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“D.B. Cooper: the man who hijacked a Boeing 727, took $200,000 and jumped into the night - the only unsolved airplane hijacking in American history”
$5.12 on Starter ($29 for 300 credits a month) - $1.56 per finished minute. $3.52 on Pro, the lowest price per credit.
The plan shows this exact cost before anything renders. You are never charged more; a shorter final cut is refunded the difference and failed renders are refunded in full.
See plansThe script is cut into scenes word for word; each one gets its own picture, motion graphic or real footage. This is the plan you review and can edit before rendering.
A man in a dark suit hands a stewardess a note. She tucks it away unopened.
He leans in. She later said he told her to read it, because he had a bomb.
It's November 24, 1971, the day before Thanksgiving.
Northwest Orient Flight 305 is flying from Portland to Seattle.
The calm man in his mid-forties bought his ticket as Dan Cooper.
Nobody will ever learn his real name.
He opens his briefcase for Florence Schaffner. Red cylinders. Wires. A battery.
He wants two hundred thousand dollars in twenties and four parachutes.
In Seattle, the money arrives.
But the FBI has recorded the serial number of every one of the 10,000 bills.
Cooper doesn't know that.
He lets all 36 passengers walk off. Within hours, he'll jump into the night.
Did he survive it?
He wants Mexico City, with a fuel stop in Reno.
He tells the pilots to fly low and slow, with the flaps partly lowered and the landing gear down.
He asked for four parachutes for a reason.
Investigators believe it meant nobody could risk handing him a sabotaged one.
Outside, it's dark and raining, and far below freezing.
At around eight thirteen at night, the crew feels the tail lurch. The rear airstair has dropped.
Nobody sees him go.
The jet lands in Reno. The cabin is empty.
Searchers comb the woods of southwest Washington. They find nothing.
Year after year, not one listed bill turns up.
In February 1980, eight-year-old Brian Ingram is digging on Tena Bar, a sandbar on the Columbia River.
His hands hit rotting bundles of twenties.
It comes to about five thousand eight hundred dollars, and the serial numbers match.
It's the first hard proof of where the money went... and maybe the man.
So is Cooper somewhere in that river, or did he walk away alive?
He left one thing on the plane: a clip-on tie.
Later tests reportedly find a partial DNA profile on it. But it matches no one.
Suspects come and go. Richard McCoy pulled a similar hijacking in 1972.
Robert Rackstraw drew years of attention. But nobody has ever proven either man was Cooper.
The sandbar cash stays a riddle.
A flood, dredging, or a deliberate burial may have put it there. Nobody agrees.
In July 2016, the FBI suspends its active investigation. Its view is that Cooper probably didn't survive.
So did he live? Most likely not. But there's no body, no name and no proof.
It's still the only unsolved hijacking of an American commercial airliner.
Out of 10,000 twenty-dollar bills, only the ones a child dug from the sand ever came back.
The man who took them never did.
A man in a dark suit hands a stewardess a note. She tucks it away unopened. He leans in. She later said he told her to read it, because he had a bomb.
It's November 24, 1971, the day before Thanksgiving. Northwest Orient Flight 305 is flying from Portland to Seattle. The calm man in his mid-forties bought his ticket as Dan Cooper. Nobody will ever learn his real name.
He opens his briefcase for Florence Schaffner. Red cylinders. Wires. A battery.
He wants two hundred thousand dollars in twenties and four parachutes.
In Seattle, the money arrives. But the FBI has recorded the serial number of every one of the 10,000 bills. Cooper doesn't know that.
He lets all 36 passengers walk off. Within hours, he'll jump into the night. Did he survive it?
He wants Mexico City, with a fuel stop in Reno. He tells the pilots to fly low and slow, with the flaps partly lowered and the landing gear down.
He asked for four parachutes for a reason. Investigators believe it meant nobody could risk handing him a sabotaged one.
Outside, it's dark and raining, and far below freezing.
At around eight thirteen at night, the crew feels the tail lurch. The rear airstair has dropped. Nobody sees him go.
The jet lands in Reno. The cabin is empty.
Searchers comb the woods of southwest Washington. They find nothing.
Year after year, not one listed bill turns up.
In February 1980, eight-year-old Brian Ingram is digging on Tena Bar, a sandbar on the Columbia River. His hands hit rotting bundles of twenties. It comes to about five thousand eight hundred dollars, and the serial numbers match.
It's the first hard proof of where the money went... and maybe the man.
So is Cooper somewhere in that river, or did he walk away alive?
He left one thing on the plane: a clip-on tie. Later tests reportedly find a partial DNA profile on it. But it matches no one.
Suspects come and go. Richard McCoy pulled a similar hijacking in 1972. Robert Rackstraw drew years of attention. But nobody has ever proven either man was Cooper.
The sandbar cash stays a riddle. A flood, dredging, or a deliberate burial may have put it there. Nobody agrees.
In July 2016, the FBI suspends its active investigation. Its view is that Cooper probably didn't survive.
So did he live? Most likely not. But there's no body, no name and no proof. It's still the only unsolved hijacking of an American commercial airliner.
Out of 10,000 twenty-dollar bills, only the ones a child dug from the sand ever came back. The man who took them never did.