Category: Ron’s Missing Person File

I think I’ve found a clever little way to tell us roughly when Ron—or whatever his new name turned out to be—was added to the FBI Security Index. Was it 1953? 1973? After that?

I think we can tell by the handwriting. 

I’m not talking about handwriting analysis, for which I don’t hold a license and am completely unqualified. I’m talking about the side-by-side comparison of two signatures or initials or phrases to see if they look as if they were written by the same person. Unlicensed people with two good eyes have been asked to compare signatures in a variety of important ways over the years, not the least of which is when we go to the voting booth, or to a bank deposit box, or remember traveler’s checks? That’s how businesses could tell if the check you handed them was yours or if it had been stolen—by comparing your signature while you were buying your traveler’s checks to your signature while you were on vacation.

I’ve gotten to know an awful lot of FBI initials and signatures in this exercise, and I’ve also seen a lot of ways that someone might write the words “See index” in the lefthand margins. Here are just a few of the ways.

As a reminder, here’s how “See index” is written in the left margin of the first page of Ron’s missing person documents. 

Now, look at this “See index,” which is written on a document that was created on July 30, 1973.

They look the same, don’t they? (The ‘s’ is the giveaway.) This tells me that they were written by the same person, likely at roughly the same time.

So here’s today’s announcement: 

I think Ronald Tammen was added to the FBI’s Security Index sometime after the Cincinnati Field Office had sent in the Welco guy’s fingerprints for comparison to Ron’s in May 1973.

If you’re wondering why we’re only looking at the left side of the document, it’s because I’m saving the right side for our next announcement.

Coming next: you guys, I think we’ve been hacked…in a good way.

That means that the FBI has had all sorts of intel on him that they’ve been pretending not to know about

For weeks, I’ve been going through Ronald Tammen’s missing person documents with a 2mm-aperture lab-grade sieve (I find it works way better than the toothy comb method) and focusing on the stamps and scribbles that I’d been ignoring for—ay yi yi 🤦🏻‍♀️—around 14 years. In my last post, I discussed the “Hac” notes that are written on top of 10 out of 22 pages of his records and how I’ve come to believe that it was an abbreviation for the House Assassination Committee, which is admittedly shocking if you say it out loud. I have an update on that theory that I plan to discuss very soon. (Spoiler alert: there’s a lot to say.) Today, however, I’d like to discuss a notation that we don’t even have to try to decode. It’s written in the king’s English on the very first page of Ron’s records. 

On page one of Ron’s missing person documents, written vertically in the left margin, is a two-word sentence: “See index.” You have to look hard. It’s almost as if they tried to erase it so that we wouldn’t be able to make it out. But, yes indeed, that’s what it says: See index.

It sounds so vague and benign, but let me tell you, those two words wielded serious firepower.

There’s only one index that they could be referring to: the Security Index, an index so fiercely defamatory that its mere mention could make a G-man of yore’s eyes go wide and his mouth suddenly silent. In a 1971 Washington Post article that was written when the Security Index was first exposed to the public, ex-agents referred to it as “‘a taboo subject’ or ‘super-secret’ or ‘super-skittish.’” (“Super-skittish” was a weird way for someone to describe an inanimate object, but I think the ex-agent meant that he and his coworkers had felt that way if the topic was broached.)

The FBI has dozens of indices, which at that time were maintained on actual index cards, but the Security Index was its most notorious. Originally, it was called the Custodial Detention List, and it was developed—I kid you not—so that the FBI could round up all of their suspected spies and saboteurs and other would-be subversives in the event of some sort of national emergency. We’re not even talking about bona fide criminals. We’re talking about people whom the FBI had labeled as being potentially dangerous in some way based on three priority levels, with level 1 being (potentially) the most prone to violence. Some people were thought to have leaned too far to the left or right politically (usually left), at least in the Bureau’s estimation. Of course, anyone with real or imagined ties to the communist party were on the list. But if you had a friend who’d attended a CPUSA meeting once or if a group that you belonged to was, in the FBI’s view, at risk of being somehow infiltrated by communists, you’d probably wind up on the list too. It’s called pre-emptive policing—surveilling people whom the FBI had deemed potentially dangerous before a potential crime had been committed or even considered—and J. Edgar Hoover couldn’t have been more gung-ho. 

