How I got an FBI record
at age 11 from dabbling in cryptography then got into more trouble
Les Earnest <les at cs.stanford.edu>
Growing up in
At some point the Jack Armstrong program invited listeners
to mail in a Wheaties box top to get a decoder ring that
could be used to decipher secret messages that would be given near the end of
certain broadcasts. I sent
for it as did Bobby Bond, my best friend through most of grammar school. Bobby was particularly intrigued with
cryptography and in 1942 he bought a new book called Secret and Urgent. Note that this was early in World War
II. We both read it and learned how to use letter
frequencies to break ciphers, then went on to more advance topics.
Fletcher Pratt, Secret and
Urgent, Blue Ribbon Books; Garden City, NY; 1942
Bobby and I decided that we needed to have a secure way to
communicate with each other, so we put together a rather elaborate jargon code
based on the principles described in the book. I don't remember exactly why we
thought we needed it. We spent nearly
every afternoon together so there was ample time to talk privately. Still, you never could tell when you
might need to send a secret message!
We typed up the code key on single sheet of paper
with a carbon copy and each carried one at all times. I had recently been given eyeglasses
but didn't like to wear them, so I kept them in a hard case in the pocket of my
trousers. I figured that
this was a good place to keep my copy of the code key, so I carefully folded it
to one-eighth of its original size and stuck it at the bottom of the case,
under my glasses.
Every chance I got, I went body surfing at
After a few weeks of waiting in vain for the glasses
to turn up, we began to lose hope. My
mother didn't rush to replace them in view of the fact that I hadn't worn them
much and they cost about $8, a large sum at that time. (To me, $8 represented
40 round trips to the beach by streetcar, or 80 admission fees to the movies.)
Unknown to us, the case had been found by a patriotic
citizen who opened it, discovered the code key, recognized that it must belong
to a Japanese spy and turned it over to the FBI. This was just after local citizens of
Japanese descent had been rounded up and taken away to concentration camps,
though I was not aware of that at the time. I remember hearing that a local grocer
was secretly a Colonel in the Japanese Army and had hidden his uniform in the
back of his store. A lot of people actually believed such things.
About ten weeks later, my mother told me that she
received a mysterious telephone call at work–at that time she was Vice
Principal at Roosevelt Junior High. The
caller, who identified himself as an FBI agent, said, “I want an appointment
with you at once.” She
said, “Come right over to my office.” “No,
we must see you in your home,” was the reply. She went home and waited for a
substantial period. I happened
to be off on another escapade, so I wasn't aware of all this.
Eventually a black limousine pulled up in front of
the house. Two men sat in it reading notes then eventually came up the steps. As my
mother let them in the living room, each rolled back his coat lapel to flash
identification and said something like, “I'm Joe Blow of the FBI.” One of them then threw my glasses on
the coffee table and said, “Have you seen these before?” My mother replied, “They look like my
son's glasses, which he lost awhile ago.” “They are your son's alright,” said
one of them.
They wanted to know why there was a code sheet in the
case with the glasses. My
mother said we had been studying cryptography and that this was no doubt
something that we had put together for fun. At first they refused to believe
her, arguing that the code sheet could not have been compiled by kids, but
after awhile, one of the two began to be a bit friendlier.
My mother told the investigators how glad she was to get
the glasses back, considering that they cost $8. The sourpuss did a slow burn,
then said “Lady, this case has cost the government thousands of dollars. It has
been the top priority in our office for the last eight weeks. We traced the
glasses to your son from the prescription by examining the files of all
optometrists in the
The friendlier one eventually described how much it
had cost to investigate another recent case where a person was reported to have
pulled down an American flag and stepped on it. Only after the investigation was well
under way did they learn that the perpetrator of this nefarious act was only
four years old.
The tough agent apparently remained convinced to the
end that I really was a Japanese spy. He
insisted on keeping code sheet “for our records.” He apparently wanted to be in a
position to decode any of our secret communications if they should find any.
