An Interview with UFO/SSP Whistleblower Mark McCandlish
on Advanced Energy Propulsion
By Dr. Bruce Cornet, Phd.
Edited by Robert D. Morningstar
I heard Mark give a talk at APEC (Alternative Engineering Propulsion Conference) hosted by Tim Ventura.
I fear that his death at age 68 on 13 April 2021 was premature.
Was he exposing too much?
Mark Mccandlish wrote to me on Messenger on 7 July 2020 about the TicTac that a friend of his saw aloft multiple times “between Redding where I live, here in Northern California, and the state capitol, Sacramento.”
Below, I present our amazing conversation:
Conversation with Mark McCandlish on 7 July 2020, the day of the Roswell crash:
Hi Mark. Do you think we are close to disclosure after the Navy’s Official recognition of UFOs?
Well, the real “hat trick” here is, those “tic tac” UFO’s are “ours”. So the disclosure process will have to run through several cycles.
First acknowledgement of the existence of these kinds of “craft,” which indirectly admits to the technology that includes a propulsion system that is capable of what is called “mass-modification” technology.
You see, mass, in physics is the very thing that produces inertia and G-forces when you turn a corner in your car or even more so in a military aircraft. I have personally experienced 9.3 G’s in the F-16 “Fighting Falcon”.
I blacked out.
The experienced Arizona Air National Guard Pilot was unfazed by the experience. If you can “modify the mass” of an aircraft– (in other words) make it somewhat less (massive), it means that the craft and its pilot or crew can withstand much higher turn rates without experiencing something in excess of 9 G’s.
Some trained observers have stated that these Tic Tac UFO’s made turns that would produce G-forces in excess of 22 G’s. (Deadly– but not so if you can modify the mass and make it far less.)
The second phase of UFO Disclosure is admitting that we have the technology, but this in turn implies very strongly that we back-engineered it from UFO’s that crashed many decades ago. I’ve seen evidence that we had possession and an understanding of such alien technology since at least the mid-1960’s (all very highly classified of course).
And the third phase of UFO/SSP (Secret Space Program) Disclosure would be that, well, yes- we did back engineerthe technology from UFO crash recoveries, and yes, there is alien life “out there” in the cosmos, and it has been coming to Earth for many centuries– perhaps millennia. And some of it isn’t friendly.
You may wonder how I know this.
Well, as it happens, I have a good friend who drives a semi-truck between Redding where I live, here in Northern California, and the state capitol, Sacramento. When he is coming back north in the wee hours of the morning, he frequently encounters craft that look just like the renditions of the Tic Tac UFO’s.
This typically occurs when he is around the town of Williams (on Interstate 5), and that lies maybe fifteen miles due west of Beale AFB, where the SR-71 Blackbird used to be kept and launched on surveillance missions over the former Soviet Union, Red China, and North Korea. In fact my buddy, had an encounter with one passing directly over the freeway in front of his truck at about 3:30 AM (as I was talking on the phone with him).
Thank you, Mark, for such a detailed explanation. The term “Alliance” is used today to refer to those supporting the Space Force. Could this Alliance be between humans and non-humans, who are building ARVs for both military and alien use? They provide technology. We manufacture replacement vehicles. They live below ground. We live above ground.
There is no question that there are many underground facilities, and in all likelihood connected by a vast, sophisticated tunnel system. I have not seen any direct evidence of a Human-Alien alliance, or that we are building hardware for an off-world customer. I did have a personal friend and former Green Beret, who began to open up about what he knew and participated in, starting in the mid-to-late 1970’s after his involvement in the Viet Nam War.
He claimed that back in the 1970’s the U.S. military had figured out how to move through time and space; a kind of time-space teleportation system. They could go just about anywhere or any time you can imagine. They looked far into the future (from that time) and saw the Earth as a burned out cinder. Lifeless. Then they backed up year by year until they found the cause. An alien armada showed up and began extinguishing all life and strip-mining the Earth of its resources. We had nothing (no weapons) that could pose a defense against their superior technology. So they mounted a program (Operation Pegasus) where the participants traveled back in time to Mars 65 million years ago– back when that planet had a molten core, a magnetic field and an atmosphere, along with a lush, Jurassic Park-like ecosystem.
The purpose was to begin a weapons development program, that would have literally millions of years and thousands of Human generations to create a future defense for Earth. Then, if and when breakthrough technology was ready for deployment, brought back up through time (yes, “back to the future”) to prepare for the defense of Earth.
This program was and is largely responsible for the majority of UFO sightings here in the present time. You may have noticed that even the UFO’s have appeared to improve in their performance and capabilities over the past sixty years. That sounds like the by-product of a Human program. You wouldn’t see that kind of thing coming from a civilization thousands or perhaps millions of years more advanced than us.
In the midst of all this, the military forgot one thing: that the Humans that went back millions of years to develop weapons would themselves evolve over time– to become a more intelligent, spiritual, and psychically-capable being. Telepathy, telekinesis, healing injuries on others– the list goes on and on. In the end, it may be that the Human mind itself, in its most advanced form, is the greatest weapon we could ever hope for.
So you believe that non-humans are not working with humans?
What about MILABs (Military-Industrial Laboratories)?
Yet you admit that we are being visited by ETs. I agree that significant progress has occurred with reverse engineering of alien crashed craft. Stories coming out of people who allegedly worked at Area 51 and S4 are either true or part of the coverup program to undercut public fear of an alien presence on Earth.
In other words, nothing here to report. All UFO sightings are military craft, just classified above top secret. Then comes the questions of abductions and telepathy. Gurdjieff says that there are multiple dimensions and worlds that overlap in part, just enough to explain ghosts and parallel world encounters.
Have you ever had missing time?
I didn’t say that. What I said was: I don’t believe that Humans are building advanced technology craft for off-world entities. There’s a difference.
Sure, they might be working “together” on a variety of programs, everything from biological and ecosystem problems to advanced technology. Military abductions are very real. I have friends who have experienced them. I’ve been with a contactee during an alien abduction in December 1989, and experienced an hour of missing time. She was shown future events, including, the World Trade Center attack on 9-11-2001, the earthquake that devastated Banda Aceh, Indonesia (9.0 Richter) the earthquake that caused the great nuclear accident in Fukushima, Japan on March 11, 2011.
And she saw “THE” major quake on the San Andreas Fault in California which has yet to happen. The aliens told her they would perform a “mass landing” near Mojave, California after that event.
My Special Ops friends know about the teams that perform these operations and the hand-held aerosol can they use to knock out a target instantly. Generically, it is called “The Angel of Death in a Can” or known by its chemical formula: Tryptomethylchloride.
It instantly raises Melatonin production in the body by 85%, essentially putting you to sleep. Too much will kill you. It has a chemical half-life in the body of less than five minutes, beyond which it is undetectable by pathological exam.
I never said ALL UFO reports are highly classified craft. I said a large portion of these sightings are; (about 85% are human built and operated). The other 15% are off-world or alternate dimensional entities.
Telepathy is real. Some of those advanced humans from the Mars program “Pegasus” are fully capable of this, have brought their genetic traits back up through time and have had children in the present who manifest some of these abilities. I have met a few of them.
Telepathy, healing (or killing) at a distance, telekinesis. A friend of mine was tasked with killing the last leader of North Korea, Kim Jong Il by stopping his heart. He could do a consciousness insertion evaluate a person’s health status read their thoughts and help or harm as directed. He could not understand Jong Il’s thoughts, because they were in the man’s native language. Then they directed him to have a heart attack. Weeks later, the military infected my friend with genetically modified, highly virulent strain of MRSA, and he was dead three months later. That’s how they repay their assassins. I’ve experienced ghosts, and parallel world encounters, and know of a building that has a time bridge portal running through it back to the 1600’s. The “ghosts” seen there are all in colonial-era dress, and seem genuinely as frightened as the present-day residents who witness them.
On one occasion, the resident came home on his birthday, wondering why he had not heard from any from any of his friends. He entered the kitchen, put down his groceries to see his living room “…full of men and women in colonial dress, dancing to the music of a string quartet. He recognized NO ONE.
When he went to the living room doorway, and said, “Who ARE all of you people, and what are you doing in my home?” The crowd turned to gaze upon him with a look of terror, then vanished! And that wasn’t the only incident of that type.
Thank you for clarifying your statements. Much appreciated. I have a friend in Miami who is one of those ETs in a human biosuit. Would you like to hear first hand information from the alien side? I can put you in touch with her. I know she would be fascinated with your story.
Can I share our conversation with her?
Certainly. But let me ask you: How do you know that her claim is true?
She is either certifiably nuts, or the information, names of species, names of planets, names of ET contacts, and hundreds of drawings, as well as her education and history with the nuclear industry (power plants) supports her claims of government surveillance. There is an uncanny correlation with what other ET contacts and insiders have disclosed, but with a level of personal detail only someone who flies with her ET handlers almost weekly at night could know.
As an observer, her story is amazing. George Filer recommended her to me. She claims to be the only one of her kind, and was put on Earth as a portal guard at her home in Miami, where with an exotic tropical garden and crystal layout she says she is a “Soldier Sentry.”
I’d rather not get involved with any of that. By the way, I have to get back to work … Perhaps we can continue at another time.
O.K. Thanks … Let’s do that.”
End of Conversation
Bruce Cornet, Phd.
July 7, 2020 on the day of the Roswell UAP crash, 73 years later.
Mark McCandlish died on April 13th, 2021 in his home on Redding, CA of a shotgun blast to the head.
Shasta County Coroner’s official report cites his death as a “Suicide” from self-inflicted gunshot wound.
Mark McCandlish spoke to his friend, Rick Price, late that day (April 13th) and Mark told him that he was going to rest and would call him later. Mark also spoke to his girlfriend later and told her that he would speak to her when he went to work at her animal shelter. When Mark did not show up for work and he failed to call her, Mark’s girlfriend, who had a key to his home, went there to look for him, and found his body, dead from a gunhot wound to his head.
A colleague of Mark McCandlish, a member of a UFO/SSP Disclosure group with which Mark McCandlish was associated, wrote on May 10th, 2021:
“Regarding Mark McClandlish suicide with shotgun blast to his head. He was going to testify for Senate UFO/UAP meeting in June. His testimony would have destroyed the “we haven’t made much progress” narrative. Also the one who showed the Tic Tac was actually USAF SSP drone … That would also destroy that narrative, came out and reversed and said he made it up. Mark probably didn’t go along. It’s an agenda. It’s complicated for sure.”
Robert D. Morningstar, Editor/Publisher of The UFO Spotlight, a friend and colleague of Mark McCandlish since the June 2014 Secret Space program – Breakaway Civiliation Conference that was held in San Francisco, and Rick Price, a close friend (for more than 20 years) who was one of the last people to speak to Mark McCandlish find that conclusion dubious, doubt the “official story,” and reject that conclusion.
Finally, it has been reported by one official that “several Federal agencies are investigationg the death of Mark McCandlish.’ If Mark’s death was, in fact, just a “suicide,” the editor asks:
Why should further investigations by multiple agencies of the US government be necessary?
I reject the ‘official story.”
Robert D. Morningstar
May 10th, 2021
New York City
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Marshall Karlfeldt explores the work of the late Zecharia Sitchin from The Earth Chronicles (Sitchin’s meticulous translations of thousands of Sumerian cuneiform tablets concerning the history of the earliest human civilization). The tablets contain The Epic of Enuma Elish (The Story of Creation) and The Epic of Gilgamesh, as explained through the works of Sitchen’s deciphers, a civilization some 450,000 years ago from a far distant world called Nibiru.
(Adam, The Missing Link: The New History of Mankind’s Creation, Marshall Karlfeld, Trafford Publishers, 1663 Liberty Drive, Bloomington, In. 47403, CustomerSupport@trafford, 1-888-232-444, 812-339-6000, www.trafford.com, 2009, 66 pages, $38.95.)
The book contains extremely handsome and elaborate photographs, professionally exquisite graphic charts, illustrations that are well worth the cost: outlining the arrival and rise of an alleged civilization called the Anunnaki; Gilgamesh, the king of Urek; Ekidu, a cloned humanoid of the Anunnaki; Lord Enki, the chief genetic engineer; and Gilgamesh’s mother as an Anunnaki Divine Princess; Gilgamesh’s father was human.
The 6th tablet tells about Princess Ishtar who lusts after Gilgamesh but is rejected by him. Furious, Ishtar travels from an orbiting mothership to Urek, stealing the “Bull of Heaven” from Leader Anu, and uses the laser-device to blast the streets of Uruk killing hundreds of people. Gilgamesh and Enkidu destroy “The Bull” as Ishtar retreats.
Cylinder seal VA/243 is about 4,500 years old. The story on the cylinder tells of Anunnaki leaders: the Commander Enlil and Genetic Engineer Enki are shown experimenting with animals, says Klarfeld.
The same diagrams show the alleged solar system with 10 planets; Nibiru is supposedly the 10th planet.
Klarfeld, as also so many other people, believes that a double entendre’ existed in the beliefs and statements of scientist Carl Sagan; Sagan always intended his words provoke additional thoughts on controversial topics, says Klarfeld. In Sagan’s 1985 book Contact, his photograph held behind him a “sentient belief” in Sumerian stories of the Anunnaki. Sagan once named a spaceship as Gilgamesh. It was Sagan that said: ‘Somewhere, something incredible is waiting to be known.” Klarfeld adds: “I suspect that Dr. Sagan was a believer who wanted to signal his beliefs, without overtly confronting the scientific community.”
THE ENUMA ELISH EPIC
Klarfeld summarizes that The Enuma Elish Epic predated the Hebrew Book of Genesis, and is the bases for the Genesis creation account. It is the originalcreation story that was transmitted orally from the Anunnaki. The Epic came to rest eventually in the form of seven cuneiform tablets.
(Why the Anunnaki didn’t use their advanced knowledge and technology to transmit history, as such, in a superior and very solidified means other than ‘oral’ and primitive ‘tablets’ is a curiously tantalizing question.)
THE SEVEN DAYS OF CREATION
Genesis spoke of seven days of creation. There were “seven” tablets relaying the Sumerian tale, said Sitchin. In Genesis, God saw on the 7th day that creation is good, and then He rested; in the Sumerian accounts, the ‘god’ created in the length of ‘six tablets,’ but on the last and 7th tablet, ‘god’ heralded and examined his creation. In the Sumerian seven tablets, creation was portrayed. In Genesis, God created and praised His creation in ‘seven’ days.
Zecharia Sitchin, Supporter of Planet Nibiru and of the Anunnaki
NIBIRU AND PLANETS AS ‘GODS’
The Enuma Elish tale, according to the late Zacharia Sitchin, named the planets of the solar system in the form of ‘gods’: Sun, Moon, nine planets, and Nibiru as the 10th planet. Starting from the Sun, they are Apsu (which is the Sun), Mummu, Lahamu, Tiamat (the Earth), Kishar, Arislar, Anu, Ea (Neptune). Apparently, Pluto is disowned and disenfranchised by Anunnaki and present-day scientists. Translating the personified conversations in the tale, the solar system was very mobile, causing all kinds of havoc and destruction until the sun stabilized their movements.
Tower of Babel built to Symbolize Seven Stellar gods
Earth’s moon is called Kingu, and the moon of Nibiru is called “Northwind.” When Nibiru came close to Earth in its 3,600-year orbit around the sun, ‘Northwind’ careened into the Earth about 225-million-years ago, fragmenting Pangea into continents, causing new orbits for Tiamat (Earth) and Nibiru. The asteroid belt was referred to as the HammeredBracelet.
LIFE ON A COLD PLANET
If Sitchin was correct, the inhabitants of Nibiru evolved on a planet that had no ‘goldilocks’ zone from a central sun precisely at the adequate distance for life as we know it. That meant that Nibiruites must have had a very peculiar evolution.
Has there ever been precedence in the UFO lore of beings evolving on a “cold planet”? Yes, there have been a few, one in particular: the stories of the late Richard Sharpe Shaver and the late Raymond Arthur Palmer.
Richard Sharpe Shaver and publisher Ray A. Palmer
THE TRADITIONS OF SHAVER AND PALMER
Through a period of about 1943 to 1977 the publisher of Amazing Stories Magazine, Ray A. Palmer (affectionately referred to as RAP), promulgated accounts of Richard Shaver’s journey into a Hidden World. Shaver, somewhat of a bohemian character who grew up with science-fiction and a dabbling of science, had also, for the most part, been an adventurer from occupation to occupation, talent to talent, territory to territory. Shaver also had an enlarged imagination as he discovered one day while working as a welder in a Detroit auto factory: voices were coming from his welding equipment; the voices were describing obscene depictions, and generally detailing outlandish events of anotherreality.
Right away, many would be quick to say that Shaver was probably schizophrenic or somehow mentally ill, but Palmer was swift to point out to Shaver’s detractors that much more was happening to Shaver. Palmer based that opinion on scientific verification of Shaver’s claims. There also existed modern theories on exactly what the brain perceives amidst the latest traditions of quantumphysics.
(One is reminded of the movie scene in A Beautiful Mind where schizophrenic John Nash, played by Richard Crowe, was observing the reflections of glass and crystal and seeing great mathematical possibilities: to quote the Halexandria Foundation: “On the one hand, there is the supposition that all of reality is an illusion. As discussed in Mass, the universe is nothing more than a figment of our prolific imaginations, a phantasm. That may be, but on a more, still-in-the-midst-of-this-life’s-drama level, we can ask about the degree to which we may be imagining — and/or creating — our own reality.” [Creating Your Perfect Reality])
In the Movie, ABeautiful Mind, John Nash (Actor Richard Crowe) Contemplates Unknown Mathematical Possibilities in Crystal Glass and a Tie.
David Darling, an astronomer, and graduate of Sheffield and Manchester Universities in England, spoke of ancient and current practitioners to ‘brain tapping,’ as one example, that by-passes the brain as a modulator to confronting cosmic consciousness. Darling also spoke of Clive Wearing’s Korsakoff Disease (Korsakoff had to reconstruct reality and memory every few seconds): “Cases such as these speak of more than just the fragile and constructed nature of self. They raise serious questions about the nature of time,” said Darling, “and the delicate connection between psychological time and physical reality. Could it be that time, likewise, is nothing more than a product of the way we think.” (Soul Search, Villard Books, Random House, New York, 1995, p. 117.)
Darling and other scientists pointed to altered states of consciousness where perception exceeded normal restraints. The sanctimonious judgments of such people, others would say, were probably premature if not also suspect and neurotic.
BACK INTO SPACE
Palmer received a rather sketchy manuscript at his office at Amazing StoriesMagazine telling of a vast underground civilization of demented creatures left on earth thousands of years ago by an Elder Race; this race possesses super-technology from their forefathers, who escaped earthly contamination by heading back into space.
Artist’s rendering of the proposed Mars Transfer Vehicle that would use NTR – Nuclear Thermic Rocket -Propulsion
The beings that were left behind on earth are a composite of ‘The Good, The Bad, and The Ugly,’ to use a movie metaphor: abandero or dero, and the not-so-bad, sometimes good, tero. Dero kept themselves “Dosed-up,” so-to-speak, through their machines which allowed them to continue long but torturous lives of radiation poisoning from the sun.
The Tero were a little more fortunate, knew the danger of the destructive “de” from the Sun, as well as the mechanics of surviving in such a surrealistic world. Some Tero actually waged war against the Dero who had the advantage of combat with their Ben-ray, Stim-ray, Telesolidography, and Telepathic-Augmentor.
And then, there are the “surface dwellers”: we humans, who have to deal with apparitions, ghosts, poltergeists, surface-type diseases and other mysterious calamities.
Out of such a rich but chaotic history grew the legends of other legends; tales of other tales; Atlantis, Lemuria, Mu, The Oahspe Bible, Hades (Hell), and hundreds of other sagas.
The Hidden Underworld
Palmer reconstructed Shaver’s story-line for Amazing Stories and presented the manuscripts in a serious vain and found himself avalanched by responses from thousands of readers with a chorus of “Real! This is really happening!” Most were certifiably sane. Carl Sagan said and (quoted by Elz Cuya) “….renamed the scientific method, ‘the baloney detection kit.’ He admitted that science at times had been wrong.”
If Shaver was insane, he also appeared correct, exampled by one such claim that the Elder Race lived on “dark, cold worlds,” away from deadly effects of space and sun radiation (exd) which carries “de, der, dir or d” ash, as compared to good matter – integrative energy – te, ter or t.
Like Zacharia Sitchin (1976), Emanuel Velikovsky (1950), Harold Jeffreys (1924), Shaver’s stories also told of cosmic catastrophe: Planets were dislodged, orbits realigned, and crash events occurred. The Elder Race feared none of this on their ‘dark planet’ of the Nortonean Race.
THE MEANING OF EVIL
Princess Vanic and other “Elder Gods,” as recorded in Shaver’s IRememberLemuria (1948), lived on the ‘sunless Nor’: they were “Nortons” who could thrive in ‘dark space’; they were ‘Titans,’ ‘Atlans,’ and ‘Nor-tons.’ They did avoid the “black death” from the “masses of (the) poisonous particles” from any sun or star (also called ‘dis’ or ‘de’). Such poison eventually causes ‘radioactivedisease’ known as ‘‘age.’’
Nortons were protected by a “carbon shell” canopy. Unfortunately, our sun, Sol, captured Nor and over many eons, the “shell” burned away about 30,000 years ago, allowing the destructive “de, der, dir or d” to enter the surface and cause havoc, disease, and aging. A residual “exd,” or ash, pushed back causing ‘gravity’ (A lot of Shaver’s ‘formulas’, said Palmer, have been found to be eventually true).
Not only was the capture of the “cold planet” a major epiphany-event but there were cataclysmic events and collisions of celestial bodies through the solar system.
This resulted in various legends.
As mentioned, some legends appeared to be copies or remnant stories of other legends: issue tales of Atlantis, Lemuria, Mu, and Shaver’s strange “Mantong” language and alphabet where each letter denoted meaning: one word could seemingly have been a complete sentence or more.
When the “gods” left earth, they also abandoned superior machinery and diseased monsters that took “surface dwellers” into their Realm as “shanghaied slaves.”
Shaver died in November 1975 (same month I was confronted with the Kafkaesque world of the multi-billion-dollar Divorce Industry, Scam, and Racket). Ray Palmer died in August 1977, just two years after his dear friend Richard Shaver.
Donald Wesley Patten referred to such a mysterious celestial body moving tremulously through our solar system as “the Visitor” (The Biblical Flood and the IceEpoch, Pacific Meridan Publishing Company, 1966, p. 139). As a professional Geographer, M.A., Patten came to believe that a number of cosmic and planetary events disturbed the evolution of earth and its inhabitants. Rather than a “carbon shell,” Patten believed Earth had a “water canopy” (evidenced by a residual Van Allen Belt around the planet). The “canopy” was destroyed by a combination of events in the solar system. This “canopy” protected the earth from radiation and space debris (referred to in the Book of Genesis in the Scriptures as “the waters above”), allowing a rather deterioration-free world. The intimate details were in Patten’s book and related works of Immanuel Velikovsky and Jim Wentworth’s Giantsin the Earth; but all theories and legends held questionable “gaps” and begged multiple queries as yet unanswered or challenged.
STORED INFORMATION DEVICES
Klarfeld answers numerous questions; I cannot say he will answer questions to everyone’s satisfaction. He examines Sumerian and ancient archeology through four categories: S.I.T – or – Stored Information Text (cuneiform tablets), S.I.Ts – or – Stored Information Tablets (cuneiform tablets), S.I.D – or – Stored Information Device (cylinder seals), S.I.Sc – or – Stored Information Sculpture (Ishtar statue, etc.), and S.I.S.t – or – Stored Information Structure (pyramids).
The pyramids certainly seemed mysterious enough to be classified as possibly an actual alien “structure”: 2.3 million bricks in the Giza pyramid with a satellite view of being only two inches off at the apex. This is a tolerance of 1/1,000,000 of an inch.
But the question seemed affordable to ask: why did the Sumerians, who consorted with the Anunnaki beings and leaders, not “demand,” or, at least, query their Creators about obtaining or inventing their super-technology? They could have insisted or campaigned as so that the Anunnaki put their laser, radio, and other advanced machinery at their disposal. Conversely, the Anunnaki could have circumnavigated cuneiform tablets and cylinder-seals and ‘had given’ the Eridue superior machines.
Why is there only history of the Anunnaki in the Mesopotamian civilization? Or, did the “Nephilim” do a very good job of keeping their existence of technology completely out of the hands of the Enkidu? Why allow ‘any’ technological transfer?
(Tantalizing questions are further posed in Part II of the curiosities of the Elder Gods and the reality of the planet Niberu.)
The Psychrophiles Are Coming!
CONNECTING THE DOTS OR NOT
Klarfeld offers the mysteries of Stonehenge as another bit of evidence of ancient super-civilizations. Klarfeld says the stones were erected on a prior 285-foot-diameter circle of 56 chalk holes. The Audrey Circle, say its defenders, is an early eclipse-computer with precise knowledge of celestial mechanics. Stonehenge’s earliest portion dates approximately 2950-2900 BCE, Middle Neolithic, and having enormous knowledge about the earth’s relation to celestial bodies, enabled as S.I.D and S.I.S.t devices.
The Uruk, Nipper, Kishilarsa, Ur, Eridu, and Anunnaki peoples left many clues: stones, says Klarfield, that can only have been chiseled and moved by an advanced technology. One stone weighs over 1,200 tons; the St. Louis Gateway Arch weighs 900 tons. Some megalith stones are found raised 36 feet above the ground and end to end.
The pyramid of Giza (and several other pyramids) still defied complete explanation by its critics of an S.I.S.t. Pyramid fascinations included: Its engineers knew of the proportions of “pi” and the Golden Mean, Pythagorean Triangles, thousands of years before Pythagoras lived. Passageways, said defenders, could not be produced with copper or bronze tools; the builders also knew the precise spherical shape and size of the Earth, Venus, Mars, and Mercury and star positions.
The Pyramids as a Grand Communication Tool
Sitchin’s legends told of the messenger Galzu, instructed by the Creator of All, telling the Anunnaki to save humanity and advance human civilization. In “The Lost Book of Enki,” Enki and Enlil debated using “WeaponsofTerror”: atomic-tipped missiles stored on earth and used in war: issue Sodom and Gomorrah, the “evil wind” (radiation fallout) which destroyed the Sumerian alien-hybrids. The Halexandria Foundation stated: “Unfortunately, Lot’s wife looked behind her, and was turned into a pillar of salt for her trouble. [6/22/06 – One reader, Paul Cilwa, had noted that ‘In Hebrew, the word used for ‘salt’ also means ‘vapor.’ Lot’s wife wasn’t turned to salt. She was vaporized. When Abraham got wind of the event, ‘he looked toward Sodom and Gomorrah, and toward all the land of the plain, and beheld, and, lo, the smoke of the country went up as the smoke of a furnace.’ (Genesis 19:28).]”
The Vaporization of Lot’s Wife
The Foundation continued: “The aftermath was so terrifying that Lot and his daughters fled to a cave, where the natural assumption was that the human race was doomed (i.e. no men to beget children). The daughters then took the next step of lying with their father, conceived, and ultimately bore sons.
“Notice how all of the ingredients in the Biblical story account for the destruction of the cities by a nuclear blast.”
Possible clues also further substantiated the atomic war. Mark Hempsell of Bristol University, based on the cuneiform symbols in Planisphere tablets of a Sumerian astronomer, postulated a large asteroid passed over the area scorching 386,000 square miles and sending out debris and shock waves. The text spoke of: “a white stone bowl being vigorously swept along.”
The cities, also known as Bab edh Dhra and Numeira, showed signs of fire from above as well as a “burn layer” at Numeira. “To this day, unnatural levels of radioactivity are found in the water of springs around the southernmost edges of the Dead Sea. One study confirmed that this radioactivity was sufficiently high to ‘induce sterility and allied afflictions in any animals and humans that absorbed it over a number of years. Further evidence of an explosion is being revealed by the falling level of the Dead Sea, which has in recent years dropped from 1,280 feet to 1,340 feet below sea level.’”
The City of Bab Edh Dhra – was it destroyed by an Atomic Blast?
“The isolation of the fossil water body give it characteristic chemical and radioactive properties, including low values of radioactive tritium and radium and the presence of bivalent iron, which indicates a lack of oxygen. One study found that radioactive isotopes had been introduced into the surface layers and mixed throughout the water column before its stratification.”
“A strong correlation between radium activity and salinity was also evident in groundwater along the rift valley between the Sea of Galilee and the Dead Sea, as well as in groundwater from the Judea Group rocks in the Negev. The general rule is that in freshwater conditions, most of the radium remains in the aquifer rocks, while in saline conditions the radium escapes from the rocks and has high concentrations in groundwater. Other studies have established that groundwater with no oxygen also is typically enriched in radium.”
Based on evidence found at Harappa, could this not be the case at Sodom and Gomorrah as well?
“The levels of radiation registered so high on investigators’ gauges that the Indian government cordoned off the region. Scientists then apparently unearthed an ancient city where they found evidence of an atomic blast dating back thousands of years: from 8,000 to 12,000 years.”
Some artifacts are disputed, some disproven, some appeared to be hoaxes—-such as the Crystal Skulls. All in all, the accuracy of the Sumerian account boiled down to whether an inhabited planet came around our Sun from deep space.
Klarfeld says that legends title this mysterious Planet X as Marduk, The Winged Globe, Treta, Yuga, The Celestial Disk, and Nemesis.
Could molecular life as we know it have existed on “dark planets” so far from radiant heat or warmth?
Life on planets in our solar system exists because of ideal or quasi-ideal “goldilocks” positions from a heat source in the universe that “sets the stage.” Mars probes and discoveries on Europa, the fourth-largest moon of Jupiter (which has a possible 50-mile-ocean-breeding-ground) gave wonder about the tenacity of life. Internal heat from volcanism and other factors inspired us to new and fresh viewpoints.
COLD AS HADES
Rare and bizarrely exotic life existed and evolved under the strenuously cantankerous and perhaps perilous conditions. Science seemed to indicate that life “yearns” to exist, even in hostilely macabre environments. In Oymyakon in the northern hemisphere, birds in mid-flight froze because the temperatures are so cold. The Hot Spring of Sakha (“non-freezing water”) supported life in temperatures of -60-degree centigrade to -71.2-degree centigrade. Vostok, about 1,300 km from the South Pole has a low temperature of -128.6-degrees-farhenheit (and winds up to 60 mph), yet life was found. During Polar Night, in low oxygen at an 11,312-foot altitude, life abounded.
Permafrost Life- Coldest Living Organisms – Cryptoendoliths
.Scientists pointed to life in Chile’s cruelly dry Atacama Desert, the 10,000-foot-thick ice plateaus in Greenland, the 750-degree-fahrenheit hydrothermal vents on the ocean floor, and mitochondria in a microscopic “harsh world.”
Organisms Found in Deepest Part of Ocean
COLD SHOCK PROTEINS
Antarctica flourished with bacteria living because of ‘cold shock proteins,’ said Dr. William P. McGiven, and proteins carrying metabolic enzymes that allow ‘ice re-crystallization inhibition (RI) activity.’
McGiven found that proteolytic cleavage in a creature called hydrogenophilus or chemolithoautotrophy can change the physical structure of the ice around them through “stress chaperones or stress proteins.”
Psychrophilic organisms were found at -112-degrees-F; they were “psychrotolerant”: able to survive in either cold or warm temperatures. Archaea creatures were thermophiles that, contrarily, were ‘‘heat-loving,” demonstrating the wide-range of spectacular life.
Toxic cyanobacteria secreted “anti-freeze chemicals,” exopolymers, mucus that allowed insulation; yeast and nematode worms utilized trehalose sugar; and in the Antarctic Taylor Dry Valley, organisms flourished in calcium chloride in the Ross Ice Shelf.
Carol Cleland and Microbiologist Sheely Copley of NASA’S Astrobiology Institute spoke of a “shadow biosphere” wherein all kinds of “weird life” intersect and thrive on earth, some in symbiotic relationships, but all suspended in diversified and “staggeringly” cooperative and competitively strange and harsh life.
Tardigrades Survived Cold Outer Space
We must consider: what about life on distant worlds?
THE ROSWELL GREYS
One can only have speculated that in billions of years in crossing space to, briefly (several hundred years out of thousands), pass a sun in its orbit, as to what type of life could evolve on a “dark planet.” Obviously, life would be unique, to say the least, for it would not depend on the traditional “goldilocks” mechanisms we’re usually assumed.
Pharaoh Akhenaten may have had Extraterrestrial Heritage
Gravity would be quite different, due to the individual planetary terrain. There would not be the Sun’s “constant” harmful radiation; perhaps such a planet might itself be an “organism” enveloped in some ‘cloud’ or ‘shell’ causing surface evolutionary mechanisms. Such ‘shields’ may become threatened by eventual catastrophe causing the inhabitants to search out artificial survival morphing.
One could envision large, almost “pupil-less” eyes to allow as much light in as possible; thin, elongated features due to odd gravity strains, and inner organs much reported like the artist conceptions in the alleged, famed “humanoid grey creatures” of 1947, Roswell, New Mexico, UFO crash.
Humanoid depicted at Roswell, New Mexico, 1947
GOLD FOR HEALTH
According to Sitchenites, the Anunnaki created Enkidu-type hybrids to mine gold from the bowels of the earth because Anunnaki had a medical and ecological need for it. Sitchenites speculated: gold dust or salts have anti-inflammatory uses or the ability to reduce arthritic pain, rheumatoid arthritis, and tuberculosis. Gold, also, has a use in radioisotopes and electrical conductivity.
Obviously, as a basis for our legends, the Anunnaki may have had a “broken” ozone layer or damage to their “cloud-shield.” Gold, as various solid and dust forms, may have been used as an aid or protectant (we see our ‘modern chem-trails’ being sprayed by humans today).
BREAD OF LIFE
Researchers speculated about gold’s anti-cancer properties when induced as nanoparticles to fight “cellular deformations.” It may fix strings of DNA and regulate the hormonal functions of the human endocrine system.
Gold had electrical aspects as a “superconductor.” Metallurgy and chemistry were still progressing into the monoatomic reality of elements. Theorists talked of arranging the atoms into singular atoms causing very little deletion of energy input, as a superconductor, and enhancing the body brain-power and memory, even acting as a time-machine in some ‘monatomic optimum.’
“Sitchen’s scientifically liberating work is filled with poor scholarship, poor translations, and poor science.”
The Seal VA/243 was later described, by Roger Westcott, professor emeritus of Anthropology and Linguistics at Drew University, as merely ‘stars.’ Michael S. Heiser, M.A and Ph.D. in Hebrew Bible and Ancient Semitic languages at the University of Wisconsin lambasted Sitchin’s translations of the texts as grossly misleading and inadequate.
Astronomers of similar style and rank, said Ferrante, have failed to spot Nibiru in its approach into our domain. Such critics pointed out that Akkadian and Sumerian texts were, supposedly, actually talking about Jupiter as the god Marduk (Nibiru). They “frowned” on the idea of a planet “frozen solid” being capable of supporting life; that out of a 3,600-year-orbit, only 153-years would be in sunlight and supposedly life-supporting: if, if, if………
AMIDST A CONFLUENCE
Despite these threads of contention, facing a magnanimous universe, final answers were hidden in the midst of infinite questions; confluence guarded the darkest secrets of the great beyond. Only in the never-ending search, will we finally know if Sitchin, Patten, Velikovsky, Shaver, Palmer, John Keel, and others in this matrix of inquiry, will be found correct: sicitor ad astra(“Thus one goes to the stars”, Aeneid, Virgil).
Statue of Akhenaten – Akhenaten ascended to the throne as the 10th Pharaoh of the 18th dynasty in 1352 B.C. He is depicted in paintings and carvings with an elongated skull, which some ancient alien theorists see as a sign of extraterrestrial heritage.
“The storied tower of Birs Nimrud counts seven of these quadrangular platforms painted in seven colors, black, white, yellow, blue, scarlet, silver and gold, and in the same order sacred to the stellar gods, Adar (Saturn), Ishtar (Venus), Merodach (Jupiter), Nebo (Mercury), Nergal (Mars), Sin (the Moon), Shamash (the Sun).”
