💔 For over four decades, two families lived without answers — their loved ones vanished without a trace. Then, one stormy afternoon, sonar picked up something metallic beneath the still waters of Foss Lake. When divers pulled up the cars, they didn’t just find rust and bones… they found the truth.

It was supposed to be just another equipment test — a routine dive in the calm, murky waters of Foss Lake, western Oklahoma.
But as the Oklahoma Highway Patrol sonar swept the lakebed that September morning, two dark shapes appeared on the screen — side by side, half-buried in silt.

When divers descended, the water was cold, the visibility almost zero. Their flashlights caught a glint of chrome, then more metal — twisted, corroded, and eerily intact. Two cars, sitting quietly together for more than 40 years.

Inside? Skeletons. Six of them. Three in each car.
And with that, Foss Lake, a silent witness for four decades, finally began to speak.

1969 – The First Vanishing

April 8, 1969.
John Alva “Alvie” Porter, 69, a former rodeo performer who once rode bulls under the Oklahoma sun, was driving a 1950s Chevy with two friends. They left Sayre that morning, heading west. None of them ever came home.

No note. No clues. No car. Just an empty driveway and a locked house — utilities still running, his wallet and clothes untouched. His granddaughter Debbie was just 13 when her grandpa vanished.
“He was here one day, and the next day he was gone,” she recalls. “We looked everywhere. It was like he’d been erased.”

For months, local papers ran headlines: “Mystery Deepens in Porter Disappearance.” Police dragged nearby ponds, questioned friends, even followed psychic tips. Nothing. Eventually, life — and silence — took over.

1970 – The Teenagers Who Never Came Home

A year later, another story began — this time, three teenagers: Jimmy Williams, 16; Michael Rios, 18; and Leah Johnson, 17.
They were last seen driving a brand-new 1969 Chevrolet Camaro on their way to a football game.

Their families called hospitals, searched the highways, begged for information. Weeks turned into months, then years.
“Every time the phone rang, I hoped it was her,” Leah’s mother said in a 1972 interview. “But deep down, I knew she wasn’t coming back.”

By the late ’70s, both cases had faded into the dusty archives of Oklahoma cold files. But in small towns, memories never fully die. People whispered about bad roads, runaway teens, even UFOs. Foss Lake had long been rumored to be “bottomless.” Nobody believed it could hide this much truth.

2013 – A Routine Test That Changed Everything

On September 10, 2013, the Oklahoma Highway Patrol dive team arrived at Foss Lake to test new sonar equipment.
They were expecting to find old fishing gear, maybe a lost boat anchor. Instead, the sonar returned something metallic — two car-sized outlines, side by side, about 12 feet below the surface.

When divers went down, the water was dark and thick with silt. But when their gloved hands brushed against a steering wheel, the truth began to surface.

Two cars, both decades old. Rusted, skeletal — but still recognizable. One was a 1950s Chevrolet. The other, a late-’60s Camaro.

When the vehicles were winched to shore, a small crowd gathered in stunned silence. Reporters. Locals. Old-timers who had long stopped hoping for answers.

Inside the Camaro — three skeletons.
Inside the Chevy — three more.
Alongside them: two corroded rifles, a mud-covered wallet, a purse, and fragments of clothes turned to dust.

“It’s one of those fluke discoveries,” said Trooper George Ricks, shaking his head. “You go out to test sonar, and you end up solving two mysteries at once.”

DNA, Decades, and the Dead

The Oklahoma Medical Examiner’s office took over. It would take months of DNA analysis, dental comparisons, and cross-referencing with old missing persons reports.
But by late 2014, the identities were confirmed.
The Camaro contained the remains of the missing teenagers from 1970.
The Chevy held John Alva Porter and his two friends — gone since 1969.

Six souls, lost within a year of each other.
Two cars, parked side by side under 12 feet of lake water.
One small town forever changed.

What Happened?

Investigators believe both vehicles accidentally drove off the same boat ramp, which back then had no guard rails or warning signs. Foss Lake’s water level had risen over time, concealing the ramp entirely.
It’s likely both groups — on separate nights, perhaps in fog or darkness — simply never saw the edge coming.

The theory explained the absence of foul play. But it didn’t erase decades of pain.

When news broke, families gathered at the lake, watching as divers worked in silence.
Debbie Porter, now in her 50s, stood by the water’s edge clutching a photograph of her grandfather. “He was a cowboy,” she said softly. “And he went out like one — riding into the sunset. Only this time, he never came back.”

Nearby, Michael Rios’s sister broke down as the Camaro emerged from the lake, dripping and broken. “It’s like seeing a ghost,” she whispered. “We waited 44 years for him to come home.”

Forensic experts cleaned and preserved the bones, returning them to the families for burial. No big ceremonies. Just quiet funerals, tears, and a strange peace that comes only with answers.

Investigators said the sonar test that day had been scheduled by chance.
“If we’d gone a few feet in another direction,” one diver said, “we might have missed them forever.”

Now, Foss Lake is no longer just a fishing spot or a legend whispered by locals. It’s a place of memory — and of closure.

The ripples from those discoveries still spread through Oklahoma.
It reminds people that sometimes, the dead do speak.
That even the quietest places remember.
And that truth, no matter how deeply it’s buried — even under decades of water — has a way of surfacing.

Forty-four years is a long time to wait for peace.
The rusted frames of two cars, the bones of six people, and a handful of forgotten belongings told a story that no one else could.
A story of youth and age, of families and fear, of how life can vanish in a single turn — and how, sometimes, the earth itself decides when to give back its secrets.

Today, at Foss Lake, the water is still again.
Fishermen cast their lines. Children play near the ramp — now fenced and marked.
And somewhere deep below, time continues to sleep — but never forgets.