The Autobiography of FBI Special Agent Dale Cooper

by Mark Frost

  The

  Autobiography

  - of -

  F.B.I.

  Special

  Agent

  Dale

  Cooper

  My Life, My Tapes

  As heard by Scott Frost

  Based upon characters created by

  David Lynch and Mark Frost

  for the Television series, 'Twin Peaks'

  * * *

  Part 1

  Chapter 1

  "I think it was Christmas 1967 when Dale got his first tape recorder. We were both thirteen. My dad had given me one of those model gas engine planes that fly around on control lines. I was standing out in the middle of the street, turning around in circles, attempting my first loop, when Dale came marching out of his house wearing his Cub Scout backpack with this big tape recorder stuffed inside and holding a microphone. It was one of those reel-to-reel jobs, and he was dragging along this bright yellow extension cord plugged into the house. He walked right over to me and asked, given my experience in aviation, if I thought we were going to put men on the moon within the next year. Right then the plane's engine failed and it smacked into a snow emergency sign. Dale got it all on tape."

  Lewis Nordine

  Childhood friend

  USAF, Ret.

  December 25, 1967

  Testing, testing.

  This is me, Dale Cooper, age thirteen, currently residing at 1127 Hillcrest Avenue, Philadelphia, Pennsylvania. It is a green house with yellow aluminum awnings that Dad bought from Sears to keep the fabric on the couch from fading. I am at present five feet three inches tall, have dark hair, can high jump four feet six inches. Expect at any moment I will begin a growth spurt that will take me to my ideal height of six feet. I have no sisters and one older brother named Emmet who is in college. My room is ten by twelve feet with two windows. I have a desk, bed, clothes chest, and a hook rug my mom made with a picture of a deer. Only people who know the password can come in my room. The word changes every week. This week it is Dark Passage. Above my bed on the wall is my most important personal item, a poster of Jimmy Stewart in the movie The FBI Story which only I can touch. I am talking into a Norelco B2000 reel-to-reel tape-playing recorder that I received as a Christmas present. I gave Dad a bottle of Old Spice and a pair of Totes, and Mom a nonstick spatula set.

  I am in the eighth grade at Germantown Friends School which is run by the Quakers. Dad says that we are not Quakers, but that if we were to be a religion, he would consider them right up there with the Unitarians because of what they do with their minds. Dad is what he calls a free thinker. Last night he had us walk around the spruce tree in the front yard while holding candles because he thinks the churches have stolen Christmas. Mom calls him lazy with God because he had a bad experience in church when he was a boy. He is the owner of Cooper's Offset Printing on Germantown Road. There is a picture of Benjamin Franklin, who is one of Dad's heroes, above the door of the printing shop. When they gave me the tape recorder last night, Dad put the microphone in my hand and looked at me very seriously and said that this was the future and that he and everything he represents was a dinosaur. I asked Mom what he meant and she said it was the eggnog. Dad then read a page from The Grapes of Wrath and Christmas was over.

  The machine is getting hot now. I think I will stop.

  December 25, 2 P.M.

  Dad has just plugged me into the wall socket next to the aquarium with the extension cord from the basement and I am now making my first trip out of the house with the recorder strapped into my scout pack. Mom is now opening the door, I'm stepping through, and am now on the porch. . . . You may now close the door! . . . The door is closed, I am on my own. just me, the recorder, and the extension cord, which I will call the tether of life. One step too far and I will lose all power.

  Looking around from this position, I can see almost the entire street. The Nordines' house, the Schlurmans'. I'm moving off the porch now. In the street Lewis Nordine is flying a model airplane on a set of control lines. Unknown to him, his big brother Jim appears to be shooting at the plane with a BB gun from their attic window. I'm going to try and reach Lewis and warn him of his brother, though I must try not to attract too much attention. I've tangled with Lewis's brother before and . . . uh-oh, I believe he's seen the tether of life. I'm going to try to make it back to the porch. I believe the sound I just heard was Lewis's plane hitting the street sign. A BB just hit our mailbox, I'm almost to the porch . . . Dad!

  December 25, 9 P.M.

  Believe the extension cord has some severe limitations. One, I cannot travel more than seventy-five feet from the house, which will limit my investigations. Two, it draws attention to itself in a way that can be dangerous. I think a battery pack of some kind is the solution, and tomorrow will visit Simms' Hardware to find the answer. Dad said that words are tools, and that tools should be taken care of or else you won't drive a straight nail. Dad says a lot of things I don't understand.

  This is the end of Christmas Day. My presents this year were the following: underwear, socks, corduroy pants, insect field guide, five dollars from my grandmother, and a Norelco B2000 tape recorder, which is not a toy. Signing off, this is Dale Cooper.

  December 26, 3 P.M.

