can say to you is that I flew with men like your father, they were all fine men doing a very hard job. We took many risks and I am one of the lucky ones that got away with it. You can be very proud of your lineage, they don't come any better."

Email excerpt from a former PPC

"Hi Sister Mary,

Yep, I’ve been called back to my old squadron to go to Iwakuni with them. I’m replacing the maintenance officer who has a sick wife.

Love, Bud"

Links to related articles.

Cold War heroes Secret missions and secret deaths

U.S. reconnaissance flights have a long and tragic history

"The wives and other family members of missing Air Force and Navy reconnaissance crews were routinely sent telegrams telling them that their loved ones had been lost on a "routine training mission" over the Sea of Japan or elsewhere. It left the impression that the hapless airmen were too incompetent to survive even a routine training mission.

In reality, they were brave and highly competent fliers whose job it was to conduct continuous peripheral reconnaissance missions in a program originally called the Peaceful Airborne Reconnaissance Program, or PARPRO, that ferreted radar and intercepted enemy communication traffic."

William E. Burrows

Almost forty years after the disappearance of my father and with the collapse of the USSR, America began to celebrate it’s victory over the long, Cold War and also began a time of revealing Cold War secrets and mysteries. A magazine article in 1993 describing secret reconnaissance flights along the boarders of communist countries revived in me a new hope that I might possibly locate my father’s stricken aircraft in an effort to find possible remains as well as discover the details for his disappearance.

William Burrows' book, published in 2001,
contains a story of
3 Cape Cod
and includes a Memoriam to the crew.

"Dear Mr. Beasley, March 21, 1999

I believe that there is much more to this Cold War story than the government wants revealed. But I also believe that (1) the "secrets" of that period should no longer be secret; and (2) that fliers like your father ought to be publicly recognized for being the heroes that they were, not swept under the political carpet by a government that no longer needs them.

Most Sincerely,

Bill Burrows"

Thus began several years of research into the loss of Bureau Number 127752 a P2V-5 Neptune, designated 3 Cape Cod which was piloted by my father, Navy Lt. Jesse Beasley.