Universal phylogenetic tree of life based on 16S rRNA sequences, emphasizing the domains of Bacteria and Archaea. Orange branches indicate hyperthermophiles that grow at ≥90 °C; purple branches, groups that contain known (cultured) psychrotolerant strains; and blue branches, groups that contain known psychrophiles. Note that the (uncultured) marine Crenarchaeota are colored purple because degree of cold adaptation is not known.
Extremophilic microbes are a wild bunch. They can be found thriving in some of the most hostile environments imaginable – swimming in near-boiling water, eating rocks, lounging in sub-zero temperatures, and hanging out where radiation levels rival nuclear reactors.
The benthic zone includes the entire sea floor. About 200,000 species of plants and animals live here. They live on the continental shelf and continental slope. Hydrothermal vents discovered in 1977 are also teeming with life. These plants and animals do not need sunlight to exist.
Tardigrades are a class of microscopic animals with eight limbs and a strange, alien-like behavior. William Miller, a leading tardigrade researcher at Baker University, says these creatures are remarkably abundant. Hundreds of species “are found across the seven continents; everywhere from the highest mountain to the lowest sea,” he says. “Many species of tardigrades live in water, but on land, you find them almost everywhere there’s moss or lichen.” In 2007, scientists discovered that these microscopic critters can survive an extended stay in the cold, irradiated vacuum of outer space. A European team of researchers sent a group of living tardigrades to orbit the earth on the outside of a FOTON-M3 rocket for ten days. When the water bears returned to Earth, the scientists discovered that 68 percent lived through the ordeal.
Palmer was hit by a truck at age seven and suffered a broken back. At nine, a failed spinal graft left him a hunchback who never grew past four feet. He immersed himself in science fiction, moving quickly from fandom, to fan zine publication, to editor at Ziff-Davis. He published a wide array of magazines over the decades.
He also turns up in many of the key UFO connected conspiracy events of the mid 20th century such as the Maury Island Incident
Ray Palmer’s series of Amazing Stories on the Hidden World
Jellyfish species Diplulmaris Antarctica floats with the current just offshore of McMurdo Station, Ross Island, Antarctica. This species is generally found in Antarctica and the Antarctic Peninsula near the surface in continental shelf waters. It’s colorless umbrella can be up to 18 centimeters in diameter and its diet consists mainly of copepods, euphausiid larvae, medusae, ctenophores, fish larvae and molluscan pteropods.
The Shaver Mystery is part of the history of Amazing StoriesMagazine, but it is certainly not considered one of the magazine’s shining moments. Barry Malzberg touched on it briefly in his blog post. In a nutshell, the Shaver Mystery was the “UFO phenomenon” before the actual UFO phenomenon.
I am a senior Chinese military intelligence officer and I know the truth about the “coronavirus” outbreak. It is far worse than the media are telling you.
I am a Chinese citizen in Wuhan who occupies — or perhaps occupied — a high-ranking position in military intelligence. I am also a member of the Chinese Communist Party. As a senior official near the top of the Party, I have access to a great deal of classified information and I have been involved in many top secret government projects. I have a doctorate from a leading university in a western country, which is why I am able to write my account in English.
I have information that I believe could lead to the overthrow of my government. It is also relevant to billions of people outside of China, all of whom are now in existential peril.
It will not surprise you to hear that if my identity were to be revealed, my life would be in grave danger, as would those of my wife and son. I ask you to respect the fact that I have stripped out of this account all facts that would make it easy to identify me.
By now you will be familiar with the recent outbreak of2019-nCoV, also known as NCP, or simply “coronavirus”. You will have heard that it originated in Wuhan, an industrial city in China, and that it came from an animal — most likely a bat or a pangolin — that was sold in a wild animal market. You will have been told that it is an influenza-like illness that can in severe cases cause pneumonia, respiratory failure and death.
Finally, you may have heard that although the disease is highly infectious, it is dangerous only to the elderly or to those who have a compromised immune system. The official lethality rate is approximately 2% or so.
All of that is a bunch of lies concocted by the Chinese state with the tacit support of the U.S. deep state and its friends in the European Union, Russia and Australia, and spread by the docile media in all of those countries.
Let me start by telling you that the world does not operate the way you think it does. Although countries like the US and China vie for global dominance, that competition is restricted to certain limited areas.
In most ways, the two countries are more interested in cooperation so that they can stop other competing countries from gaining more power. They also have a shared interest in keeping real power out of the hands of their “ordinary” citizens. To this end, they have many different mechanisms by which they control the overwhelming majority of their media outlets. The Americans in particular have perfected the art of creating made-up “divisions” between their two main parties which are designed to hide the fact that both serve the same masters.
These same nations also posses technology that is far more advanced than you can imagine and which is kept carefully hidden from public view. This includes advanced artificial intelligence capable of undermining and deciding any election in the world; biological and chemical agents that can manipulate and control the thinking patterns and behaviours of citizens to terrifying degrees; highly sophisticated manipulation techniques using hypnotic practices entirely unknown to the public; and other things that I will not go into now.
My point is that the great nations do not compete so much as work together. Their principal goal is to shield the true workings of the world from the “uninitiated” public.
Just to give you one example, there aren’t actually any nuclear weapons anywhere in the world. The U.S. and the Soviet Union scrapped them all in the 1970s, as did their client states. Everyone realized that those weapons could not be used without destroying the whole world, so there was no need for them; but by pretending that they still had them, the big players were able to keep the non-nuclear powers in line.
The Standing Committee of the Chinese Communist Party considered these to be a grave threat to the integrity and stability of the motherland. The U.S. government and the EU both knew that the Chinese were secretly working on a biological agent that was supposed to make the protesters docile and obedient. Without going into detail, I worked on that project. We tried to develop a sort of spray that could be dispersed from helicopters or drones and that would lead to mental retardation and behavioural change.
Naturally, as Hong Kong is one of the most open and international cities in the world, the Party decided that it was too risky to release the agent in Hong Kong without first testing it. For this, it needed a great number of human guinea pigs. Two groups were identified for this.
We had already been using these camps for human experimentation for several years, but the Hong Kong protests meant that we redoubled our efforts. We exposed the inmates to various “alpha” experimental agents. As these were odourless and invisible, the subjects were not aware that they were taking part in medical trials.
Escape from Xinjiang: Muslim Uighurs Speak of China Persecution
The resulting high rates of cancer, premature dementia, suicidal depression and death by organ failure could easily be suppressed, as the camps are located in very remote parts of our motherland.
Once the initial experiments had yielded a “beta” agent, it was transported to Hubei Province, where it was deployed in a special military testing facility outside the city of Wuhan. This was not even a particularly well-kept secret: the existence of this facility has been reported in international news. Even the fact that it is located close to the wild animal market is a known fact.
By then our President had already introduced a “social credit” system that allowed us to identify disloyal, counter-revolutionary and bourgeois elements in our society. Using the social credit scores — which are taken from online activity, electronic shopping behaviour and reports from informers in civil society — we selected some of the worst offenders. These included human rights lawyers and activists, Christians, homosexuals, artists, intellectuals, people who speak foreign languages, and other undesirables.
Once these troublemakers had been collected and placed in the testing facility, we exposed them to the Agent, which is biochemical in nature and spread in an invisible aerosol, akin to certain viruses. Initial results were encouraging, as we saw significant cognitive decline and reduction in higher mental processing facilities. Essentially, our undesirables were becoming mildly mentally disabled, which is precisely the effect we wanted to produce in order to pacify the restive population of Hong Kong.
Unfortunately, it quickly became apparent that the Agent also had other effects. About one week after the retardation set in, our subjects developed major anxiety and panic attacks. Eventually they developed symptoms akin to those of paranoid schizophrenics. At that point, their bodies rapidly deteriorated. They developed massive internal bleeding; the walls of their arteries dissolved; they bled out of their eyes and orifices, and their tissue disintegrated.
To put it in a more direct Western manner, they started to melt.
Death usually occurred through multiple organ failure. This was preceded by at least five days of severe agony which could not be alleviated by painkillers. It was at this time that I first violated our protocol: one subject, an elderly lady who had published defamatory cartoons of our President, begged me for death with such insistence that I took pity and shot her. I was reprimanded, but fortunately the complaint was dropped when I agreed to reimburse the cost of the bullet. I swore to myself never again to show such unnecessary emotion.
We decided that our Agent was unusable. It was far too destructive for our purposes. We wanted the population of Hong Kong to submit to us; we did not want to exterminate it.
Naturally, our American friends had by then taken an interest in our work and asked us for a sample for their own research and testing purposes. They hinted that they wished to use it to resolve certain difficulties in Venezuela. Normally we would have agreed, as we maintain friendly relations with the CIA, but given the extremely toxic nature of the Agent, we declined.
This, as it turned out, was a grave mistake. The CIA was convinced that we had developed something very powerful and wanted to keep it to ourselves. They offered a great deal of money to one of our researchers.
Foolishly, he agreed to sell them a specimen. We found out just in time for the handover and tried to stop it from happening. In the ensuing shoot-out — don’t bother to look for it in the news, it was never reported anywhere — several dozen people were killed.
More importantly, however, the Agent escaped!
The shoot-out took place at the wild animal market, which has been reported as the location of the “animal-to-human” transmission that started the outbreak. But, of course, there was no such transmission; it was just the location where the CIA was supposed to receive the sealed vial containing the Agent. The vial shattered when it was dropped by the traitor who had agreed to sell it to the Americans.
By now I understand you will be sceptical. If I really am who I say I am, why would I be sharing this information on the internet?
Let me assure you that I am no friend of the Western system of governance. I love my motherland and I am loyal to the Communist Party. It has lifted hundreds of millions of my compatriots out of squalor and poverty. However, I am also a human being and I have a conscience.
Most importantly, I have a wife and a son.
Once we realised that the Agent had escaped and would start to spread, we swiftly put all of Wuhan into lockdown. I was one of those tasked to manage the fallout of the contamination.
Of course, we could not keep such a huge undertaking secret, so we decided to order our state media to report that a “coronavirus” had broken out in Wuhan.
In reality, of course, there is no “coronavirus”. It was all made up.
It was one of my colleagues who came up with the genius idea of pretending that people with the common flu suffered from the coronavirus. This allowed us to hide the true nature of the disease. Let me explain.
It is currently flu season in China. When we realised that we could no longer control the spread of the Agent, we sent our men to all the hospitals and instructed all doctors to diagnose every case of the common flu as “coronavirus”. We came up with a new name — 2019-nCoV — and handed out “factsheets” that described a made-up illness.
The result of this decision was that tens of thousands of individuals who were simply suffering from a cold or flu were now diagnosed as having a mysterious coronavirus that, although infectious, was not often lethal. While this frightened the public, it allowed us to push the narrative that the disease was not that deadly; it also gave us time to prepare for the catastrophe that was sure to come by imposing a lockdown on Wuhan and other cities in Hubei Province.
You have not heard this in the news — and given the size of Wuhan, with its population of 11 million, it is not known even to many of the residents — but within days thousands upon thousands were infected and before long they suffered the agonising deaths that I have already described.
Within a week, there were so many corpses that we did not know what to do with them, so we ordered the surviving social credit prisoners to drive the bodies into the countryside and bury them in mass graves.
But it was very difficult to keep this activity secret, and we could not even keep up as there were so many corpses.People’s Daily, China
Full-front disinfection work has started in #Wuhan, an effort to contain the spread of #coronavirus
I was working around the clock helping to orchestrate this cover-up. When I think back to my actions now, I feel great shame. At the time I still believed that I was fighting for my motherland and that the rule of the Party was right and just. But deep down, I had already begun to have doubts.
You have of course read that he died of “coronavirus.” You have been misinformed. A sergeant of the People’s Armed Police injected him with a mixture of heroin and mercury that caused his lungs to deflate.
When I found out about this I became unsure whether or not I was doing the right thing. While I believe that it is appropriate for a government to rule with a severe hand, I do not think that it was right to kill Dr Li. He was a compassionate and kind man and he cared about his patients; how can our motherland not benefit from having such a doctor?
I shared my concerns with my wife, but she convinced me that I should not say anything to my superiors. She said that it was too dangerous; that they valued loyalty above everything else; and that I would only find trouble if I admitted to my doubts about their practices. She also pointed out that we benefited from priority medical treatment. As senior officials, we received regular supplies of the highly-sophisticated hazmat masks that are the only known technology that can prevent infection. She implored me to think of our son, who is still small. If I spoke out and were caught, our lives would be at risk.
Around the same time, it became clear that the Agent was entirely beyond our control. It was spreading like wildfire throughout Hubei Province and beyond, infecting tens of millions and causing them all to die.
But these are the influenza infections that have been falsely passed off as the non-existent “coronavirus.” The Agent is far, far more contagious than that, and its fatality rate, unlike the “coronavirus”, is not 2%.
No, its fatality rate is 100%. Nobody recovers from it. Everybody who contracts it dies.
And a lot of people are contracting it.
Hubei Province lies in ruins. The various travel restrictions and lockdowns that have been imposed were not created to stop the spread of the Agent — none of them can stop it, not embargoes, not face masks or hand sanitiser — but to stop the survivors from seeing the catastrophe with their own eyes.
Drones are being used to heard people toward -containment centers.
I am part of the greatest cover-up in human history: the hiding of the deaths of tens of millions. Very soon, Hubei Province will be no more than a giant mortuary, and the truth will come out.
For me, the turning point came when the Party told yet another lie, and that lie was too dreadful even for me to accept.
You may have heard that China built a new hospital, called Huoshenshan Hospital, in Wuhan, in order to provide additional quarantine and isolation facilities for infected patients. You may have heard that they built it in only ten days.
That too is a lie.
Sure, they did build something in six days. But it was not a “hospital. ” The true nature of the building was considered “top secret.”
Initially, I was naive enough to believe that the Party was demonstrating its compassion and care for the people. But then my superiors sent me to Huoshenshan.
I was shown around the installation by a military police officer called Corporal Meng (this is not his real name). It was there that I saw the truth.
As I have mentioned, the only way to protect oneself from the Agent is by wearing a special protective mask that is entirely unlike those available commercially. Even medical professionals do not have access to it. It is available only to biomedical warfare researchers and it contains extremely advanced technology.
These masks need to be kept at a particular temperature to offer full protection, and lose their effectiveness very quickly. As I have also already said, one of the benefits of my position was that both my family and I had access to regular supplies, which is why were safe when compared to civilians, doctors and even lower-level government officials, all of whom wore utterly ineffective surgical masks in the misguided belief that they would protect them.
And so, wearing this special equipment, I went to Huoshenshan with Corporal Meng.
Whatever you want to call that place,it is not a hospital.
Sure, the entrance looks like a hospital and in the ward at the front of the complex, there are what appear to be normal medical beds. There, thousands of infected patients lie, all of them in the early stages of the disease. I walked along those long, white corridors next to Corporal Meng, his angular face dispassionate in his military fatigues, and saw hundreds upon hundreds of identical hospital beds on which squirmed the terrified and diseased inhabitants of Wuhan. Their cries and pleas haunt me in the long nights in which I now am unable to sleep.
But this was merely the beginning. Eventually the Corporal took me to the rear of this front section. There, locked metal gates led to what he called the “middle section”. The patients in the front are unaware of its existence. It is there that the more advanced cases are kept, in what most closely resembles a mental asylum.
Immediately upon entering this part of Huoshenshan, I was struck by the dim lighting and stench of vomit and human waste. Here the unfortunates roamed freely, their minds gradually disintegrating in endless panic attacks and psychotic episodes. Here too there were no more doctors, merely gorilla-faced men in black uniforms who belonged to some secret branch of the military police I had never heard of.
They appeared to have been selected for their cruelty, for they beat and degraded the patients in the most sadistic manner. Many of the inmates had regressed to childlike states and lay on the floor weeping like infants and begging for compassion that they did not receive.
There was cruel pleasure in the eyes of these thugs as they brutalised the unfortunates. They beat them with batons, sprayed pepper spray into their eyes and kicked them with their steel-capped boots. As I was from military intelligence, the guards did not even attempt to hide their activities. They even invited me to join; in every way, they treated me as one of them.
Yes, one of them. I stood in the grey staff bathroom of Huoshenshan and looked into a cheap mirror and asked myself — is this really what you are? Are you really like them?
But the violence was not merely an expression of sadism, for the poor inmates were not there to be cared for.
They were there to work.
There was one more set of doors, and beyond them lay what the Corporal called the “Core.” And it was there that I saw it — piles and piles of dead bodies, stacked on top of one another all the way to the ceiling. There were men, women and children, elderlies and toddlers, rich and poor, beautiful and misshapen, proud and humble.
They were all of them dead. Our Agent made no distinction between any of them.
I gasped when the Corporal led me to the Core. I cannot count how many there were, but it was many, many thousands. And in the midst of the piles of corpses was a kind of path, and I heard a roaring sound in the distance. The miserable patients from the middle section picked up the dead and carried and dragged them away into the dark, even as the guards beat them with truncheons.
It took me a little while before I grasped what was happening. I simply could not believe what lay at the end of that path in the Core.
It was an enormous furnace, with great fires roaring within.
One by one, their minds destroyed and their bodies twisted, the dying men and women carried the corpses to the furnace and cast them inside in a doomed attempt to hide the dreadful truth. I saw several of them collapse from exhaustion only for their lifeless bodies to be added to the mountains of corpses on both sides. In a seemingly endless line they went, their emaciated bodies clad in grey overalls, their backs bent under the weight of their dreadful cargo. Many howled and groaned in terror and their voices joined in a sorrowful cacophony that lingered over the roar of the fires.
In deep shock, I stared at the boundless horror before me. Beside me stood Corporal Meng, his freshly-shaved face as emotionless as before. When I turned to face him, he looked at me. His mouth smiled, but his eyes did not.
“We use the energy to operate Huoshenshan,” he said. “We save the state considerable resources in this way. And look,” — he waved at the gallery of the dead — “there are so many of them here. You could almost describe it as renewable energy.” He laughed and waved his hand in a strangely camp gesture.
I stood speechless and stared at the infernal scenes before me. Men in black uniforms screamed like daemons at the wretches who were disposing of the corpses for them. They stripped the dead of anything that had value — jewellery, cash, expensive clothing — and tossed these items onto an enormous pile next to the furnace. When I asked the Corporal what would be done with the items, they said that they would be used to pay for the “healthcare expenses” incurred by the patients’ stay in Huoshenshan.
I vomited in the toilet. When I flushed and came out of the stall, Corporal Meng stood by the door and looked at me. His face was as blank as before, but in his eyes I thought I registered a very faint trace of contempt. You are ten years my senior, the look said, but you are soft.
I thanked him for his service and went home.
When I arrived, I saw that I had received hundreds of updates on the encrypted device the Party uses to communicate to insiders. The news were unimaginably grim. The State Legal and Economic Commission had allocated funds for the construction of dozens of facilities like Huoshenshan all throughout China.
The Agent had spread not only to every single province of the motherland, but to most other nations in the world. Fortunately, we had agreements in place with other governments — they agreed to pretend that the infections were due to a coronavirus. They were just as worried as we were that a panic might break out in their countries. The Americans, in particular, were terrified that the S&P 500 might decline. This, they said, would be unacceptable in an election year, so we could count on their full support.
Of course the World Health Organisation also helped us. For a long time, the only issue with the WHO has been that we have been locked in a contest with the Americans about who bribes them more. They released all sorts of sophisticated misinformation about having decoded the DNA of the so-called coronavirus. All this has allowed us to stave off a global panic.
You should know that the person who met the Cambodian leader was not President Xi. It was a body double who had, for many years, been trained to look and sound just like our President. President Xi is of course not careless enough to risk his own death. He is safely ensconced in a secret bunker underneath Zhongnanhai, the headquarters of the Party in Beijing.
Nor was he the only leader who is in hiding. In fact, I can assure you that over half of all senior Party members are currently being imitated by trained actors who are following instructions given to them via special implants.
All of this means that our government has become utterly paralysed and the functions of the state have been taken over by the military.
It became clear to me that our efforts were pointless. Yes, the lockdowns, travel bans and targeted assassinations of rebellious journalists allowed us to hide the true situation in Wuhan; but I knew that this would not last.
Once the mass deaths begin in the rest of the world — in our estimation, this should happen within the next week or so — everyone will know the truth. It will become clear that we cannot protect ourselves from the Agent.
Surgical masks, hand sanitiser, gloves — nothing can stop it. Nothing except the special hazmat masks, but those cannot be produced in anything like sufficient quantities. You, an ordinary person, will never even receive one, let alone a sufficient number to see you through the coming holocaust.
For those of you reading this, therefore, all I can suggest is that you keep your loved ones close to you. Hug them, tell them what they mean to you. Enjoy the time you have left with them. It is not typical in Chinese culture to express one’s feelings in this way, but I have learnt the importance of such gestures.
I promised my wife that I would show this document to her before I posted it.
Yet I broke my word.
I hear her weep in loud, hoarse sobs in the bedroom, and the keyboard of my laptop is wet with my own tears. Not long ago, we received results of the regular tests that are part of our “priority medical treatment”, and we learnt that my son had been infected with the Agent.
The military police that has supplied me with the special protective mask had been giving expired and ineffective masks to my son, masks that senior officials had already worn and then discarded when they ceased to protect them. My own masks, on the other hand, had always been of the necessary quality.
I suppose they decided that my son was of lower priority than me. I suppose my son could not help them with their cover-up.
We had long ago decided that we would be different — we would be honest with him, always. And so when he asked us, we told him the truth. We told him that he was very sick. He asked more, and we told him he would not get better.
He continued asking, and we told him that he would die. He is very small, but he was old enough to understand.
His terrified wails will haunt me for the rest of my miserable days in this world.
Let them come. Let them do with me as they will. I no longer care.
The videolinked below shows scenes from Wuhan, China, and graphically supports all the assertions made by the anonymous Chinese Military Intelligence Officer presented above.
The viewer should “Cut to the chase” at the 54 minute Time Mark to see what’s really going on in Red China, emphasis on “Red” as in “bloody China.”These scenes show the ruthlessness of the Chinese Police conducting forced detainment of people suspected of having the Corona Flu.enforcing. Even pets are being thrown out of windows on rumors that pets are spreading the disease (not true).This video also shows clear evidence of intentional contamination and spreading of disease as seen in the elevator with Chinese operatives spitting on tissue and smearing it on elevator buttons, as well as, people spitting in food containers and into food service centers.The following video images reveal the real face of Chinese Communism, which has become today the worst “Death Cult” ever known in the long history of Mankind.
Harvard University Professor and Two Chinese Nationals Charged in Three Separate China Related Cases The Department of Justice announced today that the Chair of Harvard University’s Chemistry and Chemical Biology Department and two Chinese nationals have been charged in connection with aiding the People’s Republic of China.
Dr. Charles Lieber, 60, Chair of the Department of Chemistry and Chemical Biology at Harvard University, was arrested this morning and charged by criminal complaint with one count of making a materially false, fictitious and fraudulent statement. Lieber will appear this afternoon before Magistrate Judge Marianne B. Bowler in federal court in Boston, Massachusetts.
Yanqing Ye, 29, a Chinese national, was charged in an indictment today with one count each of visa fraud, making false statements, acting as an agent of a foreign government and conspiracy. Ye is currently in China.
Zaosong Zheng, 30, a Chinese national, was arrested on Dec. 10, 2019, at Boston’s Logan International Airport and charged by criminal complaint with attempting to smuggle 21 vials of biological research to China. On Jan. 21, 2020, Zheng was indicted on one count of smuggling goods from the United States and one count of making false, fictitious or fraudulent statements. He has been detained since Dec. 30, 2019.
Travis Walton finally updates on his mysterious claims that he was ‘zapped’ in the Arizona woods and taken aboard a UFO. Was it really a hoax concocted by the crew of forest workers? No, according to Travis Walton , not only did the men in the forest see a UFO but Travis was indeed taken aboard the craft. Polygraph tests seemed to indicate this, medical tests as well. Yet, even though this case once again shows similarities with several other UFO abduction cases (bug eyed creatures, large cranium humanoids, etc.), the inconsistencies are more puzzling.
Could it possibly be, even though the outward appearances parade as authentic, that beneath its veneer rests a mystery larger than any ‘space visitors’ mysticism? What could be more devastating than space visitors? Perhaps Travis gives us a clue himself: “By ‘alien’ I do not necessarily mean extraterrestrial. I know of nothing that positively indicates that these crafts or either their occupants came from outer space…(there are theorists that indicate a reality) as being from this earth…”
Outlining the many theories, Travis, also details other offshoot theories. One of the many is the possible explanation that ‘saucers’ and /or ‘forces’ are apparitions are ‘images’ or ‘symbols’ from the subconscious triggered by electromagnetic energies from an intense field of energy (those oval lights in the night), sometimes so intense that one cannot look at he source. The literal spaceship theory is a thing of the past, but what a more modern version will be, is yet hard to say.
“When I was first able to focus my eyes good enough, I was still on the table. And as soon as I saw this face, and knew it wasn’t human, I tried to hit it away from me. They were much smaller than me, and I think that’s the reason they gave up. Once they found out they couldn’t control me, they split. I was absolutely terrified.”
Walton, pictured above, was declared missing for five days, during which time his logger buddies fell under suspicion of foul play. When Walton finally turned up again, not knowing how long he’d been gone, an intense investigation was underway, including multiple polygraph, physical and psychological tests.
He tells HuffPost about little known aftermath details, including subsequent research in the forest area which has shown an unusual growth rate in trees in the immediate vicinity of the encounter.
“About 15 years later, it was discovered that the trees nearest to where [the UFO] hovered had been producing wood fiber at 36 times the rate it had in the 85 years before that,” Walton says. “More recently, a complete core sampling revealed that this thickened growth was only on the side of the trees towards, or in the direction that the craft had been.”
Walton addresses the stigma that he and so many other people — who claim encounters with possible alien beings — are generally considered unreliable wackos.
“The scientific evidence of the likelihood of intelligent life in our vicinity has become so overwhelming that the people who believe that we’re alone in the universe — those are the kooks.”
To commemorate the 40th anniversary of his close encounter, Walton will speak at the November Sky fire Summit in Arizona. On the agenda is a road trip to the exact spot where this four-decade-long controversy began.
Early one November morning in 1975, a seven-man logging crew was returning home from working in Sit greaves National Park, near Snowflake, Arizona. What happened — and what they witnessed — from their truck is uncertain.
I could see out of this one craft — and I could see stars all around, but no planet or sun or anything like that. So, at some distance from this solar system.- Travis Walton, self-described alien abductee
But at some point one of the men (Travis Walton, 22), disappeared — only to re-emerge five days later at a nearby gas station. He claimed he had been abducted by aliens.
Alleged alien abductee Travis Walton in 1975. (Michael Rogers/courtesy of Travis Walton).
As it Happens host Barbara Frum spoke with Mr. Walton later that month. Here is part of that interview.
Barbara Frum: Mr. Walton, how are you?
Travis Walton: I’m feeling a lot better.
BF: Where were you?
TW: I don’t know.
BF: Can you tell us anything of what happened?
TW: I could see out of this one craft — and I could see stars all around, but no planet or sun or anything like that. So, at some distance from this solar system.
I became conscious inside the craft. And I believed I was in the hospital. I was in a lot of pain. And as I became more conscious, I looked around and I saw alien beings and I just panicked.- Travis Walton
BF: When you got off the truck to see the object that the other people on the truck saw, do you remember what you thought when you were running toward it?
TW: I just wanted to get a closer look. I didn’t have any idea of what would happen.
BF: Did you hear the truck drive off without you?
TW: No. I was unconscious at that time. I didn’t see any blue ray like they described. I just blacked out. I was just struck. And shocked, sort of.
BF: Now what’s the next thing you know for sure?
TW: I became conscious inside the craft. And I believed I was in the hospital. I was in a lot of pain. And as I became more conscious, I looked around and I saw alien beings and I just panicked.
BF: How’d they look?
TW: They looked almost human. They were very white — on their skin, and hairless. And in reddish-brown coveralls.
BF: What do you mean ‘hairless’?
TW: No hair on the head, no eyebrows, no eyelashes.
BF: No moustaches?
BF: How did they treat you?
TW: I reacted violently, because of the shock and the pain I was in. But looking back on it now, I don’t believe they had any harmful intentions.
BF: What did they feed you?
TW: I don’t recall ever being fed. I was only conscious for two or three hours out of the five-and-a-half days. Hypnosis has been trying to see if there’s any blocked memory there, or if perhaps I was just totally unconscious for that time. But there was a mark on my arm that suggested intravenous feeding.
BF: How much weight did you lose in the five days?
TW: Ten or twelve pounds. I’ve regained all of about three pounds of that weight I’ve ost.
BF: Anyone in Snowflake, Arizona, believing you?
TW: Acceptance is growing — especially since the final word of the experts that I was examined by after my return. A lot of negative publicity went out immediately, because since I was under testing and not available for any kind of an interview or comment, they just seized on a lot of speculation and a lot of negative things came out. But since then, acceptance has been growing tremendously.
BF: Are you going to write a book?
TW: It’s been suggested to me. There’s so much to tell. It’d probably be a good idea.
The Hit The Lights Podcast
The Travis Walton UFO incident & Abduction
APRIL 17, 2020 TOP5S
The Hit The Lights Podcast
The Travis Walton UFO incident & Abduction The Travis Walton UFO incident & Abduction
It is one of the most famous and at the same time one of the most controversial cases in Ufology. Travis Walton is now a name that has become synonymous with the alien abduction phenomena thanks in no small part to the mass media attention his case received at the time. This profile was only raised further with the release of the 1993 movie “Fire in the Sky” which chronicled the events surrounding his abduction. But for all those who believe Walton’s story, there seem to be an equal number of people who doubt his authenticity and both he and the other witnesses to the events that fateful night have come under personal attacks by those claiming they faked the whole thing as part of some money-making scheme.
Walton’s story has left researchers, sceptics and law enforcement asking countless questions regarding their respective fields of interest. But the one question everyone seems to want to know the answer to is this; just where was Travis Walton between November 5th and November 10th, 1975. Was he as some have suggested, hiding out in a cabin or a tent deep in the forests of Arizona, waiting to re-emerge with tall tales of aliens? Or was he indeed carried away by some unknown force for reasons that still elude us?
In this Destination Declassified video, we are going to break down key points in the Travis Walton case. It is not our aim to prove Walton is telling the truth nor are we here to suggest he is a liar but until he or his colleagues come forward admitting it is a hoax or some previously undiscovered evidence emerges that proves he is telling the truth; we are left with deciding for ourselves what we want to believe.
The apparent alien abduction of (then) 22-year-old Travis Walton in the winter of 1975 is perhaps one of the most well-known of such encounters. Not least due to Walton’s story resulting in a book and then the movie – Fire In The Sky. It is also, perhaps ironically, this monetary “compensation” enjoyed by Walton that has led some to cast doubt on the incident, with several investigators claiming the account is nothing but a hoax. In September 2017, Walton would defend himself against such claims. Although, as we will look at shortly, Walton did fail one lie-detector test, he has passed no less than sixteen others. The main witnesses to the incident also passed their lie-detector tests, and furthermore, it is hard to see what each of the men would have to gain by supporting an apparent hoax.
It remains a case that fascinates most and divides opinion in others. It is potentially, however, barring any kind of proof or admission of fabricated or manufactured events, one of the most important incidents of its kind. And certainly, one of the most documented and investigated. The case is not only intriguing, but it also opens other avenues and areas of concern regarding the UFO and alien question. Not least, the apparent rabid nature of skeptics, or perhaps even those that use skepticism as a shield to issue disinformation and cover over whatever truth might be available.
Before we move on look at this most intriguing encounter in more detail, check out the short video below. It is the trailer to the “Fire In The Sky” movie. As Walton would state later, the filmmakers used “artistic license” with some of the scenes on board the UFO, but the essence of the account is true to reality.
A Glow In The Woods
On the evening of 5th November 1975, at a little after 6 pm following another hard, grinding day sawing trees in the Apache-Sitgreaves region of the US National Forest, seven hired woodcutters were making their way home to the town of Snowflake, Arizona in the head of the group, Michael Rogers’ pick-up truck. As they chatted among themselves, the men, Rogers, and Walton, along with Ken Peterson, John Goulette, Steve Pierce, Allen Dallis, and Dwayne Smith, suddenly noticed a strange glow coming from the woodland that hugged the side of the road. Thinking it was perhaps a forest fire, all the men were suddenly more attentive than they might have been, lest they became trapped in such a situation.
According to MUFON’s report on the incident, as they approached the hill in the road where the light was coming from, they suddenly saw a “large silver disc” hovering over a clearing in the roads. It glowed brightly, lighting up the patch of ground underneath it. Slightly in shock at what he was seeing, Rogers would bring the truck to a stop. As soon as he did so, and without warning, Walton would leap out of the passenger-side door and walked directly towards the strange, glowing craft.
Not hearing, or not listening to the rest of the woodcutting crew who were pleading and demanding he return to the truck, Walton continued until he was standing directly underneath the mystery object. Then, strange mechanical turbine-like noises began to fill the air. At the same time, the craft began to wobble, still in its hovering position. Walton, perhaps now sensing something was about to happen, stepped back slightly and slowly began to back away.
Then, came the “beam of blue-green light”.
“Beam” Strike And Disappearance
According to the reports of UFO researcher, Jerome Clark, the witnesses from their vantage point from inside the truck, witnessed a blue-green beam strike Walton square in the chest. This caused him to rise “a foot into the air, his arms and legs outstretched, and shoot back stiffly some ten feet”. During this, Walton remained within the glow of the craft’s light. Suddenly he was seemingly flung to the ground “like he’d touched a live wire”, striking his shoulder upon landing “his body sprawled limply”, apparently dead. That is certainly what the rest of the group initially thought as they sped away from the scene as quickly as they could.
What exactly happened next and in what exact timeframe varies slightly from account to account. However, after initially fleeing the scene the remaining six made the decision to return to the area to retrieve their friend and colleague. However, upon doing so, he was no longer there. Despite being sure they had the correct location; he was simply nowhere to be seen.
More than unnerved and simmering towards panic, the men would drive to a shopping center in the nearby town of Heber. Again, while the exact timeframe varies slightly, sometime between 7:30 pm and 8 pm, Ken Peterson, on behalf of all six of them, phoned the local police. His call was answered by Deputy Sheriff Chuck Ellison. Although on the phone Peterson stated merely that one of their crew had gone missing, Ellison still agreed to meet them at their location.
When he arrived, however, the men, all visibly distressed (with some close to tears) would tell them exactly what they had seen.
The crew of Travis Walton
“If They Were Acting, They Were Awfully Good At It!”
Perhaps naturally, Ellison was taken aback with the outlandish nature of such a serious claim. However, he would later state of the men’s demeanor and behavior, “if they were acting, they were awfully good at it”.
It was at this point, himself slightly overwhelmed with the strange nature of the apparent incident, that Ellison would contact his superior, Sheriff Marlin Gillespie. His orders were to ask the men to remain at the shopping center under his supervision until he could arrive. Around 9 pm, Gillespie, along with police officer, Ken Coplan, pulled up their police car in Heber.
By this time, several members of the crew, Rogers, were becoming increasingly anxious. With the apparent lack of action Rogers would demand that a search was launched immediately and that they should return to the scene of the incident . Although they were not able to utilize any police search dogs, several officers, along with Rogers, Peterson, and Dalis did examine the location. However, there was no sign of Walton. And perhaps more importantly to their suspicions, there was no sign that anything as untoward as the crew were claiming had taken place.
The remaining crew members in the meantime would return to Snowflake and begin to inform family and friends of the bizarre situation. As the night wore on the search would have to be delayed until the morning. However, there was concern among the police that Walton, who was dressed only in jeans, shirt, and a light jacket, would fall victim to the brutal winter-like, freezing conditions of the forest.
Suspicions Of A Hoax
Along with Roger, Coplan would travel to Walton’s mother, Mary Walton Kellett’s house to inform her of the situation and the witnesses’ account of it. Her response and overall demeanor would strike Coplan as “odd”. Rogers would tell her of her son’s disappearance to which she calmly listened before asking him to repeat the account. Then, the first question she asked was whether anyone else other than the crew and the police were aware of the situation. Coplan believed it wasn’t a typical response of a mother informed her son is missing. Ultimately, it would simply harden his suspicion of one untruth or another regarding Walton’s apparent disappearance.