  Have just returned from Simms' Hardware with set of batteries. According to Mr. Simms, who is a ham radio operator and talks to Germany at night because he was there during the war and lost a foot, each battery will last three hours. I bought three with the money my grandmother sent, which she thinks I am putting aside for college.

  On my return from Simms', I made the following discoveries: Lewis's father discovered BB holes in the wings of the wrecked plane and grounded Lewis's brother. Bradley Schlurman received a new bike, a gold Stingray with a ribbed banana seat and a knobby rear tire. And his sister got new shoes that were supposed to make her a better dancer.

  December 26, 10 P.M.

  Have been thinking very hard all night that I must have a plan for my life now that I have the tape recorder. I can't think of one though.

  December 27, 3 A.M.

  Mom just left my room because I had an asthma attack. When I can't breathe I sometimes just he there and think that I'm dead and float away as she is rubbing my chest with VapoRub. I might not be able to go outside tomorrow if it's cold because of my lungs.

  Mom told me another one of her dreams that she has been having. She said that she was alone on a field when thousands of birds filled the sky, blocking out all of the light. That's when she always wakes up. Mom says we can see things in our dreams that we can't see when we're awake. I asked her what she thought the dream meant but she just smiled and said it was nothing . . . I'm glad I have the recorder and someone I can always talk to.

  I have never seen a dead person. I think I would like to, but not right now because I want to close my eyes and not think about being dead.

  January 1, 1968, 10 A.M.

  Bradley Schlurman's Stingray was stolen by members of the 24th Street gang yesterday. Two clues point to them. One, Bradley saw them as they knocked him off his bike. Two they said this bike now belongs to the 24th Street gang. The police have been called but so far they have come up empty. I have decided to take the case myself with the aid of my tape recorder. If I can follow them and get one of them on tape talking about the bike, I believe I will crack the case. I have not told Bradley this because he has locked himself in his room and will not come out.

  January 1, 1 P.M.

  Have started my stakeout. Two suspects are in view at this moment. Both are white, and very big. One is riding a ten-speed, which no doubt is also stolen. The other is on foot. I
am going to try to follow them at a close enough distance to capture their confessions on tape. If necessary, I will attempt to trick them into talking about the bike by telling them I would like to join the gang. I have disguised the tape recorder by sticking it in my pack and covering it with potatoes. The microphone will be hidden inside a glove sticking out of my pocket. I'm moving in.

  * * *

  Three minutes of tape is unintelligible.

  * * *

  January 3, 8 P.M.

  The 24th Street gang stole my tape recorder. My plan was working just as I had hoped. I followed the suspect for a block but was unable to get a confession on tape. I then attempted to fool the gangsters into believing that I would like to join the gang. It was at that point that they noticed the potatoes in my pack and began taking them. When they saw my tape recorder, they grabbed that and threw the potatoes at me as I ran for cover. For two days it was in the hands of the gang. And today was recovered by police when they arrested them for stealing a car outside the Band Box Theater. I have decided that if I am going to ever fight crime again, I must be better prepared. The recorder is undamaged. Dad has checked it and says that it is A-okay. He also said that he was very proud of me fighting against the gang, but that I should use better disguises than potatoes. I also discovered that you cannot record through a glove. There is still no sign of Bradley's bike.

  January 10, 7 P.M.

  Have decided today to write a letter to Efrem Zimbalist about my future. Hope he will have some good suggestions. This is what I have written:

  Dear Mr. Zimbalist,

  Like your show very much, also like "Hawaii Five-O" and "The Wild, Wild West." Because I sunburn very easily, I don't think being a policeman in Hawaii would be a very good idea for me. I would like to be a secret service agent if I could have my own train, but don't believe that is standard operating procedure anymore. I think the FBI is the place to be. What suggestions do you have for someone considering this as a career? Thank you for your time.

  Dale Cooper

  I am also thinking about writing Mr. Hoover, but think he must be very busy so I don't want to bother him unless I have to.

  January 12, 7 A.M.

  Noticed this morning that my pee smells like the asparagus we had for dinner. Wonder why this does not happen when I eat a hamburger. Also this morning Mom was very quiet around the breakfast table. I think she had another dream about the birds in the sky. This dream seems to frighten her and I do not know why.

  January 12, 1 P.M.

  At school in the library. The headmaster told everyone this morning that a man has come to the school and is in the meeting house seeking sanctuary from the draft. I came to the library and looked up the word and this is what it says: sanctuary, "a place of refuge and protection, immunity from the law." I saw the man. He is white, about twenty years old, and thin. He seems scared and held his arms close to his sides. During our daily meeting the older kids sat around him as if they were protecting him. No one said a word, but one of the older girls held his hand for almost the entire time. The headmaster then stood up and said thank-you and everyone walked out except the young man, who cannot go outside. I think things will go very badly for him. He is breaking the law, which is always supposed to be right. I do not understand.

  January 14, 7:30 P.M.

