FROM

OUTER SPACE

TO YOU

HOWARD MENGER

1959

www.cosmic-people.com

www.angels-light.org





Small spaceships of the Metharia civilization (see pic. 277 at www.cosmic-people.com)





The Last of Atlantis

The Atlantian stood in the blazoned night

Within the disk so burnished bright,

Poised to launch him into unknown space

At speeds unknown in this earthly pace.

This man was the best the race could find:

Sound of body and sound of mind;

The highest evolved of all their men

To command this ship and the crew of ten.

It was he who'd race at the speed of light,

The first to see the galactic might

Of star islands only known by few

And not yet seen in earthly view.

A thousands years they'd said he'd be

Streaking through the galactic sea

To a target 500 light years hence

In a state of time held in suspense.

With a mighty surge the disk took flight

Upward, upward into endless night,

Lost soon in the starry heavens black

As this man cast one long glance back.

Years to decades to centuries became

Man learned to hurt, to kill, and maim,

Slipping backward from the heights attained

As the light of love grew dim and waned.

As the earth returned to a barbaric age

A new life cycle turned its page.

The earths' crust split and spewed up flame,

And the boiling sea scaled Atlantis' shame.

* * * * *

Ten centuries passed and the ship returned

To an earth now degenerate and burned,

Not fit to sustain the life of few

Who'd lived the Creator's love and knew.

They hovered for months about our earth,

Vainly seeking a new hope's birth,

Saw naught but ego, hate and pain—

Man against man for paltry gain.

With heavy heart and saddened eye,

This man of space soon cast the die,

Turned the ship outward to endless space

To find a home to sustain his race.

In the spiraling star dust lies a far-off land

Where even now they'll lend a hand

To raise us from our knees to see

The errors that cast them beneath the sea.

C. B. Brailey





DEDICATED

To all humanity on Planet Earth





MEET THE CREW

To all those who have been directly or indirectly instrumental in assisting him to bring this message of hope and enlightenment from our brothers of other planets, the author wishes to extend his humble and sincere thanks. He has space to name only a few of them:

· "Long John" Nebel of WOR, New York, who gave so generously of his time so that the author might share the message of the Visitors.

· Frank Ford Show, WPEN, Philadelphia, Pa.

· Gene Crain's "Wonderful Town" WCAU, Philadelphia, Pa.

· Vern Craig's "Open Mike" Allentown, Pa.

· Jack Paar Show, N.B.C.

· Dave Garroway's "Today" Show, N.B.C.

· And many other radio and TV shows.

· Washington Star, Washington, N. J.

· The Daily Record, East Stroudsburg, Pa.

· Newark Star Ledger, Newark, N. J.

· Philadelphia Enquirer, Philadelphia, Pa.

· The Indianapolis Star, Indianapolis, Ind.

· The Chicago American, Chicago, Ill.

· LIFE Magazine, New York.

· ARGOSY, New York.

· Bucks County Traveler, Bucks County, Pa.

· Many other publications and periodicals, among them George Van Tassel's Proceedings, Yucca Valley, Calif., and Flying Saucer Review, London.

· Calvin C. Girvin, for the dust jacket painting.

· Don Leigh McCulty, for editorial assistance.

· August C. Roberts, for photographic consultation.

· And, of course, the space people themselves.





BRIEFING

It is evident that we are past the threshold of a new era, not only in scientific advancements, cultural growths, and the ethical and social development of all peoples, but in two other major areas of life: the geophysical, which has to do with the physical changes going on and about to take place in, on and above our Planet Earth; the other is the spiritual renaissance of all people on the planet.

The geophysical changes have already been predicted by our own scientists, with their announcements that the axial motion of the earth is 23 degrees off; with the piling up of ice on the South Pole, affecting sea, air and land masses; and the cyclic changes, which seem to take place periodically.

The spiritual growth of the people, is, of course the universal desire for freedom and liberty and the worship of One Creator, along with the brotherhood of man and the Fatherhood of God.

If, due to our experiments with atomic and thermonuclear explo­sives, we are dealing nature a bad blow to an already weakened con­dition, two things must be prevented: atomic and hydrogen blasts— and general warfare.