However, deeper analysis of Walton’s mother’s general character would suggest this aloof type of response to be in line with her personality and attitude. She had, for example, raised six children, largely by herself and in difficult circumstances. She was ultimately very “guarded” regarding her feelings in public. As the days went on, though, the stress became all too apparent for all to see. On the night of the disappearance, she would contact Walton’s brother, Duane. Upon hearing the news, he would travel to Snowflake from his home in Glendale, Arizona.
By the following day, 6th November, with the sunbathing the area in full light, the region was searched once more. This time, many more people were part of the operation, including multiple volunteers from the local community. However, once again, there was no sign whatsoever of Travis Walton. Police, at least privately, suspected that the “UFO story” had been put in place to cover up an accident, or even a homicide.
The Fred Syvanus Tape
It was only a matter of days before news of the incident leaked to the reporters from a whole range of sensationalist-type tabloid newspapers. As well as UFO investigators with various degrees of genuineness and competence. One of those UFO investigators hailed from Phoenix, Fred Sylvanus. Whether his intentions were well-intended or not, the interviews he obtained with Michael Rogers and Walton’s brother Duane would go on to be often used by skeptics. It perhaps didn’t help that both men would openly, and maybe correctly, criticize the effort by the police in finding their colleague and brother.
More importantly and, in part, a genuine cause of concern over the years was Rogers’ “admission” that he would no longer be able to fulfill his logging contract. We will come back to this later as if there is any kind of fraudulent behavior afoot, this could be key.
The other statement would come from Walton’s brother, Duane. He would reveal that both he and his brother had a long-lasting interest in UFOs. In fact, Duane would even reveal that he had witnessed a UFO himself twelve years previously. Furthermore, he would offer completely of his own accord, that both he and Travis had made a pact that if either of them was ever to witness a UFO they would “get as close as possible”. Some reports even claim they would “try to get on board”.
Each of these statements would be used repeatedly against those involved with the case. Before we move on, let’s look a little further at the logging contract. And, as unlikely as it might have been, why it is, whether coincidentally or not, perhaps the one real chink in the armor of their story.
The Logging Contract
The timber thinning contract that Michael Rogers successfully bid for and won in the spring of 1974 is perhaps of interest. As per the terms of the deal struck with the US Forest Service, Rogers would be responsible for the thinning operation over 1,277 acres of land in the Apache-Sit greaves forest. Rogers, in part, was successful with his bid due to considerable undercutting of the other companies bidding for the contract. However, by the summer of 1975, it was becoming increasingly obvious to Rogers that he was simply not going to meet the predetermined deadline to have the work completed.
This would lead him to apply for a deadline extension. This was granted, but it would mean a monetary fine against what he had agreed to be paid. He would forfeit one dollar per acre for all work carried out after the original deadline. The new extension was agreed, and Rogers was to have the thinning operation complete by the 10th of November. Once again, however, it quickly became apparent to Rogers that he was going to miss this second, extended deadline. If Rogers applied for another extension, which may have been granted, he would incur further fines. Furthermore, due to the already missed original target date, the Forest Service wouldn’t pay in full for the work until it was complete.
This was quite a concern for Rogers. Not only would he not be able to pay his crew, but he also himself would be severely hampered financially. And with winter just around the corner which would even further hamper work, some believe that Rogers, along with the rest of the crew concocted the abduction claim to have their contract voided and receive payment in full due to circumstances beyond their control stopping them from finishing the work.
Suspicions Of Foul Play
As the days went on following Walton’s disappearance and several unsuccessful searches of the Turkey Springs area where the crew had been working, suspicion began to increasingly return to the crew members. Due to the amount of time, he had been missing combined with the below freezing temperatures of the first two nights of his disappearance, the feeling among the police began to discreetly change from a search-and-rescue mission to one of recovering the young man’s body.
After the second full day of searching, the police would approach the crew members with an offer for them to take a lie detector test. They had initially offered to take “any kind” of test in the hours following the disappearance to prove their account was truthful. Polygraph examiner, Cy Gilson, generally respected in his field as being fair and accurate with such readings, would conduct the tests.
All the crew members would pass the tests with no problems whatsoever, aside from Allen Dalis, whose didn’t fail the test, but whose results were inconclusive. It was also known that Dalis didn’t particularly get on with Walton. His inconclusive result, despite the efforts of the crew members, singled him out as being responsible for what the police were increasingly sure was Walton’s death. Incidentally, just under twenty years later in 1993, Gilson would retest Mike Rogers and Allen Dalis, as well as Travis Walton. He would use a “state-of-the-art” computer. All of three of the men passed the test.
Back in the winter of 1975, among suspicions of foul play, Walton’s sister, Grant Neff, received a sudden phone call slightly after midnight on the evening of the 10th of November (going into the 11th of November). On the other end was Travis.
Several suspected Walton of a hoax
Walton sounded confused, panicked, and disorientated. His sister managed to retrieve information that he was calling from an Exxon Station somewhere nearby. Grant’s husband and Walton’s brother, Duane, would immediately jump in their vehicle and head towards Heber where they indeed found Walton “crumpled to the floor of the phone booth” at the gas station.
Years later, in the book ‘The Walton Experience’, Walton would recall his first memories of waking up following his five-day disappearance. He would claim that he “regained consciousness lying on my stomach” with his head on his outstretched arm. He immediately noticed how cold the air was and was “instantly awake”. It was then he noticed a bright light “on the bottom of a curved, gleaming hull”. Then, he noticed the “mirrored outline of a silvery disc” hovering somewhere over him.
He would estimate the craft to have been around forty feet in length. It moved silently above him for several moments. As he followed it moving only his eyes from where he lay he could “see the night sky, the surrounding trees, and the highway center line reflected in the curving mirror of its hull”. Suddenly a “warmth” caressed the exposed skin of his body. Then the object “shot vertically into the sky”. In an instant, the craft was gone. Walton would later recall that “the most striking thing about its departure was its quietness”.
After taking Walton to his mother’s house, his brother Duane would take him to a hospital in Phoenix. And after some initial resistance, all involved would allow APRO (Aerial Phenomena Research Organization) to drive the case. They would immediately have Walton examined by two different physicians.
Memories From Inside The Craft
According to Walton, the last thing he clearly remembered was being struck by the beam of light as he stood underneath the glowing disc. The next thing he knew, he was lying on a flat service like a “reclined bed”. He immediately noticed that the air was damp and “heavy”. He also immediately felt pain all over his body. A light shone down on him from above. Each breath was decidedly difficult and painful.
He at first believed he was in a hospital somewhere. Then, he noticed the three figures stood around him. Each donned an orange suit, although it was perfectly obvious to Walton that they were not at all human. He would later state these figures were around five feet high, certainly no taller than that, and with strange bald and enormous heads. Their eyes were equally large. He would describe them as “almost brown without much white in them”. The rest of their facial features were decidedly smaller than their size suggested. What Walton was ultimately describing was three, grey aliens.
With a surge of fear-induced adrenalin running through him, Walton jumped down from the bed and quickly stood. He began to shout at the three strange creatures, warning them to stay away. He managed to pick up a “glasslike cylinder” from a shelf as he backed away. His intention was to smash to object and use it as a weapon. However, he was unable to break it. Instead, he waved it at the three creatures and continued to shout. To his amazement, they backed away and left the room. After waiting for a moment, Walton also left the room.
The High-Backed Chair In The Round Room
He would proceed down a hallway and soon found himself in a round room. He could see a strange chair with an overly large back to it sitting in the middle of the room. Walton stepped forward, making his way towards the chair. As he moved inside the room, lights began to come on around him. He cast his eyes around the intriguing and mysterious room, assuring himself he was still the only one inside. Satisfied, he moved forward, sitting in the chair. Upon doing so, lights came on all around the room reminding Walton of a “planetarium ceiling”.
He would recall that the left-hand arm of the chair had a “single short thick lever” with an “oddly molded handle”. On the other arm was a lime-green screen, casting out a warm glow. Walton pushed on the lever and the “lights” rotated until he let go of it, now stopping in their new position. Suddenly realizing he had no real idea what such buttons and levers might do, he got out of the chair. As he did so, the lights above him went out.
Then he heard a noise from behind. He spun around, witnessing a tall humanoid figure with a glassy helmet. On its frame was blue coveralls. Walton began to fire questions at the “man”, but he either didn’t hear or ignored him. Instead, he would motion to him that he should follow him. Walton did so, following the tall figure down another hallway. He carried on down a steep ramp and soon found himself in another large room. A room like an aircraft hangar. It was then that he realized the ramp was a walkway out of the disc-shaped craft. He saw two other discs “landed” in the hangar in front of him.
Mothership, Or Terrestrial Base?
Whether Walton was on board a mothership of sorts somewhere in Earth’s orbit or even farther out in space, or whether he was taken to a more terrestrial base somewhere on Earth is unclear. He was, however, led into another room where he claimed to see three humans, two men and a woman. Unlike the person who had led him here, these people had no helmets although they too, as Walton could also now see of the helmeted man, had a strange larger appearance to their eyes.
Once more he began to ask questions of the trio. However, much in the same way as the first humanoid, they dismissed his inquiries. They instead directed him to another table-like object, motioning that he should sit down. Before he realized what was happening, the “woman” approached him. In her hands, she had a mask-like device. In another second it was clasped to his face. A second later, he lost consciousness.
Walton claimed his next memory is of waking up, on his stomach outside the gas station in the freezing cold. Above him was one of the disc-shaped objects which shot directly upwards at breakneck speed after several seconds. It was then, still confused, that Walton went to the telephone box nearby. In his mind, he believed he had been missing for a few hours. It was only when his brother arrived that he was told he had been missing for a full five days.
A Purposeful “Mental Block!”
There were certainly some interesting details that surfaced in the immediate aftermath of Walton’s return. Many theories circulated that Walton may have been attacked and drugged. He had, according to the theory, awoken in an unknown hospital. And confused, would believe his strange surroundings to be that of the inside of a spaceship. While that would perhaps make sense, it wouldn’t explain the sighting of the disc-shaped craft by all the crew, including Walton. Indeed, it was this sighting that would have, if we believe the above theory, influenced Walton’s confused perception. And besides, if Walton was attacked in such a manner, by whom? And why? Furthermore, there was no sign of head injury. Nor were any drugs that may have caused such confusion present in his system.
Another little-known event in the immediate days following Walton’s return was a meeting he and his brother, Duane had with ARPO consultant, James Harder. To prove his genuineness, and to unlock any other memories of the account, Walton would agree to undergo hypnotic regression. Harder himself would conduct the session. What was interesting, though, was that Walton’s “conscious recall and unconscious memory were the same”. Furthermore, and perhaps even more interesting, on either mental level, Walton could access only the two-hour period following the beam of light hitting him in the chest. Anything beyond that had a feeling of being “off-limits”.
Both Walton and Harder would get the impression that there were indeed memories to unlock, but that there was a purposeful “mental block” preventing access to them. Walton would even state that if attempts to retrieve these memories continued “he would die”.
Interesting Details And “Other” Sightings
There were other details that very much supported Walton’s claims. He sported a full five days’ worth of beard growth, for example. He also appeared significantly malnourished. What is interesting, however, is that despite this very real physical evidence of a prolonged period of starvation, there is also evidence to suggest that some form of basic nutrition would find its way to Walton. There wasn’t, for example, elevated levels of electrolytes in the blood, which would normally be the case had Walton literally starved of all nutrition for a prolonged period.
So, with that in mind, whoever or whatever did take Walton from the woodlands of Arizona, and wherever they took him, they were concerned, prepared, and aware enough to administer appropriate levels of fluids and nutrients to prevent any long-term damage to his health.
Perhaps also of interest are several sightings on the 10th of November – several hours before the apparent return of Walton. Although the location is unclear, the witness would report seeing a “V-formation of orange lights” over her house. She waited to see if the lights would return. Then, she blacked out. Her next memory is of sitting a large chair in a strange room with dim lights all around. She could see several “human figures” walking back and forth through a doorway. The next thing she knew, she was back in her home.
On the same night, a report came from Minot Air Force Base in North Dakota. According to the report, “a bright star-like object…about the size of a car” was moving across the sky. Estimations would suggest an altitude of 1,000 to 2,000 feet high but with no noise whatsoever. The sighting would receive corroboration from three other witnesses. Interestingly, several sightings came from Canada in the early hours of 11th November.
The Movie “Fire In The Sky” – A Great Display Of The Emotional Impact
Several years after the abduction encounter in 1978, Walton would release the book ‘The Walton Experience’ in which he would tell the full story, as much as he could remember of it, of his abduction and the events that unfolded afterward. The book would eventually result in the movie by Paramount Pictures ‘Fire In The Sky’ in 1993.
As we will examine a little more later, many used already established suspicions and added the monetary gain Walton would have had for the releases as further evidence that the whole event was a hoax. In defense of Walton, and some of the others such as Rogers and Dalis, the events so well and widely scrutinized, it would be extremely difficult to go back to any resemblance of a normal life. Add to that the emotional state of Walton’s mindset following the incident, even if he had been able to just step back into his “old life”, his fragile state of mind required he very much stay out of the limelight. So, any form of monetary compensation offered would have surely been a welcome relief.
The film was a moderate success and generally met with good reviews. Some of the scenes inside the craft were overblown. And not at all in sympathy with Walton’s account. They did, though, “borrow” details from a medley of other similar abduction accounts. And so still present a realistic experience. What the film really does achieve greatly is relate how such an incident impacts on those involved both emotionally and mentally. Even the crew’s decision to report the incident would come after indecision and second-guessing.
You can check out the short video below where Walton talks a little of the “artistic decisions” of the film.
Further Points Of Interest
We will look at the renowned UFO skeptic, Philip Klass, and his perception of the case shortly. However, one of the main areas of concern for those looking to prove a hoax was Walton’s apparent previous interest in UFOs and aliens. In fact, one person who knew the family claimed that Walton was a “UFO freak” and had been for years. Another stated that the entire (Walton) family had made claims of seeing UFOs over the years.
This is a particularly interesting point. Many alien abductees discover that their abductions been a recurring process for many years. Often going back to their youths. Many also involve other family members such as siblings or parents. And what’s more, these abductions, in some cases, have gone on through generations going back decades. With that in mind, then, and if we accept Walton’s account as true, genuine, and accurate, it is perhaps no surprise that Walton’s mother and siblings have also had similar accounts to tell of. Even should none of them remember an abduction, it is at least possible if they are seeing UFOs combined with what we know of Walton’s account, that they too have had similar more close-up encounters.
Before we examine some of the claims of a hoax, check out the short video below. It features Walton, many years after the incident returning to the scene of the abduction. Interestingly, the area has experienced an accelerated rate of growth in the trees in the immediate vicinity of the area. Experts have claimed this accelerated growth is simply a natural occurrence and is not at all proof of a strange incident being the conduit for such a change in growth acceleration. However, trees cut down immediately prior to the incident, suggest otherwise.
The Bias And Manipulative Narrative Of Philip Klass?
One of the main skeptics of the incident at the time was Philip Klass. However, Klass’ bias and manipulative style in using out-of-context part quotes and bending them to his narrative are very much on show here. A lot of this would come from comments on the Fred Sylvanus tape.
For example, Klass would ultimately paint a picture of a hoax, with Rogers and Walton at the top. Merely keeping the rest of the crew in line with promises of monetary gain and outright threats of violence. He would question that Rogers at no time showed “the slightest concern over whether Travis might have been injured or killed”. However, when listening to the hour-long interview in full, this isn’t the case. The interview occurred while Rogers and Dalis were physically searching for Walton. Several comments about the nature and state of Walton’s injury are clear. Even that at one stage that several of the crew, including himself, started crying due to the bizarre events.
Another example is a conversation Klass puts across as Rogers threatening one his crew, Steve Pierce, who had apparently been offered $10,000 to sign and stand by a denial of the events. Apparently, he was thinking of doing this to which, according to Klass, Rogers said “Then you’ll spend the money alone and you’ll be bruised”.
However, the full quote from Rogers is entirely different. It was, “Steve told me and Travis that he had been offered $10,000 just to sign a denial. He said he was thinking about taking it. We asked him. ‘ Even though you know it happened, would you deny it just for the money?’ He said maybe he would. He was thinking about it. So, I told him ‘Then you’ll spend the money alone, and you’ll be bruised”.
The “Forest Contract Theory” And Attacks On Trivial Issues
While the theory that the alien abduction of Travis Walton was really a hoax to release Rogers from his logging contract is sound, in theory, it was one that Klass pushed in his overzealous way. According to him, Forest Service Contracting Officer Maurice Marchbanks, confirmed that such an incident, if it were true, would be an “act of God” and would free Rogers of his contract and result in him receiving all monies owed.
However, Klass didn’t feel the need to also relay March bank’s opinion that such a hoax was improbable. He would state that “there was no way such an alleged hoax could benefit Rogers”. Others involved with the Forest Service agreed that he would have nothing to gain from such a hoax. Not least to his reputation.
Klass also drew overzealous attention to the fact that Walton, through his own admission, had smoked marijuana “a few times” in his youth. Although attitudes to such a minor drug are much more liberal and sensible today, at the time in the mid-1970s, many in society simply wouldn’t separate smoking a joint to sticking needles in one’s arms. Klass was aware of this also and used the matter-of-fact admission to paint Walton as a “drug-user”.
Klass also reported that Walton had previously served time in jail. This isn’t true. Several years previously, he and Rogers’ younger brother altered payroll checks and declared guilty of check fraud. The pair would complete two years’ probation. Despite the incident being his only serious legal trouble, Walton has stated his “embarrassment” at it.
The “Failed” Lie Detector Test
Then, there is the failed lie-detector test of Travis Walton, the very first lie-detector test following his reappearance. Klass alleges that this test not only proves Walton to be a fraud but that APRO actively suppressed it. In truth, this wasn’t quite the case. A lie detector test had indeed taken place. On 15th November, only five days after Walton reappeared in Heber.
The National Enquirer newspaper would essentially bankroll the APRO investigation into the Walton case. They, in turn, were looking for exclusive rights to their findings. The first test was administered by John McCarthy. A man with two decades of experience and very much respected. At least according to Klass. However, while he declared that his opinion was “gross deception” APRO argued the test to be inconclusive. This, due to the still emotional state of Walton. Perhaps most intriguing, however, was that when McCarthy’s test records were examined by Dr. David Raskin. Many see Raskin to be the best in his field. He would state McCarthy’s technique was “unacceptable”. Furthermore, his equipment and use of it was “thirty years out of date”.
Just as an example, McCarthy appeared aggressive in his questioning. At one point asking if he (Walton) had “colluded” to manufacture a hoax. Walton replied he didn’t know what the word meant. McCarthy would fire back that collusion was “planning or conspiring”. Just like he had “colluded to steal and forge payroll checks”.
Whether the decision to keep this first test “quiet” was correct or ultimately more damaging, is open to debate. It does appear, however, that McCarthy was biased and unable to conduct such a test. Not least due to the bizarre nature of the events of Walton’s mentally fragile state at the time.
A Genuine Close Contact Encounter?
On balance, it is likely that the abduction of Travis Walton is a genuine account of close extraterrestrial contact extraterrestrial. There are, however, some intriguing aspects to examine.
For example, where did Walton go once inside the disc-shaped craft? Did he leave the planet and go somewhere into the near or far reaches of space? Or was his journey more terrestrial? Was he, in fact, taken to one of the many alleged secret bases? One deep underground somewhere in a remote location on Earth? And if so, what does that tell us of those behind such bases? Were the “humans” that Walton witnessed humans? Or were they humanoid and still of an extraterrestrial nature? And if they were human, does that suggest some authenticity to the claims of an alien-human pact? One that proceeds with dark, clandestine operations on the rest of the planet’s populace?
Whatever the truth Walton would ultimately return to normal life. Marrying Rogers’ younger sister, Dana, and eventually finding work at a lumber mill in Snowflake. He occasionally appears on television specials or at UFO conventions. One of the most memorable was perhaps in 1993 following the release of the ‘Fire In The Sky’ movie. Both Walton and Rogers would appear on Larry King Live along with the Klass. During the interview, Klass would lose his temper and announce Walton to be a “goddamned liar”. Many still consider Klass a genuine skeptic and debunker of such cases. Many others, though, including some skeptics, suspect him spreading disinformation.
Seven People, Over Forty Years, And Numerous Lie-Detector Tests?
The details offered by Walton at the time were also quite unique. Certainly, from much of what was in the public arena of the era. We must remember; this was before the Internet and the sharing of information among enthusiasts. Many would even draw attention to a TV-movie (The UFO Incident) based on the abduction of the Betty and Barny Hill, perhaps the first widely known abduction case that had aired in the weeks leading up to the alleged abduction of Walton.
Some charge that this movie, in part, gave Walton and Rogers, the core of their idea to perpetuate the hoax. If this were the case, however, it would perhaps make sense that Walton would have offered details more in line to that of the Hill incident. He didn’t, though. The details offered of both the abduction and the particulars of the craft were completely different. They would also be ones that would surface in other reports over the years. Furthermore, Walton could only remember two hours of the incident and not any other memories of the five days he was missing. Again, this apparent simplicity suggests an authentic account.
Is the location of importance? After all, the remote and dense forest regions of Arizona and the surrounding states are mysterious. Rife with reports not only of UFO sightings but strange activity. Much of which dates back hundreds of years.
The video below is one of many interview and lectures available by Walton. Make of it, and his account, what you will. Although first, ask yourselves, would a hoax, one that stretches in several directions, and under the scrutiny of multiple lie-detector tests truly stand up for over four decades?
The stories, accounts, and discussion in this article are not always based on proven facts and may go against currently accepted science and common beliefs. The details included in the article are based on the reports and accounts available to us as provided by witnesses and documentation.
By publishing these accounts, Steve Erdmann does not take responsibility for the integrity of them. You should read this article with an open mind and conclude yourself.
The copyright applies only to the words of Steve Erdmann. Other copywritten material should be dealt with by contacting the original authors.
PROJECT IDENTIFICATION, Harley D. Rutledge, PH.D., Prentice-Hall, Inc., Englewood Cliffs, New Jersey, 205 pages, 1981, $12.95. Softcover ISBN 10: 0137307136 ISBN 13: 9780137307135 Publisher: Prentice-Hall, 1981 View all copies of this ISBN edition 1 New
Amidst anxious anticipation by UFO buffs, Dr. Harley D. Rutledge, Ph.D., published his findings about UFOs in the Ozarks. Dr. Rutledge was chairman of the Physics Department at Southeast Missouri University at Cape Girardeau.
After making an initial investigation in March 1973, discovering to his satisfactions that UFOs are indeed in the Ozarks, Rutledge requested funds on April 26, 1973 from several major newspapers. The St. Louis Globe-Democrat responded.
While Dr. Rutledge’s Project Identification purports to have been a dispassionate study of UFOs (and the study is devoid of a lot of the mystical and sensational hysteria associated with the subject), the chapters are tinged with lively outbursts which could possibly betray a scientific study. After Rutledge sighted mysterious UFOs on May 11, 1973, he says, “for more than a year, as I approached that particular episode during public lectures, I had difficulty dealing with the motion it stiffed.” The May 11 incident was like other Project Identification episodes where ‘stars’ or ‘pseudo stars’ suddenly appear in the sky to scintillate and the suddenly ‘blink out.’ Some chapter headings are A Terribly Strange Night and A Second Terribly Strange Night. Most of his ‘team’ consisted of fellow students from the university.
Some of Rutledge’s cases seem to warrant more excitement. One Thursday the Project team flew a Cessna 150 to Clark Mountain. Rutledge observed an amber light along the slope of the mountain which blinked out. As they approached the second light, it suddenly streaked upward at that Rutledge estimated to be “10,560 feet- per- second squared, or, 7.200 mile-s per -hour, 32-feet—per-second squared…,” a phenomenal act, especially in light of the fact that ‘flying saucer’ reports are typical of such fast acrobatics which are the basis of the so-called ‘‘UFO Mystery.”
Project Identification made approximately 160 sightings of UFOs—during which 700 photographs were taken. No ‘Class A’ UFOs were able to be photographed (UFOs which had ‘’bizarre behavioral and/or physical properties that defy conventional explanation”). Class “B” UFOs were recorded as photographic ‘wiggly’ or ‘gyrating’ lines across slide frames which demonstrate almost noting conclusive.
Observation of the unclouded night sky often revealed “pseudo stars” – stationary lights camouflaged by familiar constellations. Some objects appeared to mimic the appearance of known aircraft; others violated the laws of physics. The most startling discovery was that on at least 32 recorded occasions, the movement of the lights synchronized with actions of the observers. They appeared to respond to a light being switched on and off, and to verbal or radio messages
The belated UFO Study Group of the Greater St. Louis had members that made numerous trips to Elsberry, Missouri during a 1978 UFO-Animal mutilation ‘flap’ in that area. Cameras with telescopic lenses also recorded ‘gyrating’ UFOs on slides remarkably like the Rutledge phenomena. Interestingly, however, known, and identifiable aircraft produced ‘straight’ trails on the slides. This seemed to add to the mystery. However, much-later-crews went to the identical areas to again observe the same amber, orange of yellow bobbling, blinking lights which had been seen in 1978 (the ones which apparently made squiggles on film), and promptly were able to identify them as aircraft, many coming into or out of Lambert International Airfield, while other were ‘taxiing’ in a holding area over Winfield. Many of the lights would suddenly ‘blink out.’ This latter investigative crew identified many as the ‘take-off’ light on passenger planes or other lights being ‘shut off,’ while the smaller fuselage lights never were discernable to the unaided eye at those distances. The investigative crew theorized that some aircraft appeared as ‘straight lines’ because they were much closer; aircraft much further away showed on film as the larger light on the crafts which demonstrated ‘wiggles’—possibly attributed to atmospherics, camera vibrations and air currents.
One of Dr. Rutledge’s photos from Cape Girardeau, however, recorded what he called a “helix effect.’’
In my opinion every Ufologist with the means and drive should emulate all that Dr. Rutledge did and more importantly if the larger so-called UFO organizations would follow his blueprint with modern high-tech-equipment, we may just uncover some answers.
Not only was he a major inspiration for me to create “In The Field,” but his work was unlike any other person that has entered this field before or after. Ironically, there are still researchers who are unfamiliar with him and I find this mystifying for several reasons, but mostly for the casual interest that his groundbreaking work received.
In 1966, Harley Rutledge completed his Ph.D. in solid state physics at the University of Missouri. A short time later he took the position of Professor and Chairman of the Physics Department at Southeast Missouri State University. He became President of the Missouri Academy of Science. He was Department Chairman from 1964 through 1982 and retired from teaching in 1992.
The story began in February and March of 1973 when strange accounts began to trickle out of Piedmont, Missouri of people witnessing balls of light flying around and disrupting car engines and televisions. Soon numerous people from all over began to flock to the area hoping to catch a glimpse of these anomalous balls of light. The local TV station and newspapers covered it extensively, mostly drenched in sarcasm with a few roughly criticizing the locals as uncultured.
Dr. Harley Rutledge said, “Unbiased, disinterested physical scientists usually measure the properties of inanimate matter. Biological, medical, and behavioral scientists, on the other hand, study intelligences less than or equal to their own. In this Project, we dealt with an intelligence equal to or greater than that of man. We interacted with the phenomenon under study.”
The strange events in the small town of approx. 2,000 people was all everyone was talking about and groups of people gathered outside at night to witness these mysterious lights. One night an excited woman on a local news show displayed some photos she had taken of the lights and the next morning this prompted two of Dr. Rutledge’s colleagues to jokingly suggest that he go and investigate these UFOS in Piedmont. He laughed and said, “I wouldn’t touch that with a ten-foot pole!” Less than 2 weeks later he would change his mind completely.
At the time of the sightings Dr. J. Allen Hynek was active in his investigations and made a trip to Piedmont to investigate what was going on. He was contacted and invited by State Representative Jerry Howard through Police Chief Gene Bearden because of the frequency & number of sightings. He stated, “We ourselves didn’t see anything, but that’s to be expected……but we found a great number of highly excited people”. Pointing out the power of suggestion he implied that people were seeing lights from observation towers…..”You have to disregard any light on the horizon” he said.
I believe this was a large, missed opportunity for Hynek and if he had not so hastily made a judgement and left, his story would have been much different. Surely if he teamed up with Rutledge and spent some time out there he would have observed these bizarre lights, but this was not to be.
On April 6th, 1973 Dr. Rutledge, Prof. Milton Ueleke and both of their their wives made the trip to Piedmont to be briefed on what was going on by Dennis Hovis who ran the local radio station where many of the sightings were reported. During the conversation Hovis was interrupted by listeners that were phoning in sightings reports. Dr. Rutledge thought that obviously this radio station was the real “Piedmont UFO Headquarters”. Within a few minutes another call came in and when Mr. Hovis returned he excitedly explained “There’s been a UFO landing on Clark’s Mountain….This high school boy with his parents saw it and they are reliable!” Rutledge agreed to go, but as he got in the car he turned to Prof. Ueleke and said “Milton, this could be a big put-on for our benefit.”
This report turned out to be a local pilot who had dropped down behind the mountain and shut his lights off, creating the illusion that something was landing.
With no success they drove back to town and had dinner with a local couple who were friends of the Ueleke’s. Over the meal they decided to visit another spot called Pyle’s Mountain which was an area with earlier reports. It was at this spot with his telescope that Dr. Rutledge made his first observations of these strange lights and he described them this way…”: Less than an hour had elapsed on Pyle’s Mountain when a small stationary light suddenly appeared near the southern horizon. After locating and centering the light in the telescope on 8X, Rutledge attempted to view the light on a higher power, but before I could focus properly, the light went out. It had been visible for about 5 seconds. At intervals of several minutes, the light appeared 3 more times, but in a different position each time.”
He was finally able to catch it magnified at 80X when it remained visible for 20 seconds and described it as a stationary ball of light that didn’t just shut off, but “decayed” as a powerful tungsten bulb does when the power is cut.
Prof. Ueleke stated his opinion that he thought they were just viewing car headlights in the distance, but Dr. Rutledge disagreed completely and devised a plan to show that this theory was not the answer. The very next week he hired a pilot who happened to be a university student majoring in physics, to fly a Cessna 150 over the area to look for a road to use to prove his point. They located an old logging road and returned that night to observe the area. Once they were in the air they could quickly see the lights of the town when suddenly an amber/orange light appeared on the slope of the mountain near the top. The pilot turned the aircraft and made a beeline towards it, but within seconds it went out. Simultaneously another one came on several hills away and the pilot banked towards this one. Through the binoculars, Dr. Rutledge said it looked to be awfully close to the earth’s surface, possibly on it and as they got closer to it suddenly shot straight up and out of view. Rutledge stated “My interest took a decided leap after those two sightings from the Cessna 150. But although the appearance and behavior of the two lights were perplexing, I did not accept them as UFO’s at the time.”
This launched into what would become “Project Identification” and would span from 1973 until 1980. A total of 158 viewing stations were setup all over the area and the sky was watched for 427 hours. There were 620 observers over the years and 378 were Project observers. Not included are the many hours Project members observed the sky when not present at a station. There were 157 sightings of 178 UFO’s and the behaviors that they observed have all been recorded by different members of “In The Field” in the present day. Some examples are what Dr. Rutledge called “Pseudo stars” and this is when they will hover in place, sometimes for a long period of time to blend in with the stars and then suddenly move off or blink out. Another example would be something Rutledge did not observe, but many told him they had witnessed it and that would be a ball of light cruising over an area and dropping a smaller lit object down to the surface, usually a wooded area. Several members of ITF have caught this on video and it is obvious that they have some type of agenda and are intelligently controlled.
The advantages we have today are extremely better for observing and gathering data from these sightings, yet it has not happened except in sporadic individual cases with “Active Observers” like us. Not only is our equipment far more advanced than in the 70’s such as night vision, telescopes, cameras, or spectrometers, but to communicate with others and move in on a repeat, active area (Flap) would be swift.
Unfortunately this has happened in a few cases, where an area was highly active and was reported over and over yet ignored and even scorned at without any observation by laptop critics. Meanwhile the larger so-called UFO organizations are posting videos or photos of lens flares and insects, yet this actual UFO activity is clearly ignored. They need to take a good long look at what this man achieved or what we at ITF are trying to achieve and follow suit….follow the Rutledge Blueprint…
Rutledge said: “A relationship, a cognizance, between us and the UFO intelligence evolved. A game was played. In my opinion, this additional consideration is more important than the measurements or establishing that the phenomena exists. This facet of the UFO phenomena perturbed me as much as the advanced technology we observed. It is a facet I cannot really fathom – and I have thought about it every day for more than 7 years.”
At 2 a.m. in March 1967 on a farm about 4 miles west of New Baden, Leona Boeving saw a UFO in a field near her house.
In a Belleville News-Democrat story by reporter Michelle Meehan from August 9, 1992, Boeving said, “It was like the full moon was cut in half standing on the ground.”
“It had a bright white light on top and then a whole row of little red lights at the bottom. There were these metallic things around it, like strips of silver,” Boeving said.
She woke her daughter, Marilee Black, who was staying with her.
In a July 2017 interview, Black said, “Yes, I remember it. All I have to do is close my eyes to picture the thing.”
“It was round and large even from where we stood in the house. It was something I had never seen before,” Black said.
She could not see anyone inside it, only the bright lights coming from it.
They watched it for a few minutes. “Then, my mother opened the window. Suddenly, it lifted and went south. If it made a sound, we didn’t hear it,” Black said.
Terrified, Boeving and Black remained in the house until morning. “It was just scary,” Black said.
When they explored the field, Black said the heat from the object left burn marks on the ground. “Nothing grew there for quite a while,” Black said.
Boeving called Scott Air Force Base, which is about 7 miles from the farm, for an explanation.
Black said, “They knew nothing and could say nothing about it. I guess it didn’t fly from the base.”
Black has seen nothing unexplained since that time and is fine with that. “I don’t ever want to see it or anything like it again,” Black said. “It was frightening; it really was.”
In the 1992 BND article by Meehan, Boeving is quoted as saying, “There were a lot of people who, to this day, think we were crazy. But I’ll tell you, I was the biggest non-believer there was. I probably still would be — if I hadn’t seen it myself.”
Not all the lights seen at Elsberry could be identified to everyone’s satisfaction, however. For instance, a stationary ‘star’ seen on June 25, 1978 that remained so for over fifteen-minutes or longer, suddenly began to bob and weave in a circular pattern. The UFO then moved in a wide arc heading eastward over the Mississippi River as seen through the tree line. Surprisingly, it doubled-back towards three witnesses stationed on a farmer’s field. There was no sound at all. The witnesses estimated the craft to be at a 2,000 feet level. It came directly over the farmer’s field and witnesses, banked directly over them, and then headed back out over the river. It appeared to be a lighted fuselage with passenger windows. As it left the area, a red strobe light seemed to have been turned on. A very peculiar and uncharacteristic airplane.
On July 16, 1978, over ten people were suddenly surprised by lights that seemed to ‘pop’ onto the scene of Highway V and W, momentarily hovering (or seemed to) and then ‘drift’ off (these were photographed). Others insisted these were regular airplanes.
Rutledge would have felt vindicated by these sightings, it would seem. However, the more skeptical investigators feel a rigorous study in aircraft identification is needed.
Rutledge would feel vindicated by these sightings, it would seem. However, the more skeptical investigators feel a rigorous study in aircraft identification is needed:
** Field crews consisting of aeronautic engineers, flight operation managers, aircraft pilots, and FAA specialists jointly observing UFOs at night and consensually giving their opinion as to identity. Pilots, amateur astronomers, aircraft technicians often aren’t able to singularly identify the behavior or appearance of airplanes or helicopters.
** Experts specializing in ‘nocturnal aerial photography’ are needed: we have found that opinions as to what is ‘photographed’ in the night sky and ‘why it appears on film as it does,’ are as varied and entangled as the dispute as to what ‘lights’ constitute UFOs and which one don’t.
Rutledge admitted that much study is necessary. The team used radar and other electronic scanning (some of it was never removed, however, from Rutledge’s home office). One of the findings was the recording on color film the spectrum of a UFO using an objective blazed diffraction grating—but Rutledge does not say one word as to what was discovered. Perhaps, then, it was really nothing.
Rutledge did not, however, insinuate that space people are involved; he entertained the possibility that UFOs are little known manmade inventions. He talked about German research on ‘flying discs’ in 1941, and about PRVs (Remotely Controlled Vehicles) which resembled spinning discs which “hardly make a sound.”
