In an old photograph, Albert Clark Reed looks like just another balding man in a coat and tie, a 45-year-old husband and father from the 1950s. He has a thin mustache and a pleasant half-smile that looks as if he were being coached by some portrait photographer.
His wife, Florence, 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 said in 1954. After the war, he and Florence lived in Seattle, where he tested and designed aircraft for Boeing.
Albert and Florence moved to Pasadena in 1944 and bought a home near the Rose Bowl. A few years later, they had a son, Timothy James. Albert and Florence had had some arguments, but apparently nothing was seriously amiss. And maybe they had some money problems.
"He loved to bet the horses," Florence said. "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 or more a month. But he never discussed such things with me."
In early 1952, Albert 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.
That summer, he was scheduled to meet with military officials in Washington about some classified matter; it's not clear what it was.
On Monday, July 7, 1952, Albert got into his 1941 sedan with his briefcase and bag of clothing and headed for Caltech, according to The Times.
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 crushed expectations.
Until she died in December 1955 at the age of 39, 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," she told The Times in July 1954.
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.