This is probably the perfect time to remind readers that this is America we’re talking about, whose forefathers famously wrote on July 4, 1776, that all individuals are endowed with “certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness” (which would be rather tough to accomplish if you happened to be pre-emptively detained). If you plan to be setting off bottle rockets as part of your Independence Day celebrations, please be careful, and don’t forget to wear your earplugs!

OK, so let’s get back to discussing the list of Americans whom the FBI was fully prepared to incarcerate for no reason other than it seemed to be the right thing to do if the situation had presented itself. This wasn’t just the perspective of the FBI—it was the Department of Justice’s too, whose approval was required before anyone’s name could be added to the list. However, in 1943, then Attorney General Francis Biddle decided that he wasn’t on board with the program. He called the Custodial Detention List “inherently unreliable,” adding:

“The evidence used for the purpose of making the classifications was inadequate; the standards applied to the evidence for the purpose of making the classifications were defective; and finally, the notion that it is possible to make a valid determination as to how dangerous a person is in the abstract and without reference to time, environment, and other relevant circumstances, is impractical, unwise, and dangerous.”

Biddle shut it down and ordered that his memo along with stamped verbiage stating that the program was unreliable and “hereby canceled” should be put in each listed person’s file.

Edgar’s response was: “You present a compelling argument, boss. What were we thinking?” 

Just kidding! Hoover changed its name to the Security Index, and it was off to the races once again. Still, Hoover knew he was playing fast and loose with Biddle’s orders. He commanded his agents to make sure that the Security Index be “strictly confidential and should at no time be mentioned or alluded to in investigative reports or discussed with agencies or individuals outside the Bureau”—with the exception of Army and Navy intelligence, that is—“and then only on a strictly confidential basis.” That’s undoubtedly when the Security Index developed its menacing mystique.

Actors, musicians, politicians, writers, and various rando people whom FBI field offices had identified for one reason or another with the aid of a large network of informants…these were all added. According to the FBI’s criteria, the Security Index was for nabbing communists and subversives, from the hard-core revolutionary leaders (Priority #1) to your second-tier worker-bee types (Priority #2) to everyone else (Priority #3). But let’s be real. They gave those criteria a LOT of latitude and people who had zero connections with communists or subversives were among the indexed. Of course, Martin Luther King, Jr. and his Southern Christian Leadership Conference—neither communist nor subversive—were in the Security Index. I’ve found evidence that future Attorney General Robert F. Kennedy, clearly a democrat and not a communist, had secured a place in the Security Index in 1955, prior to a trip he made to Russia. In another example, a young man who was intellectually disabled and lived with his mother was added to the index, ostensibly because he’d expressed dislike for the U.S. government, and his neighbors had reported him acting suspiciously—leaving by way of the back door and through the neighbor’s yard if someone was standing in front of the apartment and whatnot. Another guy was added because he wouldn’t open his door to FBI special agents after they’d gone to the trouble of making a surprise wellness visit. So apparently, being socially awkward or standing up for one’s constitutional rights counted too.  (As I write this, I suspect that, had I been an adult at that time, and if blogging were a thing back then, there would have probably been an index card with my name on it. If they thought someone going out of their way to avoid the neighbors was bad, I’m pretty sure they wouldn’t have liked…you know…this.)

Fortunately for Hoover, Biddle’s successor, Attorney General Tom Clark, was far more accepting of the FBI’s Security Index, and attorneys general during the Cold War could also see its merit, a view that was bolstered by the Internal Security Act of 1950, which permitted the detention of certain citizens during a national emergency. In May 1951 there were a little over 15,500 names in the Security Index and it was growing at a rate of about 100 people a week. 