As Logician Peter Kor stated in his article The Tue Inquirer: “The process of discovering reality depends on a rigorous rationality. Intense focus on any matter will produced countless apparent connections and confirmations. Without a rigorous approach, these will be accepted as probable proof of truth, rather than mere possibilities that should be tested.”
If Project Identification could have been expanded into a perpetual, thorough team, into a broad range of experts and equipment in weekly or daily trips into UFO areas, possibly the problem of UFO identification would have become less of a will-of-the-wisp.
Steve C, Erdmann, C, May, 2021, Independent Investigative Journalist
“TMA-1: The Martian Artifact” was originally presented at The 2nd Annual Regional Mini-Technical Conference of American Institute of Aeronautics and Astronautics (AIAA) held at Johns Hopkins University, Applied Physics Laboratory, Laurel, MD on October 30th, 2004. “TMA-1” was revised in October 2005 and September 26th – October 1st, 2006 in order to incorporate supporting material released recently by NASA/JPL under new public information policies initiated by Dr. Michael Griffin, former President of AIAA, and new Director of NASA.Prologue
“The first requirement of a scientist is that he be curious. He should be capable of being astonished and eager to find out.” — Dr. Erwin Schrodinger (Pioneer in Quantum Mechanics and philosopher of science)
I am writing today to relate to you details of a remarkable discovery made on the planet Mars by the Mars Opportunity Rover in March 2004.
On August 9th, 2004, after nearly 5 months of study, I discovered (perhaps “recognized” is a better word) an object that was found and photographed on Mars by the Mars Opportunity Rover on March 25th, 2004.
Following 5 months of intensive study and scrutiny, the object was found by this writer to be an artificially created artifact, carved in relief in Martian stone in The Eagle Crater in a region of Mars called Meridiani Planum.
From the first moment that I saw it on the NASA/JPL website on March 26th, 2004, my instant and immediate “gut reaction” was “My God! That looks like art!” And so, it turned out to be: Martian art, hence, the name I gave it, “TMA-1: The Martian Artifact.” Now, after 20 years, one of many artifcacts of Martian origin found on The Red Planet Mars by several independent recsearchers.
NAGASAKI DAY 2004
After 4 and half months of research into the nature and origin of the object, it was on August 9th, 2004, while analyzing the NASA/JPL photo released on March 25th, 2004, that I suddenly discovered (“uncovered” might be more accurate) that the unusual object of my study was actually a sculpture, executed in a hemispherical relief, on a slab of Martian stone in the region known as Sinus Meridiani. I dubbed it TMA-1 or “The Martian Artifact.”
Sinus Meridiani (situated on the Prime Meridian of Mars, hence, its name) had been chosen for the Opportunity Rover mission by NASA specifically for close-up study based on scientists’ conclusion that the region was a very likely a site where, in primordial times, water had existed in great abundance. The proof of concept was found in the discovery of vast fields of hematite beads. Hematite precipitates and forms in water.
For a week or so, in early August 2004, I had been attempting to correlate and match the detailed contours depicted in TMA-1 to the Hellas Basin, which I had seen first hand the previous August. Then my colleague, Charles Fielding, and I embossed a radar altimetry map of Hellas Basin and saw that the floor of Hellas Basin did not match the floor topography of The Martian Artifact”, eliminating Hellas Basin as the terrain form depicted on “TMA-1: The Martian Artifact.”
In a flash, I saw my error: I had been looking at the wrong region of Mars. I quickly realized that it must surely be another region, Solis Lacus, for the area depicted on TMA-1 was far too vast to be Hellas Basin as depicted on the bas-relief sculpture in proportion to the planet.August 2003: Viewing Mars’ Closest Approach in 60,000 Years
One year before, from August 26-29th, 2003, I had viewed The Red Planet for 3 straight nights, using a 128X Super Ploessel lens and a Meade 8-inch auto-tracking telescope. This came about during Planet Mars’ closest approach to Earth in 60,000 years!
When I compared the NASA/JPL image of TMA-1 (dubbed by them “The Berry Bowl”) to Mars Global Observatory images and Mariner 9 photographs, I was stunned at first to recognize the major chasms of Vallis Marinaris, which I had observed first hand during my observations, depicted in both photos and the artifact. This characteristic was far beyond the laws of chance and the features shown were so explicit that it could never be ascribed to “wishful thinking” in anyone’s wildest imagination. “TMA-1: The Martian Artifact ” is precisely that, “a fact”, not an illusion of light and shade nor an illusion nor a hallucination of an over imaginative mind.
I sat at my computer quite stunned. “Electrified” is a more accurate description of my reaction, as there before me, I recognized the unique contours of Ophir, Candor and Mellas Chasmata, which are accurately depicted in detail in TMA-1.
“The Martian Artifact” is, indeed, quite simply, “a artifact of Life.”
The object, called “The Berry Bowl” by NASA/JPL and nicknamed “TMA-1” by this researcher, appears to me to be a bas-relief sculpture, depicting the most significant geographical and geological features of the planet Mars, itself, called by astronomers, “The Eye of Mars.” Astronomers had observed “The Eye of Mars” regularly for many years but it remained an unexplained phenomenon until now. The first one to see it was Percival Lowell working at Kit Peak Observatory.
TMA-1. “The Martian Artifact,” captures the topography of Mars in 3-dimensional relief, including an extremely accurate depiction of the Valles Marinaris, with its long, winding twin trench canyons called Ius and Tithoneus. It delineates the contours of Ophir, Candor and Mellas Chasmas, as well as, the adjacent region, Solis Lacus, which in darkness forms the pupil of “The Eye of Mars.” TMA-1 renders the topography of unique ridges, mounds, valleys and the steeply incline slopes and palisades of surrounding of regions named “Syria” and “Sinai” by NASA.
From the first sight of “The Berry Bowl” back on March 25th, to my own eyes, the object’s design, rounded form, and convoluting contours within a perfect circular pattern, instantly (and intuitively) conveyed to me a single and, literally, “earth-shaking” idea:“My God! That looks like Art!”
Furthermore, in studying “The Berry Bowl” over a 5-month long period, its exquisite forms and contours emerged and revealed it to be an intelligently designed and sculptured 3-dimensional artifact.
Comparing it with Mariner 9 photomaps, I discerned the same steep slopes of Syria depicted in the computer images, showing the same meteor impact craters registered in the Mariner photomap. I could also make out the precipitous and winding palisades of the region along southern Valles Marinaris, known as “Sinai.” TMA-1 even depicts the smaller impact craters, which are found in several areas in the slopes of Syria and the cliffs of Sinai.
TMA-1: The Martian Artifact –
A Sign of Intelligent Life on Mars A Martian Sculpture Depicts “The Eye of Mars”
TMA-1 clearly appears to be an intelligently conceived and designed form.. If so, this alone, of course, would indicate (and prove) the presence or ,more likely, the previous existence of intelligent life on the Red Planet. The photograph, released by NASA/JPL on March 25th, is shown below, enlarged and enhanced by this writer.
A Sign of Intelligent Life on Mars Uncovered
The object, which I describe as a bas-relief sculpture is carved into of a slab of Martian rock is called “The Berry Bowl” by NASA/JPL. This is another instance of NASA naming serious subjects with vcomical, dismissive names as part of their technique to distract people from seeing what is really there. I cite tis as another example of what I call “Disinformation Technology,” which sometimes involves manipulation of graphic evidence to hide what is iin the photos of videos, or at other times emply neurolinguistic techniques to disemble and distract readers’ attention, using dismissive terms, jargon or phrases (like calling UFOs observed oover the Moon by Apollo astronauts as “Moon Pigeons” or “Santa Claus”)..
The object, which is carved in relief and I dubbed it “The Martian Artifact” or “TMA-1.” tMA-1 is shown above just left of center in the photo, depicts the planet Mars, itself, with extreme” accuracy, and particularly, the topography of Solis Lacus, a significant region of southern equatorial Mars, known as “The Eye of Mars” (for reasons that I shall describe later).
I now believe that this artifact, TMA-1, may be a “Time Capsule”, or the remnant of a larger one, containing a message, intended to call attention to the region or, perhaps, to record the circumstances or forces, which caused a cataclysm that destroyed Mars’ once Earth-like ecosystem.
WHY HASN’T NASA RECOGNIZED IT?
Why has NASA not come forth with more information on this important event? Other than presenting it in its only press release to date in what they described as a “whimsical” (and, in my opinion, almost comical) manner, dubbing it facetiously “The Berry Bowl.”. Since then, there has not been a single reference to it, despite the claim in the original press release that it was left uncovered for future study. Is NASA psychologically blind-sided in this or is there another explanation?
It may well be that NASA has failed to recognize the object for what it really is.
Could it be “tunnel vision”, “blind-sidedness” or was there another cause for hesitation or oversight? Perhaps, NASA scientists are not allowed by their official policy or scientific paradigms to recognize such an artifact. A reluctance to recognize it may be that NASA scientists are constrained from publicly acknowledging, asserting belief in or revealing the existence of extraterrestrial life. No one wants to be the first to risk ridicule and lose credibility or career.
It is also possible that someone within NASA/JPL, a concerned scientist, leaked the photograph so that someone, like myself, might recognize it and come forth to characterize it.
And so, on October 30th, 2004, on the 66th anniversary of Orson Wells famous “War of the Worlds” broadcast, I journeyed to Johns Hopkins’ University to communicate to AIAA members my discovery, impressions and geometric proofs that “TMA-1” or “The Berry Bowl” was intelligently designed to call our attention to a particular region of Mars.
NASA’S OFFICIAL POLICY PREDICAMENT
To really understand the official NASA non-disclosure policy (prior to Dr. Griffin’s appointment), we must first remember an important historical point. NASA internal policy prohibits disclosure by command and control mechanisms engineered and implemented after the Brookings Institution 1960’s report on “Peaceful Uses of Outer Space”.
In that report, the Brookings Institution recommended prohibition of disclosure, with a warning against the revelation of the existence of extraterrestrial life to the people of America or the world. Brookings Institution thinkers feared social, economic and religious upheaval would result. The Brookings Institution’s conclusions were based on the now famous events, which transpired 66 years ago, the public reaction to Orson Wells’ radio broadcast of “The War of the Worlds” and the local panic that ensued.
AUGUST 26-28th, 2003:
MARS’ CLOSEST APPROACH to EARTH
IN 60,000 YEARS
Many of us, “Marsologists,” were fortunate enough to observe Mars nightly during the planet’s closest approach to Earth in 60,000 years in 2003. From the 14th of August, the night of the New York City blackout, through August 30th, I viewed Mars nightly.
From August 26th through the 29th, I made detailed telescopic observations for 2 to 3 hours each night. With these detailed observations of Mars in August 2003, and comparing them daily with NASA Hubble Space Telescope (HST) photo imaging of Mars, this researcher studied the southern hemisphere and equatorial region of Mars in great detail. Since it was facing us directly, a vast area called “Solis Lacus,” known by astronomers as “The Eye of Mars”, emerged as Mars’ most significant, awe-inspiring and memorable terrain feature on the night of the 27th-28th, 2003.
From August 26th to August 29th, ’03, I viewed The red Planet, from it’s nort pole to the regions of the South Polar Cap, with its spike like mountain peak, radiating and refracting light appearing to my eye like aglistening “unicorn’s horn.” With the sun’s light underoing as Rayleigh Scattering, i could see the ligh interacting with the Aurora Australis of Mars, making Mars appear brilliant to the human eye, much like a pink neon globe.
Mars’ airglow made its atmosphere visible for miles above its surface, and imposing a pink-red-orange, electrified halo on the entire planet. I observed 2 long streams of south-to-north alto-stratospheric cloud formations, stretching north from Tharsis Montes.
These almost identical cloud formations paradoxically appeared to be parallel, tubular altostratus clouds, which spun in the same direction, like two white marble columns rolling in the same direction and extended from Tharsis Montes to the far north for over a thousand miles, parallel to the Tharsis Bulge and over the Albus Tractus Borealis.
Only now, 2 years later, with detailed knowledge of the topography of region of Tharsis and Xanthe, do I understand the orographic (terrain formed) nature of the twin tubular, parallel jet streams.
HELLAS BASIN: “THE SEA OF CO2”
On the night of August 26-27, ’03, I studied in detail, a region of southern hemisphere known as the Hellas Basin and witnessed, much to my surprise, huge, billowing banks of fog, rising from Hellas Basin as sunlight, traversing it, revealed many layers of terraced slopes, reminiscent of the striations of the Grand Canyon, and reflecting every hue of red, rose, sienna, umber, brown, purple and black. The ever-darkening nether regions of darkness in the basin can very accurately be described as “hellacious”.
Hellas Basin possesses unique atmospheric and terrain characteristics. This vast impact crater, approximately 600 miles wide, contains what could be described as a “Sea of CO2”, looking like a small carbon dioxide ocean, which causes these effects above the surface.
The sea of carbon dioxide is contained by strong Martian planetary winds that seal the basin due to their pressure and velocity. The effect of the fog banks, rising from the crater, created the impression that I was viewing the immediate aftermath of a fresh asteroid impact, still smoldering after impact. The effect was shocking as I realized the magnitude of the original event and how it must have altered the entire planet’s ecosystem.
SEEING SOLIS LACUS: “THE EYE OF MARS”
Solis Lacus, a far greater impact region, is to be found not far away, also in the southern hemisphere of the Red Planet.. It is difficult to believe that Mars survived these two huge impacts and more. In contrast to the vaporous Hellas Basin, this region is usually depicted by NASA/JPL and HST photos as a vast, nondescript desert area near the Martian equator, immediately adjacent to the region called Valles Marinaris, a 4000 km. (2500-mile long) crack in the planet Mars. I observed Solis Lacus on the night of August 27-28th, 2003 for over an hour as the planet Mars turned and slowly brought it into view.
Solis Lacus is an area of vast depression covered by sands (if you believed the pre-2004 NASA photos). It was depicted in the computerized Hubble photos much like a Martian Sahara, nearly flat, overrun and filled in by Martian dust and sand.
However, in reality it appeared to me to be so deep that when sunlight strikes Mars, traversing its rim at low sun angles at morning and sunset, Solis Lacus remains in darkness, while the rest of the planet is bathed in bright sunlight for several hours. This explains the appearance and disappearance of “The Eye of Mars” during the course of the Martian day. (Reader take note: The sun angle is a very reliable indicator of the true angle of the slope of descending terrain into the central region of Solis Lacus.)
As the planet turned, a vast dark spot appeared, beneath a brilliant Martian airglow. This made Mars look to me like a gigantic eyeball and Solis Lacus looked like its pupil. Furthermore, another strange effect: the pupil bled a long black tapering tear to the south formed in the southern region called Thaumasia Fossa, a dry river bed or, more likely, another meandering fracture or fault line in the planet caused by the asteroid impact, which created Solis Lacus.
TMA-1: The Martian Artifact
A Sign of Intelligent Life on Mars A Martian Sculpture Depicts “The Eye of Mars”
As the planet turned, a vast dark spot appeared, beneath a brilliant Martian airglow. This made Mars look to me like a gigantic eyeball and Solis Lacus looked like its pupil. Furthermore, another strange effect: the pupil bled a long black tapering tear to the south formed in the southern region called Thaumasia Fossa, a dry river bed or, more likely, another meandering fracture or fault line in the planet caused by the asteroid impact, which created Solis Lacus.
I felt like Ulysses looking into the eye of the wounded Cyclops, Polyphemus with terror and fear, Deimos and Phobos, in the pit of my stomach at the realization of the magnitude of the catastrophe that had formed “The Cyclopean Eye of Mars.”
The effect it had on my mind will always remain with me, unforgettable. The impression it made on this viewer is best expressed by simply stating:
“When I looked at Mars, viewed at its closest point to Earth in 60,000 years, Mars looked back.”
EYEBALL TO EYEBALL WITH MARS
This first-person familiarity, literally “eyeball-to-eyeball,” with Mars’ geography and topography proved invaluable one year later. The memory of the black pupil and bleeding tear, aided me in slowly recognizing “The Martian Artifact” over a 5-month period for what it now appears to be: a topographical sculpture of the Red Planet’s most significant feature. Except that “TMA-1” shows the same outline, contours but with the internal land forms and features as they would appear in full daylight under the light regimen of a Martian midday sun.
The realization was stark and shocking: The artifact is a bas-relief sculpture, accurately depicting every detail of “The Eye of Mars”, showing in minute detail its terrain contours and, perhaps, memorializing the disaster that altered the planet’s ecosystem and nearly destroyed the planet.
Since NASA was ignoring my new “pet rock” and, in fact, treating it facetiously with the name “The Berry Bowl” in my belief to disguise its significance. I took it much more seriously and the artifact was nicknamed “TMA-1” to honor Arthur C. Clarke, who predicted a discovery such as this in his novel, “2001: A Space Odyssey”.
Arthur C. Clarke, in “2001: A Space Odyssey,” described a fantastic lunar anomaly also known as “The Monolith” or the “Tycho Magnetic Anomaly 1,” which had been intended by its extraterrestrial designers to communicate its message geometrically (for those advanced enough to decipher it). The Tycho Magnetic Anomaly encoded and contained a message revealing intelligent design through its unique edges and their dimensions in proportions of 1: 4: 9, the squares of the first 3 numbers.
In Clarke’s story, TMA-1, Tycho Magnetic Anomaly 1, “The Monolith”, discovered in the lunar crater, Tycho, was a coded message, a radio marker beacon and a pointer directing mankind to explore the outer planets, specifically, Jupiter and its moon, Europa.
In September 2004, after 5 months of research and detailed geometric analysis of TMA-1, I wrote: “…comparisons of the Rover image with HST photos and Mariner 9 photos of the region’s terrain features have revealed TMA-1 to be a well proportioned and topographically accurate depiction of the whole region called Solis Lacus, ‘The Eye of Mars’, as it appeared aeons ago, at a time BEFORE IT WAS COVERED by Martian dust and sand.”
March 25-August 9th, 2004
That became the last sentence in the abstract that I submitted to AIAA for the 2nd Regional Mini-Technical Conference held on October 30th, 2004 in Laurel, MD. The abstract was selected for presentation. But as I was to discover, I was wrong, misdirected by images in NASA’s computerized Hubble Space Telescope photos, which prior to 2005-2006 and the appointment of Dr. Michael Griffin as the new director obfuscated the true nature of Solis Lacus and its features. It is not covered with sand and neither is it a “desert.”October 18th, 2004
On October 18th, 2004, I uncovered yet another important detail. I vividly recalled particular details of the Martian atmosphere, which I had noted previously on August 29th, 2003, showing me that Mars possesses a denser atmosphere than NASA had been claiming for many, many years. Mars also possesses a dynamic weather system in the regoion around Olympus Mons-Tharsis-Solis Lacus.
I had observed extensive cloud formations to the west and north of Solis Lacus, some of them, described below, were over a thousand miles long.
I have also discerned from the study of recent Mars Global Observer photos (compared with Mariner 9 photo mapping) that the area of Solis Lacus is not a desert but a dynamic area of Martian meteorological activity, involving high winds, thermal tides, immense amounts of carbon dioxide and water vapor, at times equal to or greater than the activity that I saw in the Hellas Basin on the 29th of August.
Personal Observations On NASA’s “Audience Participation”
at the AIAA Conferece in 2004
At the John Hopkins University AIAA technical conference presentation, October of 2004, my descriptions of martian weather patters, cloud formations, accompanied by vast planetary wide streams of ionized plasma similar to our own Aurora Borealis streaming over the planet high in the atmosphere alog with dynamic meteorological activity was received with great surprise, excitement and scientific curiosity by most of the people in attendance.
However, the case of one of two NASA employees present and auditing, was distinct, surpising and somewhat disturbing (if not “disturbed”).
One of them, a man, presented himself lter at lunch as a self-styled “weather modeling specialist” from GWU-Langley. This personwas overtly hostile to my presentation, and I clearly recognized him as a plant, in fact, a disruptor.
As he sat there in the audience,(modelling a NASA bomber jacket), I noticed that he glared angrily at me and at the screen on which my woork was being presente. My report, my views and interpretation were met with an overly vocal skepticism verging on derision. As I spoke, “the weather modeller,” expressed his outrage and anger by snorting and sneering and looking around to the other participant as if trying to recruit some sort of support, agreement or approval. None was to be found. Try as he might to sneer and “harrump” loudly at my observations so as to disparage and debunk them with derision, the “skeptibunker’s” quips and objections fell on deaf ears and crashed flatly before the more respectful and serious members of the AIAA (American Institute of Aeronautics & Astronautics) audience who were intrigued and more receptive to my report. There is something unique about “The Ring of Truth” that easily withstood the bluster, snorts and “harrumphs” of the disappointed skeptic, disinformationist and would-be debunker.
The other NASA representative who was, in fact, the Director of NASA’s Messenger Mission to Mercury, who was attending as a speaker to present details of the Messenger Mission at the AIAA conference, was auditing my lecture I observed that she was there to just that, quite literally “auditing” and nothing more. I noticed that she came into the room and took a seat right in front of the podium from which I was to speak. She only heardadn did not have the timerity to look (or even peek at the slide presentation as I spoe.
Although she was siting in a front row seat, the most remarkable thing I noticed was that, at the very moment when I began my slide presentation, she closed her eyes and did not open them again until had finished my presentiation, edespite the distractions provided by her cohot as he snorted loudly in a porcine manner as he sat behind her.
Thoe are the facts, but later, under the leadership of a new director, Dr. Michael Griffin, the former President of AIAA who was appointed by President Bush (which pleased me to no end!), NASA took a new direction, a bold new tack in openness and forthrightness in sharing Mars data with the public and independent scientists, but that ended with the election of barck obama in 2008, at which time NASA was hamstrung, nearly dismantled and, quite literally, “went back into the dark.” under the direction obama’ appointeee, charles, bolton.
In December 2005, NASA released a MOC (Mars Orbital Camera) photo, which proved true every detail of Martian meteorology, which I had described at the AIAA conference at Johns Hopkins University on October 30th, 2004. With the exception of the planetary wide ionized plasma streams (which were acknowledged and described by NASA earlier this year 2006), the MOC photo (mars moc1_143msss _1large) confirms the observations of active and dynamic weather systems on Mars., which I presented at Johns Hopkins University on October 30th, 2004.
From the vapors fuming and rising from the Hellas Basin to the cloud forms around Olympus Mons and Tharsis Montes, my description of a dynamic weather systems around Solis Lacus and Hellas Basin are confirmed in the following photo:
Note: Brilliant white “clouds” (on the lower right) are actually vapors of CO2 rising from the Hellas Basin.
The large cloud formation on far left are the heights of Olympus Mons with the similar clouds around the summits of the 3 Tharsis Montes to the Southeast.
Other photos demonstrated that Solis Lacus is a vast asteroid impact crater that holds a dynamic, self-contained weather system, perhaps sealed by high planetary winds like the Sea of CO2 in Hellas Basin. Contour studies of the details shown in the Mariner 9 photographs compared with TMA-1, The Martian Artifact, reveal that Solis Lacus is a far deeper impact crater than presumed or revealed by NASA scientists and their current interpretation of radar altimeter estimates of the regions depths, which NASA purports to be 4 km. at most.
Some regions of Solis Lacus, like the slopes of “Syria” descending precipitously from Tithonius Lacus (See MOC photo above) may be hundreds of miles long and deep, revealing the cataclysmic effects of a huge asteroid or small planetoid impact, which cracked the planet, creating the Valles Marinaris, a 2500-mile long canyon system, depressing the area to the north along the fault line called “The Tharsis Bulge” and, thereby, creating the confluence of the Tractus Albus Australis and Tractus Albus Borealis. The formation and structure of these “White Tracts” imprinted the appearance of a “trigonometric stamp” upon the planet’s surface north of Valles Marinaris with Candor Chasma appearing to form the pupil of an “eye” and “brow” within it.
TMA-1: The Martian Artifact
A Sign of Intelligent Life on Mars
Carl Sagan, Philip Morrison et al.: The Nomenclature of an Interplanetary Cabal
Could this be the origin of the ancient symbol of “The Eye in the Pyramid”?
Moreover, is it not a “curious” that NASA chose to label the region bordering Solis Lacus along the southern cliffs of Valles Marinaris (in the center of the triangle seen above) with the name “Sinai” as an analog of Earth’s terrain (with its many biblical connotations)? The contours are reminiscent of the Egyptian “Eye of Ra-Horus,” one of the most ancient symbols on our planet and the source of the Great Seal of the United States.
During my 40 years of studying Mars, since the first Mariner missions, I have noted with great interest what appears to be an arcane aspect to the nomenclature used to name this region by Carl Sagan, Philip Morrison et al. at JPL, such as “Ophir,” “Sinai,” “Syria,” “Phoenicis Lacus” (Phoenicia) and “Capa Cornu.”
“Capa Cornu” (Cape Horn), the lower right corner of the triangle drawn on Mars above, is located at precisely 19.5 degrees south latitude. The significance of this angle first discovered in the Cydonia complex, site of “The Face on Mars,” by Richard Hoagland et al. could now be understood as “a pointer,” directing attention to the corner angle at Capa Cornu.
The Carl Sagan-Philip Morrison team of JPL Mars specialists, working with the first Mariner photos, now appear to this researcher to have apprehended instantly, as if “illuminated” by the sight, the significance of the terrain features revealed by Mariner and using terms from Greek mythology, named corresponding Martian regions in a manner analogous to corresponding terrestrial terrain features along the Nile River and Great African Rift Valley between the Sinai and Ethiopia (which “coincidently” has a coastal region called Ophir). Greek mythology was derived from Egypt’s religion with the Egyptian names translated and “Hellenized” into Mercury, Venus, Earth, Mars, Jupiter, etc.
Historians have for years researched and debated the source and location of the terrain depicted on the Great Seal of the United States, whose actual origins are steeped in a mystery. Many scholars have noted the long cliffs and escarpment to be seen in the background behind the pyramid. Could the landscape depicted on the Great Seal actually be a representation of Valles Marinaris, Solis Lacus and “The Eye of Mars”?
“He Smiles Upon our Enterprise”
A Study of Martian Meteorology
TMA-1: The Martian Artifact:
More on Martian Meteorology
The wide area of weather that I observed around Tharsis and Solis Lacus during my observation appeared to be replete with fog banks, cloud formations with vapors along its rim, similar to those, which I observed emanating from the Hellas Basin during my August 27 observation, previously cited.
The unique topography of the Tharsis highlands along the Tharsis Bulge appears to be the cause of the formation of the thousand-mile long twin rolls of altostratus clouds that I observed and noted on August 28th-29th, 2003. The cylindrical clouds that I observed may have been formed by a Martian jet stream, coursing perpendicularly across the region of the Tharsis Bulge.
As they course over the planet, fast moving Martian planetary winds seemed to cascade from the higher terrain of the Tharsis region into the long troughs formed by the two “White Tracts” (Tractus Albus Australis and Borealis), one to the south and one to the north. Thus, the heavier CO2 molecules in the atmosphere would cascade like a “windfall” (as opposed to a “waterfall” like Niagara Falls on Earth) resulting in a very rapid pressure drop “topside” across the entire length of the Tharsis region along what may be well described as “The Palisades of Tharsis.”
The cascading winds and rapid decline in atmospheric pressure above the “drop zone” would result in condensation processes nearly identical to the formation of rolling clouds, “lenticular clouds” or “Lennies”, formed as winds roll across and over mountaintops on Earth. Due to the terrain features of what I call “The Palisades of the Tharsis Bulge”, i.e., long, straight cliffs extending for over a thousand miles, the resulting cloud formations might well be described as “Tubular Lennies.”
Of particular interest are those to be seen forming over Mt. Rainier, WA (similar to those formed over Olympus Mons and the volcanoes of Tharsis Montes) and 3 others labeled:
The photo (above) provides a facsimile of Martian cloud characteristics seen near Solis Lacus and the Xanthe regions of Mars by the author in August 2003. If the reader can envision such clouds extending in parallel rows for over 1,000 miles, the reader will have a clear idea of Martian cloud dynamics to be seen forming along the palisades of the Tharsis Highlands and rolling off like logs from the cliffs of the Tharsis Bulge.
The Mariner 9 photomap-TMA-1 comparison above shows the northern region of Solis Lacus and the Xanthe region on a clear day. In pre-2005 NASA computerized photos, large and expansive cloud formations were made to appear to be desert areas due to color level adjustment and modification of computer-generated images. I have discovered Mariner 9 photos depicting the area north and south of Valles Marinaris devoid of clouds and showing extremely accurate details of the cliffs and floor of Solis Lacus. Overlays presented here demonstrate this clearly.
These 4 panels prove geometrically that a one-to-one correspondence exists between terrain features shown in the Mariner 9 photos and details depicted in TMA-1, The Martian Artifact.details on how to set up the strobe feature and alignment of the images for comparison).
The Martian Abyss
NASA Image above, computer rectified and enhanced by RDM, shows Solis Lacus region of Mars to be well over a hundred-miles deep asteroid impact crater, which created Valles Marinaris and “The Tharsis Bulge.”
I believe that I have uncovered in TMA-1 what may truly and literally be described and deciphered as “A Message in from Mars.” TMA-1 reveals a message, inviting our attention and calling us to explore the mystery that lies inside and surrounding the remarkable region of Mars called Solis Lacus.
A Flight over The Valles Marinaris
On Mars 15th, 2006, NASA/JPL released a remarkable Mars Orbiter fly-by over Valles Marinaris and the Tharsis Montes. This amazing video will familiarize the reader with the terrain features of the region, which forms the northern border of Solis Lacus. The reader should take note of the diagrams of the region shown on the webpage below provided by the Planetary Society, which demonstrates that the cliffs of the Sinai Region, south of Candor and Mellas Chasmata, fall precipitously in an nearly vertical drop of 4.79 miles (7.7 km) before the terrains begins a downward slope into the “The Martian Abyss” of Solis Lacus stretching for several thousand miles (of which only 92.35 miles are shown using the Los Angeles basin overlay to camouflage the catastrophic event that transpired there ages ago. I advise the reader to pay particular attention to the first frame and the very last frames of the Mars Odyssey flight video, which show the northern end of Solis Lacus, giving a hint of the true dimensions of the crater. The final frame is most interesting in that it shows two large meteor or small asteroid impact craters (on the right hand side, which actually struck the cliffs but which due to the camera angle of the final frame are made to appear as if they are on flat terrain.
This writer noted these impact craters in the original Mariner photo discussed above and they have become significant landmarks in this analysis of the area.
A Beckoning Call From The Beacon of a Single Bead of Hematite
A Single Bead of Hematite, embedded in “The Martian Artifact,” calls the World’s attention to a specific region of the Western terminus of the Valles Marinaris
This remarkable “artifact-within the-artifact” is clearly discernable in the Opportunity Rover image.
Of particular interest to this researcher is the mystery of what lies beneath the unique point designated by the single bead of hematite embedded in TMA-1? What does this signify and why is our attention being drawn to that region?
The first thing to find out was “What is that region called?” The most important question is “What’s there?”
Finding “The Labyrinth of Night”
When we first compared the single hematite bead’s position as seen in “TMA-1” with the Mariner 9 photo map, the precise position of the single hematite bead called our attention to a unique and remarkable complex of intertwining cliffs and canyons at the western terminus of Valles Marinaris called “Noctis Labyrinthus” or “The Labyrinth of Night.” Unlike the hundreds of thousands of randomly scattered “Marsberries” found all around the Eagle Crater site, this one, singlebeadofhematite appears to have been intentionally “set,” embedded like a jewel, sunken halfway, in the northwest the rim of TMA-1, designating a point, adjacent to steep slopes near the region called “Syria.”
The most important aspect of this discovery and observation is that the single bead of hematite, set upon the region of “Noctis Labyrinthus,” now provides the world with a focal point for future Mars exploration and designates a primary landing site for a manned mission to the Red Planet.
“Eyeballing” From Altitude: A Martian POV? TMA-1: A Point of View from Mars Orbit
I have attempted to determine the altitude of the POV (Point of View) of the designers of TMA-1 from orbit over “Sinai” and “Thaumasia,” a southern equatorial region of Mars. In roughly estimating the altitude above the planet of the POV (“Eyeballing” one might say) the author employed basic geometry with a known distance and the perspective of the object (the rate at which the planet’s curvature falls away).
To determine the altitude of the POV, I used the average scope of human vision (subtending an angle of 110-120 degrees including peripheral field) and the known diameter of Mars with the curvature of the surface “falling away” to the limb of the planet (4200 miles) as depicted in TMA-1. Using the angle of 120 degrees, I calculated the approximate altitude of the POV using the Pythagorean theorem for a 90-60-30 right triangle. With an apex angle of 120 degrees, half of which is 60 degrees, and using half the diameter of Mars as the base of the 30-60-90 degree triangle, 2100 miles, according to the FOIL formula from basic geometry, we derive:“X – The Unknown”
Solving for X, we arrive at:
60 degrees : 2100 Miles. 30 degrees : X Miles
(30* x 2100) 63,000 miles divided by 60 X = 1050 miles.
Thus, the approximate altitude of the point of view of TMA-1, above Solis Lacus, the most salient and significant topographical characteristic of the Red Planet, known as “The Eye of Mars,” would be approximately 1050 miles. This unique Martian point of view, seen from orbit over the hematite bead (designating “The Labyrinth of Night”) is near 19.5 degrees south latitude above the southern hemisphere of Mars.
The implications of this “Martian Point of View” are enormous for science, religion, mythology and Mankind.
For, from this observation, we may infer that if the manufacturers of TMA-1 had a “point of view” at all, then those who made TMA-1 were capable of space flight and must have had eyes in order to behold The Red Planet from orbit. Therefore, this artifact was made for eyes that see the world like ours see.
Could those eyes have been as human as our own?
******* “Imagination is everything. It is the preview of life’s coming attractions.” Albert Einstein”
To Think is To Create, Imagination Becomes Reality” T.T. Liang, Tai Chi Master
This Martian dissertation would not be complete without expressing my deep gratitude and thanks to Dirk Vander Ploeg of UFO Digest, Dr, Bruce Cornet (Phd), Kent Steadman of CyberOrbit Ezine & Richard Hoagland, Director of The Enterprise Mission (www.enterprisemission.com) whose friendship and support over the course of the last 3 decades inspired and made this investigation possible.
Author’s Note: The views expressed above are exclusively those of the author and do not reflect the official position or opinions of NASA nor of any other government agency or scientifc group or organization.
The front door would stand momentarily guarded by a deep silence: not a creak, rustle, or crack. Only the monotonous flashes of the thunderstorm and the cool chill of the dark day invaded the front hallway, tutored by the old Grandfather Clock which recited at definite intervals with it incessant tick-tock-tick-tock. The polish of its veneered surface gave a slight sheen that highlighted the masterful artwork of a by-gone era; it also gave a peculiar comfort and coziness to the evenings encroaching wet condition.
It was the kind of a rain-chill that invaded every part and muscle of your body, regardless of a raincoat and other weather resistance clothing you might attempt. The persistent pitter-patter of the cold sheets of the downpour hit upon the oval pane of glass in the old-fashioned Victorian door. The door’s heavy frame was slightly more than a comfort against the dreary weather, and through the lace curtains frosty lines of rain could be seen trickling down the glass. Every now and then, a flash of lightning would cast a glow into the vestibule, quickly followed by a burst of thunder.
Without warning, the presence of someone had arrived on the outside porch. A heavy shuffle denoted a person arriving from a hard day’s work, and the hulk of a man in a grey overcoat vaguely appeared on the outside of the partition. A gust of moist chilled air rushed into the house as the man quickly opened the door and then abruptly turned and closed it shut. His shoulders tilted from side to side as he shivered from the cold air. He walked over to the coat rack standing desolately in the corner and draped his overcoat on it. The same action occurred everyday between eight in the morning to five in the afternoon—-or else, he was sure he would become heavily blotched from the rain, when it rained, and he was glad to get the garment off. Just as despondently, he placed the wet hat on the rack, it stood still for a moment and then sagged to me side just as sadly.
The man stood stopped and stood motionless to think for a few seconds.
Everything seemed to be as usual; thought a private emotional storm was raging and barely subdued beneath his chest; not quite able to mimic the downpour outside, however, the man was sure he had it under control.
