On April 7, 1952, Life magazine published its cover story titled “There Is a Case for Interplanetary Saucers.” The sixteen-page feature article began with the exclusive Air Force reveal. Above the byline, it read “The Air Force is now ready to concede that many saucer and fireball sightings still defy explanation; here LIFE offers some scientific evidence that there is a real case for interplanetary saucers.” The article made its case well, with the takeaway being that UFOs really could be from out of this world. But there was a second reason the Air Force participated in the UFO convention. The CIA’s Psychological Strategy Board had urged the National Security Council to “monitor private UFO groups [such] as the Civilian Flying Saucer Investigators in Los Angeles,” and because of this, the Air Force officers had been placed at the UFO convention in Los Angeles through backdoor recommendations at the CIA.
The CIA was particularly interested in one specific individual on the Civilian Saucer Investigations panel, and that was a German Paperclip scientist named Dr. Walther Riedel. Seated front and center at the UFO conference at the Mayfair Hotel, Dr. Riedel was a study in contradiction. When Riedel smiled, a close look revealed that he had fake front teeth — his own had been knocked out in 1945 at the Stettin Gestapo prison in Germany. Riedel had been a prisoner there for several weeks with fellow Peenemьnde rocket scientist Wernher Von Braun, and during the war, Riedel had served as the chief of Hitler’s V2 missile-design office. The American soldiers guarding Riedel at the Stettin Gestapo prison roughed him up after Army intelligence agents passed along information stating that in addition to designing the V-2, Dr. Riedel had been working on Hitler’s bacteria bomb. It was in the harsh interrogation that followed that Riedel lost his front teeth.
At the end of the war, Riedel, like Wernher Von Braun, desperately wanted to be hired by the U.S. military so he could work on rocket programs in the United States. Germany no longer had a military, let alone a rocket research program, which meant Riedel was out of a job. The Russians were known to hate the Germans; they treated their pillaged scientists like slave laborers. An offer from the Americans was the best game in town, even if their soldiers had broken your teeth first.
In January of 1947, Dr. Riedel became a Paperclip. His past work in chemical rockets and bacteria bombs was whitewashed in the name of science. The caveat for Riedel’s prosperous new life, as opposed to his possible prosecution at Nuremberg, was that he would comply with what the U.S. military asked of him. But Riedel’s rogue UFO-promoting behavior only a few years later illustrates that in certain situations, the Paperclips had the upper hand. Here was Riedel at the saucer convention, stirring up UFO hysteria. He participated in the Life magazine article and was quoted saying that he was “completely convinced that [UFOs] have an out-of-world basis.” If that did not engender what CIA director Bedell Smith called hysterical thinking, what would? Riedel was not just any old rocket scientist going on the record with America’s most popular magazine. When asked about his profession, he told Life magazine that he was “engaged in secret work for the U.S.”
What is publicly known about Dr. Riedel’s American career is that he had begun at Fort Bliss, in Texas, as part of the V-2 rocket team, but after only a few years he was mysteriously traded by the government to work as an engineer for North American Aviation. There were rumors of “problems” with other Paperclip scientists at White Sands Missile Range. Once Riedel was in the private sector, he had a considerably longer leash, given that the government was not signing his paycheck anymore. Clearly he was valuable to North American Aviation: the company made him director of rocket-engine research. But from the moment he left government service, Riedel was a serious thorn in the CIA’s side. A year after the UFO conference, the CIA was still keeping close tabs on Dr. Riedel. In early 1953, the Agency trailed Riedel to one of his lectures in Los Angeles. There, they were shocked to learn that the Paperclip scientist and his UFO-minded colleagues were “going to execute a planned ‘hoax’ over the Los Angeles area in order to test the reaction and reliability of the public in general to unusual aerial phenomena.” Mention of a planned hoax went up the chain of command at the CIA and set off alarms in its upper echelons. In a secret memo dated February 9, 1953, declassified in 1993, the CIA’s director of the Office of Scientific Intelligence expressed outrage over the company Riedel now kept. But because he was no longer a Paperclip, there was little the CIA could do except follow his moves and those of the men he associated with.