In 1971, after the FBI office was burglarized in Media, PA, by eight courageous patriots and the Security Index was exposed, the FBI changed its name to the Administrative Index, or ADEX, because of course they did. However, it, too, was discontinued, this time forever, in 1976, after the Privacy Act of 1974 was passed and as the House and Senate intelligence investigations called for changes.

So yeah. Ronald Tammen was ostensibly deemed dangerous or subversive enough to be listed in the FBI’s Security Index. As for his priority level, I don’t know, but I have a theory and a plan to try to find out.

I’m thinking let’s do the rest as a Q&A. Cool? Cool.

Are you sure? If the FBI had dozens of indices, how do you know they were referring to the Security Index?

Let’s take a quick minute to review the FBI’s record-keeping system. The FBI stores and accesses its entire collection (for the most part) of investigative, administrative, personnel, and other records through its Central Records System. Today the Central Records System is digitized, but before computers, it occupied a sea of square footage in the form of actual file folders filled with copious amounts of paper that could be rifled through and scribbled upon. 

Also, as we’ve discussed in the past, FBI cases are categorized numerically according to designated classifications, not by the name of a person or organization. Therefore, FBI officials needed a search tool—which, before computers, was based on index cards—to find out where to look for a person’s case file or files. It’s just like at the library, and how we used to consult a piece of wood furniture that held skinny long drawers filled to capacity with little white cards before we could locate a book.

If an FBI agent back then wished to conduct a check on Ronald Tammen, they’d have to first walk over to their ocean of index cards—called the General Index—to learn which case number or numbers applied to him. The index card carrying Ron’s name would have directed them to case numbers 79-31966 (his missing person case) and 25-381754 (his Selective Service violation case) and probably his fingerprint file over in the Identification Building.  What I’m getting at is that FBI officials wouldn’t need to write “See index” on page one of his missing person records if they were referring to the General Index because that index had already been “seen.” The General Index was always stop number one. But what if for some crazy reason that was their protocol? Well, we’d be seeing the words “See index” on the first page of pretty much every file in the Central Records System, and that most definitely is not the case.

As for the other indices, there have been quite a few. In a 1978 review of the FBI’s record-keeping system, the General Accounting Office said that the FBI kept 239 special indices in addition to 28 classified indices at that time to aid in their investigations. They had indices for bank robbers and people who’d undergone background checks and car theft rings and people in organized crime and criminal informants, and so on, and so forth…and that’s just up through the C’s. 

Was there an index for Selective Service violators? Sure there was. But we know that that’s not the index Ron’s missing person documents were referencing. How do we know this? We know this because his Selective Service case had been canceled in 1955 (we’re still trying to get someone from the DOJ to tell us why), at which point they should have scribbled out the “See index” notation. No one did that. More importantly, to the best of my knowledge, no other index was specified in people’s FBI records. Granted, I have no idea how FBI personnel would have known to check those other indices. Maybe “See car theft ring index” was written on a person’s General Index card, or better yet, maybe if a person had been arrested for stealing a car, an agent would instinctively check the “car theft ring” index to see if his or her name was on it. Obviously, I don’t have all the answers. 

But this much I do know: the words “See index” were purposely vague and benign-sounding and they were surreptitiously scrawled in the left margins of the records of a large number of people who were on the FBI’s radar for a variety of alleged infractions having to do with domestic security. Here’s a sampling of the ones that I found, some of whom will be familiar to you and others who will be new. (Apologies in advance for what I’m about to share with you about beloved comedian Bud Abbott.)

Frank Chavez, Puerto Rican head of Teamsters, friend to Jimmy Hoffa

Jewish Defense League

Bud Abbott

Harry Hay (typo in subject line), gay activist and member of CPUSA

Robert F. Kennedy (His is the toughest to see. The giveaways are the S and the slash of the x.)

Nicole Salinger, wife of Pierre Salinger, JFK’s press secretary

Ruth Alscher, sister-in-law of witness in Julius Rosenberg, Ethel Rosenberg and Morton Sobell cases

Morton Sobell, engineer and Soviet spy

Thomas Peasner, Jr., POW from Korean War who’d been interrogated after his return because of his conversion to communism; Army Intelligence said that he’d been brainwashed by Chinese

Edward R. Moss (sic; should be Edward K. Moss), p.r. person with close ties to the CIA and organized crime

What types of information was on the Security Index card?

