Spy Pilot: Francis Gary Powers, the U-2 Incident, and a Controversial Cold War Legacy

^{Chapter Nine} UNFINISHED BUSINESS

In June 2014, I heard rumors of a major motion picture in the works concerning the exchange on the Glienicker Bridge. Eventually I confirmed that Steven Spielberg was directing the film, a discovery that filled me with new anxiety on an old subject. Was Hollywood planning to smear my father?

After sending out a series of blind emails, expressing the Powers family’s “concern” at the potential negative impact of basing the movie off of debunked misinformation, I eventually heard back from Mark Platt, one of the producers, who is best known for his Broadway production of Wicked. This led to an hour-long telephone conversation in July 2014. After many of my fears were allayed, I signed on as a technical advisor as the $40 million film moved into production.

Although the Silver Star ceremony represented the dramatic completion of my decades-long battle to restore my father’s good name, I continued to make speeches and seek the still-hidden details concerning my father’s life. There was still plenty of unfinished business.

Realizing that a film “inspired by true events” could potentially reverse all of the gains we achieved, I worked closely with the Amblin Entertainment team to try to influence the picture’s portrayal of my father.

A staffer wanted to know if my father was tortured. When I said he was not, the staffer said: “That’s too bad. Not for your father, but for the suspense of the interrogation scenes in the movie.”

Some of my suggestions wound up informing the narrative, including when I told Spielberg that the United States had hidden a sniper in the trees near the Glienicker Bridge, aimed at Abel, in the event that something went wrong with the exchange. This became part of the climactic scene of the film, through the character of Tom Hanks, who portrayed James Donovan.

I also landed a cameo as an agency man walking out of a hangar, next to the actor portraying my dad, Austin Stowell. Along with other members of my family, I attended different premieres of Bridge of Spies, which opened to critical acclaim in October 2015.

The Powers family really liked the movie. However, one scene bothered me. During a briefing, the pilots were told to “spend the dollar,” an obvious reference to the use of the poison pin, which was not accurate. But beyond a few such instances of artistic license, I was gratified that the film portrayed my father accurately and pointed out at the end that he had been recognized as a hero for his service to his country.

The film is historically accurate in the big picture, but the details in each scene are not 100 percent accurate. That’s Hollywood.

As the production team wrapped the final day of shooting at California’s Beale Air Force Base, Dee and I were touched when Spielberg toasted Francis Gary Powers as an American hero. That meant an awful lot to me, for Mr. Spielberg to acknowledge my dad and show the respect he had for him.

Not long after the film completed a successful domestic run, I returned to my father’s roots to take another bow.

In March 2016, I represented the family when the terminal building at the tiny Lonesome Pine Airport in Wise, Virginia, just down the road from Pound, was dedicated in my father’s honor. “This is a very deep privilege,” I said, adding that I was “honored and humbled” by the gesture.¹

I shared a bit of my own personal journey with the home folks, and hinted at the mission that gave me purpose. “Through classified files and FOIA requests,” I said, “I was able to show that he did everything he was supposed to do, that he served this country honorably, that he did not betray the country.”²

The decision to place Dad’s name on the building was Wise County’s way of saying it was proud of the U-2 pilot, which once would have been a rather-controversial stand for local politicians. It was yet another reminder that the world was a very different place.

“This, to me, is about family and community,” said Kim Mullins, who spearheaded the effort as a member of the Cumberland Airport Commission. “Francis Gary Powers left here a hero, came back a hero, and died a hero. And don’t let nobody tell you any different.”³

In 2012, I filed a FOIA request seeking information concerning a long list of additional issues about my father. It took five years for some items to finally be released, and they provided some interesting news.

Nine years after he was rebuffed in his attempt to rejoin the Air Force, Frank hired an attorney to press his case for military retirement benefits.

In a letter addressed to President Richard Nixon on August 31, 1971, Jerry K. Staub, of the Glendale, California, firm Edwards, Edwards, and Ashton, argued:

The declassified documents revealed that some officials in the government were prepared to offer Dad three choices:

According to an October 19, 1971, memorandum written by CIA general counsel Lawrence R. Houston, the agency authorized as much as $250,000 for Powers’s settlement, with the Air Force agreeing to assume half of the cost.

“The Air Force has determined that they cannot see their way clear to restore him to active duty,” the memo said. “In lieu thereof, a proposal has been approved by Secretary of the Air Force Seamans and Secretary of Defense Laird whereby a sum of up to $250,000 would be offered to Powers in lieu of all claims. This sum would be placed in a trust to be administered by a corporate trustee. The mechanics of the movement of money and arrangements for the trust will be accomplished by the agency so that there will be no traceable record back to the Government.”⁶

Three days after his death, evidence of the confidential deal consummated six years earlier was confirmed in a secret CIA memo:

This was a shocking revelation. I never thought these documents would see the light of day.

During my high-school years, Mom had told me about the trust, which helped pay my private-school tuition. After Dad died, she was afraid that the money would be revoked and she would lose out on the monthly stipend at a time when the family needed it the most.

At her request, the money was eventually moved to her personal bank account, alleviating her fear that it would eventually disappear.

While the documents demonstrated the Air Force’s unwillingness to take my father back, I was gratified to learn that the Air Force and CIA had worked together to try to help my family. These backroom deals done in secret almost fifty years ago need to be taken in context of the time period of the Cold War and not through a modern lens.

Another once-secret document suggested something I had been told but could never prove.

A memo dated October 27, 1972, stated, “After Lockheed felt it could no longer support Powers, the Agency funded an extension to enable Powers to alleviate his own situation.”⁸

This passage raised more questions than it answered, but it appeared to confirm my longtime belief that the CIA had paid part of Dad’s salary while he was employed at Lockheed.

