Balloon Boy and Jetpack Guy Take to the Skies! Wacky History of Flight #4.

EPISODE 6: Balloon Boy and Jetpack Guy Take to the Skies! Wacky History of Flight #4.

Well, we finally made it! This is the final episode of our look at the lesser known facets of the history of flight. I thought this would be a short task, but each week's research unearthed more and more fascinating stories and interesting characters to the point where my shownotes for all four episodes put together check in at almost 25,000 words - enough for a short book. Maybe one day!

Next week we launch into an entirely new series of episodes, which I hope should be fascinating too, as we learn about the immensely dangerous demon core that killed two fantastic physicists, as well as the pioneering toxicologist killed by a single drop of lethal poison that bled through her safety suit, and the still living particle physicist who was literally blasted in the face by a particle accelerator. But today's episode is much lighter than that - both literally and figuratively. But before we get to that, let me do the typical podcast host drivel for a moment. SHARE THE SHOW.

One example of those different times happened much more recently, and also involved a balloon and a backyard launch. "Live From Fort Collins: A Silver Saucer, a Missing Kid, and the Media's Longest Two Hours"

October 15, 2009. Fort Collins, Colorado. A homemade, helium-filled craft shaped like a silver flying saucer, equal parts science project and shiny backyard UFO, just like Larry's contraption, slips its leash and rises into the bright mountain air. Two parents, Richard and Mayumi Heene, ostensibly panic with fear their six-year-old son Falcon is inside that backyard UFO. Newsrooms do the fastest pivot known to man: from morning show banter to rolling Breaking News. National Guard helicopters scramble. Commercial planes adjust. America stares at live video of a silver dot drifting for miles and miles and wonders: Is there a child in that thing?

By late afternoon, the balloon lands near Denver International Airport. Rescuers rush in, pry, peer—and find nothing. No child. Cue a wider-than-Colorado search. There are actually alarming and terrifying reports that someone saw "something" fall, and then, finally, the twist: The boy, named Falcon - you can't make this stuff up! - is alive, uninjured, and at home, discovered in a box tucked up in the rafters above the family's garage. I remember this story, and if you do too, If you felt whiplash watching it live, imagine being the sheriff. Or the pilots chasing the balloon.

What happened? Let's rewind a few years, all the way back to 1997, where Richard and Mayumi Heene met at an acting school in Los Angeles and married. If you're a detective, you just got a big fat clue. These two people met at ACTING SCHOOL. Unlike Agatha Christie, I just spelled it out for you.

They tried acting and stand-up comedy, produced demo reels for actors, and Richard worked as a handyman and storm chaser. Accounts describe him as a "shameless self-promoter who would do almost anything to advance his latest endeavor." He chased tornadoes (once on a motorcycle) literally and said he flew a small plane around the perimeter of Hurricane Wilma in 2005. The Heenes took their kids along storm-chasing and UFO-hunting; they also appeared on a tv show called Wife Swap twice—once as a fan-favorite return for the show's 100th episode. Reality-TV pitches (including The PSIence Detectives) were floated before 2009; network interest, not so much. By the way, I'm happy to report that Wife-Swap - a show I've never watched - has been off the air for five years, which I think is a good thing for the collective nation's psyche.

Enter the saucer. Richard - Mr. Heene, the dad, called the contraption an early prototype of a vehicle people could "pull out of their garage and hover above traffic." He also claimed that with "the high voltage timer" on, the balloon would "emit one million volts every five minutes for one minute" to move left and right—statements that set off approximately one million eyebrow lifts among engineers, and probably more groans and laughs than that. The craft was about 20 feet in diameter and 5 feet high, built from plastic tarps taped together and covered with aluminum foil, tied up with string and duct tape. The gondola area was a thin plywood/cardboard box, also lashed by string and duct tape. At full inflation, the balloon held a little over 1,000 cubic feet of helium, with lift estimates ranging—under ideal conditions—from roughly 65 pounds at sea level to 48 pounds at 8,000 feet, so this podcaster ain't flying around in that thing. Fort Collins sits around 5,000 feet; authorities later measured the balloon and concluded it couldn't lift a 6-year-old of Falcon's size. More on that in a bit.