Since our coding scheme had been compromised, Bobby
and I devised a new key. I
started carrying it in my wallet, which I felt was more secure. I don't remember ever exchanging any
coded messages but I was always ready. I
didn’t expect anything more to come of our misadventure but we managed to get
into more trouble.
Postscript: Bobby
and I got into more trouble
Bobby’s dad was a
medical doctor and at some point Bobby discovered a stack of preprinted forms
for recording information about pregnant women. As an expression of wishful
thinking we filled one out in the name of a cute 12-year-old girl who lived
across the street from me and who everyone called “
After we left the form by her front door her parents somehow
figured out who had done that and, when Bobby’s and my parents learned of this
stunt they decreed that we would no longer play together. We followed that guidance for over 40 years.
A few years later, when I was in college, I ran into Alabama
on a warm summer day at Old Mission Beach where I was body surfing. Not
surprisingly she was sexier than ever, wearing a bikini bottom but Instead of a
bra she had a scarf tied around her top. When I learned that she had come there
by public transit I offered her a ride home even though she no longer lived in
my neighborhood, which she accepted. We had a friendly chat at the beach and on
the way to her home but I didn’t follow up by seeking a date, figuring that her
parents likely still had a negative view of me.
A slap on the wrist
Around the same time, I got
a summer job at the Naval Electronics Lab in
At some point they decided
that I should have a security clearance and one of the questions on the single
page application form was “Have you ever been investigated by the FBI?”
Naturally, I checked “Yes.” The next question was, “If so, describe the
circumstances.” There was very little space on the form, so I answered simply
and honestly, “I was suspected of being a Japanese spy.” When I handed the form
in to the security officer, he scanned it quickly, looked me over slowly, then
said, “Explain this”--pointing at the FBI question. I described what had
happened.
He then got very agitated,
picked up my form, tore it in pieces, and threw it in the waste basket, then
handed me a blank form, saying “Here, fill it out again and don't mention that.
If you do, I'll make sure that you never get a security clearance.”
I did as he directed, thus
lying, and was shortly granted the clearance. I never again disclosed that
incident on security clearance forms. However about twelve years later I
learned by chance that putting slightly provocative information on a security
clearance form can greatly speed up the clearance process. See my journal
article, “Can
computers cope with human races?”
Epilogue: Bobby and I start
a new conspiracy
In the early
1970s I was drawn into bicycle racing by my two sons and, after racing a bit, took
up officiating, then became editor of the U.S. Cycling Federation Rulebook and
began systematically proposing amendments to the racing rules. Most of my
proposed rule changes were accepted without controversy but my proposal in the
early 1980s to require that strong helmets be used while racing ran into a
brick wall because it constituted a strong break with tradition. I had based
that proposal on my observation that nearly all serious injuries or deaths
incurred in races were the direct result of head injuries.
While looking around for support I came across an article in
a national cycling magazine advocating the same thing, which was written by a
Dr. Robert Bond. I recalled
hearing that my former friend had gone off to Stanford and had become an M.D.,
so I wondered if he might be the author. It turned out that he was, so we
joined forces and the next time I visited
We both continued to advocate
adopting strong helmet requirements but my own bicycle club opposed me and
booted me off their board of directors, then campaigned against my reelection
to the national board of directors with the result that I lost my seat there
for two years. As I departed I wrote a
report refuting all known arguments against the strong helmet rule. By chance
another cyclist died as a result of wearing an inadequate helmet at a velodrome
near where the board held their next meeting. They finally saw the light and
adopted a strong helmet rule.
Two
years later I regained my seat on the board as the riders finally figured out
that the strong helmet rule was a good thing. It then started spreading around
the world and has since become standard in racing organizations almost
everywhere, saving hundreds of lives and preventing thousands of serious head
injuries. I’m proud of that.
Recreational
cyclists often follow the lead of racers in their selection of equipment and
attire. In the
For
more on the prolonged helmet fight in the