The smell of a freshly cooked dinner; the deeply invigorating aroma of a roast overlayed with the delicious touch of hot, buttered rolls, coffee, and gravy.
He gave a sigh. It still was comforting to still be able to come home to the smell of a robust dinner. Perhaps it would be many years yet before that bit of tradition would be torn asunder. It was hard to tell.
Wiping his nose on the handkerchief he has drawn from his pocket, he began to part his lips, then stopped. He tried once again.
”Clarisse, I’m home!”
He combed his damp, shaggy hair into place. It was rich, dark, and sleek. He needed every bit of that professional ‘white collar’ air that he endeavored to project. He needed that aspect of that executive job, from eight to five every day, or else he was sure he would go quite mad—-if that term meant anything any longer.
He shivered again, then stepped away from the small puddle of rain he deposited at the door He took a few steps for the kitchen..
‘Hi honey, how’s the damp weather?” came the cherry response of his wife. “So far, so good,” Mark thought.
He stopped abruptly when he came abreast of the huge sliding doors to the front room. In the shadows and dark, the doors appeared as one darkened monolith. He wrinkled his brow as if to look beyond the doors into the room. There was a certain intensity in his glance. The he stirred himself and headed for the kitchen. What was laying in the front room would just have to wait—-wait a while longer.
“Eeeem, smells good!.” He glided up to the back of his wife and kissed her on the shoulder. He could smell his wife’s favorite perfume, the one he had liked to well. It was down-right titillating.
She twisted her neck to smile into his face. It was a modest smile, but he could see that she at least meant it. She kissed him on the cheek.
“I thought we’d have a roast tonight, Mark. Bobby said the other day that he’d like one prepared,” she said washing her hands beneath the sink facet. She routinely wiped her hands on her apron. Then she pushed a strain of glowing black hair from her forehead to smile at her husband. Mark had had begun to pick at a steaming bowl of asparagus.
“Stop that Mark!” she just looked at him with an almost unquestionably indifference. “We’ll eat in minute.”
“Ah…y….yes,” he smiled comically, glancing up into the small, fogged bay kitchen window, “and how soon will that be?”
“Any minute dear, any minute.” Clarisse chided with a pleasantness that was rare but quite welcomed to Mark. When she smiled , a sparkle would enter automatically into her eyes and ridges of skin would flow evenly back from the bridge of her long, narrow nose atop two thin lips that, when parted, would show rows of beautifully even teeth.
She placed another bowl of food on the table, then fell back into a routine composure.
“Where Is Bob, anyway? Home from school?”
“Yes, he’s up in his room. I promised him that if he’d get his schoolwork done by seven he could see Sherell tonight.”
Mark didn’t say anything, but he acted slightly disturbed. He eased himself into a table chair. The he folded his hands in an almost prayer posture.
“How did your day go, Mark?”
Mark gazed across the table set with food. Then he glanced at his hand which was resting on the table’s edge and he noticed the nervous tremble the hand had acquired.
“Not too well —- as usual. Not too well.” Mark’s dark eyes held a slight sadness at that moment. His olive complexion almost turned white. He rubbed his stub of a nose and folded his hands together again.
“Oh. As usual?” There was a certain pique in his wife’s voice, but also a bit of cold sarcasm, almost always. “Later, Clarisse.”
“Seems that’s all it’s been here of late. I hope they let up on you.” Now that was a bit more tender, thought Mark, a bit more sincere!
“It’s not them. I guess, it’s me. I’m just not a good accountant…I’m …” Mark stopped and gulped while lifting two watered eyes to look at his wife. She returned the probing glance. “Later Clarisse,” he pleaded.
It was quiet for a moment. She continued her activity by clumping two tablespoons into their respective bowls. It was obvious she had put some work into the dinner preparation. The curious way her almost coal-black hair rippled along her temple and stuck in the corner of her mouth was a tell-tale sign of her industry but also of her sensuality.
“How’s our box doing?” It had been on his mind all day. In fact, it was somewhat exciting, though a strenuous day at the office had deadened that excitement somewhat. But such natural, wholesome excitement was getting to be a rarity, and he hadn’t wanted to give it up that easily. But for now, it was at least a pleasant diversion to speak of.
“Still sitting there on the pedestal, still sitting there,” she said, gracefully stepping around the edge of the chair and neatly pulling it beneath her. When she had herself settled-in, she timidly gave a nervous glance at her husband , then busied herself with the dining utensils. “Look at him,” she thought to herself, “sitting there like a time-bomb, fuse-burning, waiting to explode!” “It’s people like him that cause all the terror going on today,” she silently annumerated to herself, “pushing , prying, tearing! Well, I didn’t cook this dinner just to see how much energy I could send. If he is going to pull his usual guff, at least my son and I will enjoy this meal.”
Mark gave a smile: “I wonder why grandpa did something like that? It’s so unlike him. I guess the old fellow had a sense of intrigue and humor to boot. Imagine, stuffing an old box behind some bricks and tying a mystery note, to boot. So mysterious.”
Lightning flashed through the windows and a moment later thunder boomed causing the usual drone of loose glass throughout the house. Clarisse glanced out at the storm having just set her first bowl of food down.
“Spooky!” she joked, referring to grandpas’ mystery box. Indeed, it was, they had taken the flowerpot off the wooden front room pedestal and placed it in the sun-room replacing it with the ole’ rotten thick oak-box. Its henges had become badly rusted, the latch to the lock still worked, though it was uncertain the key to the, now, red-crusted mechanism dangling in the loop would ever be found. It almost seemed unceremonious to attempt to open it without going the participance of a key.
Clarisse noticed that her husband hadn’t touched his coffee yet, so she indicated that he do so: “Drink up.” It was going all too well, thought Mark, it couldn’t last. If Mark could only tell her what his dictatorial boss, Mr. Ferrell, had said: gee, Mark pleaded to himself, If I could, just one time without an argument. Keeping on the topic and referring back again to Grandpa’s mystery box: “Thank you. Ah, what did his note say, honey, something about a Pandora’s Box?’’
Grandpa Bellinger had been a loner of sorts. It probably was because he differed intellectually with a large majority of his friend; an eternal beacon of something from frontier times like the old shod-shack hut, the buck-board wagon, the General Store, and, later, the Model T Ford, Racoon coats, and full-length swimsuits: some private idioms of his own personality in exchange for allowing the maddening world pass him by. Grandpa had a scientific bent, was a professional chemist most of his life. Towards his later years, grandpa had become a science-fiction reader. He once attempted writing a fiction story, but it was too nostalgically moral and a publisher accused it of being too bland; Grandpa Bellinger resigned it to the limbo of the trash can.
“The note’s upstairs,” her brow wrinkled for a moment, “ I don’t recall exactly. There was something about the latest Presidential Assassination; the nuclear conflict…”
She stopped for a moment. Mark imagined that he saw his wife shiver with a slight fear, the same as he also felt. “Well,” she continued, “it seems your Grandfather could visualize half the mayhem going on today—-the book burning, the body tattooing…”
“Pandora’s Box, Clarisse, what did it say about Pandora’s Box?”
“He said it just might be one depending on who found it.”
Yes, that sounded like Grandfather, thought Mark. Idealistic. Studious. And always fearful of mankind’s inhumanity to man and the various tyrannies about. But about Bellinger was also a kindness too, a sense of humor that was evident, so evident, when he died and bequeathed the old two-story, four-bed-room home—an old early-American mansion.
And there also was those old memories. Old memories and this ‘box’—-dredged from a cob-webbed hiding place in the attic and the chimney.
Thunder roamed the skies again, In the street, a car passed through a deep puddle of rain, spraying it upon the wooden porch. It resembled the thumping of fingers upon a table.
“Yes, well,” Mark gave a sigh as he licked a drop of coffee from his lower lip, studiously setting the cup back on its saucer with both hands, “there’s so darn much going on from day to day it is paranoia.”
His wife just kept intently looking at her husband. Her rich, sleek auburn hair somewhat tousled by homemaking, was lazily draped over the shoulders. The wash dress she wore had a floral arrangement with a backdrop of pink and white checkers. She had a small face sculptured with a thin mouth and smooth-running features that came to an abruptly pointed chin. Her brown eyes were saucer-large and floating in magical fluid: Her whole face revolved around those two beautiful ovals. Her face was sprinkled with dimly visible freckles on the slopes of her cheeks.
Don’t start, Mark, she sneered inwardly, please don’t start that infernal sniveling , that filthy tongue-waggling about the world conditions. Believe me, my husband, the only dirty thing is your damned evil mind!
“I’ll call, Bob.” She looked almost as if she were daydreaming. Perhaps she was concentrating on how well the dinner was harmoniously occurring? Mark spread his legs out under the table, laned back in his chair and clasped his hands behind his head.
“How’s the boy doing? I don’t hear that loud squalor he calls music. He must really be studying?”
“Don’t be sarcastic, Mark. I’m going to call him to supper now. He’s having a hard time here of late, just, just, let him be.”
That did it, thought Mark, what possibly could that bundle of cloth and hair be troubled about? Does he have a Mr. Ferrell breathing down his neck? “He’s having a hard time here of late?” Mark’s face reddened a little, “That kid has it so easy…ah, gosh, get the boy…” Mark sat straight-up and prepared to eat. Mark’s wife looked at him questioningly, slightly grimacing her lips. Mark just sat starring at her.
“Bob!” she called. “Bob, come and eat!”
A silence, then a muffled sound like “all right’’ or ‘‘coming.” It was Clarisse that sighed an eternal sigh this time. Her saddened look forced her husband to break his gaze at her as he glanced off into the raising steam of the food. He thumped the table nervously.
The endless melody of the Grandfather Clock weaved its sad song into the kitchen. Mark unbuttoned his coat, letting it slink off one arm, then the other, and wrapping it across the back of the chair. Just as rapidly he loosened his tie. He stopped to glance at his wife with a mute indignation, the said:
“Well, is he coming?” Mark quickly unbuttoned one sleeve and began to roll it up.
Clarisse resigned herself to the predicament, “I’ll call again.”
Mark repeated his glare and began to roll-up the other sleeve. “Bob, come on now, we’re waiting on you!”
The same low, muffled voice reached the kitchen and after a moment of silence heavy clump-clumps bounded down the stairs that led towards the second level. Into the kitchen bounded a rather tall youth of eighteen with long, shoulder-length hair. He wore a full free-flowing white robe, encircled at the waist by a red, silk-like cord. On his chest was an emblem of a blazing sun thrust through by a well-defined lightning stroke which gave the illusion to descend from the tip of his goatee beard. His feet were sandaled and dirt smudges were obvious between his toes.
Bob walked in clumsy steps, tripping over legs of chairs, scrapping the woodwork, and finally bouncing into a kitchen chair, but holding, all the time, a most graceful air of serenity upon his face to which his father gave a silent gasp and bewilderingly arching back and looking at his wife with raised eyebrows.
The boy shoved himself near the table and quickly began to grab a bowl of food, dumping a portion onto his plate. Before his long arm managed to lay hold another set of china smoldering in steam, Mark Bellinger forced himself to speak.
“How are you doing, son?” there was a barely subdued air of contempt beneath Mark’s words.
“Fine, pop. How are you?” Bob looked up only casually. His long lanky hair swung back and forth each move of his head. Mr. Bellinger hadn’t started to eat .
“Your mother tells me you have troubles here of late. What seems to be the problem?”
Mark Bellinger, his wife had once said, looked like the late actor Tyrone Power, though some pronounced wrinkles around hi neck, and laugh lines around his mouth, gave an appearance more alien than familiar to the forever-youthful Powers. Two large ears were part of that alienness, and his eyes had a foggy appearance which was created early in his youth when Mark put many hours working as a welder in the government’s production of nuclear submarines for the most recent African conflict—-the one that witnessed no less than six nuclear attacks, without the resultant worldwide conflict. The attacks had, however, left several emotional scars.
Mark’s eyes would cloud when in deep thought, but occasionally, in moments of joviality, they would sparkle and a crystal-clarity would arise to transcend the current confusion: they would sparkle with a touch of anger.
“Well, just that I like to help if I can, son. I might not be a college graduate – and I understand that High School today is along a college level…” with all the mayhem, confusion, debauchery and riots of the college of my day, thought Mark, “…but I did go to school, son, I did go to school.”
“Dad, the things we’re studying in school today are so far removed from the High School of your day that it would be useless to explain…” The boy stopped his eating to look at his father. Clarisse hadn’t taken a bite to eat yet.
“Boy, you can say that again!” Mark Bellinger flipped hi napkin open and spread it across his lap. He reached for some food. “In our day, we didn’t have half the crazy things going on that I hear about today. ‘self-instruction.’ Who ever heard about literally doing that?”
When Mark had graduated from High School, and years later was able to squeeze in a few night courses at a local university, he was often bewildered by the campus bulletin boards. Besides odds and ends for sale, there were ads about homosexual liberation, lesbian liberation, childcare ‘corrals,’ anarchy as a movement towards human freedom—-page after page, notices, postcards all thumbtacks in a confusing mosaic on the bulletin boards.
And then Mark woke-up to the fact that people took these things seriously, and not as a momentary aberration. He was happy to know he was morally able to feel nausea.
Bob Bellinger leaned back in his hair to look at this father in a more serious vain. Girlishly, he flipped his hair over this shoulder, caressing his moustache with his fingers.
“Pop, it’s a different world! The things you would never happen ten years ago – are! The things that I wondered about then – I am! We are moving! We are also evolving, Pop! You know how I feel on this.”
“Ya, I know! I know how you feel! Pass the spinach, please.”
Clarisse disturbed her short passivity and proceeded to reach for the bowl and pass it to her husband. The she folded her hands again and quietly listened.
“You’ve never been to a ‘Rata-Tal,’ have you, Pop?” The father just looked at the boy questioningly, his beathing growing heavier. Of course, Mark hadn’t! “Well, if you’ve never tried to transcend this material reality by attuning to the ‘all-soul’ Rata-Tal chants—you really don’t know what you are saying…” The boy excitedly turned to look at his mother. “You know. You know, Mom. Mom’s been to one.” Bob turned to look again at his father, while Mark suddenly found himself trying to cushion the shock of those words.
Clarisse lowered her head slowly and rested on the elbow-supported palm of her hand, as she played with bits of meat on her plate.
“Yes, I’ve been to a Rata-Tal , she thought. I didn’t understand it, but I know one thing, she informed herself. There was excitement there! There was people, there was noise, noise and fun. Anything – anything – but this infernal cemetery of an existence.
Then she almost allowed a visible smile: she recalled the tiny black ‘bat’ that had been tattooed on the bottom of her right foot. She remembered the exciting instance when she dramatically received it at the orgy of body-tattooing at the Rata-Tal; she was eternally vigilant to hide it from her husband. She invented alternate excuses to tell her husband since its implementation, should he discover and ask about it.
“While you say we are rapidly ‘moving ahead,’” Mark Bellinger put a contemptuous air to the words, “I see us ‘falling back.’”
“Look at the whole picture, Pop.”
“Listen, young man, I’ve been around…’
“You see what you want to see!”
“I see what is happening! It isn’t new!”
“Man is a freedom-loving, evolving animal!”
What was this, thought Mark, a conspiracy? Just why is it that so bad for hard-fought-for wisdom of a father to be accepted? Why, in the world, are these two lovely people wanting to destroy me in such an ugly manner?
The slam of the fork upon the tables startled Clarisse and her son. The mother gave a small gasp of surprise, coming to astute attention. Mark gained a slight composure, examining everyone’s face, now, in tension. Was he happy the conversation had come to an end! He released the slight tautness of his muscles. It was the same old thing again, he thought, why was it never any different?
“Aren’t we supposed to say a little something before we eat, or something?” Mark questioned.
“Like what, Mark?” his wife asked.
“Like – like – a prayer or something.” Mark pleaded, swaying his hand through the aroma of the food. He reached for his coffee and sipped it hurriedly.
The steam coming off the food had died down somewhat, and several nosy flies buzzed from dish to dish. One landed on the table and began scurrying between the bowls of food and plates. Bob eyed it casually as he routinely lifted a fork-full of food into his mustached mouth that existed below the two the two large eyes he had inherited from his mother.
His mother straightened herself in the chair. She held back a bit of tears in her eyes by widening them for a moment. She pushed back a cluster of curls on the side of her head. She attempted to eat and her small lips parted for the first bite of food.
“I could say a neo-Indonesian chant, Dad?” It was hard trying to interpret that remark, as to whether sarcasm or genuine concern, ‘’or, perhaps a stanza from the Kali-Yuille?”
A form of panic gripped Mark’s tender features and his throat suddenly became lodged with a flood of liquid as he gasped and nearly dropped the cup of coffee, pushing himself away from the table and letting out a string of coughs.
“Y — you — you, you see what, what (cough) – I mean – (cough) – Clarisse, the boy is half done mad!”
Mark pointed a finger at the flush-faced boy. It had arrived, Clarisse thought, it had arrived! His wife slowly turned her penetrating eyes to her plate, blinking them once or twice, and dropped her fork to the side of her plate.
“Kali-Yuille! Kali-Yuille! I never heard of such terms. It’s some of that crazy oriental stuff those kids down at the University Loop have invented,” Mark continued, “do you know that area was nearly quarantined, Bob, by the City?” Mark looked at his wife, who now had both hands clasped over her ears while gazing down to her plate. “Fourteen rapes, Bob, and three murders, Bob , not in one year, son, or a month my boy, but one week!”
“So, people have problems!” Bob interjected.
“People have problems. You are darn right!” Mark whipped the napkin off his lap and began to dab the spots of spilled coffee, “you’re darn right people have problems, and we have some right here. Right here!” Mark threw the wet napkin into plate with a ‘splat.’
Clarisse yanked on her hair, first with a whimper, than a chain of sobs, and finally a loud cry. Those at the table came to a halting silence.
She lifted her head to reveal two greatly watered eyes and the beginnings of two tear droplets on the lower lids of each that shivered and swayed when she shouted deliberately and somewhat crudely:
“Please, just be quiet! Shut up! Shut up! Shut up!”
“Mom!” the guru of Denver Boulevard started to rise from his chair. “Mom!”
“I fixed a roast, especially for Bobby tonight! It was hours in the cooking! I cooked a lot of favorites! It was going to be a nice dinner! A niceevening!” She pointed a tearful glance at her husband: “Why did you have to ruin it!”
“Me?” exclaimed Mark: This wasn’t just exasperation, it wasn’t amazement, but the usual tragedy warmed over.
“You come in here, moping like the dark dreary day outside, complaining your usual complaint about possibly losing your job! You started picking on the boy before he even got down the stairs! You can’t even…”
“Picking on the boy!” doggonit anyhow, thought Mark. “Now what a minute, this didn’t start tonight…”
“Oh sure, that’s right, you never did like the kid.” Streaks of acidic tears crossed her cheeks. “To you, he always was a gimpy screwball.”
Mark’s olive complexion had turned a shade of red, and his frustration at the swiftness of the change of circumstance had somehow turned into panic. Just then, a large boom vibrated the old house much like a heavy piece of furniture having been dropped onto the upstairs floor as a thunder-burst rolled the sky.
Mark began to swiftly scratch a sore on the back of his hand, and his Adam’s-apple groped in pain every few seconds. “Now, that’s not true! Why are you saying that?’’ Mark turned with a look of astonishment to his son who was now was sitting absolutely erect in stark silence. “Bobby , we always did things together. Remember?”
Mark leaned over to his son slightly, as if to place a hand on his son’s shoulder, but not daring to. “Remember the open-air circus they held every summer down at the Emmerson Expressway? You remember? And that big elephant you rode on, the one named Tiny. Oh, ‘Tiny’ was a favorite name of yours for a long time.” Mark tried to force a crude chuckle. “You even named your pet rabbit, your basement turtle , and a garden-snake you found, by that same name.”
The boy said nothing, just stared mysteriously with a vexation at his father. Bob’s small, rounded nose glistened under the kitchen ceiling light.
“Yes, pop, I remember!.” Bob threw his napkin on the table and tugged on his loin belt rather angrily. “I remember the time you killed that cat, little Clarabelle.” The thought of that little animated ball of fur hadn’t crossed their minds for some time now. Mark was shocked!
“What? I told you I did no such thing! That was a big misunderstanding!”
“Sure. Misunderstandings, like the time you slapped Mom, or the time you locked me in my room. We should have called the police, Mom.”’ He had turned to his mother who had finally lit her cigarette and was observing with curious but rapt attention.
“This is crazy!’’ Mark jutted up from the table, glanced down at the food, put his hands on both hips for a second, and then hurriedly walked away from the table, “This is nuts!”
Mark quickly rushed to the sink and gazed through the frosted windows, past the stream of rain and into the patio of the next-door neighbor. Twice now he had tightened his lips together, forcing them downward somewhat, stretching his neck muscles to abate the lump of fear in his throat; suddenly he became the prisoner in his solitary emotional cell again. He gripped the side of the sink.
No sound came from the family at the table for a second. A roll of thunder past overhead. Bob said in a more casual tone, “How’s our ‘box’ doing?’
“Still in there, still locked,” added Clarisse.
“Well, Grandpa was nobody’s fool Mom, I bet it’s full of money. No change, just bills,’’ Bob jested.
Darn it, anyhow, thought Mark. how can they be so casual about it all?
Clarisse was quick to laugh at the remark from her son, “sure, it would be nice. I wonder.”
That boy had no cause to say that to me, so easily, so quickly, thought Mark.
Mark noticed someone on the patio next-door. It was Mr. Maxwell, who had just finished his supper and sat down in his favorite easy chair, a glass of his favorite bourbon in hand. It was hard to make out everything plainly for patio glass was heavily steamed, but Mark believed that his neighbor had a look of contentment upon his face.
“I had to lock you in your room, Bob, you were doing some bad things at fourteen-years-of age. Some bad things. You should remember.” Mark’s voice was soft, listless, with a tone of frightening exasperation that trailed off into the corners of the house.
The other voices at the table stopped for a second; they surely heard what Mark spoke. Then they quickly resumed their conversation.
“Ah, I don’t think its money,” Bob informed, “but probably one of his inventions he made – one that he never told us about. You know, I went up to grandpa’s private laboratory in the attic once when I was six, and I remember,” the boy’s eyes rolled to look at the ceiling in deep thought, “ this big coil outfit he made—I didn’t know what it was for, at the time—but he said it had an ‘electro-magnetic’ output of such and such; you know the regular laboratory jargon. Grandfather was talking about making a larger condensed-model one day.”
“You think that’s what it is?” his mother smiled, blowing a puff of cigarette smoke into the air.
(Mark imagined that cocky, serene look which had suddenly grown on the face of his wife, and those two thin lips that moved indifferently to haunt him; what was that slogan: thin-lipped people are selfish?)
“Maybe not this big model,” the boy explained, “but maybe a smaller one?” His mother just lifted her eyebrows in question. “Boy, when he pressed this button I thought my short was going to be pulled off my body! I think it was kind of a force field!” The boy was excited in telling of the event.
(Mark saw their indifference as a continuation of the sardonic conspiracy to the genuine circumstances Mark was feeling and had experienced at other times: what was going on, Mark argued inwardly?)
Through the ‘crystal ball’ of a kitchen window, Mark saw the imagined face of his employer, and suddenly he was back at work, computers whirling invisibly beyond him as he busily punched a tabulator in front of him. The supervisor just stood there for a moment. A look of stark anger upon his slim face—-a face that seemed to have been constantly washed morning, noon, and night.
Mark hadn’t stopped his tabulating immediately. No, he wanted to be as casual as possible. Yes, through the corner of his eye, he could see Mr. Farrell’s tweed-like material of his suit coat. He could smell the strong fragrance of his cologne, but Mark didn’t want to appear too startled, too shocked, though he knew very well why Mr. Farrell stood there with his cheek bones slowly moving and protruding somewhat aflame.
“Damn it, Bellinger, can’t you see?” Farrell’s voice brought Mark to full attention. “You did it again! What’s got into you, man?” With a slap, Mark’s boss threw the file folder on Mark’s desk, causing the papers to spew over its surface. Mark investigated the man’s face. Mark did nothing, just pushed his glasses back on the bridge of his nose. Mr. Farrell looked at him questioningly. Then just as crisp:
“Be in my office in five minutes!”
The ceiling lights on the office became once again the many flowing raindrops upon the kitchen windowpane. His next-door neighbor had made it a short-lived habit of reading the newspaper this evening and was soundly asleep in his favorite chair, paper crumpled on his lap. The oval of his mouth denoted an active snore.
Mark tangled with a thick, heavy gulp in his throat. The emotion was hurting his neck as if it was cement. His lips quivered and the tears in his eyes made visibility almost impossible.
“Well Mom, I am sorry about dinner. I really am. I would have gabbled-down that roast —- well, it was good!”
“Sure. At least I tried, Bobby. You know I tried.”
“Sure, I know, Mom.”
Was there something in those surprisingly mellow voices that emotionally ‘included’ him, Mark asked himself? There must be! He suddenly felt a loneliness that quickly accompanied his growing freight:
“I love you, Bob!” Mark practically sobbed the words. Mark remained in his feigned position. The boy only stared at his mother’s pretended surprise glance. She looked back at her son just as tritely. A moment of silence stood between everyone.
“Well, can I leave for Sherell’s now, Mom? We’re going to have some practice chants in the oriental sketches we’re doing.” Bob prepared himself ready to push away from the table.
“Your homework done?” she eyed him with a half-hidden and warm smile, part-way disguised by the drawn appearance of her lips and the way she cradled the cup of coffee in her hand. Her eyes twinkled unexpectedly.
“Yes, Mom!” Bob answered a bit resentful as he stood; I have to get-going, he thought to himself.
Bob! Bob! Come over and pat me on the back, cried his father inwardly to himself, and take me by the arm, squeeze it, tell me that everything’s alright – it’s alright! If the porcelain of the sink were clay, it would have ten deep impressions from his iron squeeze. But instead of secret pleas being vanquished, a kitchen chair was pushed into the table and rapid steps headed for the hallway.
“Bob!” Mark blurted out, his had towards the boy as if to grasp him away from some deep precipice. “Bob, son, let me talk to you.” Small tears had formed in his Tyrone-Power-eyes, and somehow the strong smell of spinach, mash potatoes and rich gravy was so, so out of place as they now sat forlornly under the dull fluorescent ceiling light.
Bob Bellinger just stood there before his father. Tall, somewhat lanky, his hair draped over his shoulders, a look of feigned exasperation on his face, partially recognizing the urge within himself to do the duty he was neglecting to do. He fidgeted on the ruffled cuffs of his Victorian short; oh, how obnoxious it appeared up against his faded jeans; old, whitened jeans that protruded from the bottom of his gown.
“Not now, Father.” He said softly.
“I want to go, Pop!”
Again, a small but deadly manipulative silence filled the room forcefully touching all those in the room.
“You just can’t do this, walk away,’’ Mark flipped his hand in the air. He glanced over at his wife who had a look of growing sick anticipation, “Things have been said! I need to explain. Please!” Mark’s wife just looked at him, shockingly sedate and surprisingly serene, lipping the rim of her coffee cup.
The boy lowered his head and swiftly turned down the hallway to the coatrack and jacket. Mark raced through the kitchen doorway; the light threw a long, slender shadow that reached to the front door.
“Stop, son, let’s talk!”
The boy only gave the usual exasperated look, swished the jacket onto his back, pausing:
“See you later, Mom!” Bob jerked the door open and headed out into a continuing, somewhat subdued fray of lightning. The door shut with a clump.
The Grandfather-clock seemed unmoved, undisturbed by the household activity.
Mark noticed that the Sun had set, and the temperature had dropped significantly. He stood still for a moment, filled with the solemn silence of the moment as he glared at this shadow. He made a tight fist, then relaxed his fingers again. There was a clank as his wife set her coffee cup down to the saucer.
“Well, better get the dishes.’’ His wife voice was a vote for resumption of daily routine.
The panic within Mark was somehow fortuitously held at a subdued level but he knew it would somehow evolve into a barrage of words any second. He slipped back into the kitchen light.
“Clarisse – honey – talk to me! It’s not right!” How could he describe the tense knot in his stomach and what it meant emotionally? Nor was he able to explain the thousands of little prickling sensations of pain rushing up and down his flesh. His body cried out for justice.
“Go on, talk.’’ The drabness of her voice was as deadly and metallically cold as the lovely strains of her Cole-Dark hair that ran across her shoulders, down her neck all the way to the middle of her back. She ventured to the sink and moved the few dishes deposited there in the water. When she pushed the facet handle tight, drops of water still leaked through causing a lonely ‘drip-drip-drip’ adding to the solemn quiet. Mark’s throat was sore from emotion: ‘‘Can I be that bad?”
“Tell me, honey!”
“Talk to me – talk!” It was torture: his very being cried out for help.
“What about?” She quickly moved to the table, gathering dishes for the sink.
“Are you happy with things this way? Do you take delight in knowing that your son hates his father? What’s going on here, anyway?”
Mark’s thinking was a maze of confused. He had the impulse to run out into the rain: washing the frustration and hurt like just so much dirty muck out of his system.
She stopped her trips across the kitchen floor, holding a ‘mash-potato-caked’ tablespoon limply in her hand, then coming to a military ‘attention’: “You are what’s wrong!” She quickly continued her march.
“Your nothing but a big overgrown brute!”
“Just like that?”
“Just like that!”
“That’s not fair. W….w….what specifically are you talking about?”
“Everything? Clarisse, what are you saying, you’ve never said that before?”
“Money. You’re tight. We can’t even spare a dime for a candy-bar around here!”
“Clarisse! You have this house—ah! You…you have plenty of cloths. I don’t understand!’’ The knot in his stomach continued to twist and churn.
“Work! You need to quit your job! You want your wife to work; you are plain lazy!”
‘Lazy!’’ his voice exploded. “What, are you nuts….?”
“Ya! I’m nuts! Stark-raving-mad! Thanks a lot!”
“Oh, honey, don’t confuse things – I’ve got problems at work. Today, I wanted to talk, to…to…ask your help about…”
“All you want, mister, is to drive people batty!”
“Stop it, Clarisse! You make me sound terrible. That’s lousy! Let’s be fair!’’
“Fair!” she sardonically laughed.
“I love you and the kid.” This was awful, Mark thought, grabbing his hair and yanking on it. He gritted his teeth.
“You wanted to get rid of us all along.’’ Clarisse smirked.
Mark was beginning to think of his sanity holding intact in this Kafkaesque game.
“That’s crazy! Crazy! We’ve got problems, but Clarisse, we’ve had good times. We had fun, Clarisse…”
“Ho, boy!” She leaned her head back now and then to project her words to him. She had slipped her shoe from one foot and was messaging the other with it: was she enjoying this? “We can’t get up and go to sleep without getting permission from our Lord and king, Master Bellinger!”
You’re wanted to be cruel, thought Mark, you’re wanting to be!
“It’s hard times, Clarisse. Terrible things are happening. We must run a tight ship around here. You know that.” Silence from his mate. “All those laughing, hysterically silly people cabaret about the nation – their happiness is short-lived. You must have some long-range goals, a little disciplined….’’
“So, we can go around moping in tears like you?”
“Inflation has driven most the nation into poverty!”
Again, her sardonic smile, “That’s because you want to live like the poverty smut taking over the city, instead of moving out into the county, like I wanted to!”
Mark injected a slightly different view: “What’s wrong with this house! it was grandpa’s house! What a terrible thing to say about a wonderful gift from my Grand Pop! It was an upper-middle class house home at one time, you know.”
“And now, dear, it’s junk—in more ways than one,” she was running a wet kitchen cloth over the now cleared table.
“You’re confusing things, Clarisse! Darn you! Can’t you try to be helpful? Darn you, anyhow!”
“And damn you to hell, too!”
“You brazen little two-year-old!” This growingly grotesque slander had been too much for Mark, too darn much. Mark lunged forward at his wife, when swift jerks of her hand from her bent position revealed a dire look of hateful determination at her husband.
“Go on! Hit me, you monster! Hit me like you did before!”
Mark stopped dead. There was a sharp shooting pain in the back of his skull like bolts of electrical pings. Something like a huge, thick wall had been lowered in front of him. He was unable to move around it. He wrung his hands together, gritting his teeth, and then suddenly his submerged eyes burst into tears, and the corners of his mouth drew back into a painful sob.
“I didn’t plan this!” wretched Mark. “Oh, no! I didn’t plan this!”
Mark covered his face with his hands and felt himself fall back to the doorway, momentarily leaning against the wall, letting his chest fall into deep heaves till his muscles were sore.
It was almost as if his feet had a mind of their own as he lingered in the darkness of the hallway, he stumbled, swayed, and almost falling, and then he soon felt his nose against the cold glass of the front door.
It was lonely, a terrible loneliness that had become his companion and a reality. The darkness was lonely. The rain was lonely. The low rumble of the thunder and, now, infrequent flashes of lightning were— lonely.
Father! Father! He sobbed aloud again: Oh, Pop! What a misery your grandson must have been!
Mark’s hand slid gently across the veneer-wood of the tall clock. The strokes of its long pendulum could barely be made out in the dim light. He could feel the cool glass on its front and Mark rested his head upon it for a moment, as if were caressing an old friend.
Somewhere upstairs a light had been left on, probably in Bob’s room, for its rays could barely be seen on reflecting surfaces in the upstairs hallway and onto the wall. One’s eyes could move in the darkness till they came to rest on the thick siding doors to the downstairs front room; and it struck Mark majestically as if he were viewing the entrance to some ancient tomb: the analogy was absurd but the feeling was striking.
A unique chill ran through Mark as he approached the sliding doors; he touched them, momentarily listening to the cars splashing through the puddles on the street outside. He slowly pushed the huge door panels into their recesses, and a woody growl of sound came forth.
Mark fumbled his way into the room. The smell of musty old gray dust along with the invigorating smell of vinegar from the kitchen was a peculiar mixture. He glanced about the room; what a cemetery! He could feel his father’s presence there, almost as if he were sitting in his regular upholstered easy chair in the corner, his grandad looking at him casually, a small light smile on his aging but still pink lips. Grandpa appeared as he was in his late sixties. Whitened sideburns, and patches of dark on his hoary head. The smile would momentarily leave, fluctuating at times into a serious grimace—almost as if grandpa could see the aches in his grandson’s heart. Grandpa still fidgeted with the corner of the armrest, a usual habit of his that Mark had noticed during their many front-room discussions in year’s past.
Somehow these thoughts scared him, and Mark rushed to switch the small frontiers’-lamp on an end-table. The first thing that small amount of light revealed to his vision was the box! It sat smackdab in the middle of the room on an old wooden pedestal. It was obvious that Clarisse hadn’t been in the room to clean the for some time as a sizeable layer of dust covered it and most of the furniture.
Mark walked slowly over to the box. It was an ancient object; something you might find in an old cabin somewhere, during or before the civil war, or, even the Revolutionary War. Its metal parts were badly rusted. The lock and loop were a grisly red. Barely visible was a gold and silver trim, and a design of something like an American Eagle could be seen. It looked as if termites had attempted to invade the crypt at one time.
Mark ran his fingers gently over the side of the box. Though he had handled it before, it suddenly felt more significant to him this time. Grandpop! Something Grandpop left for us! Something special!
He let out a deep sigh: if only he could have made up to his granddad all that he had wanted to do. Mark glanced over into the partial cover of shadows.
“Oh, Grandpop,” he whispered, “what am I to do! Things are getting rougher all the time!’’
Mark was thinking, of course, of the vast economic and sociologic changes going on since his granddad died ten years beforehand. He and his grandfather spoke openly about some of the coming trends. He was thinking about some of the wild kids running around the neighborhoods beating-up everybody on sight. Half of them were brazen, loud-mouthed homosexuals. The other half were nothing but freaks who had marvelous means of inhibiting and ‘handcuffing’ the police whose severely limited capabilities were bought-on by the various radical ‘civil liberties’ of groups that had sprung-up-out-nowhere seemingly overnight.
The communal tribal life of people had finally arrived. It first was a few excited isolated ‘communities,’ but with the passing of Supreme Court laws, whole city blocks were rented and designated ‘A,’ ‘B,’ and consecutive letters, and soon numbers like 184, 185, till the cities became thriving ‘free-for-all’ areas of living causing havoc with real-estate and Credit businesses, the new census polls, and schooling. Delinquency would no longer be traced back to ‘families,’ only back to the ‘community,’ and the ‘community’ had an abysmal way of avoiding all responsibility.