The CIA had also been trailing a colleague of Riedel named George P. Sutton, a fellow North American Aviation rocket scientist and ufologist. When Sutton gave a lecture entitled “Rockets Behind the Iron Curtain,” the CIA was shocked to learn that the flying saucer group seemed to know more about UFO sightings inside the Soviet Union than the entire team of CIA agents who had been tasked with monitoring that same information.
Ever since Bedell Smith had taken office in 1950, he’d expressed frustration over how little information the CIA was able to get on UFO reports inside Russia. Joseph Stalin, it appeared, kept all information about UFOs out of the press. Between 1947 and 1952, CIA analysts monitoring the Soviet press found only one single mention of UFOs, in an editorial column that briefly referred to UFOs in the United States. So how did Riedel’s group know more about Soviet UFO reports than the CIA knew?
Sufficiently concerned, the CIA instructed Riedel’s Paperclip handlers to get him in line. His handler “suggested politely and perhaps indirectly to Dr. Riedel that he disassociate himself from official membership on CSI.” But the obstinate scientist refused to cease and desist. What the consequences were for Riedel remains unclear. Whether or not Riedel and his fellow ufologist pulled off their hoax and how he and his colleagues were able to so freely gather information about Soviet UFOs and Soviet rockets behind the Iron Curtain is secreted away in Riedel’s Project Paperclip file, most of which remains classified, even after more than fifty years.
By 1957, according to the CIA monograph “CIA’s Role in the Study of UFOs,” the U-2s accounted for more than half of all UFO sightings reported in the continental United States. Odarenko had been unsuccessful in his bid to be “relieved” of his UFO responsibilities and instead got to work creating CIA policy regarding UFOs. He sent a secret memo to the director of the Office of Scientific Intelligence outlining how he believed the Agency should handle reports of UFOs:
Keep current files on UFOs: “maintain current knowledge of sightings of unidentified flying objects.”
Deny that the CIA kept current files about UFOs by stating that “the project [was] inactive.”
Divide the explainable UFOs, meaning the U-2 flights, from the inexplicable UFOs: “segregate references to recognizable and explainable phenomena from those which come under the definition of ‘unidentified flying objects.’”
The Agency’s concerted effort to conceal from Congress and the public its interest in UFOs would, in coming decades, open up a Pandora’s box and cause credibility issues for the CIA. “The concealment of CIA interest [in UFOs] contributed greatly to later charges of a CIA conspiracy and cover-up,” wrote Gerald K. Haines, the historian for the National Reconnaissance Office and someone who is often introduced as the CIA’s expert on the matter. But to get the UFO monkey off his back, Allen Dulles began a “psychological warfare” campaign of his own. When letters came in from concerned citizens about the sightings, the CIA’s policy was to ignore them. When letters came in from UFO groups, the CIA’s policy was to monitor the individuals in the group. When letters came in from congressmen or senators, such as the one from Ohio congressman Gordon Scherer in September of 1955, the CIA’s policy was to have Director Dulles write a polite note explaining that UFOs were a law enforcement problem and the CIA was specifically barred from enforcing the law. The notes certainly portray Allen Dulles as an arrogant public servant, but they are prized by UFO collectors, who say they prove the CIA’s sinister coverup of extraterrestrial UFOs. Regardless of alleged CIA policy, the public’s f
ascination with UFOs proved more formidable than the CIA had ever bargained for; average citizens simply could not get enough information about mysterious objects streaking across the skies. And the more information they were given, the more they wanted to know and the more questions they asked. It didn’t take long for the public to become convinced that the CIA was covering something up, which, of course, it was.
Chapter Five: The Need-to-Know
Everything that happens at Area 51, when it is happening, is classified as TS/SCI, or top secret/sensitive compartmented information — an enigmatic security policy with protocols that are also top secret. “TS/SCI classification guides are also classified,” says Cargill Hall, historian emeritus for the National Reconnaissance Office; this government espionage agency is so secret that even its name was classified top secret from the time it was founded, in 1958, to its declassification, in 1992. In 2011, most Americans still don’t know what the NRO is or what it does, or that it is a partner organization routinely involved with Area 51, because that is classified information.