A Security Index card was a bare-bones, cut-to-the-chase distillation of how a person was viewed in the eyes of the Bureau. It would include the person’s name, aliases, date of birth, most current address (which they kept close tabs on), occupation, and case numbers, plus a string of abbreviations that were typed along the top. The abbreviations might include NB for native born, NA for naturalized, or AL for alien; COM for communist party USA, ISL for Independent Socialist League, or one of several abbreviations for certain non-democratic countries; KF for key figure in whatever communist or subversive organization they tied you with; DC for Detcom, which meant priority detention in the case of emergency; CS for Comsab or communist saboteurs; and so on. 

There was also a designation of SP, which meant that your card would be placed in the Special Section. People in the Special Section were in the following demographic groups: espionage (designated as ESP), prominent persons, government employees (federal), foreign government employees, United Nations Secretariet employees, and Atomic Energy Program employees.

An ordinary FBI employee couldn’t just saunter over to wherever the Security Index cards were stored and have himself a look-see. There was a Security Index desk, and a full-time desk man to oversee this highly sensitive area. From 1950 through 1968, that man was Paul L. Cox, the number one man in the FBI’s Subversive Control Section of the Domestic Intelligence Division. It would have been his job to oversee the elaborate process by which cards were added or subtracted from the Security Index, as well as to coordinate with the DOJ in obtaining approvals, among other important duties.

Here’s a dummy sample of what a typical Security Index card looked like. Again, it looks pretty tame. But the fact that someone had one at all means that there was ostensibly sufficient evidence in that person’s investigative records in order for the DOJ to provide their approval. 

How exactly did the approval process work?

If a special agent thought that a person of (in their view) questionable character was a perfect fit for the Security Index, they’d fill out an FD-122 form, a sample of which I’ve included below. That form would make its way to wherever it needed to go around the Bureau, and once signed off, would be sent to the DOJ for its approval. 

Things didn’t just end there, however. Once a person’s card had been added, it was the responsibility of the designated field office to keep tabs on that person and to submit updated FD-122s if changes needed to be made. In other words, if a tax-paying citizen had the sneaky suspicion that they were being monitored by the FBI before they were assigned a Security Index card, they could rest assured that they were most definitelybeing watched after getting one. 

It seems so weird that Ron’s case would warrant a Security Index card based on the measly smattering of records the FBI had on him.

That’s just it. Based on the documents that we have, there isn’t any reason for it. It only makes sense that he would have a Security Index card if there were other records, especially records of a derogatory nature, which we haven’t seen. Another possible scenario I suppose would be if Ron’s card was in the Special Section, and he were a federal employee of some sort engaged in, oh, I don’t know, espionage perhaps? I’m just speaking hypothetically, of course. Clearly, I’d need to see Ron’s Security Index card in order to get a better idea of why he had one.

Can you do that? 

I can try. But bear in mind that I’d be submitting a FOIA to the FBI, who has made it crystal clear that, after my lawsuit settlement, they will never, ever entertain another FOIA request having to do with Ronald Tammen. So even though my original complaint never mentioned the Security Index and the FBI’s FOIA staff ostensibly never consulted it, they would very likely tell me to take a lengthy stroll off a short pier.

That said, do you know who I didn’t sue for Ron Tammen’s records? The DOJ. And do you know what document the DOJ might still have? Ron Tammen’s FD-122. That would be even better than his Security Index card, since it would contain the FBI’s reasoning behind their need for a Security Index card for Ron. And that, my friends, is the document I’ll be seeking.

Do you really think Ron might have had a Security Index card on file because he was a spy?