So, with Dad and Mom being nothing but murky, changing figures and faces, the youngsters became nothing but a wild, undisciplined herd of animals.
The police department surrendered to the National Guard; eventually, the National Guard surrendered to the ‘people!’ The ‘people’ told the ‘peace officers’ when ‘when-to-and-when-not-to.’ It became so difficult , so enmeshed in red tape, that finally it was simpler to ‘brush’ a dead body under a rug and then call “the law.” Was he your husband? Well, there’s always another man. Was she only a mate? It was never too late to find another.
Libraries became the property of the ‘Liberated Peoples,’ and Oriental-Asian-type nomads, descendants of the contemporary ‘hippies,’ that made quick business of using them as “Outposts.” It was crazy! It was nuts! But inevitably, books were burned in protest in one town, and soon spread as a ‘fad’ through the states. Magazines were “narrowed-down” to a few who adhered to the “New Age-Politic.”
It was a society that had sprung-up over-night and with surprising fury, for even its far-reaching effects couldn’t be seen by everyone, everywhere. The Nazi swastikas, the witches’ lore and ‘bent cross,’ plus other pagan symbolism, again became common. Everything was quite contemporary, yet quite ancient and fantastic.
In New York City, a recent poll indicated that the ‘red’ Communist Party was inadvertently ‘in power.’ The traditional mafia had some of its tentacles into the matrix as well. And there was even talk that the Russians had postponed an “invasion” because of the rapid success of the American Communist Party; we’ll give them another five years, the mighty ‘Bear’ said.
But above all this, the city of Yorkshire stood out in comparative peace. The Liberated Peoples’ movement had gained access to only perhaps 15% of the City and 8% of the County. And not everyone had convinced themselves that they had what it took to drop old values and step-in with the new; at least, not yet, all the way!
The trends were well-set, Grandpop Bellinger had said one night, sitting in that very armchair. It was already upon them; and that was ten years ago, recalled Mark (who had become tentatively content with the weak ideas that he and his family had not yet, despite the tragedy in their pasts, succumbed to the New Age altogether).
Mark shook his head. His hand could feel the small, corroded keyhole in the lock of the box.
What would money do? Sure, we needed it, he said to himself, but he wasn’t sure that it would help. It’s meaning and purpose would be twisted and pulled around beyond all recognition, and in the end, Clarisse would swear up and down that it was some diabolical misuse on his part. It always happens. But, oh, they could use the money. They could move…
Move! To where? And who could save that it was money in the box?
Maybe it was blood and guts! Perhaps Grandpa Bellinger had fallen before the weight of the cascading wickedness about him and wanted to play a hellish joke! Maybe he, too, dabbled in the back rooms of the university laboratories, the same as the strange ‘people;’ trying to create Frankenstein’s! And here, as a last weary tribute to a forgotten page of history and a nostalgic way of life, were the actual entombed bits and pieces of that life itself. Blood and guts!
Oh, what a hellish thought cried Mark inwardly, shame on myself, grandpa, forgive me!
Then, though, who could say – who would say?
Mark listened to the drizzle of the enduring rain hitting on the two large front-room windows. Every now and then the shades would light up in a faint headlight glow as a car passed-by.
Dull clinks and clanks rolled into the front room from the kitchen as Clarisse washed the rest of the dishes. Mark sighed deeply again, continuing to rub the box. It almost was polished from his incessant handling. He reached for a cigarette out of his pack. It had been years since they’ve had a cancer warning in the news media, he thought, holding the white cigarette cylinder before him. He lit it quickly and blew a heavy puff of smoke over the box. Then he slowly backed away and set into the thick, padded armchair.
Mark could imagine his wife at the kitchen sink, where he had often watched her gracefully at work under the dim kitchen-window-light. She was lovely, thought Mark, somewhat petite and thin, but very shapely with rich, sleek auburn hair that gently cascade about her shoulders and down her back, smooth and lovely ankles that were accentuated by delicate, sensually bulging calves. Even in an old mini skirt (the modern housedress) she had beauty; a beauty that even her small breasts couldn’t detract-from; after all, thought Mark, they had fed two babies; a lovely boy and his sweet little daughter.
Mark’s throat choked again. It had been some time since he thought of his daughter. He loved his daughter, despite the animosity that somehow existed between them. And he knew, too, that he loved his wife; yet, their lives were such a panic at times. And his wife could be so devilish! But then, thought Mark, she was not so nice to some others all the time either. Oh, what was the answer? How did they get into such a mess? An early marriage? A child out of wedlock? A punk kid with no formal schooling? Yes, sure, all that was correct, he confessed; but then, there seemed to be more.
Mark gave another thick sigh. “Oh, Clarisse! If we could only step beating each other over the head!”
His chest still hurt but he had stopped his crying. He just wanted to relax the tension and frustration. Relax! Let every muscle ripple loose and flow into a magical state. Relax. Relax.
He puffed the cigarette again. Smoke gradually filled the air. “The key,’’ Mark whispered, “Grandpop’s key! Let me think. Think!”
The box sat immobile in its mute witnessing. A museum piece in a crypt from out of the turn of the century; my, how time flies.
Mark closed his eyes. His eyes felt heavy and sore. He placed the cigarette in an ashtray, and he was thinking of the place his granddad may have kept a key.
Soon his olive complexion erased its wrinkles and a serene look of peace passed over it slowly. His head slumped to one side. The rain had stopped. Distant rumbles could be heard in far parts of the city. Mark Bellinger had surreptitiously fallen asleep.
Soon following, Clarisse decided to sleuth the situation on Mark’s whereabouts. Her expression was suave and noncommittal. She walked over and turned the lamp off without saying a word to her husband. Then she climbed the stairs.
Mark didn’t hear the melodious chimes of the Grandfather Clock announcing that the hour had arrived. Neither did it cause the clock to change its routine. It only said:
A steady stream of clear day light came through the curtain on the big front door. It lit-up the parlor delightfully but not in the full burst-light of noon time. There was a vague, dull overcast outside, but it didn’t deter the squall of the blue jays. One could hear the coo of pigeons on the roof and the crisp chirps of those hundreds of little brown birds that seemed to be imperceptibly everywhere. There was a steady rustle of the autumn leaves causing a placid, dim sound, like a waterfall off in the distance.
Every now and then, a silhouette would pass down before the front door in a swirling, rocking motion as several more leaves came off their parent tree to join the companion blanket on the ground.
The quick, rocky ‘putter’ and rumble of an automobile was heard as it raced by the front of the house — and then another going in the opposite way. Only the Grandfather’s Clock made the sole conversation in the autumn afternoon symphony: its choice of words never changed.
The someone scampered up the wooden steps to the house; Rather briskly turning the door, turning the nob once, hesitating, and then going back to the steps, and sat down. He sat there and made no motion for a long while. Only the ‘chee-chee’ of a bird indicated that someone was aware of the person’s presence. When minutes had passed, the person got up, quickly opened the door, and holding its edge, peered in.
It was Bob Bellinger. He looked fazed, like he had the flu or a bad cold. There was no doubt that he was troubled about something.
“Mom!” he called, glancing back and forth through the house. He listened for an answer. “Mom!” Still no response.
This prompted him to come and shut the door. It quickly dulled the whine of a jet’s after-burner overhead.
Bob peered into the kitchen. No one. And no one was in the Sunroom. Upstairs?
Apparently, not, thought Bob, they surely would have answered by now.
He gave a short sigh, whipped the thin layer of sweat from the palms of his hands onto the stripped pants (pants designed by the elite of homosexual clothing designers). He started for the stairs – but suddenly stopped. He glanced for at the heavy sliding doors to the front room and felt a sudden compulsion to go in. Why, he didn’t really know, but within seconds he had the doors pated enough for him to pass through. He just stood there for a moment, casually scrutinizing the alien sight.
It wasn’t too often that he had spent any amount of appreciable time in the front room, it seemed so odd and outlandish. And for the most part, the heating was shut off there to help to reduce the heating bill — this was denoted by a sudden draft that wafted past him. Bob pushed aside the doors.
But still, it was quant, thought Bob, something nostalgic and reassuring. A symbol — a symbol out of the past of never-changing values – of permanence and even loyalty. As loyal as the musty old chopped and unlit wood in the fireplace; it hadn’t been disturbed in any great degree since Grandpa Bellinger died.
Bob shivered. His complexion was still flu-like. He let his hands slide from the edges of the thick doors to his sides with a notifiable tap: he rubbed the brightly decorated, thin satin material of his trousers, as if attempting to warm himself. The necklace around his throat was brassy but still distinctly appealing in color. His skintight, evenly creased trousers were the latest style among the ‘Ultras,’ a faction of theLiberated Peoples of America.
And, boy, did he need some reassuring!
How could such ominous yet commonplace things have happened so spontaneously and yet present so many difficulties? He wasn’t even sure it was happening! And Sherell, he thought in utter amazement, was giving him some fantastic doctrine about doing it ‘the correct way!’
Sickening, he thought, yet, there still existed laws that bound a man to marry a woman with children resulting, and the one party, usually the female, wanted to consummate the union because of children.
Such an anarchic law! Who paid any attention to this, any longer? And above all, why, in the world would Sherell – a princess-maiden in the American Liberated Peoples – pull-off something like that?
Bob just shook his head dejectedly at the floor, churning his fingers into his palm, all emphasized by the gulp of his larynx. In the next instance, his thoughts had become too overpoweringly bewildering. He shook his head again, and ‘swooned’ the few feet to the sofa, falling onto it, allowing his head to finally rest.
He peered up into the old venetian-blinds. Light streamed faintly though them making zebra strips across his face. Apparently, Mom had felt compassion towards the old place, for she had, almost despite herself, replaced the yellowed shades and the crinkled, bent venetian blinds, with brand-new ones. It probably took some effort to break-away from daily daydreaming to do that toil.
He slowly lifted his head; his vision was confronted by the old wooden box, situated no more than three feet from him.
“Boy! How can everything go so wacky?” he said aloud to himself, and suddenly he realized he must tell his parents about the cryptic happening, the sooner the better, he told himself. But how? Dad was out of the question, he reasoned, he could not bear to approach him. But what was more frightening, Bob Bellinger acknowledged, he wasn’t so sure his Mother would react according to his preconceived notion of what should happen.
Ah, Mom was a swell cooky, Bob thought, and she had many ‘swinging’ ideas. Bob Bellinger gave a wicked little smile: Ideas that would even have blown the top of Grand Pop’s head off. Oh yes, Mom had shared some of the current scenes: the ‘blood-runs’ outside the City Limits; the Rati-Tals; the various ‘New Age’ magazines and newspapers. She wasn’t completely alien to Bob’s private world. Perhaps she would understand. Perhaps. It was a secondary thought, but one of weird comfort, nonetheless.
“There will be help. Maybe, just maybe, things aren’t as bad as they seem. If I’ve known that stupid girl would pull something like that,” continued Bob in his dramatic thinking, “I’d would have dropped her long ago.”
He just shook his head again; it was useless to go on in this panic-like way. Mom would be home any minute.
He glanced at the old Grandfather Clock, the face of which peered at him incessantly, ticking off minutes and seconds like eternity dispensing through a box.
His eyes fell upon the decrepit construction of wood before him. He slowly lifted himself off the soft springy sofa and reached for the box. He noticed fingerprint smears over its polished surface. Mom had a remarkable job of cleaning and polishing the old relic, what a souvenir it had become. But ‘why,’ asked the rather stern-looking teenager, didn’t they open it? A hammer, crowbar, or axe – anything would do.
“Silly,” he whispered. He glanced around the room at the antique and vintage furniture, “dumb, crazy, idiocy,” he eyed the old fireplace, “nuts, gooney, stupid…” It wasn’t helping any. He dropped his hands down at his sides and looked back at the box. The afternoon stillness grew upon him.
And then his heart spiked, and immediately began to pound — someone was coming up the porch steps.
He tightened his forefinger onto the box. His throat went dry. A key turned in the door lock. There was the rustle of a paper bag, and soon his mother appeared in the parlor, headed towards the kitchen.
“Mom!” the words came out suddenly, almost unexpectantly. The fear that had been rising in him was coming to a quick peak.
Clarisee backed-up till she was in the middle of the doorway. She had a satin scarf about her head, and her slender arms looked strained under the load of groceries she was holding. It pinned her knit sweater up to her elbows. She looked at her son questioningly.
“Home from the scatter lands already, Bob?”
Bob was momentarily lost for words, and his mouth was gapped a space. His eyes rolled over the strained stance of his mother.
“Ah, yes, Mom.”
“No instructor today?”
“Yes, no instructor.”
“Boy,” she shook her head and smiled, “school sure has changed since my day. Didn’t one of the kids get up in front of the class and teach? They usually do that, don’t they?”
“Yes, Mom. Mom,” his voice picked up a slight sense of urgency, “could I talk to you?”
There. He was well on his way. It would be out in the open any minute now.
Clarisee’s forehead wrinkled slightly, “Sure, Bob. What’s wrong?’’
“Here, set the groceries down,” he approached her taking the bag and setting it on the sofa. Clarisee untied the knot of her scarf, whipped it off her head into her pocket. She shook her head, letting her hair fan out round her shoulders. There was a strong scent of beer on her breath. Dad had given up years ago to fight her lavishing alcohol; but it had led to their share of conflicts, thought the boy, and — well — maybe she’s just relaxed enough to take his message smiling.
“Well, go on.” There was an element of suspicion in her voice.
“Sit down, Mom.” Bob’s voice had turned somewhat somber. He pointed to the sofa for her to set as he turned to the musty old armchair. There was the perpetual chill to the room. It was almost as if the logs in the fireplace should have sprouted into flames out of desperation. But, instead, the unending sweeps of the pendulum of grandfather’s clock; the rustle of leaves along the street outside; and the forlorn melody of a popular song from someone’s stereo down the way, all indicted the unchanging seriousness of the moment.
Bob’s mother’s large brown eyes held the face of the boy seriously, who, now, nervously groped for words. She squirmed. Then crossed her legs in anxious suspicion.
“Mom. Promise you’ll try and understand that what I tell you is something that ‘can’ be handled.”
“Mom, I am sorry but Sherell Getigard…’’
“Go on, Bob! What is it?”
“Well, she’s having a baby…’’ The words just fumbled out. It was no use to decorate them by proper tone or volume of voice. Bob Bellinger felt suddenly nihilistic and just wanted time to ‘pass’ in a swift fashion; perhaps the universe would melt away.
(The shocked expression on his mother’s face didn’t change for a few seconds. Her lips were pressed together firmly and slightly wet. Her eyes didn’t move. She just sat looking at her son in a skillfully subdued moment of panic. She perhaps wanted to cry but something much deeper than fear flashed before her now; and for that moment, she saw, again, the flashing red signal atop the ambulance in front of the house: it was then that the neighborhood had gathered before the white picket fence — Mark Bellinger was holding the door aside in desperate urgency while white-smocked attendants handled the wheeled stretcher down the steps out to the sidewalk. Heavy sobs and an occasional sequel echoed from his wife’s throat as Mark pathetically hung onto the sides of the stretcher.
She remembered the heavy lines on the face of a father who had just lost a baby daughter, seeing Mark standing there in the flashing light sweeping through the dark night, falling on his solemn and painful countenance.)
“A baby?” she spoke painfully.
“A baby, Mom” answered Bob Bellinger, and she just as well had said ‘what’s new?’ – thought the boy – for all the fashion she was reacting to it.
Clarisee lowered her head slightly, turning it aside, and grabbed the bag of groceries.
“I’ll put these away.”
She hesitated only momentarily, and then rose slowly to head into the kitchen. Bob sat nervously in the chair, fidgeting on its upholstery.
A moment later, a strange howl rose from the kitchen — an almost agonizing whimper: a lonely, low scream, an agonizing moan of desperation, came from Bob’s mother.
Bob wished he could run; run quickly, immediately and without any responsibility or recollection as to what was happening. But as the voice of his mother shrouded his very being, he knew it was hopeless; and Bob knew she was crying for more than just any baby.
Amongst the ‘Liberated Peoples,’ and large segments of the American populace, children were far and few between. It wasn’t a need to curb the rise of venereal disease, but, moreover, it had justly become a look for more restrains for ‘lusty independence.’
When the ranks of the ‘LP’ decreased because of such regulatory and medical concerns, an added maneuver was instigated to bring about a second generation of children, prospectively trained and drilled in the Liberate People’s philosophy: the result was ‘Babylon,’ and children were mere chess pons on a diabolical chessboard.
Mass abortion was common, even the ‘Law’ in some cities. But more fantastic, there were rumors of ‘child sacrifice’ in some segments of the decadent society. How it came about was uncertain; but where power and prestige were at stake, anything was possible — even in a democracy of a neo-utopian-sophisticated-America.
And there where those, suspended in a limbo of confusion, who had not yet accepted the growing fads and trends of the new “Utopia.” Some were still single-minded – and aware of the sanctity of children. Some still cried when they died, and still fewer worried what would happen when they grew older.
It was baby ‘Margaret Ann’ that Bob’s mother was crying about, thought Bob, and in a sudden moment, a vast panorama of grisly gangs of punk kids; orgiastic pranks in darkened avenues; and the whole scope of his earlier private delinquency passed before his mind’s eye.
He quickly brought a hand across his face, and he, too, began to cry in hard, deli berate sobs and chokes.
“Oh, baby Ann,” he sobbed, “oh, baby Ann!”
Through watered eyes, Bob tried to drink-in every ancient and comfortable sight in the room. He was thinking, at one time the bookshelf held classic novels and stylish, contemporary stories, but now only a stack of the latest LP publications sat there, worn, and well read, but triumphantly quiet.
There was the old phonograph, dusty but useable, setting silently in one corner. The melodies that were played on it were something out of another world altogether; what was the one name — Glenn Miller?
A world that believed in fresh roses, goldenrod, and ragweed that once was placed on the tables throughout the room. A world that was as eloquent as the yellowed chandelier hanging from the ceiling…as majestic as the old Grandfather Clock…yes, a world as ancient and romantic as…as…
As the old wooden box setting in the middle of the room!
Bob rose from the chair and reached for the box. He pressed his fingers tightly onto its surface again, and then quickly turned away from the pedestal.
Why were they living as they were? Actors in a surrealistic panorama? A phantasmagoric drama?
Loud voices could be heard outside, about a block’s distance away. Chatting, singing and a general grumble came from a large crowd.
Bob Bellinger slowly made his way from the chilly room into the hallway. He glanced at the dignified sweeps of the pendulum in the masterly face of the Grandfather Clock, as he went about opening the thick front door.
He cursed at himself, suddenly, as he peered outside — he cursed at his stupidity and jeered at the impending doom about him: over the trees and housetops across the street, in the distant horizon, was a deep glow, a rosy, pink vapor enveloped amid thick black fringes and edges: somewhere buildings were burning; somewhere property was being destroyed.
Soon, a parade of screaming, jeering, chanting long-haired delinquents appeared. Youthful girls clad in plastic-like, clear one-piece jumpers made from the latest synthetic material in space flights, shielding their nude bodies from the cold about them. Many were carrying torches in their hands. Faces of boys and girls alike were contorted in savage teenage frivolity. Mouths were formed into large round ovals; it resembled an over-sized searching party who had gone out to get Frankenstein’s monster.
It was going to be a rough weekend.
“Bob, I don’t know what is going to happen. I just don’t know. I think, I might do crazy any minute.” It was the weak, sick voice of his mother. She was much smaller than her towering son, and she had to reach up to caress her boy higher on his lean back.
Bob could feel her moist cheek on his arm as the two peered out at the crowd passing in front of the front door window-curtain — the red infernal hovering on the horizon. His body shivered with a peculiar freight and pain.
“But I want you to go to your room,” she continued to speak firmly, “and I want you to stay there and not come out. You’ll tell your Father …no, I’ll tell your Father that you are sick. You’ll be in bed, too sick to see your Father.” She looked at her son with tearful eyes.
“Do you understand?”
Bob turned slowly, feeling the small hand of his Mother slink down his back.
It was a Johnson-Clark respirator that had been used on Baby Ann in the ambulance. Bob remembered the churning hum that emitted from somewhere inside the vented mechanism, and the red cross pasted on the side somehow stuck in his memory. A cross? He was not sure what it stood for; any more than he understood the real purpose for those round, heavy, brick, stone sculptured gothic structures the LP assembled as groups to practice their sundry rituals.
He walked towards the stairway. With painfully heavy steps, he crept up to the second floor. Then suddenly when he reached the landing — he raced down the upstairs hallway into his room, as his Mother had ordered.
Mark Bellinger had been such a dashing fellow, Clarisee was thinking, perhaps in a juvenile way, but he was the man-of-her-dreams. She had built her whole world around him in their teen-years. He was swell, good looking, muscular, and a man; how she needed some of that strength; beg, borrow or steal…
The parade of teenage libertines had left his street; only a bright red color filled the parlor hallway and door window, fading back and forth reflections as the furious flames fluctuated far out in the city.
The parlor clock chimed the hour, and the sound carried to other parts of the house, a sound that also seemed to dance about the patiently- waiting front room pedestal—–and the companion ‘box.’
The box—–it appeared stretched and out of focus—-being viewed through a female’s tear drop.
The light from the table lamp in the front room cast a cozy warmth into the parlor. It lit-up the face of the majestic Grandfather Clock, part of the front door, and the somewhat dirt-stained rug on the parlor floor.
It was pitch-dark outside, and the cold steady howl of the wind portrayed the winter’s coming intentions. The panes of the house-windows would vibrate forlornly under the wind’s persistent challenges, and every now and then, a gust of an additional turbulence would slash against the house, whipping it with snow and ice. In the light of the arched streetlamp on the sidewalk, one could barely make out the dazzling mounds and drifts of snow lying about. Tree branches were laden delicately with ridges of snow, and the silhouette of a large icicle could be seen protruding from the rim of the front porch, amidst an array of smaller icicles.
Nevertheless, it must have amused the Grandfather Clock immensely to be in the warmth of the house, as it just stood unalarmed and chanted its lullaby as it looked out over the passing vista of the household.
Mark Bellinger was busy about the old box. He had seen it sitting there long enough, and he had forsaken the idea of ever finding a key to fit the lock, if the lock was mechanical enough to even use.
Instead, he brought a hacksaw from the basement, and had placed the blade upon the corroded loop and was presently sawing it about a quarter of the way through.
But why was he prompted to such sudden action this evening? And why the drooped mouth and the sullen continuance? Was it just preoccupied worry about imaginary ‘blood and guts’ Grandpa Bellinger might have deposited-away to teach a cruel lesson? Perhaps, Mark’s grandfather had a few esoteric and cryptic tib-bits about his Grandson, Bob?
He did talk to the boy often – even when he had been arrested by the police for theft – and maybe the boy confided in the man more than they had thought: You know, “…here was the cruel information.” Ah, no, no! Grandpa Bellinger would have come right-out with it, right then and there.
But it was obvious that Mark was caught in a spastic web of deep thought – deep enough to prevent him from successfully completing his objective, for he would stop a few seconds and breathe deeply, his eyes agog, and looking dramatically at the box. And then he would move the saw a little more.
“I was a child once, just like Bob, like my wife, like millions of citizens. Now, I am a man,” Mark was instructing himself. “What is a man? What is a human being?”
In the silence of the cold night, footsteps were trudging the snow-covered sidewalk, making a crunching sound under the weight of the huddled form. The person quickly scamped-up the walkway to the house and pounded-up the wooden steps. A thick ridge of snow was knocked from the person’s boots onto the huge front door mat. Then suddenly —
‘Boy!” exclaimed Clarisee Bellinger, somewhat breathlessly, as she stepped into the vestibule, she shut the door with a big shiver. Mark froze still, quickly throwing the saw into the lap of the old armchair. He just stood there for a second looking at the fireplace. His heart pounded a little from the surprise.
Clarisee quickly dropped the coat off her back and proceeded to drop it over the coat rack. The fur cap followed just as quickly, and then she placed the goulashes and wet socks neatly into one corner. She stood by the old cast-iron radiator, barefoot, trying to grasp some warmth in the wavering air over its surface.
“Who’s in the front room?” she queried, trying to peer about the edge of the sliding door. A short silence followed.
“Just me, Clarisee.”
“Home early tonight? No overtime, eh, Mark?” Her conversation was unentertaining even though he attempted to be pleasant.
“Yes, honey, I’m home early tonight.” There certainly was no enthusiasm there.
The solemness of the remark sounded slightly peculiar to her, and she moved into the light of the front room doorway, her bare feet giving that sensuous ‘thud’ of a feminine walk. She stood there placing her weight to one side, outlining a shapely hip. The blurred redden appearance of her eyes and the heavy smell of Jack Daniel’s liquor rolled in waves to his nostrils, revealing that his wife had somehow left the Budweiser stage. Clarisee acted more sexually titillating when intoxicated, but Mark could help feel nothing but disgust. It was so brash, so careless of her; however, he held his peace.
“How come? Inventory over?” was her bland query.
“Yes, it’s over.” He said with a bit of sarcasm, and he turned to look at her. He casually walked over to the sofa and wearily slumped down onto its cushions.
“And you? I didn’t know you did your shopping today?”
Clarisee’s face went somewhat flush as if a forgotten moment flashed before her eyes, or an unspoken secret had been nearly disclosed. “Eh, no shopping. I – I – I just had something to take care of.”
“It’s cold out there,’ she exclaimed, trying quickly to change the subject, “feel my hands.’’ She approached her husband and rubbed her fingers over his cheeks. He dimly smiled.
“What in the world were you doing?” she asked, pointing to the metal filings on the table and floor.
“I’m going to open that darn thing,” he pointed a straight finger accusingly at the box.
“Why now? It’s been sitting there…”
“Clarisee,” he interrupted her with an outburst, “Clarisee, it’s happened!” His voice was filled with emotion.
“I’ve been fired!”
“And worse than that, Mr. Farrell has threatened that I’ll not be recommended for another job.” Mark didn’t really wish to, and he didn’t intend to, but his eyes rapidly filled with tears.
“But why?” his wife asked. “Why are they threatening you?”
He suddenly felt speechless, so he just shrugged his shoulders, looking somewhat desolate. Mark had been home long enough to change into an old knit sweater and casual trousers that lapped loosely around his legs. Perhaps he had worn these clothes trying to locate some form of comfort in doing so. His chin rested on his chest, and he looked directly at his slippers.
I cry too much, thought Mark, his eyes becoming increasingly watered. And what is Clarisee going to say, Mark asked himself, now that I need someone close – close at hand?
Clarisee straightened for a moment. A slightly worried look had come over his face, as she paced back and forth near the wooden pedestal in the middle of the room. She had a hard-time placing her thoughts appropriately on her husband now, and she found her thoughts were centered more on Jack Getigard – Sherell Getigard’s father.
Ever since the crisis that involved Bob and his girlfriend, Jack Getigard had been an understanding friend. Clarisee had been afraid to approach him about the problem at first. Apparently, Sherell had not confided in her father, and it was her mother who accompanied her in the intention of filing legal charges. But Jack Getigard spoke consolingly and assuredly – and then several visits had ensued, and several more, clandestinely, most private, and then….
Clarisee squished her eyes, biting her lower lip; Oh, boy! she thought, my, my, my, things are happening!
The wind buffeted the windows, and a whistling sound ensued around the house. The panes of glass in the room opposite the vestibule vibrated eerily.
Look at him, Clarisee jeered to herself, gazing analytically at her husband, like a child with his hands covering an embarrassed face. Jack Getigard wouldn’t act that way, not Jack!
She walked over to the fireplace and gazed aimlessly into it. Ah, what’s coming off, Mark, he yelled inwardly, you need help, I need help. Oh, if I could walk right out that door right now!
“What’s happening, Mark? I mean…things are getting so dog-gone confused.” I need someone to hold me, Clarisee secretly pleaded, someone to say the world is the same sweet country cottage I lived in as a girl.
“Your confused?” blurted out Mark. It was the wrong expression to use at that moment, but Mark had no idea as to what Clarisee had been thinking, ‘‘How do you think I feel? Eh, Clarisee? I’ve warned you. I’ve been telling you what would happen! Instead, all I’ve gotten back was a bunch of rotten names…now I want help!’
You want too much, thought Clarisee! She couldn’t help it; it was the way she felt at that moment. Mustering-up all the authority she could, she glared at her husband’s questioning face.
“You’ll get early tomorrow,” her words were slow and deliberate, “get dressed – and go look for another job! You understand? You’ll be a man and get out and find a job to support us!” It was hard to subdue the look of anger upon her petite face.
“Clarisee, don’t start that! Of course, I will! But you always start off on the same foot: I’m jut a dumb guy who just doesn’t do anything for you. I don’t understand how you can say that? Clarisee, honey, you’ve got a lot – really! This house! You’re not starving, you know!”
She rolled her eyes in disgust: “You’ll get up! Get dressed…”
“All right, cut it out! I don’t need that ! Not now, honey! Please…”
Clarisee mumbled the curse to herself and turned so Mark couldn’t hear the full expression.
Suddenly, the shrill ring of the telephone from the hall jerked the two to a sudden alert. It seemed to echo endlessly in the solitude of the large house. What’s that? Did the old parlor clock stop its relentless chant from the freight o the sound?
Exactly why, it would be hard to say, but Mark immediately raced to the phone before his wife reached it. When his hand was secure on the receiver, Clarisee froze in her tracks with a look of almost horror.
Oh no, Clarisee thought, oh no !
“Hello, Bellinger residence…who?…Sherell Getigard?…oh, yes, Bob’s girlfriend…I haven’t heard too much about you lately…what?…yes, go on, I’ll listen…”
It’s Sherell, Clarisee mumbled, what is she trying to do?
“What?…I can’t understand you…why are you crying?…Sherell?…Sherell?” Mark’s face took-on a placid expression, as if trying to fathom a deep cryptic message. His heart gave small thumps against his chest-growing-into-lead, as if a small animal were jabbing his breast with its feet.
He’s twisting the telephone cord, thought Clarisee, and he has a look of confusion and anxiety. What was he hearing? Oh, Mark, turn around and look at me! Look and see that my heart is hurting too! Oh, Mark, hang up! Hang up and come hold me!
“Yes…yes…a baby?…now, wait a minute, whose baby?…Sherell, Sherell, stop crying, I can’t understand you…yes, yes…yes…yes…oh, no…no, it’s notso!…angry?…Sherell, where’s your father?…yes, get him, please…”
Mark turned to look at his wife standing limply in the middle of the front room. His face had a peculiar exasperation, denoting the thunderous parade of thoughts running through his mind. Half of his body was cast in shadow causing an electric effect.
“Sherell Getigard,” the words just stumbled out, “she’s having a baby. Bob’s baby !” He looked as if he wanted to say more, but his lips stayed parted, his mouth dry, and he never continued more words; instead, his glaring eyes said all the words that were necessary.
Clarisee just tried to shake her head, her eyes stinging from the acidity of tears. Once again, those brown opals were filled to the brim like water filled and overflowing in a canister after an all-night rain.
Suddenly, she slumped to the floor, almost as if her legs had suddenly become stricken with paralysis, into a kneeling position, thrusting her hands over her face, and sobbing heavily into her palms.
Mark’s attention was suddenly snapped back to the conversation on the phone.
“What’s that?…he isn’t….he what?…who?…”
Again, a look of utter dismay came over Mark’s face like a cloud slowly covering a near beclouded moon. Astounded, he held the receiver away from his mouth as he clumsily formed words to his wife:
“She…she…she says to ask you ! You would know where the father is at,’’ Mark’s lips moved hesitantly, and his eyes squinted in deep puzzlement, “and that you had seen him earlier. That you would know!” She took her hands aware from her face, but did not say anything, only stared at the floor.
“Sherell!” There was deep panic in his voice. “Sherell, listen to me! Go find your father, you hear me? Find him, and you, your mother – all three – come here Immediately! immediately! Yes!…yes!” and then weakly, rotely, insincerely out of the range of the receiver as he hung up, ‘‘goodbye.’’
Mark stood immobile for a moment, then staggered back into the shadows and sat on the bottom of the stairway. He just kept shaking his head in steady succession. Eventually, he lifted his head, “Where’s Bob?’’
Hesitant at first, Clarisee made the insipid reply, “In his room.’’
“Bob!’ Mark called out a shrill command. Doggonit, this head aches, he swore silently! Pain!
A moment later a shadow appeared in the dim light cast -down the upstairs hallway. Bob gazed down at this father rubbing the pain in the back of his neck denoting his panic. Mark’s blank expression was hidden in the shadows. “Bob, come on down here!”
The boy said nothing but slowly descended the stairs. He passed his father, and when he had appeared in the light of the front room, it as plain that he was uncomfortable. He had been sleeping fully dressed his clothes were wrinkled and rugged. His face had a saddened drawn appearance; his hair ruffled and dislodged.
His mother was already seated on the sofa and was making faltering attempts to light a cigarette.
“Sit down, Bob,’’ his father gestured towards the sofa. Mark limped to the old armchair, as if attacked by insufferable boils – or maybe sore diseased muscles – or both – had suddenly seized his body: a body that seemed to have aged measurably within minutes. His throat gave a gruff crackle, as if to excuse the prickly salvia and its heavy warmth resting in his mouth.
Lost for words, they sat for a moment. The whistling wind about the house went racing at a furious pace. And every now and then the windows behind the sofa would bang under its force. The only solitary sign of warmth seemed to be the smoke-column rising from the cigarette Clarisee held precariously between her fingers.
Mark couldn’t discern the meanings on the faces of the two people before him. Either they, too, were filled with mutual hurt and bewilderment – or – or – the same old resentful indifference and hatred existed in each of them: ‘which?’ asked Mark secretly.
He rubbed his hands together tightly lacing the fingers between each other. That at least helped to abate that lump in his emotionally racked larynx. The panic within him had been gaining rapid momentum.
The sound of the whining wind outside suddenly resembled the heart rendering, distant, whimpering of a dog in pain. It drew his attention to the windows for a moment. A car had slowly passed down the snow-caked street, dredging its way along, with its headlights hitting the front room windows. It left the street with the constant ‘whirring’ of its tires all the way.
It only betrayed Mark’s utter frustration to find the proper words. In the silence of the room, he could feel that deep, heavy thud of his heart, a slight ringing was in his ears, and there was a deep pain behind his eyes along his temples; every time he gulped, the ache grew with the feverish fear of enveloping him.
“Bob!” Mark finally said, startling the young man sitting in fearful placidity. “What in the world is going on, son?” Mark shook his head painfully. “How about taking pity on this old man, eh? I can take a lot, but a lawsuit….from a bunch of legal gangsters…a baby…’’ He again was suddenly filled with emotion, rushing his hand to his mouth to ward-off a sob.
Clarisee dropped her blank look of numbed agony to flick the ashes off her cigarette. The she turned to her son.
“What is Sherell going to do, Bob? Does she still plan to get an attorney to file the complaint?’’
It’s not the right time, nor the right place, thought Bob. And perhaps dad wouldn’t like to hear what’s really been going on.
“Mom! Later! Please!”
“You might as well get it out in the open, Bob.’’
“Mom!’ pleaded the boy. He fidgeted with the thongs hanging limply from his feet. Finally, somewhat exasperated, he relinquished to the request.
“Dad, what I am about to say might sound strange, but try to remember, this has been going on for some time now.”
Now, Clarisee’s complexion took on a shade of pasty white from the drab pink that already resided there. The scanty vale of freckles that resided on her face became invisible altogether; and she suspected that she too was about to hear something altogether new – and perhaps frightening.
“When Sherell became pregnant, I didn’t think it very unusual, pop. After all, these things are happening quite regularly. I mean, the child could have been ‘sold’ to one of those full-fledged Liberated People’s regimes – and I might as well tell you – I’ve been trying to gain membership for some time now. Anyway, there are ways to handle this.”
Bob’s father just looked at him, wide-eyed, shaking his head. For a moment, Bob thought it was useless to keep talking, but he endeavored anyway. It would almost seem foolish to stop now.
“But when Sherell said that she wanted to marry, and to keep the baby,’’ he continued, “ I didn’t know how to handle that! I mean, Sherell never let on that she ever even anticipated doing such thing to me!”