Information classified TS/SCI ensures that outsiders don’t know what they don’t know and insiders know only what they have a need-toknow. Winston Churchill famously said of Russia, “It is a riddle, wrapped in a mystery, inside an enigma.” The same can be said about Area 51. In the lesser-known second part of Churchill’s phrase, he said, “But perhaps there is a key. That key is Russian national interest.” Facing a totalitarian government like the Soviet Union’s, where secrets are easily kept, Area 51 had to mirror Soviet secrecy techniques in order to safeguard the U-2. It was in America’s national interest to do so because human intelligence was failing. “We obtain little significant information from classical covert operations inside Russia,” bemoaned the president’s science advisers in a secret 1954 national security report in which they gunned for “science and technology to improve our intelligence take.”
They got what they wanted at Area 51. By using Soviet-style secrecy protocols for its own operation, and putting these tactics in place out in the Nevada desert, the CIA felt it could give its archenemy a run for its money regarding the element of surprise. Even Air Force transport crews had no idea where they were going when they went to the base. A classified-missions pilot would fly to a set of coordinates over the Mojave Desert and contact a certain UHF frequency called Sage Control. There, a voice at the other end of the radio would deliver increasingly more specific coordinates, ending with a go-ahead to land at a spot nestled inside a circle of mountains where no airstrip was supposed to exist. Only when the aircraft was a few hundred feet off the ground would runway lights flash on.
CIA pilots were kept equally in the dark. Carefully culled from Strategic Air Command bases at Turner Air Force Base, in Georgia, and Bergstrom Air Force Base, in Texas, the men had no idea who they were going to be working for when they signed on. In retrospect it seems easy to recognize the hand of the CIA, but this was not the case in late 1955 when the Agency was just seven years old. “It was like something out of fiction,” Hervey Stockman recalls. “I was given a date and told to be at Room 215 at the Austin Hotel and knock on that door at exactly 3:15. So I went down there at the appointed time and knocked on the door. An extremely good-looking guy in a beautiful tweed opened it and said, ‘Come on in, Hervey…’ That was my first introduction to the Agency.”
Hervey Stockman was one of America’s most accomplished pilots. He was as fearless as he was gentle, a man who fell in love with airplanes the first time he flew one for the Army Air Corps, shortly after leaving the comforts of Princeton University to fight the Nazis in the Second World War. By the time he arrived at Area 51 for training, part of the first group of seven U-2 fliers called Detachment A, he had already flown 168 combat missions in two wars, World War II and Korea.
Area 51 “was the boonies,” Stockman says. “We lived in trailers, three to a trailer as I recall. We couldn’t write or call home from out there at Groom Lake.” When Stockman’s group arrived in January of 1956, there were “probably fifty or so people on the site.” The trailers were in walking distance from the hangars, and “there was a training building, which was also a trailer,” right next door, which was where Stockman spent most of his time. He remembers the mess hall as being one of the only permanent structures besides the hangars on base. “It was just all desert out there,” Stockman remembers. On occasion, wild horses roamed onto the lake bed looking for water or food. “To get to civilization you were pretty dependent on aircraft. There was some road traffic but it was very carefully watched. Security people everywhere.”