What we know from the calls and reports: the family contacted authorities; there were media calls; a 911 call at 11:29 a.m. in which Richard referenced the balloon "emits a million volts on the outer skin." That sounds like a lot, but A. it probably didn't, and B. The power or danger of a million volts depends on the amperage (current) and energy available from the source, as voltage alone does not determine the overall power of an electrical source or shock. As an example, a tiny, non-harmful static discharge can have high voltage, but not be dangerous. The balloon drifted roughly 60 miles through Colorado, passing through multiple counties. Planes were rerouted around the flight path. One report that Denver International Airport shut down briefly was later determined to be incorrect, though some sources indicate at least a short closure, or consideration of same. Even with a story less than 20 years old, it can be difficult separating myth from fact.

The next day after the incident, a home video of the 'launch' surfaces: It shows Dad Richard inspecting the base, a family countdown—"three, two, one"—then the release. The craft rises; panic erupts. In the recording you can hear Richard shout amid a flurry of language not commonly used in Sunday School: "You didn't put the blank tether down!" Notably, no one on the video says Falcon is in the balloon in that moment; accounts differ on what the family believed as it floated away.

Two hours after launch, or t-minus two hours in NASA parlance, around 1:35 p.m., the balloon "saucer" lands near Keenesburg, about 12 miles northeast of the Denver airport. Upon examination, the capsule is empty. A deputy had reported seeing something fall earlier near Platteville; and indeed, some photographs appeared to show a small black dot beneath the balloon at one point; so panicked searchers fan out. Then, just past 4 p.m., the sheriff's briefing gets interrupted with the words everyone wanted to hear: Falcon is safe, found at home, reportedly in a cardboard box in the garage rafters. On camera with CBS4 Denver, Falcon says, "I was hiding because my dad yelled at me." Asked why he got yelled at, he replies: "I was playing in the flying saucer." What a mess!

The recovery operation's price tag is as follows: search and rescue costs estimated at more than $40,000—about $14,500 of that for helicopter flights (the Colorado National Guard used a Black Hawk and a Kiowa). Even at government rates, that's a lot of rotor time for a box in a garage. Honestly, in terms of military prices, that sounds kind of cheap, but in terms of a regular dad paying for something out of pocket - that's a lot of simolians.

After that, just like the Lawnchair Larry incident, the publicity machine ramped up and along came the evening interviews. On Larry King Live, Wolf Blitzer asks Falcon why he didn't come out when people were calling his name. After his parents prompt him to answer, Falcon says, "You guys said that, um, we did this for the show." #awkward. You can feel the floor drop out of the room. The next morning on Good Morning America and Today, Falcon literally barfs on camera when asked about the comment, then barfs again when his dad is asked about it. That is sketch as a millennial might say, or Sus as my kids would have said last year or the year before. I don't know what they say now, because I am old.

All of this caused Investigations kicked up. Early on, Larimer County Sheriff Jim Alderden was, if not naive, at least encouragingly credulous, and he said that the whole thing didn't "appear to be a hoax," but by October 18—three days after the flight, he announced his conclusion: it was a hoax, "a publicity stunt…to better market themselves for a reality show." He suggested a grab bag of potential charges: conspiracy, contributing to the delinquency of a minor, filing a false report, and attempting to influence a public servant. In a press conference, Alderden also admitted his earlier public credulity was part of a "game plan" to earn the family's trust while investigators kept digging. As a line, "on the bizarre meter, this rates a 10," pretty much sums up the week. I'd love to know if Alderden was really that clever - kind of a Walt Longmire type - or was he just covering? I feel like the latter is more likely, but what do I know?

Physics joined the party. A Colorado State University professor initially told authorities—based on dimensions Richard provided—that lift with a child might be plausible, but more precise measurements were needed to be sure. After the balloon was analyzed, that changed: the craft weighed more than claimed and, by the revised math, couldn't have carried Falcon as alleged. Meanwhile, a supporting affidavit asserted that mom Mayumi later admitted she "knew all along that Falcon was hiding in the residence," and alleged that the couple planned the stunt about two weeks prior and instructed their three sons to lie, all to make the family more marketable for "future media interests." As we will discuss, Mr. Heene will dispute these allegations of hoax down the road.

