lbert and Alfred… Before and after… Lost and found… Found but still missing … still haunted by something and still walking in a dream.
I pulled the photos of Albert and Alfred from their old-fashioned paper envelope, slightly tattered and crumbling–the kind The Times used before the library switched to manila folders.
Albert is just another middle-aged man in a coat and tie. He’s losing his hair and has a thin mustache, with a pleasant half-smile that looks like he was being coached by some portrait photographer. Albert Clark Reed, 45, looks like any other husband and father from the 1950s. His wife called him a “cool, levelheaded scientist and test pilot.”
He graduated from Caltech in 1929 and returned for more studies in 1932. During World War II, he was a flier and worked on classified military projects, The Times says.
After the war, he and his wife, Florence, lived in Seattle, where he tested and designed aircraft for Boeing. The Times says he was a consultant and test pilot on the Stratocruiser, a problematic aircraft with a troubling record, like the Romance of the Skies, which crashed at sea in November 1957. Albert and Florence moved from Seattle to Pasadena in 1944 and bought a home near the Rose Bowl at 475 Bellmore Way. A few years later, they had a son, Timothy James. There were some arguments, but apparently nothing serious. And maybe some money problems.“He loved to bet the horses,” Florence said after he disappeared. “Bet them heavily. Even owned two horses once. I don’t know. He may have been having financial troubles. He never mentioned finances to me. I know he made a good deal of money. As much as $3,000 ($23,706.89 USD 2007) or more a month. But he never discussed such things with me.” On Monday, July 7, 1952, Albert got in his 1941 sedan with his briefcase and bag of clothing and headed for Caltech. He was preparing to meet with military officials in Washington about some classified matter; it’s not clear what it was. He had recently finished work on Project Vista, a controversial program stemming from the Korean War that also evaluated how existing technology–including nuclear weapons on the battlefield–could be used by NATO countries to repel an attack by superior forces of the Soviet Union. (More about Project Vista here). But he never arrived on campus. The years passed. Years of waiting and wondering and investigation by police and the FBI. Years of crackpot calls and false hopes. Until the day she died in 1955, Florence never gave up hope that Albert would return. “I want Al to know that if it’s a matter of pride, if he’s ashamed to come back, if … well, no matter what he’s done, I want him to know we want him back. No matter what he’s done.” Florence couldn’t keep up the house payments and without proof that Albert was dead, she couldn’t claim any money on his large insurance policies, so she let them lapse. She and Timmy moved to South Pasadena and she got a job selling welding rods and did public relations for a manufacturer until she had a nervous breakdown. The disappearance was especially hard on their son, who had a heart ailment, The Times said. When his mother died, Timmy went to live with relatives back East and took their family name. Police turned up a few leads: Albert sold his 1941 sedan to a Pasadena car dealer for $100. He sent Florence his driver’s license and a handwritten will in an envelope postmarked San Bernardino leaving all his possessions to her with instructions that Timmy was to get everything in the event of her death. The day after he vanished, a woman called Florence and said, “Your husband is being held for information” and added “the plans are in the den.” In 1955, an acquaintance ran into Albert in San Gabriel and they had a few drinks. Albert said he was going to go home and clear up his family affairs. But he never did.
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“Time and time again, he closed his eyes for long seconds after a question, his facial muscles working, his tired mind focusing futilely on blurred pictures,” The Times said. 
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