His mother wearily forced her lips apart to peak. “Why, Bob, didn’t you use contraception?” Her large brown eyes seemed to be drooping somehow, and it was hard to carry on conversation.
“Why?’’ the boy refrained from commenting further for a moment, “I mean, gee, it is quite a thing to have a child. They are born, placed in a ‘circle group,’ and given care and guardians. I imagine, I’d see the kid quite regularly,’’
Are you serious? That’s all Mark could have thought to say. He wanted to scream something out to the boy but couldn’t.
Clarisee eyed the dirty, crinkled pole of Liberated People’s magazines on the shelf of the bookcase. She recalled reading several articles on the topic of children practices; but it was always in another part of town or a half-mile away; maybe only several blocks away that these happen…but…
Her ears had gone deaf for a moment. The words that were now rapidly tumbling out of the boy’s mouth were only silent vibrations to her. In a moment, the conversation will evolve to her. What will she have to say? And why did she alert the Getigard’s? Why did she not keep it a secret? Soon, there would be the sound of someone at the front door, and she realized that she didn’t have one idea of what to say. To say? It would be hell, she thought, for she would have to make a frightening decision!
Her vision slowly traveled over the old room. It passed over the partially lit parlor and the hypnotic sweeps of the Grandfather Clock pendulum; the pale, slightly yellowed, olden wallpaper displaying various colonial villages and wooded areas. A crack had developed in the wall, towards the ceiling, and a spider web could barely be seen at its apex. The dull light of the old floor lamp behind the antique armchair soon drew her attention, and then the rim of her husband blended into the scene, and she casually examined that familiar visage.
Oh, he’s trying to be serene, she thought! The poor guy, what in the world is going to happen? What can I do for him, anyway? Do I want to do anything? Ah, who cares? How hopeless, how utterly hopeless!
Mark’s sleek, shinning hair was accentuated by the glare of the floor lamp, and his face was split in a slicing contrast of light and shadow. Every now and then, his mouth would move to form words, and his lips would barely pull apart, as if a thin layer of glue impeded their movement. Multiple ridges ran across the dry surface, and the rugged appearance was only deflected by the small lines of wrinkles on his forehead. They were evenly and succinctly planted there by the heavy weight of words his son was now speaking.
“I thought you went out in the evenings to visit Sherell or a friend or two! Maybe you played basketball, or compared notes, you know, like I did when I was a kid!” Mark poked himself in the chest at this point. “Now you start all kinds of crazy talk about Eastern rituals, with long complicated phrases about Oriental Initiation. About…about…oh, gads, son…child sacrifice! Are you joking?’’
“Pop. I thought you knew it’s going on. I mean, what’s so strange? Mom knows…ah…ah…everybody…’’
“Everybody! Mom! Son, I haven’t read a book, seen a television broadcast, or read a legitimate newspaper since that cockeyed regime’ took over everything years ago. The last time I read a newspaper it was called the Tribune and its editor was Paul Darrell. Now, all I see lying about the streets are those bits of printed trash!” Mark indicated the magazines on the bookshelf, there lay pages of erratic faces and cartoons of blatant pornography and esoteric philosophies. “I suppose I’m still living in a world long passed, son. Why, I remember taking a stroll through a local park on a sunny day, and watching parents with children, who fed ducks. Now, it seems, all one thinks of when ‘the park’ is mentioned is horror and disgust.” Mark’s voice seemed to trail-off at the vision that paraded before him, heavily sensitive to those last few words.
“I don’t agree with everything that’s going on either, Pop. That’s why I – I — I want help.”
“Do you?” Mark’s voice was sarcastically quizzical.
“Do I?” the boy didn’t understand. He glanced suspiciously at his mother. “Tell the man, Mom, tell him that I can go to jail if this isn’t straightened out.”
Oh, how stupid, thought Clarisee, did anyone really care? Nothing was making sense, and everything seemed to suddenly swirl in the cesspool of humanoid confusion.
With one agonizing leave of her body, Clarisee lifted herself off the coach and made her way to the fireplace. She noticed that someone that someone had attempted to start the logs aflame at one time but had done an extremely poor job. Slowly, she stepped over to and opened the gas jets and then pressed the red button that ignited the fumes, shooting a burst of flame over the wood. Soon it would burn and send a graceful aroma and flummery of forest-perfume-fragrance into the chilly room.
Deep within the flames she could see the sun-caressed fields of wheat and clover that surrounded the old country cottage of her childhood. And beyond that was the small suntanned little girl that she recognized as herself. Yes, she was running swiftly after a beautiful Collie dog. And Clarisee’s heart leaped to run with that little girl!
The vision was suddenly cut short with the agonizing scowls of wind and snow outside the house.
“Bob, Bob, I keep seeing a little boy before me,” Mark’s stomach was catching up with the rest of itself in his mouth, “a little boy that had the sweetest smile. I used to hold and cuddle you, son.” His throat became thick, and he quickly cleared it. “I’d carry you around at the Zoo on those hot, sultry days, and we’d walk for blocks on end; go shopping on cold days….son, we need to get together again – in one piece!”
“Sure, Pop, but…”
“There’s a chasm. A big, dirty chasm that has descended between you and I, Bob, almost overnight.’’ Mark lowered his aching head to look at the floor for a moment, and then spoke more softly, “I – I – guess I’ve made mistakes. I did some lousy thinking at times, son. I suppose I’ve gotten desperate at times…’’
“Dad, Dad…I need your help! I…”
That’s strange, thought Clarisee, the boy is crying! I don’t recall ever hearing him, seeing him, act in such a way in front of his father lately: it almost sounds sincere, she told herself, without turning to look; for she too would see tht small four-year-old child stiffly sitting on the sofa looking wide-eyed at his Dad. But what was it that made it seem so incongruous? Perhaps it was the fact that Mark was, in her estimation, so unworthy of such loving glances. Darn it, why do I resent you do, Mark?
Clarisee bit her lip as he eyes filled with fluid; she hugged herself tightly. “Hold me, someone, hold me,’’ she barely said audibly, but it was the haunting visions that prevented comfort from forming before her minds’ eye.
“Oh, Bobby, son, I might be your idea of a perfect father – but I do care! I do care!”
“Let’s get this out in the open. Let’s get together, boy, and fight this thing!”
“Oh, Dad, where in the world do we start? I’m not even sure if the baby is alive…but if it is, can we bring it home with us?”
Mark was constantly whipping the sweat off his palms onto his trousers, he was at a loss for words. He feverishly glanced about the room, thinking, searching for something. And int the back of his mind was the almost imperceptible sound of a siren. The flashing light of an ambulance. A cry of a small baby. An agonizing whimper of an infant.
Springing to his feet, Mark began to pace the floor, his hands firmly entrenched in his pockets, toying with coins. A look of hysteria enveloped his wide-open-eyes, and he nervously ran a chaffed hand through his hair and then guided his hand back into its pocket-lair.
“Baby Ann,” he spoke softly at first, then he stopped and glared at his wife, “Baby Ann! Baby Ann!”
“What’s that?” came the voice from the wet face of Clarisee. She swung about to face him. He glanced at her quickly, and with no surprise, continued his pacing.
“Baby Ann,” he spoke just as softly at first, then he stopped and frowned at his wife, “Baby Ann! Baby Ann!”
“Oh, don’t shout!” Clarisee screamed back.
“Life, Clarisee! Love! That’s what that baby was! We’ve lost something, honey. It passed away quickly as that darling little baby.” Oh, Clarisee, he thought, can’t you understand? Oh, for goodness sake, woman, can’t you see?
“Don’t talk about Baby Ann! How dare you!”
“Ah, honey, please try to understand. Clarisee, we need to get together again. To be made whole.” He swung around to face his son, who was now standing, his face red with anguish, and two glistening tears on his cheeks.
“Bob, it can’t be straightened all at once, not tonight. But we’ll work on it, son. Believe me…” He unconsciously held his hand out.
The boy was caught off-guard for a moment. A bleak silence filled the room. Bob Bellinger glanced at the shaking hand, fingers stretched out to him. Seconds were swiftly passing, and the only sound was that of grunts barely emitting from the lips of the two.
Suddenly, dramatically, the boy plunged to the hand of his father! He grabbed it: It was warm, strong, and firm. The callouses he had achieved while he had worked at the government shipyards were still there at the base of his fingers. Mark grabbed his son about his back, and he embraced his cheek to his own, squeezing himself tight against the older man’s bosom. Then Mark cried! He cried like the four-year-old boy he once had been!
This is almost ecstatic joy, thought Mark, and he began to smile. He believed he could even laugh without much effort, if given more time. A laugh of love reclaimed. Oh, one giant step. The thin air at this height was exhilarating!
Then – the telephone rang! Mark, still smiling, released his son, to listen. The boy held onto the thick part of Mark’s arm.
The phone continued to ring incessantly.
“Oh, no!” cried Clarisee.
“What’s wrong?” innocently asked Mark.
“Oh, Mark, don’t answer it!” Clarisee raced to her husband. “Please, please, don’t answer it!”
The man looked down into his wife’s large brown eyes as they dramatically searched his face. A whole story had suddenly been written there. He was no longer smiling. His lips were straight and taunt; his face slowly lost all color.
The ringing of the phone not only was incessant but maddening!
“Why, Clarisee? Why shouldn’t I answer the phone?”
She brought her breast close to his body, and it seemed to Clarisee as if she would emerge into those two eyes of darkness.
“Because…because…I need help too, Mark. Mark, I … I…need you, too. Please!’
Her desperation was apparent, but of no avail. Mark slowly backed away from the two people looking somewhat aghast at him. A look of barely subdued horror was upon his wife’s pale features.
Mark’s hand groped behind him in the darkness until he felt the familiar coolness of the ceramic receiver. The shrill alarm of the telephone that had echoed insanely through the museum of a house stopped abruptly and the sudden silence came like the dead-end of a car crash.
The long cord lazily unraveled from the stairway booth and fell indifferently to the floor: Mark brought it apprehensively to his ear; tiny, almost imperceptible, beads of sweat had formed along his upper lip and forehead.
“Hel…hel…hello…Mr. Getigard?…yes…ah, yes…what?…your drunk!….I say, you’ve been drinking, man!…yes…yes!…is that right?…what?…how dare you, you, you!…shut up!…no!…no!…no!…”
Clarisee let the two hands that shielded her mouth beneath her wide-eyed expression slump to her sides. She turned her head aside as if in shame. The in an unexpected moment of compassion, Bob Bellinger stepped next to his mother, cradled her in his arms, and provided a nest in which she could rest her guilty sobs.
It was an agonizing reach, for Mark, to place the receiver back into its cradle. The sardonic chatter of Dave Getigard could be heard rippling tin-like from the phone still. Then it abruptly vanished.
Mark rubbed his stomach. A continued nausea had progressed and he had gained a serious headache. He knew he wasn’t thinking too clearly, but he also knew he needed to be left along…quickly. His body suddenly became gripped with an aching pain comparable to an attack of stomach influenza.
Mark touched Bob on the shoulder. “Please take your mother upstairs, Bob. It’s getting late. I’ve got a busy day ahead tomorrow. It looks like I’ll be pounding the street again, son. You old man lost his job today.’’ There, thought Mark, I made a complete unbroken sentence, statement, in fact, but I don’t know for how long I can keep such a steady voice.
“Oh no, Pop.”
Mark just nonchalantly waved his hand as a polite token of silence.
“Anyway, I’m feeling very tired. But Bob, we’ll talk tomorrow. Son, we’ll work something out. I don’t know exactly what, but something!” He squeezed his son affectionately on the shoulder.
The boy brought his mother up from the floor. The perpetually hidden ‘bat’ tattoo on the bottom of her foot relinquished its secret in the light of the fireplace. Bob slowly led her into the parlor shadows when her pleading voice resounded: “Mark, oh Mark!”
Mark looked sheepishly at her. He was feeling very sick. “All right – all right – dear – please – please – go upstairs. Get some rest. Enough. Enough. Enough for today.” Mark waved his hand sadly through the air.
Now Mark stood there in the mellow glow of the floor lamp, examining the box; he looked as if in a state of agitation and anguish. The flames of the fireplace lapped about the logs dutifully issuing the fragrance of the wood. Suddenly the room seemed filled with the invisible presence of Mark’s grandfather. He could sense that presence in the forest fragrance of the burning wood; the nostalgic crackling of its combustion accentuated by the cruel whistling of the wind, snow, and sleet outside, making the sweet features of the grandfather fill every corner of the musty old room. And suddenly, he realized how much he had needed his grandfather. His guidance. His encouragement. His – his – love.
He gripped the old box earnestly. He could almost feel his fingers slip across the heavy wood to the sides as if to grasp the contents beneath. First, a vision of a pulsating heart, alive, moist, and dripping, only kept active by a unique stimulation that Grandpa Bellinger mystically affixed to it. Yes, yes, Mark could hear the throbbing of it beneath the lid – then – then he felt its wet, smooth surface under his quivering grasp. No! Now it was documents, insurance policies, funds….
Mark gritted his teeth and squinched his eyes to halt off a cry of pain and anguish! He had cried too much. Too much.
Oh, granddad, what did you leave us in this box? What is it that you felt so important? Money? A special invention of yours as a token of affection/ Just what?
Mark’s chest began to heave deeply again.
I dare not cry! I dare not cry!
Mark raced for the saw nestled deep into the cushion crack of grandpa’s armchair. He grabbed it and swung back to the box, placing the blade into the grove of cut loop; he began to saw in even motions; now and then, Mark would stop and wipe the tears from blocking his vision. He continued to work the saw.
The Grandfather Clock urged him on like the drumbeats upon an ancient slave galley. “Loud, confound you, why are you so loud?” queried Mark. And why did his oar on that ship seem twice as heavy, twice as grueling? Ah, still the clock was masterfully authoritive.
It was almost something of a comfort, that synchronizing sound, thought Mark, as his breathing grew heavier denoting the near completion of his job. He again wiped the tears away.
“What’s in the box? What’s in grandpa’s box?”
His thumb was slightly scratched and drops of blood spread over the curve of his skin; but Mark tried to ignore it, swearing:
“The box! The box! Oh, God, open the box!”
Little more! Little more! “Bob, son, I love you. Oh, son, I am sorry, my boy, my baby. Oh dear! My baby! Oh gosh, oh my gosh! Get this darn thing open! Help me! Clarisee! Clarisee! Oh!”
Then, suddenly, the lock, almost unexpectantly, dangled for a moment in the eroded loop, and like a miniature drunkard, staggered off and fell to the pedestal, then to the carpet. The clock magically, triumphantly announced the beginning of the hour with vibrant, melodious chimes.
With fury, now, Mark flipped back the old lid on its scratchy hinges. He tearfully gazed upon a black ‘something’ – no, by the feel, it seemed like cardboard; like coarse hide – no – no – leather; the jacket of a – a – a book! Grandpa’s novel?
Mark tried to detect the greatly faded ‘gold’ lettering on the cover: O-L-I-E….ah, no, no, he couldn’t read it (“…darn, why do I cry so?”). “ The book must be ancient?’’
Swiftly he turned the cover back. “I can’t see,” he hysterically whispered between jagged sob of anguish. “I – I – can’t make it out! Granddad, I can’t see what it is!”
He tried to dilate his eyes trying to make better visibility. Then he ran his fingers over the smooth super-colander finish of the first page.
He would try to read. First column. First paragraph. It says…
“In a beginning created by the Alueim were the heavens and the earth. Yet the earth became a chaos and vacant, and the darkness as on the surface of the submerged chaos. Yet the spirit of the Alueim….”
Steve Erdmann – Independent Investigative Journalist
I was out that night looking for the meteor shower in Riverside Park, New York City, but NYC was totally overcast and I didn’t even see a “blink” through the cloud cover.But Arizona got “the blast,” at 40/minute.
I had to wait 33 years for the next greatLeonid Meteor shower, which came in December 1999 when the Leonid Meteor shower, which i saw from the Great Oval in Central Park and got some of them on video.
The Night of the Eta Aquarid
One night in In May of the year 2000, I was flying a T-tailed Piper Arrow II RT in the dead of night from Boston to Essex County – Caldwell Airport, New Jersey, which is just a few miles outside New York City.
It was about 9:30 p.m., flying in the black of night over Oxford-Woodbury, Connecticut. The sky was black , but visibility was unlimited and I could see the stars. the land was black, but I could see the lights of highways, occasinal street lights, and some house lights in the little sleepy towns below.
As I flewwest, homing in on the 310 radial of a VOR beacon in Carmel, New York, I glaced down at the landscape passing below my aircraft.
Suddenly, as I was making out the coast line of Connecticut to the south along Long island sound, I was very surprised as I looked down at a brilliant luminosoity on the gound, which made no sense to my ratiional mind.
As I looked at this puzzling sight, I thought I saw “a lake on fire” or “fireworks underwater (?).” I was mesmerized by the sight of it what looked to be a fiery lake, adn I thought of an amusement park or somesuch thing as the possible cause for this most ununusual never-before-seen phenomenon.
My eyes stayed fixed for several seconds on the rainbow of brilliant streaks of light emanating, as it seemed from beneath the waters of the small lake, until the fiery lake disappeared under my left wing.
When I looked forward again, I could see diffuse green and yellow bands of light wavering over the dimly lit landscape and I was puzzled by the effect illuminating the hilltops of Connecticut when it had been pitch black just 10 seconds before, except for street and highway lights, 6500 feet below.
I looked for the light source and looing south, I could see “late afternoon sunlight,” shimmering in long Island sound and the Atlantic ocean farther south.
I could see all of Long Island as a black mass floating in a sea of silver light, and when I raised my gaze to the sky, I thought I was looking at the sun. My brain went “bonkers,” and slipped into cognitive dissonance for a moment as i said to myself :
“Did I miss the dawn? … Am I on my way to Holland?” <simultaneously Thinking of Lindberg + “Holland Tunnel”>
I glanced forward once again to see the land was still dimly lit with now brighter green and yellow “tiger stripes” wavering cross the Connecticut hills. I could see 2 “rectagular lakes,” which later turned out to be local reservoirs.
Looking back at “The Sun,” I noticed that it had dropped a couple of degrees in declination and now had a white aura surrounding it, so my next thought was “O my God, It’s a Supernova.” but as i thought it, I saw the luminosity drop nd stop twice move, vertically, like a spider sometime “drops and stops” suddenly while hanging on its silken thread.
The object was now lower than before and the aura around it looked like was boiling, at which point it leapt and streaked right toward me and an intersection with my airplane’s line of flight, ‘bouncing” twice (like the bouncing ball in old cartoons) and covering a distance of 50-75 miles in two “hops” lasting only 2 seconds in duration.
the object was now nearly upon me and realizing it was meteoric, I scream or yelled out loudly out “METEOR!” to alert my co-pilot and my passenger in the rear seat, a USAF Tech Sgt. named William Larrea.
The object seemed to slow down suddenly and changed color and shape from bright white roundness to a long fiery green and red object, shaped like a black apple see, with a ruby colored “belt” or ring around its center and a “ruby knuckle” like ajewel on a ring, and spinning/rotating like a beacon.
My inner voice said “Don’t stare at the ruby belt ’cause you’ll miss the rest of it!”
So, I broke my fixation on the spinning ruby belt to take in the rest of it, which was a green color of every possible shade and hue of green from lime green to Kelly green and the saw a 100 foot long acetylene torch like tail , and as my flight line was on a collision course with the streaking object, I said to myself:
“If I fly through that tail, it will shear my wing and ‘Bang!, ” my plane will explode and the NTSB accident report will only say “pilot error.”
“The fact that Cooper was a fat white guy living on top of a hill in Arizona, and was being described by liberal organizations like the Anti-Defamation League of B’nni B’rith and the Southern Poverty Law Center as a right-wing militia leader, mattered not at all. If anything, it was a plus. Cooper was a former Navy military intelligence man; if he was anything. That George Bush and Bill Clinton were behind the CIA plot to move crack cocaine into the ghetto, and claiming that AIDS was a manmade virus cooked up to wipe out the African people, this was worth listen to. Why would someone from military intelligence say stuff like that if it wasn’t true?” (PALE HORSE RIDER, p.18. Italics and emphasis added.)
So was one of the early statements of veteran journalist Mark Jacobson about his mysterious and ingenious subject, Milton William (Bill) Cooper, a man steeped in legend, prescience, occultism and a hundred aspects of our modern and segmented society. Jacobson has investigated Cooper’s furiously fragmented and yet extremely expansive forecasting of all occult and esoteric things that were often deadly. That even ended with his death at his own doorstep.
(PALE HORSE RIDER: WILLIAM COOPER, THE RISE OF CONSPIRACY, AND THE FALL OF TRUST IN AMERICA, Mark Jacobson, Blue Rider Press, Penguin Random House, LLC, 375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10012, 2018, 375 pages, $24.30.)
Two early, major events in Cooper’s life charted the course he was to follow. The first was his enlistment in the military, Air Force once, and the Navy in 1966, eventually working under Admiral Bernard A. Clarey, Commander in Chief of the U.S. Pacific Fleet. Working for Clarey, Cooper had a Top Secret Q Clearance on classified material. As a MCPON (master chief petty officer of the Navy), Cooper had the opportunity to look into Clarey’s secret file that began to end Cooper’s “lifelong slumber”:
“Everything about the war was in there,” says Jacobson, “the story behind the alleged attack by the Vietnamese Navy in the Gulf of Tonken, the death counts, the American dealings with the corrupt South Vietnamese government. One by one the scales dropped from Cooper’s eyes. He was not the defender of freedom he had so longed to be but, rather, cannon fodder in a huge game of Risk played by powerful puppeteers.” (p. 48)
Cooper discovered that he really was not fighting for his country that his service was “really fighting for big business,” says Jacobson, “the coming one-world government.” It was a devastating realization, says Jacobson, “the lies, the black ops, the cover-ups, the murders.”
The second major event was the loss of his right leg due to a black limousine chase and Cooper’s crashing. On a motorcycle ride on Skyline Boulevard near Berkeley Hills, Cooper was chased by a black Cadillac which caused him to crash. One of the men felt for his carotid pulse, commenting that Cooper would eventually die. Shockingly, a second crash a month later caused by the same black limo, this time, Cooper lost his severely mangled right leg. The two men then appeared at his bedside one night, they questioned to know if Cooper would finally behave, or die. Cooper lied to them, received a prosthetic leg, and headed out into the world of radio broadcasts of his Hour of the Time show and the promulgation of his best-selling book Behold a Pale Horse.
Bill Cooper’s life consisted of many such major events.
Cooper’s “multiple-military-witness sighting” from the USS Tiru in 1966 encompassed a metal craft larger than a football field fell from the clouds into the ocean by sprouting gushers of water into the air. Moments later, the huge craft came up out of the water and shot back into the clouds once again.
Jacobson quotes Bill Cooper: “There was no doubt as to what we had seen. It was a metal craft, with machinery on and around the outside of it. It appeared to have windows or lenses placed around it perimeter. It did not disturb the sub’s electrical systems nor did it affect the gyro compass. It had the shape and form of a saucer with a bowl inverted in the saucer and it was huge.”
Whatever the possession the object had on Cooper’s thoughts, it did not prevent him from seeing UFOs as an earthly government experiment and not objects from outer space: his appraisal of speeches by the late Wernher von Braun and educator John Dewy.
“The presence of UFOs from out space was one more fear tactic,” Jacobson said, “a trick to get a frightened public in line behind a one-world totalitarian government. The most infuriating aspect of the subterfuge, Cooper regretfully admitted, was that he had fallen for it.” (pp. 103-105)
The precluding UFO years before Cooper’s reneging on space ship UFOs, were filled with all kinds of UFO peculiarities and theories. There was John Lear, son of William Lear who invented the first car radio for Motorola, and the fabulous Learjet fortune. John also wrote the August 25, 1988 “John Lear Hypothesis” that the U.S. government “has been in business with little grey extraterrestrials for about 20 years.” (pp.77-89) There was Operation Majestic Twelve documents (MJ-12), p. 72. There were UFOlogists on the scene, such as Stanton Friedman, Jacques Vallee, Walt Andrus, Bill English, Norio Hayakawa, Robert Lazar, Chris Carter, William Moore, and others. Cooper shared the legendary literature of the period such as publisher Raymond A. Palmer and writer Richard Sharpe Shaver, psychologist Gustav Jung, books such as The Protocols, The Bermuda Triangle, The Autobiography of Malcolm X, Message to the Blackman, and others. Cooper was aware of major UFO cases such as the Roswell UFO crash of 1947, also the Kenneth Arnold 1947 sighting of nine UFOs, President Eisenhower’s 1954 Muroc AFB alien encounter, the Betty and Barney Hill UFO abduction in 1961, the UFO Flap over Washington, D.C in 1952, and others.
In the early years of his radio broadcasts of The Hour of the Time, Cooper had ontologically traced the origin of what he referred to as Mystery Babylon (first mentioned by John of Patmos in Revelations 17: 3-5 as “Mystery, Babylon the Great, the Mother of Harlots and Abominations of the Earth”) revealed to him as “the story of the entire human race, as seen by the Initiates and Adepts” of the hidden religion that ruled the world (p. 141).
Mystery Babylon was certainly on his mind on June 28, 2001 as he summarized his suspicions on a The Hour of the Time radio broadcast from Cooper Hill at 96 North Clearview Circle near Eager, Arizona. Cooper said some “doofus jerk-off reporter from CNN” (yes, ‘that’ CNN…SE) miraculously found Osama bin Laden “in their hideout!”
Cooper said the intelligence community was lying to us, they knew where he had been, and how the Osama bin Laden myth was, says Jacobson, “wholly owned subsidiary of the Central Intelligence Agency…there were rumors floating around the mass media that bin Laden was planning attacks on the United States and Israel, but this was just subterfuge…” Cooper saw “something terrible” in the air. That “something” happened two and a half months later on September 11, 2001.
‘Something terrible is going to happen in this country,” Jacobson quotes Bill Cooper. “And whatever is going to happen they’re going to blame on Osama bin Laden. Don’t you evenbelieve it!” Two commercial airlines flew into the Twin Towers of the World Trade Center on September 11, 2001 in a mayhem that killed 2,996 people, including 343 New York City Fire Department personnel.
Our modern-day Ezekiel, Jeremiah, Daniel prophet-totem, William Cooper also prophesied that a war would also break out about seventy-two hours following the 9/11 attack. And then he perked the tuning fork of prophecy up to a finer pitch, Jacobson quotes:
“They’re going to kill me, ladies and gentlemen. They’re going to come up here in the middle of the night, and shoot me dead, right on my doorstep.” (pp. 7-10, emphasis added)
In the plethora and maze of Cooper’s history was his fascination with Stanley Kubrick’s movie 2001: A Space Odyssey and Kubrick’s ingenious way of using double entendre, codes and symbols to speak out. The movie “was for the initiates and the adepts of the ancient religion, those who could understand the ‘symbiology’ of the ‘mystery schools,’’’ says Jacobson. “This was the story of 2001, if you knew how to read the symbiology, Cooper said. It was a retelling of the Garden of Eden story from the point of view of the Mystery Schools.” (pp. 144-145)
“Kubrick’s ingenious way of using double entendre, codes and symbols to speak out.”
The massacre of the Waco, Oklahoma Branch Davidian members on February 28, 1993 definitely tied into the matrix of Mystery Babylon:
“Again, Cooper had been right, called it from the beginning, ‘Mass Suicide’ really meant ‘Mass Murder,’” reports Jacobson. “And if anyone needed more proof that this was the next stage in a series of New World Oder shock tests as described in ‘Silent Weapons for Quiet Wars.’ (In the Waco Branch Davidian situation…SE), the FBI had brought in Lon Horiuchi, the same sniper who shot Vicki Weaver dead as she held her baby on Ruby Ridge.” (p. 224)
According to its predestined “plan,” Mystery Babylon went a step further with the bombing of the Murrah Building in Oklahoma City on April 19, 1995. And like Lee Harvey Oswald in the Jack Kennedy Assassination, there had to be a “sheep dipped” “patsy,” and that was Timothy McVeigh: Jacobson quotes Bill Cooper:
‘“Timothy McVeigh is the Lee Harvey Oswald of the American Reichstag!’ Cooper exclaimed pointing out that no real patriot could have attacked the United States of America. ‘We know who did it! You know in your heart who did it. If I have to tell you what is coming, then you’re as blind as a bat and just as stupid.’’’ (pp. 256-257)
This seems to be the same McVeigh who came unbeknownst with a friend as mystery guests (uninvited and anonymously) and visited Cooper in St. Johns, Arizona. Cooper said the two had quirky questions before leaving. They also talked about body “implants.”
THE BIG EVENT
Since the publications of his best-seller BEHOLD A PALE HORSE in 1991, Cooper had become known as somewhat of a prophet concerning the modern scene. Such visionary Shamanism on his The Hour of the Time broadcast happened on June 28, 2001 when Cooper was appraising the reality of the intelligence community knowing the location of Osama bin Laden and was attempting to blame bin Laden “upon the American mind set.” (p. 20)
Jacobson quotes Cooper: “I’m telling you to be prepared for a major attack. The target will be a large American city. Something terrible is going to happen they’re going to happen that they’re going to blame on Osama bin Laden. Don’t you even believe it.”
Two and a half months later, on September 11, 2001, that prophecy came true when two commercial airliners flew into the Twin Towers of the World Trade Center in a massacre that murdered 2,996 people including 343 New York City Fire Department personnel.
Jacobson comments and quotes Cooper: “Freedom, the most elusive of qualities, best distilled in the inspired documents of the Constitution and the Bill of Rights, had been dealt a fetal blow. ‘From now on, freedom will be whatever the law allows you to do.’” (p. 10)
“They think they can tell you anything and you’ll believe it,” Jacobson quotes Cooper; this was Mystery Babylon’s victory jamboree and their “unholy bombs-blasting-in-air-bacchanal.”
Cooper would continue to broadcast about the conspiracy from his microphone and his hilltop, and predict and analyze the various aspects of Mystery Babylon, signified in the black community in the words of Elijah Muhammad in Message to the Blackman as “none other than America…full of riches, hatred, fornication, adultery, drunkenness, murder of the innocent and idol worship.” (p.182) It was also seen in the military-style SWAT team that attacked and devastated the Weaver family on Ruby Ridge and was executed in the Waco Branch Davidian massacre, another classical case.
Cooper saw the rapid extinction and the insidious control of what had been termed “Creator-endowed unalienable rights” in our Constitution: arena after arena, segment after segment, till cooper came face to face with another ultimatum, the Internal Revenue Service.
Through the friendships Cooper created in his radio career with WWCR, WBCQ and shortwave broadcasting, Cooper grew a ring of protection, one could a ‘militia,’ many of whom were tax-protesters. It had also become a plan for Bill Cooper as well, declaring his anti-tax status in a HOTT broadcast # 28 on February 28, 1993.
“No, Cooper said, paying income tax was voluntary because the law said so,” expounds Jacobson. “It was simple as that…the phrases ‘voluntary’ and ‘may enter’ carried the significance.”
Thereafter, Cooper was under dark surveillance and his home at 96 North Clearview Circle in Eager, Arizona had become a heavily-armed fortress, the perimeters were hawkishly watched by himself and his airwave friends.
Cooper’s purview had changed over the years due to various facts that he discovered. He no longer believed UFOs, flying sauces, to be extraterrestrial, but certain lectures convinced him they were government or military inventions, often used as “ploys” in psychological warfare gimmicks on the populace. Cooper knew they existed, however, because he had heard his share of strange-object-reports while fighting on the DMZ in Vietnam (p. 69).
Cooper’s life up to this point was far from healthy and unblemished, having been diagnosed with PTSD, and the symptoms seemed evident during his angry moments. Nine wives later, stressed and challenged by the warrant for his arrest, paranoid about intruders, Annie Cooper packed up their children, Poo and Allyson, and left Cooper alone on “Cooper Hill” to fend off intruders and survive. Daughter Jessica briefly returned to Cooper but it was a short-lived relationship because the feds took Jessica aside and tried to arrange an “entrapment” of Cooper using that daughter.
“Cooper’s family was gone,” says Jacobson. “There was nothing left but the fourth tenet of his Creed, the resolve not to give in.” (p. 309)
SHOOTOUT ON COOPER HILL
Cooper had come face to face with the federal agents encroaching on him, but he always successfully avoided them. The line had been dawn in the sand however, and there was no turning back.
“So much has been lost over the years,” says Jacobson. “God remained silent in Cooper’s struggle with the Devil. The Constitution had been victimized out of sheer neglect proving once and for all time that Ben Franklin had been right when he doubted humanity’s ability to live up to the document’s intention.”
One of the many trespassers that Cooper challenged on his property was a Dr. Scott Reynolds Hamblin and his family who visited R.V. Hill (soon called Cooper’s Hill), a spot once visited in the doctor’s youth for bike riding. It was a sensitive moment when they encountered Bill Cooper on July 11, 2001 as Bill had his already heightened fear of federal agents, along with his duties as a member of Neighborhood Watch. It didn’t help at all when Cooper physically threatened the Hamblins.
Scott Hamblin, who claimed to have property himself near Cooper’s property, filed a complaint to the Apache County Sheriff’s Office. The Hamblin’s had a long ancestry of Mormon militias and a high standing in the community; things certainly weren’t going well for Bill Cooper.
A Special Representative Team was planned to capture or takedown Cooper on November 5, 2001. The “entrapment plan” was a team of men to pretend to be riotous trespassers forcing Cooper to approach them. A “decoy” band of agents hid in the back of a truck to grab and arrest Cooper.
Surprisingly, Cooper approached them in his truck rather than on foot, and Cooper shouted a warning to them:
“I’m calling the cops, I’m going to give you ten minutes to be off this property, or the cops are going to be here.”
Cooper made an attempt to swerve his truck around in the storm-swept terrain and get back to his house to make the telephone call. Commander Tafoya chased Cooper’s truck. The Sheriff’s crew followed in the UC pickup while the “Tac Van” attempted to block Cooper’s path. Sargent Charles Brown shouted warnings and aimed his M4 submachine at Cooper’s truck; Sheriff Brian Hounshell did the same with his combat AR-15. In the ruckus and mayhem, Brown jumped on the running board of Cooper’s “stepside” pickup and knocked Cooper’s hands off the steering wheel with his M4 gun, and then grabbed the gearshift. Cooper’s defense sent Brown falling on his butt. Cooper crashed into the rocky terrain forcing Cooper to run on foot for his house. Deputies Joseph Allen Goldsmith and Robert Marinez attempted to prevent Cooper from running, but, according to Jacobson, Cooper reached for his pistol and fired four defensive gunshots, one paralyzing Marinez, at which point Goldsmith kept firing his Glock .45 until Cooper fell dead, exactly as he prophesied, on his doorstep (pp. 328-332, italics and emphasis added).
Crusher, Cooper’s watchdog, chained securely to a truck, was also shot by the agents.
“Cooper saw himself as a messenger, a midnight-riding Paul Revere on the Pale Horse, warning of things to come, events that often turned out exactly as he said. He always thought that if only the sheeple would just wake up from their slumber, and listed to what he had to tell them,” says Jacobson, “the nation could be saved.” (p. 349, italics and emphasis added)
“Brent Raynes has been investigating and researching UFOs since 1967. He is the author of Visitors from Hidden Realms and the editor of Alternate Perceptions Magazine. Brent has traveled extensively across the US and into Canada interviewing numerous witnesses and researchers. He has taken a comprehensive global and historical perspective on the Ufological landscape. He has also participated in Native American rituals and ceremonies, gaining valuable insights and information from his interactions with these wisdom keepers. Brent is able to make revealing comparisons between the interrelated experiences and disciplines of parapsychology, shamanism, Jungian archetypes, and ufology.”
Brent Raynes – Paranormalist
Brent Raynes and wife.
Descriptions of UFOs seem as varied as do descriptions of the “science” that supposedly investigates them, but everything that pertains to UFOs is suddenly also in flux and question. The fifteen authors that have contributed essays in this book on the problematic situations and solutions to the aerial mystery agree strongly on one thing: New and radical changes to the modes of investigation need to come about.