Believe it or not, I actually think there may be a stamp that says ESP on one of Ron’s documents that we already have, but it’s been crossed out. The stamp appears at the bottom right of the 1973 memo that had been written by the Cincinnati Field Office requesting a comparison of the Welco employee’s fingerprints with Ron’s fingerprints. The stamp is immediately above the one that says NINE, which represents the FBI’s Special Investigative Division. (We’ll talk about that another day.) I have two versions of the Cincinnati memo: a light version, which had been sent to me by the FBI, and a dark version, which had been sent to me by the Butler County Sheriff’s Office, who’d gotten their version from the Cincinnati Field Office. If you zoom in on both stamps, you can make out the roof and bottom of an E, though the center line appears to be whited out. Beside the E is a curvy letter that looks a lot like an S. The third letter is harder to make out, but there aren’t many other options for it to be. So currently, I’m entertaining the notion that there’s an ESP on one of Ron’s documents. If we could get our hands on Ron’s FD-122 in order that we can verify that theory, I’d be stoked. 

And if we can’t verify that he was a spy?

That’s OK. As you can imagine, verifying that someone was a spy is really hard to do. Plus, maybe he wasn’t a spy, in which case we may be able to at least get our answer to that question. 

At the very least, we can now say with 100% certainty that the FBI has a lot more information about Ron’s case than they were ever willing to disclose to anyone—to you, to me, to Miami University officials, to news reporters, to the Butler County cold case detective, and to Marjorie and Ron Tammen, Sr., along with the rest of the Tammen family, whom they knowingly deceived for decades. 

Better late than never, I guess.

************

On this, the 58^th birthday of the Freedom of Information Act, I’d like to extend a very big thank you to the researchers who, through their tireless FOIAing, have made FBI records and other government documents available to all of us and made this current research endeavor possible. These include:

The Black Vault

Mary Ferrell Foundation

Government Attic

That 1 Archive

One was assigned in 1953; the other was assigned in 1973

There’s something incredibly embarrassing about blogging investigative research in real time, and that incredibly embarrassing something is this: with each new discovery, my earlier hypotheses will continue to be accessible to all until the internet ceases to be. And that means that all my mistakes, oversights, and rushes to judgment are posted in full-frontal view and there’s not a thing I can do about it.

Today I’d like to talk about Ron Tammen’s missing person number…or, rather, his missing person numbers…as in with an ‘s’…as in very, very plural.

I honestly cannot believe I missed this earlier.

Because I have a couple other deadlines to worry about, I need to write this up fast. Let’s do it as a quick Q&A:

Wow! Are you sure?

Pretty darned sure—sure enough to sit down and write this blog post when, as I said, I have some other stuff I need to get to tonight.

Remind us: which one is Ron’s missing person number…or numbers?

As you may recall, all FBI files begin with a classification number, from 1 to 281, and all missing person cases begin with the number 79. And the 79 number that’s written all over Ron’s FBI documents is 79-31966. That’s the one I’ve been reporting since Day 1.

Recently, I was going over his FBI documents again and I was focusing on the report written by the Special Agent in Charge (SAC) of the Cleveland field office after receiving a phone call from Marjorie Tammen. At the top of page 1, written in small, neat penmanship,  under the words “ATT: IDENTIFICATION DIVISION” is this:

MP# 17699

Posted

6-2-53 Jh

Although I’m not 100 percent sure of the last two letters—I think they’re “Jh”—the number is unmistakable. The 79 has been left off—because why not? All missing person numbers begin with 79. The most important part of the number is 17699.

Are you sure that wasn’t the missing person number that Cleveland had assigned to him?

You’re correct that field offices would assign their own case numbers, but no, it’s not theirs. I know this because at the top of the memo in parentheses after the words “SAC, Cleveland” is the number 79-0-615 B. In Cleveland, they’d placed Ron’s file in their 0 file, which means that it was placed in the front of the missing person cases because it was a stand-alone report. There was nothing else available on Ron to warrant creating its own folder. Therefore, in Cleveland, Ron’s report was the 615^th report in their missing person 0 file. (The “B” probably represents a subcategory of some sort.)

On June 2, 1953, when the FBI’s Identification Division received the report, they listed his case as MP# 17699— obviously, undoubtedly, and most assuredly under classification 79.