Let us assume that there is on this planet a group of scientifically minded and spiritually dedicated men and women who are working to accomplish this great task. And, let us further assume that they have already established contacts with equally dedicated people of other planets. To continue their work and remain effective, they must of necessity remain behind the scenes. However, they can, in the interest of humanity in general, send out hints as to what will take place in the near future. Perhaps they send out scouts to make personal contacts for the specific reason of determining the reactions of every-day people. Perhaps it is done as a "smoke screen" to temporarily keep secret the real work which is going on until such time that the people are prepared to meet this new era with many changes it will bring.

There are perhaps, many bases of operation already established on, under and above this earth which prepare to meet this coming chal­lenge. The increased sightings of spacecraft give evidence to the hidden activities. And what are these "signs in the sky" so many people are seeing, and why do descriptions vary, and how can the craft seem to appear and disappear? Perhaps all this can be explained by simple laws we have not yet learned about. Or perhaps they are merely pro­jections, designed to divert or attract attention, depending upon the circumstances involved.

Then there are the personal contact stories, some of which are authentic, and which have been established for study purposes and for keeping alive a story which must eventually be brought before all people. If given in small doses, the general acceptance will be made over a period of time, and will take place almost naturally.

Let us imagine, then, that this great work is being carried on by a universal group of men and women with contacts in every government in the world (world leaders included) and in every walk of life.

And this group, I would like to believe, is dedicated to saving mankind and this Planet Earth, so that we too can step out into the Universe and travel to our neighboring worlds.

Marla





COUNT-DOWN

The Last of Atlantis, by C. B. Brailey

Meet the Crew

Briefing, by Marla

Count-Down

(*) Presenting the Pilot, by Cortland Hastings

(**) "Fasten Seat Belts!" (Publisher's Note)

Book One: TAKEOFF!

(1) The Girl on the Rock

(2) The Man in Khaki

(3) Hawaii Contact

(4) Narrow Escape

(5) A Prediction

(6) Back to the States

(7) Field Location No. 2

(8) The Exploding Disc

(9) Strange Instruments

(10) Barber to the Space People

(11) The Observation Disc

(12) The Story Leaks Out

(13) Anti-Magnetic Field

(14) A Curious Round Table

(15) Gift of Awareness

(16) Trip in a Venusian Scout

(17) The Witnesses

(18) The Police

(19) The Phantom Car

(20) The Song from Saturn

(21) Marla

(22) Natural Couples

(23) Cross-Country Lecture Tour

(24) "Project Moon"

(25) Orbit

(26) Destination Luna

(27) Sightseeing Tour

Book Two: LANDING

(1) Questions and Answers About Flying Saucers

(2) A Profound Space Teacher

(3) Teleportation

(4) The Mystery Appearance

(5) Diet

(6) A New Concept of Nutrition, by Earp Thomas

God's World, by C. B. Brailey





ILLUSTRATIONS

(1) Venusian reconnaissance craft

(2) Venusian man

(3) Venusian ship hovering two feet above ground

(4) Space ship hovering and landing

(5) Space woman walks toward author

(6) Spacecraft in flight at night

(7) Actual strip of movie film showing spacecraft

(8) Spacecraft landing near dome-shaped Moon building

(9) Spacecraft hovering near mountain range on Moon

(10) Closeup of typical lunar terrain

(11) Long John Nebel

(12) Highbridge, New Jersey panorama

(13) Mengers welcome visitors to Spacecraft Convention

(14) Gray Barker at Convention

(15) Otis T. Carr, spacecraft inventor

(16) August C. Roberts and "Mystic Barber"

(17) George Van Hecke interviewing St. Morris Paley

(18) Long John Nebel, Ellery Lanier, Lester Del Ray

(19) Major Wayne Aho

(20) George W. Van Tassel

(21) Free energy motor

(22) Closeup of Moon's surface

(23) View of Moon from spacecraft

(24) "We'll be seeing you!" And they hope you liked the book





(*)

PRESENTING THE PILOT

Introductory speech made by Cortland Hastings at the Pythian Temple, New York City, December 16, 1956:

My name is Cortland Hastings. My function is to introduce to you Howard Menger. But first, let us adjust our perspective—look at ourselves and the earth in relation to the universe.

Astronomy is the science of studying celestial bodies: their positions, sizes, motions, constitutions or compositions, their mutual relation­ships, their histories, their destinies. Astronomy treats of the earth only in relation to the celestial bodies.

