727-200 started transportation war

The day was windy. Cold, gray clouds streaked across the sky. As the assistant manager of a pizza shop, I was the designee who delivered our "u-bake" version to a select group of taverns in the South Seattle area. I had five pizzas left when the police stopped me.

No, I wasn't speeding, although I DID want to end my rounds, deliver the goods, and hurry home. It was the day before Thanksgiving 1972 and it was raining. But the officer flagged me down and told me Seattle-Tacoma Airport's perimeter road was closed.

Take off in a 727 showing the pioneering swept-back wing attitude (but unfortunately not its impressive and innovative tail mounted stabilizers (tail wings).

I explained that I had five pizzas left to deliver and their intended owner was on the other side of his roadblock. I could see the tavern's roof. I could also see a single Boeing 727-200 clear across the runway against the remote western fence.

He finally shrugged his shoulders and waved me through with a look that said "Crazy kid. If you get yourself killed, it's not my fault." I dropped off the pizzas, raced back out of the airport, and settled at home with a warm sandwich and the TV—which was interrupted by a news flash.

An armed man, calling himself Dan Cooper, had hijacked a 727, had it flown to Sea-Tac, and demanded $200,000 in $20 dollar bills. He also demanded two parachutes.

The video pictures were … were of that same lone aircraft—where I'd only been a quarter-of-a-mile away an hour earlier. The same 727-200!

A 727 waits at its terminal jetway.

The skyjacker flew into history as D.B. Cooper, the only successful hijacker in United States history. Where he went that stormy night, when he left the aircraft through the famous rear hatch with his two parachutes and attaché case, is still being debated.

The 727 tri-jet, of course, flew into history as the most innovative passenger jetliner ever built. With the rear hatch (which the FAA ordered sealed during flights from that day forward), two fuselage mounted rear engines and a third engine which actually penetrated the tail of the plane, and its distinctive horizontal stabilizers mounted at the top of the rudder, it was a real eye-catcher.

Ultimately, though, its limited, 120- to 180-person capacity was a drawback when larger "jumbo" jets became standard. The 727 fleet, the 200s, 300s, 400s, stretch-bodies, and others, passed out of commercial service with the major air carriers.

Too bad, too. The 727 was gorgeous, as it took off delicately. The high tail and rear engines gave the wings a racy gracefulness no other aircraft has ever matched.

And it is the aircraft that really started the air transportation "war." The 727 had such short take-off and landing requirements that it could be used on almost any airfield, even places like Farmington, New Mex., which a year earlier only small 18- to 30-passenger propeller driven craft could access. While the big jets still required mile-long runways, the 727 was capable (in qualified piloting hands) of 2,000-foot runways.

This opened up 120-seat-per-plane commercial jet transport to communities which had previously been relegated to secondary air status or none at all—like Ketchikan and Juneau, Alaska. As the 727 could also land on fields that weren't quite paved tarmac standards, it was eagerly embraced by the likes of Frontier Airlines and other small carriers to serve towns all over the country the size of Farmington, Provo, Utah, and Cortez and Durango, Colo. It effectively killed the short-haul intercity passenger train—nailed shut the passenger railroad coffin from which Amtrak is merely a ghost.

Three years later, Boeing showcased the shorter 737, which was specifically targeted toward those smaller airlines and communities which pioneered the 727. This market is still growing and it made the 737 the biggest money maker in Boeing history. They also slammed a coffin lid on the 727 itself, starting its slide toward extinction—a bit of unfortunate irony.