  Was preparing to continue my surveillance of the 24th Street gang when I noticed strange activity next door in the Schlurman house. Bradley's older sister, Marie, who is fourteen, was standing in front of the window in her bedroom wearing her mother's red wig and dancing in a very strange way. Her arms and wrists didn't seem connected, and her legs moved very slowly, like an ice skater on "Wide World of Sports." This all makes me feel very strange and I do not know why. I have never liked ice skating. I also have the feeling that she knew I was watching. Every once in a while she looked out the window in my direction, grabbed her knees, and smiled. A very frightening experience.

  January 14, 8:15 P.M.

  Have followed the 24th Street gang to an alley next to Fairmount Park, where they have set a trash can on fire and are dancing around it, banging baseball bats and sticks together. Wonder if this dance is at all connected to the one Marie was doing earlier. The dance seems the same but something must be different because my hands aren't sweaty. Maybe Marie is a secret member of gang. That could explain the bicycle.

  January 20, 4 P.M.

  Have completed my after-school study of asparagus and its effect on pee. The results are as follows:

  Broccoli - no smell.

  Potatoes - no smell, except for the ones made at Duva's Café that they put the chili on.

  Meat - no smell.

  Fish - some smell, if they were in the shape of sticks.

  Chicken - no smell.

  Conclusion: There is a something in asparagus when cooked by my mother that is like no other food.

  January 24, 5 P.M.

  The FBI came today and arrested the man in the meeting hall who was hiding from the draft. There were two agents, one in a gray suit and one in a blue suit. They talked to the headmaster for several minutes, then did their duty as special agents. The draft dodger did get kissed by almost every girl in the senior class as they took him away, so it was not all bad for him.

  Have decided that Marie is not a member of the gang. Today during meeting I noticed she looked at me several times. Her knees are not the knees of a gangster.

  January 30, 9:30 P.M.

  School library. Testosterone, "a male hormone that is produced by the testes or male secondary sex characters, and is a crystalline hydroxysteroid ketone." This seems to be a very inadequate explanation for what happened to me last night in my room. I was watching Marie dancing in her room next door. When she took off her shirt, exposing her bra, I began to experience things in my groin area. This was interesting. I believe I will have to spend a great deal of time investigating this in the future.

  Tomorrow I am taking the pledge to become a full Tenderfoot Scout. I wonder if any of this disqualifies me.

  January 31, 8 P.M.

  At exactly 7:05 P.M. today I became a member of the Boy Scouts of America and immediately began my studies for my first merit badge. I expect with hard work I can attain the level of Eagle Scout in two years, far ahead of the average time required for most Scouts.

  February 8, 9:05 P.M.

  Marie's mother brought home her new brother from the hospital today. Her father had all the kids on the block line up outside the house to get a look at the new neighbor. As I moved up in line, Marie whispered to me to follow her up to her room past the picture of Old Faithful in the hallway. I had not been in a girl's room before, and did not stay long when Marie asked if I knew about breastfeeding. I do not understand why Marie seems interested in me except that she is bigger and stronger and can probably beat me in a wrestling match so is not afraid of me.

  February 16, 5:10 P.M.

  Tom Johnson's big brother, Will, got killed in Vietnam yesterday. When the men from the army came to their house to tell them, you could hear Tom's mother screaming all the way down the block. A doctor had to come and give her a shot so she would calm down. Tom ran out of the house down to Fairmount Park. I found him sitting by the oak tree where we used to play capture the flag. One of his hands was all bloody where he hit it with a rock a couple of times because he said he was mad at his brother. Then he started crying and ran off, swinging a stick at bushes and trees like we used to do when we were killing Japs. I could still hear the stick hitting things long after Tom was out of sight. Maybe I'll talk about it in meeting at school tomorrow, maybe I won't.

  February 24, 2:30 P.M.

  Efrem Zimbalist sent an autographed picture from Hollywood. It says "To Dale, Good luck." It is now on my wall next to the poster of The FBI Story. Kids lined up all the way out to the street to see it. I was charging a dime a person and was doing pretty good until Dad said that Mr. Zimbalist would be very disappointed to know that I was making money off his pictu
re.

  February 25, 1 P.M.

  Tom's brother was buried this morning. Two soldiers in white gloves carefully folded the flag into a tight triangle and gave it to his mother. There was also an honor guard there with rifles who fired shots into the air after they gave her the flag. A girl who I think was Tom's brother's girlfriend started screaming and smacked one of the soldiers in the face, knocking his hat off. The soldier didn't move. He just reached down and picked up his hat and put it back on. Tom said he asked his dad if he could see his brother, but the army had sealed the coffin so no one could open it because of what happened to him. Two days ago Tom got a letter from him that his brother mailed before he was killed. Inside the envelope was a leaf of some jungle plant he had found that had hundreds of veins laid out so it looked like a map. It was still green.