Your headline says that one missing person number was assigned in 1953 and the other was assigned in 1973. How did you figure that out?

Remember my July 4, 2022, post where I told you about a box of FBI missing person records that are now housed in the National Archives? I’d submitted a public records request to view those records as soon as they became available. Recently, they wrote to me with the names, dates, and case numbers of the people who are in that file, along with an estimate of the time it would take (they’re still processing orders from February 2014!) and dollars it would cost me ($760!) in order to view them all.

It’s a smattering of missing persons cases, comparatively. In the 1993 book “Unlocking the Files of the FBI,” by Gerald K. Haines and David A. Langbart, the authors stated that the FBI had on its books roughly 20,000 missing person cases in 1980. The number of case files in this box is 87, which is 0.4 percent of the total. None of the people we’ve come to know are in the box: no Ron, no Richard Cox, and not the two people I spoke of in my July 4 post—Charles McCullar, a 19-year-old man who disappeared in January 1975, or Dennis Martin, age 6, who disappeared in June 1969.

However, I started noticing how Ron’s, and Richard’s, and Charles’, and Dennis’ case numbers fit in with the rest of the people listed there. And the numbering system seems kind of chronological. 

Oh, that’s good. 

Yeah, well, hold on—it’s not perfect. God forbid that a numbering system should ever be perfectly chronological. But you can see patterns regarding when they assigned people’s numbers, including Ron’s two numbers. And I think it gives us a clue as to why they gave him the second number.

What sorts of patterns?

Included below is the table that NARA sent to me with the names of the people I plan to seek records on highlighted in yellow.

As you can see, the case numbers are listed in numerical order, and they’re also generally listed in chronological order. That means that the lower numbers are generally indicative of the older cases, which began in the 1930s (John Kallapure’s case is likely a typo and should probably read 12/36 instead of 12/16) and the higher numbers are of the more recent cases, which end in 1980.  But there are distinct outliers, like Willie McNeal Love and Edward Theodore Myers.

When we insert the case numbers of our four missing persons into the table, here’s what happens:

What do you think this means?

Honestly? I think that sometime between June 2, 1953, and May 9, 1973, Ron’s original missing person number, number 79-17699, was retired. When the Cincinnati field office sent in the fingerprints of the man from Welco Industries, asking the Identification Division to compare them to Tammen’s, I think the folks in Ident were a little stymied. 

Here’s my imagined reenactment:

Employee #1: Um, Cincinnati is asking us to compare these fingerprints to a college guy from Ohio who’s supposedly still missing. But I’m not finding his missing person number filed anywhere. It’s like…gone or something.

Employee #2: That’s really weird. What do you think we should do?

Emp #1: Can we give him a new missing person number?

Emp #2: Brilliant! 

And so, sometime in the vicinity of May 22, 1973, I believe the FBI assigned Ron Tammen his new number, 79-31966. As we all know, shortly thereafter, on June 5, 1973, there was a lot more activity in Ron’s missing person case, as his documents were “Removed from Ident files.” After that, however, all activity on his missing person case ended.

Is there anything else we can learn from this?

I think this helps explain why the number 79-31966 is written in the same exact handwriting on all of Ron’s documents, even the earlier ones. I think the person who wrote “Removed from Ident files” also wrote his new missing person number on those documents in 1973.

It could also explain why the Cincinnati field office used Ron’s Selective Service violation case number (25-381754) to identify him as opposed to his missing person number, even though his Selective Service case had been canceled in 1955. I don’t think they could find Ron’s missing person number.

Oh, and this: I guess by now you know that I don’t think Ron was still considered missing by the FBI in 1973. What this new information tells me is that I think at least some individuals at the Bureau had indeed figured it out before the Cincinnati field office had sent in the Welco employee’s fingerprints. And I also think there’s a good chance that J. Edgar Hoover, who died in 1972, knew a lot more about Ron’s case when he was at the helm, even as he continued exchanging letters with Ron’s tortured mother and father. Granted, it’s just a theory.

Here’s the link to Ron’s FBI FOIA documents if you’d like to examine my theory further.