Exactly why Kelly Johnson fired my father was one of those questions I continued to wonder about: Was it because of budget cutbacks, Johnson’s sensitivity to the publicity generated by Frank’s book, or pressure from Washington?

A top secret document provided as part of the 2017 FOIA release showed the CIA reporting on my father’s comments during a 1971 appearance at California State University–Northridge, my alma mater, concerning his separation from Lockheed:

This left me with another question unlikely to ever have answered: Was the CIA violating American law by spying on an American citizen on American soil?

Mom told me that our home phone was tapped, and that during Dad’s book tour, he was convinced that he and Curt Gentry were tailed. Noticing an agent at an airport, and eager to have some fun, Frank walked up to the young man, introduced himself, and told him where they were going that day. The man appeared flustered and eventually disappeared into the crowd.

I still didn’t have all the answers, of course, which is one reason why I arranged to return to Moscow in early December 2017, after putting together a couple of business deals to offset expenses.

After the breakup of the Soviet Union, Russian authorities finally acknowledged a long-concealed instance of friendly fire: One of the MiG fighters dispatched to try to shoot Powers out of the sky had been hit by an SA-2 missile, killing the pilot, Sergei Safronov. Always determined to chase every lead, I was happy when the pilot’s son contacted me through The Cold War Museum. We shared a long conversation.

He said his mother did not blame my father for her husband’s death. She understood that her husband was following orders and my father was following orders, and that it was not my father’s fault that her husband had died. I was very touched by this.

I wanted to show my respects to the MiG pilot, so on the day after attending a conference, as snow drifted from the sky, I walked up the steps to the granite memorial to the fallen Soviet hero, adorned with his photograph and a portion of the plane’s tail section.

They told me not to smile. If I smiled, it would be an insult to the Russian people.

Dressed in a suit and with a very solemn look on my face, I dropped to one knee and placed ten red roses in tribute.

I lingered for a few moments, thinking about what the pilot’s family must have gone through, how they had surely struggled to deal with the loss, and wondering how they suffered for all those years not knowing the truth of how he died.

Continuing to trace my father’s journey, I visited a local history museum in Yekaterinburg, once known as Sverdlovsk, where I sat in the back seat of the car my father rode in after being captured, and where I saw additional artifacts from the U-2 Incident, including a fragment of the plane. “It is now history,” I told the assembled reporters.¹⁰ “We can reflect on it and learn from it.”

I visited one of the old missile bases where the SA-2s were fired that blasted the U-2 out of the sky; the site where the wreckage crashed; and the place where Dad parachuted to Earth. The former collective farm was now a high-end housing development.

Most everyone seemed happy to greet me, including the mayor of Yekaterinburg, Yevgeny Roizman, as well as one of the nearby village mayors who hosted me for lunch and vodka shots. However, another mayor publicly announced that he wanted nothing to do with the son of the American spy and preferred that I not visit his village. I still stopped in the little town.

That was the only real animosity I felt on the whole trip. Everyone else was very nice and accommodating. I believed we helped foster a good relationship with the Russian people.

After learning I was going to be back in Moscow, I reached out to journalist Svetlana Tumanov, a onetime KGB agent (also married to a onetime KGB agent) whom I had met on a previous trip. Svetlana told me she was going to take me to an event. She didn’t elaborate.

During the taxi ride into the heart of Moscow with an interpreter and a business associate, I recognized a big green building in the distance. It was the Hall of Columns where my father’s show trial was orchestrated, the mysterious place that had often occupied so many of my thoughts. Soon the driver pulled up to the majestic building, and I learned that Svetlana, who was on her way, had arranged to take me inside the auditorium where my father had once been put on trial for his life.

We basically had to sneak in the back door, because we didn’t have official invitations for the event.

In the lobby, while sipping champagne, Svetlana introduced me to several dignitaries, including politician Serge Baburin, who would unsuccessfully seek the Russian presidency in 2018. “Baburin was thrilled [like] a little boy to meet Gary Powers Jr.,” she said.

Hard-liner Sergei Stepashin, a longtime Russian government official, was not so welcoming. “Oh, the son of the spy,” he said to Svetlana, before turning away.

Realizing the significance of the moment, as we prepared to enter the auditorium for a classical-music concert hosted by a pro-Palestine organization, Svetlana leaned in and told me, “Please compose yourself and think for the moment: what happened behind those doors in 1960!”

While the orchestra played Tchaikovsky and Rachmaninov, my mind drifted back to those difficult days. I could imagine my father in the dock on the stage. I could feel his fear.

It was truly a moving moment. I was walking in my father’s footsteps, and I felt a close connection to him.

Still, the lingering tension of my father’s life could be seen when CBS News Sunday Morning aired a segment in 2017 celebrating the birthday of the late Ian Fleming. After telling its audience that Francis Gary Powers “let himself be captured alive by the Soviets,”¹¹ the news program ran an old tape of Fleming, asking what James Bond would have done in such a situation. “I hope he would have taken his pill,” Fleming said.¹² Stunned by the insult on Memorial Day weekend, I wrote a letter of protest. This made me feel better, especially when it prompted CBS to air, the following Sunday, a correction stating that my father was under no orders to take his own life if captured. In 2018, about the time this book began moving through the editing process, a review for another book in the Wall Street Journal included a comment influenced by the still-swirling misinformation.

Some people who watched my father’s show trial and bought into the mythology attached to the U-2 Incident will always see Francis Gary Powers as a tainted figure. Some minds can never be changed. But I know the truth, and after devoting so much of my life to searching for it, the truth has set me free. Now more than ever, I am a man at peace.