The identities of the pilots were equally concealed. “We all had pseudonyms. Mine was Sampson… I hated the name Sampson so I asked, Can I use the name Sterritt? I said, ‘Sterritt fits me better. I’m a little guy and Sterritt is more my speed.’ They said, ‘Feel free. If you want to be Sterritt, you’re Sterritt.’ But for their record keeping I was Sampson. The records are still there… in the basement. And they’re under the name Sampson. The Agency was very smart about all of that.” The pilots were watched during their time off, not so much to see what the men might be up to as to make sure KGB agents were not watching them. Detachment A pilots were given apartments in Hollywood, California, where they officially lived. During weekends they socialized at the Brown Derby Restaurant. “It was a gathering spot and the security people could keep an eye on us there,” Stockman explains. Come Monday morning, when it was time to return to Area 51, the Derby was the rendezvous spot because “it was one of the few places that was always open at five a.m.” The majority of the Derby clientele had been up all night; the six very physically fit, clear-eyed pilots with their Air Force haircuts, accompanied by two CIA handlers in sport jackets and bow ties, must have been a sight to behold. From there, the group drove the Cahuenga Pass through the Hollywood Hills to the Burbank airport, where they boarded a Lockheed airplane headed for the secret base. “At the time, we did not know of Lockheed’s involvement in the program,” Stockman explains. “Even that was concealed from us. We were called ‘drivers.’ There were a lot of reasons for it. At the time, I don’t think any of us really understood why, but that’s essentially what we were. We were just, by God, drivers. We were not glory boys.” The drivers did not have a need-to-know about anything except how to fly the airplane. Stockman once asked his superiors what the policy would be if he were shot down and captured. “Effectively, we were told that if we were captured and we were pressed by our captors, we could tell them anything and everything. Because of our lowly position as ‘drivers’ we didn’t know very much.” He said that during training even the name “Groom Lake was not part of our lexicon.”
Across the world, the Russians were busy working on their own form of espionage. If Area 51 had a Communist doppelgдnger, it was a remote top secret facility forty miles northeast of Moscow called NII-88. There, a rocket scientist named Sergei Korolev — the Soviet Union’s own Wernher Von Braun — was working on a project that would soon shame American military science and propel the arms and space race into a sprint. Fearing the CIA would assassinate Russia’s key rocket scientist, Stalin declared Sergei Korolev’s name a state secret, which it remained until his death, in 1966. Sergei Korolev was only referred to as Chief Designer, not unlike the way Richard Bissell was known to employees outside the CIA only as Mr. B. Just as insiders called Area 51 the Ranch, NII-88 was known to its scientists as the Bureau. Like Area 51, NII-88 did not exist on the map. Before the Communist Revolution, NII-88 had been a small village called Podlipki, same as the Groom Lake area had once been a little mining enclave called Groom Mine. Both facilities began as outcroppings of tents and warehouses, accessible only to a short list of government elite. Both facilities would develop into multimillion-dollar establishments where multibillion-dollar espionage platforms would be built and tested, each having the singular purpose of outperforming what was being built on the other side.
In 1956, all the CIA knew of NII-88 was that it was the pl
ace where Russia kept dozens of its captured German scientists toiling away on secret science projects. These men were Russia’s version of America’s Paperclip scientists, and they included the four hundred German rocket scientists who’d been plied with alcohol and then seized in the middle of the night — just as former Messerschmitt pilot Fritz Wendel had said.
The CIA first learned about NII-88’s existence in late 1955, when the Soviets decided they had milked their former Third Reich scientists for all they were worth and began sending them back home. When the CIA learned of Russia’s repatriation program, the Agency leaped at the intelligence opportunity and initiated a program called Operation Dragon Return. CIA officers were dispatched to Germany to hunt down the scientists who had been working in Russia, and the information gleaned from the returnees was considerable. It included technical data on Russian advances in radio technology, electronics, and armaments design. But to the CIA’s great frustration, when it came to NII-88, the repatriated German scientists claimed to have no clear idea about what was really going on there. It seemed that NII-88, like Area 51, worked with strict need-to-know protocols, and the German scientists hadn’t been cleared with a need-to-know. All the Germans could tell the CIA agents debriefing them was that Moscow’s top scientists and engineers were developing something there that was highly classified. Unlike in America, where German rocket scientists were put in charge of America’s most classified missile program at White Sands Missile Range, German scientists in Russia had been relegated to the second tier. With no hard facts about the extraordinary technological enterprise that was under way at NII-88, the CIA was left guessing. The speculation was that the Russians were developing intercontinental ballistic missiles, or ICBMs, that could reach the United States by traveling over the top of the world.
Area 51: An Uncensored History of America's Top Secret Military Base Page 9