By mid-November 2009, lawyers announced both parents would plead guilty, with prosecutors recommending probation—motivated in part, their counsel said, by fears that Mayumi, a Japanese citizen, could face deportation if they fought the charges and lost. On November 13, Richard pleaded guilty to a felony—attempting to influence a public servant. Mayumi later pleaded guilty to a misdemeanor—false reporting.

Sentencing came in December: Richard got 90 days in jail, 100 hours of community service. He also had to produce a written apology to the agencies that searched, and $36,000 in restitution. Mayumi received 20 days of jail-supervised community service (structured so a parent was always home), and both were barred from profiting from the incident for several years. The FAA, for its part, floated an $11,000 civil fine for launching an unauthorized aircraft. (If you're keeping score at home: homemade saucer, national panic, a child in the attic, felony, restitution, and a long lesson in administrative law.) I tried in vain to locate the law that says it is illegal to fly a balloon or lawn chair from your backyard, but I'm a historian, not a lawyer, and I trust it is a real law.

In January 2010 and again in interviews years later, the Heenes said they pleaded guilty only to avoid Mayumi's possible deportation. A 2019 ABC News feature revisits that claim; the family insists it wasn't a hoax. Falcon—older, long-haired, and fronting a heavy metal band with his brothers—leans into the "Balloon Boy" nickname. In fact, the Heene bros have a band called the Heene Boyz, like the Hardy Boyz - the wrestlers with a Z not the detectives with an 'S' and they have a song called "Balloon Boy No Hoax. The video is on YouTube, and I watched it for this episode. It's…awful and surreal. And almost put me off of heavy metal music forever. But, at least one of the boyz knows how to play guitar, so that's something, and there is video footage of the boyz building a flying balloon, so that's….interesting.

Hoax or not, something unexpected happened on December 23, 2020, right in the middle of a deadly Covid surge, Colorado Governor Jared Polis pardoned Richard and Mayumi Heene, clearing the convictions from their records. His rationale wasn't to relitigate the facts; he said simply that the family had "paid the price in the eyes of the public," served their sentences, and it was time to move on—that a permanent record from the saga shouldn't drag on their lives forever. Their attorney declared, "The balloonacy has ended." (Credit where due: that pun takes nerve.) Do you want an attorney that says things like "The baloonacy has ended"??? I kind of think you do, but I can't fully tell if that's clever or awful. The pardon restores Richard's voting rights and opens doors like a general contractor license. Whatever you think about 2009, the executive message in 2020 was: let's stop letting this one day be the anchor for an entire family's future.

For hours that day in 2009, the saucer drew wall-to-wall, global coverage—news copters chasing, anchors vamping, graphics spinning, blogs and social feeds churning out parodies even before the boy's safety was confirmed - I remember following the story, but I'm not sure I followed it live or not.

"Balloon Boy" rocketed to the top of Google trends; Saturday Night Live joked about it on Weekend Update; and by week's end, the newscycle had its moral ready: we modern Americans are collectively very good at chasing a shiny thing and not nearly as good at reality-checking it in real time. Editor & Publisher tut-tutted that many TV hosts only emphasized the reports were "unverified" AFTER the landing. A Syracuse media scholar called it a wake-up call the industry would likely "sleep through." On this, he may have been a prophet. Scratch that, he was a prophet, or at least, he would have been a prophet if he had said such a thing in the 1950s, because the media has been unreliable and sensationalistic for a lot longer than just a handful of years.

In 2011, Richard auctioned the balloon for $2,502, with proceeds pledged for victims of the Tōhoku earthquake and tsunami. A decade later, retrospectives multiplied; the family reiterated its denials; and in 2025 a Netflix documentary (Trainwreck: Balloon Boy) revisited the saga through archival footage, staking the incident's place in the modern-myth cabinet with a neat label and a streaming thumbnail. You could watch that documentary, and the trailer is really, really well done - it makes you think it would be awesome, but it only gets a 5.5 on IMDB. I'm a big IMDB snob - if a tv show I want to watch doesn't get at least an 8, I usually avoid it. That said, you should watch the trailer, because that balloon that the Heene family built is far, far cooler than what I was envisioning in my mind. It really did look like a UFO, which makes you wonder how many UFO sightings could be attributed to backyard shenanigans like the ones we've been talking about.