“Arthur C. Clarke once wrote that any sufficiently advanced technology would be indistinguishable from magic,” says Red Pill Junkie. “Perhaps he forgot to consider how any sufficiently advanced mentality would equally be indistinguishable from madness. In the search for the other by which to gauge our own self, what we’re really hoping for is a mirror depiction of our own expectations only slightly ahead of us such that it may still be comprehensible. Yet a truly alien mind would be from our own earthly perspective, and by the definition of the word, crazy…carnivalesque hall of mirrors….” (p. 152, italics added)
Red Pill Junkie sees comparisons to the “Joker” in batman and the Dark Knight movies and other Trickster Phenomena such as Indrid Cold of the tales of the 1960s Mothman flap.
Physicist Dr. Harley Rutledge discusses the 1973 Piedmont, Missouri UFO Flap
Progressing truly into the UFO Matrix takes both guts and creativity, says Lorin Cutts: “Within the UFO and paranormal experiences, there does appear to be some kind of an external intelligence interacting with us in a variety of ways. Yet, for obvious reasons, the nonsense and Trickster elements are all too often overlooked. Certainly building any kind of literal belief system round the UFO contact experience would – to say the very least – appear hugely problematic” (p.79).
By ignoring or negating the parapsychological aspect of UFOs, large portions of science are muted as puzzle pieces. There is no doubt that the UFO Mystery is “multi-casual” and needs to be approached differently.
“Currently, the testimonies of UFO witnesses that describe corresponding high-strange and paranormal events are often ignored or met with ridicule,” says Susan Demeter – St. Clair, “from ufologists who rather not deal with the more bizarre aspects of UFO reports, and the professional skeptic organizations who are open to anything other than the Null hypothesis…in my opinion, is a big mistake.” (p. 169)
COLLECTIVE SOCIAL REALITY
The fifteen essayists “leave no stone upturned.” M.J. Banias says the problem is much larger than any physical “Silence Group.” It is deeply ideological.
“There is no secret society that has imprisoned UFO discourse; rather, it is our collective social reality, governed by the mechanisms of modern capitalist ideology, that has done so…Today, science is no longer counter-cultured, but is now the arbiter of mainstream culture, the self-proclaimed hub by which all knowledge is. Ironically, science has become what it rebelled against.” (pp. 133, 135)
Banias talks about some of the prevailing elements “distorting” amateurs that affect ufology: Corporate influence is one, and the “ideological constructs” which our present society operates under, is another.
“We have given ‘science’ a sort of anthropomorphic consciousness,” says Banias, “but science is not a literal ‘thing,’ rather, it is a collection of socially accepted ideological constructs, methods and mechanisms, financially controlled by economic and political forces…various established organizations…a wide range of agendas.” (p. 137)
Smiles Lewis suggests there is a real “ParaCryptoufology” phenomenon that exists and is seen through a Gaian consciousness, but, at the same time, is being manipulated by covert earth agencies for their own hidden purposes.
A Smiling “Indrid Cold” Haunting Cases in the 1960s
“This is the problem I have with most people who claim to have an answer to the UFO phenomenon. They pick a theory, but it only fits part of the data,” says Lewis. “That’s also why I advocate for a multi-theory interpretation of the UFO phenomenon. I don’t think there is any one explanation that accounts for all the data; in fact, many of the ideas I’m going to talk about would provide the perfect cover for such traditional extraterrestrial encounters.” (p. 110)
The end result of such an ‘alliance’ with the UFO denizens and earthly agencies could be seen in the “psychotronic mind-influencing techniques” connected to a “Cyber-biological-Planetary Poltergeist” in ways similarly to which science-fiction foresaw as a worldwide phenomenon of “earth energies” that evil minds about the globe have “hijacked by human agencies for nefarious purposes.”
“It is clear that quite a wide variety of human agencies have manipulated the superstition and myths surrounding stories of contact with non-human entities – folklore has been weaponized as a means to various ends,” says Lewis, and Lewis spreads a wide blanket of information in his essay (p. 127).
People are waiting for some kind of “disclosure” or “physical evidence” that will prove the reality of UFOs. Micah Hanks offers more definitive “categorization” of the phenomenon, adding many additions such as “experimental aircraft,” “drones,” “psychological components,” and several others.
“Obviously, science and, more importantly, the scientific method, rest at the cusp of what I seek to address in the present missive,” says Hanks. “Hence, in pointing out the adoption of a scientific ‘scientism’ amidst the modern skeptic movement is not to detract from the proper application of science by any means…perhaps more answers than we have managed to attain previously.” (p. 74)
Joshua Cutchin says that to approach the subject as to whether UFOs are nothing but nuts and bolts extraterrestrial space ships (N & B/ETH) would be a mistake:
“While plenty of cases superficially support the N & B/ETH view, its materialist foundations are shaken when confronted with the High Strangeness characteristics of a majority of UFO Close Encounters,” says Cutchin. “Alleged ‘alien’ abductees report profound synchronicities manifesting in their lives, battle poltergeist phenomenon in their homes, and occasionally encounter loved ones during their brief sojourn to the Other World.” (p. 51)
Cutchin’s astute essay pinpoints many over-looked areas, and especially how “materialistic science” is a fading science being divorced by current evidences of psychic phenomena in a growingly “brick-by-brick” paradigm. Cutchin notes multiple studies by scientists such as Rupert Sheldrake, Daryl Bem, Ian Stevenson, Pim Van Lommel, Alex Tsakiris, and a ‘slew’ of others that say a new world of “psi acceptance domino chains” will eventually rewrite the “rule book” and finally explain many UFO episodes (pp. 55-59).
Researchers, such as Lorin Cutts, go further and say that “almost everything you think you know about flying saucers is wrong.”
“We should start to study all aspects of non-standard human experience together,” says Cutts. “We can no long continue to treat the UFO phenomena as separate from other paranormal, spiritual, religious, esoteric, highly synchronistic or other currently uncategorized phenomena. Whether we utilize science or also include other methodologies and philosophies, one thing is certain: we need to stop trying to fit that UFO subject into what we want or expect it to be.” (p. 87)
Cutts blasts “current scientific understanding” as a societal “paper god” that just can’t presently confront in-coming “magical, high strangeness” and experiences that “mystify and confuse!” New pathways and new escape routes, says Cutts, are needed (pp. 89-90).
In his own personal experiences Mike Clelland sees UFOs and related phenomena as a “confusing collision of over lapping experiences, a mess of twists and turns,” as the various threads of “synchronicity spill over to the edges.”
Researchers tend to look upon the UFOs in tight, tidy visions about visiting space ships, says Clelland, but “it’s equally important to look beyond the physical clues…We are dealing with a phenomenon that can seep its way into our reality in ways that are both outlandish and profound.” (pp. 28-30).
In a distorted, vain, and miscalculated, search for “respectability” and the “perfect case,” says Greg Bishop, “we have backed ourselves into a corner” by routinely ignoring the “fields of psychology, physiology, and even the emerging discipline of information theory” which should be included (pp. 189-191).
“Can we get ourselves out of the equation to see the phenomenon for what it really is, if there is such a thing?” Adds Bishop, “If there is a non-human consciousness interacting with us, occasionally, there is probably no way to see them except in relation to us.” (p. 205)
UFO stories come to us out of every culture, says Bishop, in the symbols of “dragons, phoenixes, pearls, holy spirits, saints, giant tanks, honey-combed spider-webbed ships, glowing orbs, triangles with red lights, and football field-sized platforms that block out whole chunks of the sky.” (p. 211)
.Methods of investigation have been “haphazard,” “quite harmful,” and witness stories have exploded into “an orgy of squabbles over belief systems, and the wringing of hands over the imminence of government Disclosure.” (ibid)
There are many fundamental problems and influences that have “distorted” ufology from its beginning, says Jack Brewer, ranging from deceptive opportunists to “charlatans,” (p. 42) to “involvement in the intelligence community” (p. 39), including “the long-arm of the CIA and its UFO-related interest.” (p. 38)
“To reframe the debate, effectively, and competently, we must not only acknowledge that such dynamics are happening,” says Brewer, “but make consistent decisions to swim against the undertow and be more of the solution than the problem.”
Brewer suggests better “methods” that will allow researchers to get to the “heart” of the phenomenon: “We would be wise to drop preconceived notions to the best of our abilities.” (p. 47)
LOOK BEYOND STRUCTURES
Ryan Sprague says that now is the time for an “expansion of awareness” and move past the mentality we are dealing solely with “nuts and bolts” and “physical analysis” and seek “newly-disclosed perception” which stretches the limits of our perceptional reality.
“It may be that our established modes of logic limit us so greatly that we can’t fully comprehend the monster we created,” says Sprague. “We must ultimately face the fact that, at some point, the awareness of that monster is going to shape and mold our consciousness completely, moving forward.”
Smiles Lewis sees different “origins” of the UFO phenomena in the style of the “Controllers,” “agent provocateurs,” and governmental suspects that are fond of using “psychotronic mind control devices” in “the lens of covert-ops and deception” (pp. 121-122). MK-Ultra, Project Blue Bird, Project Monarch, Rand Projects, and others that very well have been realized in certain UFO cases such as classical episodes of The Flatwoods Monster of 1952, the Antonio Vilas Boas case of 1957, Barney and Betty Hill case of 1961, and several others of this semblance.
But a real phenomenon exists beneath the human nefariousness and shenanigans, says Lewis, and has connected somewhere along the line of activity as a “cyber-biological planetary poltergeist.” Lewis highlights The Excalibur Briefing by Thomas Bearden:
“He, too, describes the onion-like aspect of the collective unconscious or the Akashic records and this idea that we could be interacting through these phenomena,” says Lewis, “through the transpersonal channel that I’ve been trying to describe here – with various aspects of our own individual unconscious, the collective unconscious of the entire species or, as he breaks if down, to family, city, state, creed, nations, race, geographical area, species, biosphere, and the universal.” (p. 116)
Lorin Cutts points to the Yakima, Washington UFO “hot spot” as a classical case-in-point. Like so many other “hot spots,” there is a need to utilize cutting-edge technology such as super-high resolution cameras. But Cutts suggest the bigger mystery would be to “measure” the human experience with emphasis on the interaction with the subconscious mind (p. 87).
When Joshua Cutchin speaks on such “elements,” he is reminded of magician Aleister Crowley’s 1918 summation of an entity called “Lam,” a typical Grey alien, asking us to “move beyond materialism” towards a “non-dogmatic Gnosticism.”
Aleister Crowley’s Depiction of “Lam”
“…the materialist paradigm will fall apart given time,” says Cutchin, “and consciousness studies are the proverbial star…” (pp. 61-62)
Sunday, March 10, 2013 was Mike Clelland’s “Confirmation Event.” When returning from a UFO conference, Clelland and a friend decided to camp along the Utah roadside. Later, he awoke to see a giant round structure on top of a nearby hill that appeared to have a ring of lights around it. He observed it about an hour, assuming it was a large home.
Clelland went back to that exact spot where the “home” should have existed: nothing was there. Clelland did find that three unusual or paranormal events fell along a 231- mile-long-straight line, including a ‘point’ where one of the events had previously occurred outside of Dolores, Colorado in the Spring of 2010, reminiscent of Aime Michel’s Flying Saucers and the Straight Line Mystery.
“Synchronicities, more psychic flashes, number sequences, and coyotes,” says Clelland, “all play a part in this frenetic narrative…it’s not just one isolated event; it’s a lot of them…” (pp. 20-21)
Robert Brandstetter recounts a UFO experience in 1977 that happened to him and a friend outside an ice rink in Northern Ontario. “…two classic illuminated and seemingly metallic ships descend…” within the distance of telephone pole height. Multi-colored lights were around the perimeter. They were completely silent. One object went back to join its partner UFO after passing over a neighborhood house; there were many witnesses. The two objects ascended at an incredible speed and faded into the stars (pp. 222-223).
Brandstetter claims several extraordinary experiences; one such happening was in 2005 when he observed an object in the sky while he was meditating while walking in the woods, the environment seemed to change about him, “transforming the woods into a surreal aquatic phantasmagoria” resulting in the meeting of a “strange woman.”
Greg Bishop relates four UFO incidents that do not match comfortably “into a standard narrative.” One case involved Jerry Townsend of Long Prairie, Minnesota which on October 23, 1965 sighted a 40-foot “rocket” standing on three ‘fins’ in the middle of the road. Three small figures that looked like “beer cans on two legs” waddled over to him and balanced themselves on a third leg. They soon disappeared back into the “rocket” which then took off with a “humming” sound, disappearing in the sky.
The more “traditional stances” to the UFO question (at least those who seem to hold tinges of old-fashioned skepticism) can be seen in the essays of Curt Collins and Chris Rutkowski. Rutkowski believes that “proper science” is being contaminated by overbearing “UFO zealots” who distort the field and are actually a fantastical “religion” that needs to be ‘negated’ to a separate track of inquiry and apart all together (p. 15).
Curt Collins examines the November 2013 Roswell Slides case of a purported body of a photographed, retrieved small alien. A Roswell Slides Research Group was formed and it was composed of numerous skeptics, cynics, even debunkers and some other professional people who diligently investigated the slides as a Task Force, eventually discovering the photos to be an earthly mummified body of a two-year-old boy (pp. 106-108).
Rutkowski denotes the need for finding hard, cold facts; Collins stresses this also along with good ‘teamwork.’ The conundrum, however, is: What if this does not encompass ‘all’ the evidence and information, and what if it is guided by faulty, fundamental logic and methods that are not attached to the ‘latest’ philosophy and reason?
Greg Bishop says there are other ways to look at this. “We labor under this heavy legacy, but it does not have to be so,” says Bishop. “A conscious effort should be made not to assign any origin or meaning to these encounters, because we may have been fooling ourselves for so long about what they are that we have backed ourselves into a corner.”
The fields of psychology, physiology, and also “information theory,” even Pyrrhonism, are needed (pp. 191-192).
Ryan Sprague concludes that “new paths” depend on up-coming UFOlogists. Despite their scientific grounding or their metaphysical knowledge, they must give us their time, knowledge, and resources to live with a “foot in each camp.”
“We must look beyond the structures we’ve helped create,” Sprague stresses again, “and bring life to a monster we want neither to destroy nor resurrect ever again. We must let it live on its own terms and in its own image.” (p.187)
“Jacques Vallée, one of the first to research the covert manipulation of the UFO scenario by official agencies, concluded: ‘someone is going to an awful lot of trouble to convince the world that we are threatened by beings from outer space.’ But how does this fit in with his Magonian hypothesis? Vallée presented his most explicit statement of the big picture in the story-line of his 1996 novel Fastwalker (written with Tracy Tormé): a powerful group of human conspirators know that the UFO phenomenon is created by entities from a parallel world, but they aim to convince world leaders and the global population of the existence of ‘aliens’ – and then position themselves as the world’s go-betweens.
“Which is basically our own view of the case of the Council of Nine: they have the stamp of the Ultraterrestrial all over them – clowns, conmen and cosmic jokers – but there is also the pernicious presence of very human agencies lurking in the background. The joke is on all those who follow the Ultraterrestrials, however they choose to manifest themselves or however their human allies choose to present them to us. But, as history has shown, it may be no laughing matter.”
“Coming March 10 to The Paracast (www.theparacast.com): Gene and Randall are joined by long-time paranormal researcher Stephen Erdmann, someone who has active in these fields since the 1960s. He brings along a lifetime of studies of our strange world with a major focus on UFOs and possible conspiracy theories. In some respects, it’s a “blast from the past,” as Stephen explores older cases and provides informed commentaries on the state of UFO research, and the possible meaning behind such events. He has also taken a special interest in possible government surveillance of individuals involved in UFO research, and alleged ongoing efforts to observe and control the populace.”
March 10, 2019 — Stephen Erdmann
Gene and Randall are joined by long-time paranormal researcher Stephen Erdmann, someone who has active in these fields since the 1960s. He brings along a lifetime of studies of our strange world with a major focus on UFOs and possible conspiracy theories. In some respects, it’s a “blast from the past,” as Stephen explores older cases and provides informed commentaries on the state of UFO research, and the possible meaning behind such events. He has also taken a special interest in possible government surveillance of individuals involved in UFO research, and alleged ongoing efforts to observe and control the populace.
“Through various agents, such as Catharine Austin Fitts and Wired Magazine, thousands of individual witnesses, and other sources, Hall has come to discover different aspects of this clandestine and illegal activity: digital transfers, experimental electromagnetic control methods using ‘ELF waves, microwave technology (such as microwave ‘guns,’ heart-attack ‘guns’: he saw Bob Fletcher’s shoulder blasted apart), Jim Jones connection to the CIA, Sonic nausea-tors, millimatter wave weapon (he has seen bodies dehydrated and shrunk to nothing), Zombie-guns, satellite microwave weapons, solar-powered ‘blimps’ housing this technology, LRAD acoustic weapons, miniaturized spy drones, Nano-implants, Mind Control, V2K (Voice to Skull), MK Ultra, Ionizing Radiation, Energy Directed Weapons, Gang Stalking, Psychic Warfare, Mass Entrainment, Light/Sound Programmable Media, Sexualized Hypnosis, Hypnotic Suggestion, Mass Hypnosis, and Satellite ‘Death Ray’ type beams to name a few out of so many other technologies, designed, not for just catching spies, but, in the words of Hall, for ‘control’ of the general populace.'”
“It Floated Down Like Kleenex…Many people handled the strange metallic-appearing debris that littered Mac Brazel’s ranch after the crash of the spacecraft. They were all astonished at the bizarre qualities of the small samples they managed to get their hands on. Major Jesse Marcel said ‘[There were] many bits of metallic foil that looked like, but was not, aluminum, for no matter how often one crumpled it, it regained its original shape. Besides that, they were indestructible, even with a sledgehammer.’ William Brazel Jr. (son of Mac Brazel) said, ‘The odd thing about this foil was that you could wrinkle it and lay it back down and it immediately resumed its original shape. It was quite pliable, yet you couldn’t crease or bend it like ordinary metal. It was almost more like a plastic of some sort except that it was definitely metallic in nature. I don’t know what it was, but I do know that Dad once said that the Army had told him that they had definitely established it wasn’t anything made by us.’ Don Burleson (Roswell researcher) said, ‘Brazel set the object up at the base of a pinyon tree and suggested that they fire at it—which they did—with 30.06 deer rifles from a distance of about thirty feet, an easy target for experienced deer hunters. Mr. Croft (Phillip Croft, hunting companion of Mac Brazel) said that when the foil was hit, it spun a considerable distance up in the air and came floating down ‘like Kleenex.’ Upon examining the material, the men found that it showed no effects from having been hit—not even a dent, and certainly no tears or punctures.’ The Battelle ‘Second Progress Report’ to Wright-Patterson is basically a review of Battelle’s effort to develop just such a metal as was reported by the Roswell witnesses. Although there is no direct reference to the Roswell crash in the Report, there are so many personnel links and clues to ongoing UFO research at Battelle that there can be very little doubt that the document was a report on a contract with the AAF to duplicate the metal found at Roswell.”
“A report that bluntly and openly states ‘this is material that was recovered at Roswell’ will never be found. It is only through carefully reviewing the ‘history of science’ many decades later that these connections about the Roswell metal’s history would be made. Only obscure footnotes found buried in military studies – coupled with sleuth work – would lead to the truth about the study of the Roswell metal.
“It now appears that much of the work on the Roswell debris was skillfully and conveniently ‘folded into’ military contracted work on ‘traditional’ aeronautical or naval metals engineering projects of the time. It was the perfect guise. Nobody would put ‘two and two’ together that this advanced materials work – actually inspired by Roswell – was anything ‘special.’ It would be seen as just ‘part of the program.’ Selectively ‘farming out’ portions of this work assured that nobody would make any ‘connections.’ The ‘paper trail’ on the study of the material could also be confused as ‘normal military work’ that they were ‘already conducting.’
“Hynek, the former U.F.O. skeptic, eventually concluded that they were a real phenomenon in dire need of scientific attention, with hundreds of cases in the Blue Book files still unexplained. Even many of the ‘closed’ cases were resolved with ridiculous, often infuriating explanations, sometimes by Hynek himself.
“’The entire Blue Book operation was a foul-up based on the categorical premise that the incredible things reported could not possibly have any basis in fact,’ he wrote in the 1970s, when he was finally free to speak the truth.”
Quote from the above article.
“In the ensuing years, Moriarty increasingly became what is known as a ‘debunker,’ those critics that devoted their lives, as a protection against the destruction of society, to destroying modernistic and what they felt were New Age degeneracy. Wild progressed to a fairly high extreme, seeing beliefs and modern theories as often a Fabian Communist Conspiracy. Some of his ideas, I could agree with, other ideas seemed too harmful, even though the cases Wild attacked seemed just as hurtful and infuriating. I’ve heard Wild refer to citizens several times as ‘savages.’ (‘… [if the attack had] backfire effects [which] can occur if a message spends too much time on the negative case, if it is too complex, or the message is threatening.’ [en.wikipedia.org/debunkers]). Ben Pile surmised: ‘Far from seeking rationalism, skepticism is increasingly a search for authority…it indulges the same fantasies…skeptics and rationalists ought to be taking a look at their own ideas…we don’t need a police force to protect us from bad ideas. We just need better ideas.’”
“High school basketball coach Bone was no believer in UFOs — at least not before the night of February 21 when with two team managers and three of his players he was returning home along U.S. Highway 60 near Ellsinore, Mo., about 20 miles south of Piedmont. They were in poor spirits after losing a crucial tournament game by seven points and were rehashing their defeat. Suddenly Bone, who was driving, noticed a “bright shaft of light beaming down out of the sky.”
A few miles later as the car passed through the Brushy Creek area, player Randal Holmes noticed something else. “Look!” he shouted. “There’s that thing we saw back on Highway 60!” Bone pulled over to the side of the road and the six piled out.
It looked like it was about 200 yards off the road hovering over an open field,” Bone said later. (Investigators from the International UFO Bureau (IUFOB) of Oklahoma City later estimated the object probably was about 400 feet above the ground.) “it was impossible to determine the size or shape because of the darkness. Anyway, we saw four lights that looked like portholes: red, green, amber and white. We figured they were about three or four feet apart, all in a row.”
“We just stood there and watched it for about 10 minutes,” Cary Barks, another witness, added. “Then all of a sudden the lights went directly up in the air with absolutely no noise and just disappeared over a hill.
“I was continually looking at the fields which surrounded us and the sky. We were probably there a half hour or more when I noticed what I thought was a planet in the northern sky. Had that been there before? Then I realized it was moving toward us. As it approached it began to descend. It passed over the fields directly east of our position and as it passed by, the cattle in the fields began to bawl. It was a symphony of cattle, a cacophony of sound moving like falling dominoes as the object passed over the animals. It was about 500 feet east of us and about 100 feet high as silhouetted against the trees. It was the size of a mid-sized American car. The exterior glowed orange red in color and had ‘windows’ showing a yellow light from inside. There was no discernible sound.”
“Since it was first published in 1952, Jung’s concept has increasingly filtered into popular culture, having found its way into the plot lines of TV shows, works of pop-fiction like The Celestine Prophecy, and the lyrics of rock groups like The Police. In more scholarly quarters, there have been attempts to shed light on this theory through classifying various types of coincidence, scrutinizing it in terms of statistical studies, or even explaining it through quantum physics.”
“Arthur C. Clarke once wrote that any sufficiently advanced technology would be indistinguishable from magic,” says Red Pill Junkie. “Perhaps he forgot to consider how any sufficiently advanced mentality would equally be indistinguishable from madness. In the search for the other by which to gauge our own self, what we’re really hoping for is a mirror depiction of our own expectations only slightly ahead of us such that it may still be comprehensible. Yet a truly alien mind would be from our own earthly perspective, and by the definition of the word, crazy…carnivalesque hall of mirrors….” (p. 152)
“Attorneys have a specific set of rules to follow. These rules ensure that attorneys act in an ethical manner.
“In Paasman v. Paasman, a divorce filed in Superior Court in Connecticut (Case No. FST FA 14-40287), public record shows Plaintiff’s Motion for Contempt: Discovery Order, Pendente Lite. It was filed by Rebecca L. Ciota, a licensed attorney and counsel for the First Plaintiff. The motion was filed in September of 2012.
“In paragraph 17 of the Motion, Ms. Ciota alleges that Broder & Orland violated Rule 3.4 of Rules of Professional Conduct. Ms. Ciota quoted several parts of the rule including how it was unlawful to obstruct a party’s access to evidence and fail to be reasonably diligent to comply with a discovery order (remember all of those continuances asked for to produce financial documents?).”
“As I have noted, America’s deep state is something of a hybrid creature that operates along a New York to Washington axis. Where the Turks sometimes engage in unambiguous criminal activity like drug trafficking to fund themselves the Washington elite instead turns to the banksters, lobbyists and defense contractors, operating much more in the open and, ostensibly, legally. U.S. style deep state includes all the obvious parties, both public and private, who benefit from the status quo to include key players in the police and intelligence agencies, the military, the treasury and justice departments and in the judiciary. It is structured to materially reward those who play along with the charade and the glue to accomplish that comes ultimately from Wall Street. ‘Financial services’ might well be considered the epicenter of the entire process. Even though government is needed to implement desired policies, the banksters comprise the truly essential element, capable of providing genuine rewards for compliance. As corporate interests increasingly own the media, little dissent comes from the Fourth Estate as the process plays out while many of the proliferating Washington think tanks that provide deep state ‘intellectual’ credibility are similarly funded by defense contractors.”
“It reminds us of the story about the cub reporter who is sent to cover a routine meeting of the local town council. The reporter later returns to the newsroom without a story. When the editor asks why there’s no story, the reporter responds: ‘I couldn’t get to the government building because a massive train wreck blocked the street.’
“A good reporter, or at least one who isn’t hopelessly biased, would be able to see that the real story isn’t the go-nowhere Mueller investigation, but the more troubling story of abuse of power by Obama administration officials to protect Hillary Clinton and then derail the Trump presidency.”
“Later, Herrington braces himself inside his trench over-coat as he leaves the building and heads into the increasing snowflakes and wind that lash against the down-turned brim of his fedora hat. He rehearses a mental mantra to himself: ‘I only have a few more years to my retirement.’ He sees how the unkind and inclement weather ensconces itself as compared to this time last year. He recalls that last March was rather warm and ‘quiet’… the ‘quiet before the storm.’ He reflectively muses how a battle is taking place, not just of technology, but also, of the supremacy of power itself. The rules of the ‘game’ are increasingly complex and byzantine. Herrington is thinking of scientist David Bohm’s comments in a book he is reading about the ‘widespread feeling of helplessness and despair.’
On March 5th, 2021, I composed a short essay and sent it to a groups of UFO investigators. My comments were regarding the current global UFO situation and a sense of “Creeping Joe UFO Disclosure” slowly unfolding in Washington, DC. I wrote:
Subject: Huge Spheres Videoed Over Las Vegas
Thank you for the link to the Las Vegas UFO and your questions about the LV UFOs.
Here is a message with videos that I received this week from Capt. Robert Collins (USAF- Ret) related to UFOs videoed over Las Vegas sent by Steve Barrone.
A Pair of Slow-Moving White Spheres Moving East
I’m not sure if it is the same one, but I am sure that they are related to the unveiling of the US Space Force and the slow UFO Disclosure process that we’re going through, which seems aimed for July 1st through July 4th for the “Big Reveal.”
I think that these overt “fly-bys” are synched with the US Senate-driven UFO Disclosure <organized by Senator Marco Rubio last December> that is part of a long scheduled “Slow UFO Disclosure,” which may be following the pattern for revealing extraterrestrial presence in global affairs as described according the plan described by Arthur C. Clark in “Childhood’s End” wherein a 50-year long disclosure process is followed by world governments before the Alien Presence finally reveals itself.
We are now at the end of a similar multi-decade long UFO disclosure process initiated by the CIA in the mid 1960s, which is apparently approaching culmination now as we approach July 1st and slow UFO related revelations in those days following.
A most pleasant surprise ensued when I received a remarkable UFO/USO report from UFO investigator Joseph Foster, which is the subject of the following article.
UFOlogist Joseph Foster Recounts Viet Nam Era UFO/USO Sightings
In the Western Pacific
& Nike Bases in the Eastern US (1950s-1970s)
By Joseph Foster
Robert D. Morningstar
(Copyright 2021, Joseph Foster & RDM* – All Rights Reserved)
First of all, I would like to thank all for circulating these LV pictures of the spheres. There is however one thing that stands out in my mind regarding those pictures of the spheres that may or may not be of importance.
Back in 1970 while a Quartermaster in the US Coast Guard and on our way back from a deployment in Vietnam, I along with my Captain, the Officer of the Deck (OOD) and my Chief (Quartermaster) were involved with shooting “Morning Stars” (a navigational activity) that takes place about 1/2 hour before sunrise local time).
The Captain and OOD were using their Sextants and my chief and I were hacking with stop watches while the selected navigational stars were being acquired.
We were on the starboard bridge wing of the ship and on a course of approximately 080 degrees true making speed of about 15 kts. We were also about a day and a half out of Guam heading back to Honolulu (our home port). At this time we observed a large “mercury” colored, spherically shaped object closing on us from the front on a reciprocal course (heading roughly 260 degrees true) with a speed of probably 100 mph and at an altitude of between 500 and 1000′.
What I would like to highlight is that with the naked eye, the object was perfectly clear with sharply defined features (I.e., spherical shape and all sea and sky conditions perfectly reflected). Again, the object had perfect reflectivity with the upper portion showing the blue sky above with some small fluffy clouds and the bottom portion of the sphere reflecting perfectly the blue, south Pacific ocean and capturing the slight chop in the water caused by 5 knot winds. Cloud cover at the time was about 15%.
The reflectivity of the sphere was perfect, at least to the naked eye. I believe this daylight sighting was classic, unfortunately there were only 5 of us (the lookout on the flying bridge was the 5th crew member) that observed the object. Even though we had two other sightings onboard this ship while I was part of the crew, there was only one sighting that was reported “formally.” This one unfortunately was not it.
My captain was the Senior Captain (O6) in the Coast Guard at the time and my ship was one of the newest High Endurance cutters with me being part of the first crew after the pre-commissioning detail.
Unfortunately, none of us had a camera that morning so a good photographic record would not be captured. Being that we were on the starboard side of the ship (right), when the object passed us at its closest point (500 to 1000′) and it passed us to the Port Side, we did not get a perfectly clear view (because of mast, bridge and rigging, etc.) and I am sure that it would have been a photograph of epic importance (in my estimation).
My final thought however is that the pictures of the UFO spheres showed the “haziness” surrounding the objects that I believe would be some form of plasma field, perhaps associated with a propulsion system. The camera obviously was able to capture that aspect however, it is also my belief that this type of spherical craft (similar to the one we observed), when seen with the naked eye would look quite different because to the naked eye, the field surrounding such a craft might not be observed (like our sighting) than if it were captured with a camera. Perhaps this feedback may have some utility.
One day, while stationed in the Gulf of Siam, our crew was given leave to engage in recreational swimming. A shark net was deployed and the crewmen began diving off the cutter and swimming out to a raft that was deployed for the swimmers. I was on the bridge watching the swimming activities when suddenly I saw a huge submerged black object, approaching slowly (at about 2-3 knots) from the starboard side of the cutter only to disappear beneath the ship. l went to the port side with plenty of time to see the object pass at least 18 feet below the waterline of the cutter, swimmers, the shark net, and the raft.
As this USO (Unidentified Submerged Object) emerged on the other side of the cutter, I discerned that it was at least 100 feet in length and 30-40 feet in width. It showed no fins, rudder nor discernible source of propulsion. Our ship was anchored, facing the bow to the North, as the huge black object (about 1/3 the size of our ship) passed from East to West beneath the cutter and the swimmers in complete silence with no sounds of engines or any other sounds to attract attention or disturb the swimmers who did not react to its passage.
It was I then that observed the shape of a large tear-drop shaped object continue to move on and off the the East where it slowly disappeared from view.
Although we had no sharks to contend with, the following video will give the reader an idea of the situation during the recreational swimming session when this passed beneath our ship and crew.
The thought crossed my mind that it might have been a whale, but it’s tear-drop shape with no tail, no discernible undulating motion or any sign of propulsion eliminated that possibility altogether. referring to the classic Janes’ Fighting Ships, we tried to find a similar shape in known submarines of the world, but nothing even close was to be found. So the submerged object remains for me a classic USO, or Unidentified submerged Object.
Below is a video from the series MonsterQuest dealing with such recorded sightings of “sea monsters” throughout history.
In a recent email to the editor, Joe Foster wrote:
I see that you previously flew out of Brookhaven airport.
By any chance have you ever flown out of the East Hampton airport. I lived in East Hampton for several years on a local farm (my folks moved around a bit) between 1949 and 1954 or so. In 1954, my folks took myself and my young sister to a drive-in movie theater located in Bridge Hampton on the old Montauk highway. It was during a movie we were watching that we observed a rapidly zig-zagging, bright white point of light (greater in magnitude than any star).
After making 3 distinct right angle movements, it disappeared behind the movie screen. The orientation of the screen to the best of my recollection was facing in a westerly direction towards Brookhaven National Labs that was probably about 30 miles away. In your travels, have you heard of any other similar sightings on Long Island (extremely fast moving, zig-zagging objects displaying movements that would be extreme with great “G” force activity (at least in our state of physics)? Of course, a lot of the physics that are currently making the rounds these days would probably indicate much of what Jack Sarfatti has been discussing.
I just thought that I would share this with you. I did document this event. Also, in this email I have attached a couple of other slides that I have used. In order they are:
1) The rendition of the daylight sphere event when doing “Morning Stars” while in the CG. I tried to represent the object and the sky and sea conditions however, it is not perfect but it does show pretty much what we observed at the time.
2) The next is a crop circle that showed up on a farm that I lived on as a child (the crop circle showed up in 2002, my family’s sighting was in July of 1958). This is my story of “synchronicity”. In the summer of 1958, we observed our first daylight sphere that was flying lazily along what we know as the “Navy Road” (actual name is Normandy road) that is owned and used by the US Navy to move munitions to and from ships in Raritan bay and the storage facilities about 13 miles to the south (Colts Neck).
This road has been used for years to move nuclear and conventional weapons. It has also had more than its share of UFO activity including a landing about a mile or so away from the Earle pier facilities in Leonardo. ( I will share the article from the local newspaper along with a picture of a circular flattened area of swamp grass.
Nike missiles play an important role in many of these UFO related activities, here are several that bear investigation:
Nike Ajax site W-93 (Olney Derwood, MD) – UFO crash outside of launcher area (two weeks of overflights – May of 1958
Nike Ajax site NY-53 (adjacent to the Navy Road – Leonardo, NJ) blew up killing 10 men – 6 soldiers 4 civilians – May 22, 1958
My daylight sphere sighting of object flying south towards weapons storage area (Dorbrook Farm) New Jersey – July 1958
UFO Landing about a mile or so from the Earle Navy pier facility in Leonardo – 2 week period of UFO sightings and landing – July 1970
Nike Hercules site NY-56 (Fort Hancock – Sandy Hook) – the only time warheads armed for intercept in history of site – July 1970
Corroboration of my original sighting by another witness 2 miles away – UFO reported landing in swampy area of Swimming River – 1995
Crop circle (article attached) – 200 yards behind where my house was during the 1958 daylight sphere sighting – July 2002 (article)
The next event of which we spoke yesterday was the sighting that I had while shooting “Morning Stars” while onboard my ship (Coast Guard Cutter Mellon – WHEC717) while returning from a Westpac deployment to Vietnam – June 1970. Slide is a representation of what we observed as described in my original email. Picture of object was added (with Photoshop) just to give a rough idea of scale and the sky and sea conditions at the time of the sighting.
I will follow up with another email and pics for several other events that took place while in the CG.
The 1970 WESTPAC (RVN) Deployment Crew of the Coast Guard Cutter Mellon (WHEC 717) can best describe their respect for Captain Ottis H. Abney by quoting a plaque in front of the Chief of Naval Operations building in Washington D.C.
“IN EACH SHIP THERE IS ONE MAN WHO IN THE HOUR OF EMERGENCY OR PERIL AT SEA CAN TURN TO NO OTHER MAN.
THERE IS ONE WHO ALONE IS ULTIMATELY RESPONSIBLE FOR THE SAFE NAVIGATION, ENGINEERING PERFORMANCE, ACCURATE GUNFIRE AND MORALE OF HIS SHIP. HE IS THE COMMANDING OFFICER.
HE IS THE SHIP.”
The UFO Spotlight is Published & Edited
By Robert D. Morningstar
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