Francis Powers - Operation Overflight

The criticism hit me with a sledgehammer blow.

“A HERO OR A MAN WHO FAILED HIS MISSION?” read the headline on the New York Sunday Herald Tribune .

The American people demanded answers to certain questions, the paper said. Among them:

“Why, knowing that neither he nor the U-2 should fall into unfriendly hands, didn’t he blow himself up, and the plane?

“Why didn’t Powers use the poison needle he had on hand? Or the pistol he had with him?”

Apparently a great many people were under the impression that I had been under orders to kill myself, come what may. But, as I had attempted to make clear in the trial, I had no such orders. I was to use the destruct device—which wouldn’t have destroyed the plane, only a portion of the equipment—if possible. Under the circumstances, it had not been possible. I could understand why, not having been in the cockpit with me, some people might doubt my story. But when it came to the poison needle, there shouldn’t have been any doubt. Since carrying it was optional, suicide was obviously optional too.

Now I understood what was behind the Hutchins remark in Time about Nathan Hale and me.

It bothered me that this criticism was apparently long-standing, and that the CIA—although it would have been very easy to do so, without in any way jeopardizing security—had made no attempt to set the record straight by stating exactly what my instructions were. Instead they had let this misapprehension, damning as it was, continue undisputed.

Much was made of the fact that Abel had not testified during his trial, while I had. But no one pointed out that our law gave Abel the right to remain silent, while under Soviet law I had been denied that luxury, the refusal to testify in itself being considered incriminating.

Five words from my trial testimony had been emphasized almost to the exclusion of all others: “deeply repentant and profoundly sorry.” At the time, I had been sure the American people would understand that this was the only defense I had. But obviously they hadn’t. Those words were emphasized throughout all accounts of the trial.

The criticism went far beyond that, however. Comparisons were made between my conduct and Abel’s following capture, the implication being that while Abel had revealed nothing about his mission, I had “spilled my guts,” “told everything.”

I knew better. The other pilots knew better. As did the agency, the President, the Secretary of State, and, I presumed, quite a few others. I could see why this particular misapprehension hadn’t been corrected. To do so, while I was still in prison, would have placed me in additional jeopardy. Also it would have made the Russians reconsider everything I had told them, and quite possibly give them clues to what I hadn’t told. Although obviously disturbed by the implication that I was some kind of traitor, I felt sure that now I was no longer in Russian hands, the truth would out.

Yet some of the information I had withheld was so sensitive as to make me wonder if it could ever be made public. And, thinking about this, I became vaguely uneasy.

One story, featured in all the papers and on TV, bothered me more than any other. “U.S. ‘UNWISE’ IN SPY SWAP,” read the headlines. “RUSSIANS GOT BEST OF DEAL, SAYS LAWYER.”

William F. Tompkins, a former assistant U.S. attorney general, and the prosecutor of Abel, was quoted as saying: “It’s like trading Mickey Mantle for an average ballplayer. We gave them an extremely valuable man and got back an airplane driver.”

That made me angry. Not because I put a high value on myself, but because it ignored the fact that the United States had gained the release of two Americans by freeing one Russian. (Actually, the count rose to three. Later, Marvin Makinen, a University of Pennsylvania student serving an eight-year sentence for espionage in a Soviet prison in Kiev, was released as a result of negotiations begun by Donovan.) To my mind, this was the same kind of irresponsible criticism that followed President Kennedy’s statement that he was “grateful” for the release of the two RB-47 pilots.

Too, although Abel had once been an important Soviet agent, of what intelligence value was he now, either to us or the Russians? If he hadn’t betrayed his espionage apparatus after nearly five years of imprisonment, it seemed unlikely he would do so in the future. And should he still possess secrets he had not yet communicated to his government, they would be equally dated. Apparently Tompkins wanted him to serve his full thirty-year sentence, as fit punishment for his crime. A perfect example of a prosecutor’s mentality, of which I’d had more than enough in Russia.

I was pleased to discover that Tompkins’ attitude wasn’t quite universal. Asked about the swap, former President Harry Truman had said, “I guess that’s a fair trade.”

Several of the TV news programs reviewed the U-2 incident, from May 1, 1960, through the exchange. Watching them, I learned for the first time many details of what had happened following my capture.

From talking to an agency friend I had known in Turkey, I learned something else I had wondered about: what had happened in Adana when word was received I hadn’t arrived in Bödo.

The party for the communications chief who was returning to the States had gone on as scheduled.

I had figured as much. Once one of those parties got started, only an act of God could stop it. This one, I now learned, had lasted three days.

What I couldn’t have guessed, however, was that the 10-10 detachment hadn’t pulled out until August. As inconceivable as it seemed, despite Khrushchev’s charges, my letters, the statements from my interrogations, the photographs the Soviets had released, the agency was apparently not totally convinced that I had actually been captured and was still alive—until the Russians brought me to trial!

Aside from a brief statement that I was in the United States, appeared to be in good physical condition, had seen my family, and was undergoing questioning at an undisclosed location, the White House remained silent about the exchange. That day, however, there was a report in The New York Times which said that following my interrogation a board of inquiry would be convened by the Central Intelligence Agency “to investigate the circumstances of the capture of Francis Gary Powers by the Soviet Union and the crash of his U-2 reconnaissance plane in the Ural Mountains.”

I asked one of the agency men what that meant. Don’t worry, he told me. That’s just to get the press off our backs.

When will the debriefing start? I was anxious to get it done. It would begin the following day, he said, and would take place at Ashford Farms.

Despite reassurances from Murphy and others, I couldn’t shake the feeling that all at once I was on trial again.

The debriefing didn’t take place at Ashford Farms. Late that night, Monday, February 12, one of the agents received a telephone call. Hanging up the phone, he said: “Some reporter’s on to our location. We’re going to have to move. Better get packed.”

Although there was a blizzard outside, we climbed into several cars and, with more speed than caution, drove off the estate. Later I learned that reporters had succeeded in following us for a few miles but lost us in the snow. There were, in the papers, two different accounts of how Ashford Farms had been compromised. One was that an astute Associated Press stringer, suspicious, since its recent sale, of the estate’s new tenants, had put it under surveillance. Another had it that the draperies in the background of the photos released by the CIA were identified by someone who had visited Ashford Farms on a previous occasion.

Our destination was another of the agency’s “safe” houses, this one near Gettysburg, Pennsylvania. It wasn’t an easy trip. Barbara was desperate for a drink. I’d tried to get her to talk to the doctor at Ashford Farms, but she had refused to do so. I’d then tried to keep her from drinking, but she had begged so pathetically that I’d let her have beer. It tore me apart to see her suffer. It was obvious that she was sick and needed help. This she vehemently denied. Contrary to what I might have heard from the rumormongers, she said, she did not have a drinking problem. It was nerves, she went on, that was all. Given a couple of days, she would pull herself together and be fine.