What does it all mean? A few gentle takeaways—equal parts historian, pastor, and guy who has seen a few media cycles:

1) Live pictures are intoxicating; verification is boring—and essential. Saying "we don't know yet what is going on" is not cowardice; it's wisdom.

2) Reality TV incentives don't mix well with public safety. Whether you see the Heenes as schemers or strivers who made terrible choices, the aftermath is clear: helicopters flew, responders searched, and the public paid a bill. Fame is a poor flight plan, especially when children are onboard—literally or figuratively.

4) Whatever you think, don't blame the kids. The Heene boys had front-row seats to all of it—panic, press, puke, pundits. Years later, they're making music and fixing up houses and trying to live beyond a nickname. No need to judge them.

If there's a moral here, it might be: Verify before you broadcast. Also: don't use your kids as tools to become famous. That is happening all the time on YouTube these days, and it's just gross. And if you build a shiny thing in the backyard, maybe keep the kids out of the "basket," tether it twice, and don't call the TV station before you call 911.

One more story as we prepare to end the episode. This one a bit of an aeronautical mystery. Well we've talked about Lawnchair Larry and Balloon Boy - just one more guy to talk about, and we don't have the time to give him the attention he deserves, because if he's real - BIG IF - he's the most interesting of them all!

Los Angeles, 2020: Pilots on approach report a human at 3,000 feet, rocketing, not ballooning near LAX in what sounds like a Marvel audition tape. Over the next two years, at least five more reports roll in from airline crews, witnesses, pilots and flight instructors, many around 5,000–6,000 feet—an altitude better suited for 737s than cosplay. Whether it's one person or several isn't known; whether it's a person at all is also up for debate.

THE SIGHTINGS (AND THEORIES)

The five year anniversary of the first sighting just happened a few days ago, as Jet Man #1 made his first appearance at LAX on August 30, 2020:

American 1997: "Tower, American 1997, we just passed a guy in a jetpack… Off the left side, maybe 300 yards or so, about our altitude."

SkyWest pilot: "We just saw the guy passing by us in the jetpack."

By October 14, 2020, China Airlines 006 reports "a flying object like a flight suit jetpack" at 6,000 feet during approach. On December 21, 2020, a Sling Pilot Academy instructor films an object near Palos Verdes/Catalina at about 3,000 feet, posting: "The video appears to show a jet pack, but it could also be a drone or some other object…." Keep in mind - these are pilots, not Bubba's nursing a six pack. They saw something…weird.

later, in November 2020, an LAPD helicopter records what looks suspiciously like a Jack Skellington balloon floating over Beverly Hills. When the footage is released a year later, the FBI says none of the jetpack reports "have been verified," adding: "One working theory is that pilots might have seen balloons." I feel like there is a great difference between a jetpack man and a balloon man, but nobody calls me Hawkeye because #1 I'm not that good of a shot with a bow, and #2, my glasses do not set the world record for thinness.

Flash-forward to July 28, 2021: roughly 15 miles off the coast, a pilot calls "possible jetpack man… about 5000 feet," sparking peak L.A. radio banter:

LAX Tower: "Did you see the UFO?"

SkyWest 3626: "We were looking but we did not see Iron Man."

LAX Tower: "Attention, all aircraft, use caution for the jetpack… around 5000…"

747 pilot: "Where'd you say Iron Man was flying around again?" Presumably, they didn't find Iron Man/JPG that day.

A sixth sighting occurred in June 2022, 15 miles east of LAX at about 4,500 feet. Maybe a drone or a balloon or something.

SO - if Jet Pack Guy really IS a guy on a jet pack, that would be one of the best stories ever, but it's a stretch. Not sure we really have that level of technology outside the MCU just yet. So what was it? Was it this world's Tony Stark? Jack Skellington? Or a balloon with great PR? Is the military testing a new prototype? Maybe just another lawnchair Larry zooming by. In Elijah's words, sometimes the Lord's not in the wind or the earthquake; sometimes it's just… a whisper. Or in this case, a helium sigh.