The first question is, what is the age of the universe? The answer: the universe is ageless. Some orthodox religions teach that the earth is but a few thousand years old; however through the study of uranium, with its progressive half-life reduction every five billion years (that is, every five billion years it loses 50 per cent of its strength), the earth has now been found to be some three or three and one-quarter billion years old. And there is no reason to suspect that the earth represents the age of the universe.

What about the extent of the universe? Man, with his finite terms, cannot truly express the Infinite. But he can and must try.

The great 200-inch telescope at Mt. Palomar, California, has photo­graphed galaxies about one billion light years away. Now, as we know, a light year is a measure of distance, not of time. It represents the distance which light traveling at 186,000 miles per second will traverse in one year. In miles, then, a light year is five trillion, eight hundred and seventy-five billion miles. So if you took out a pad and multiplied that by a billion, you would come up with a round figure in miles of six with 18 zeros following it, the distance of these farthest galaxies yet photographed. And you should have a large pad, because that is six with 18 zeros following it.

But this is, by no means, the boundary of the universe; it is simply the farthest distance ever seen by man's instruments—remarkable as these instruments are, or seem to be.

The astronomer has many times been called an atheist. This is largely untrue. On the contrary, he is usually a very reverent man, because he can see, better than anyone else on Earth, the marvelous workings of the universe. The astronomer, with his scientific training, can also, more than we, appreciate the plan and order of the universe. He knows this law and order of the sky is not accidental, that it did not just happen. Even more than we, the astronomer can realize that this vast universe is the result and plan of Our Source—a Source of inconceivable intelligence and incomprehensible power.

It has been estimated that there are well more than one hundred million galaxies, each containing many billions of stars and planets. Our own galaxy, of which our solar system is but a small part, is the Milky Way. The Milky Way Galaxy is estimated at more than six hundred quadrillion miles in width. We do not know how long it is, or rather the circumference of its spiral.

Our solar system, as we know it, is composed of the sun and nine planets, of which the earth is one—and one of the smaller ones at that. The extent of our solar system is three billion, seven million miles. Now our sun is but a very ordinary star in our Milky Way galaxy. Many stars are a hundred times larger and brighter than our sun. A star, by the way, is defined as an illumined body giving off its own light, contrasted to a planet which simply reflects the light of a star, in the case of our system, the sun.

The sun is the source of light and life on the earth. At this point we can well ask, "From whence does the Sun get its light?" The answer is simply: from Our Source—the Source of our Universe. Now all space is not a void. It is filled with vibrations, rays, oscillations of many and energy—the initial oscillation from the Source of All. There is no place in this vast universe where Intelligence and Energy are not. So, space is not a void. It is filled with vibrations, rays, oscillations of many kinds. There are electromagnetic rays both above and below the com­mercial radio band.

There are electromagnetic rays both above and below the com­mercial radio band. The radio utilizes a band from five hundred thou­sand to a million and a half vibrations per second. Television utilizes frequencies higher than that: from 44 up to 108 million vibrations per second. Above that come the calorific, or heat rays, which range up to 35 trillion vibrations per second. Even above that are the chro­matic or color rays, ranging from 430 trillion vibrations per second, which is the color red, to 700 trillion, representing purple. Then there are actinic rays, which perform chemical changes in our plant and animal life upon the earth, and which give life to the earth. These also emanate from the sun, and their frequencies are 600 trillion vibrations per second and higher. Above these we find the X-rays, or roentgen rays; and far above those the radium or gamma rays. And so we proceed into even another kind of infinity: scientists feel that above those frequencies they can now measure surely exist others, and others.

But let us get back to our solar system, because that is what we are going to be more directly concerned with. Our sun is 864,000 miles in diameter, and is spinning through space at 720,000 miles an hour. That is fantastic isn't it? How many people do you hear saying, "Oh, we never go anywhere!"? But at that very moment they are traveling at the rate of 720,000 miles an hour, because the sun is pulling along with it the entire solar system. We on earth are not sensitive to this speed because our atmosphere envelope is being pulled along at the same rate of speed.

Now the earth itself is a little less than 8,000 miles in diameter, and is located 93 million miles from the sun. Between the earth and the sun are two planets. The first, from the sun outward, is Mercury, one of the smallest planets. It is only 3,000 miles in diameter and is located 36 million miles from the sun. Next comes Venus, which is a little smaller than the earth—7,600 miles in diameter and located 67 million miles from the sun. Then comes our earth—7,920 miles in diameter, if you want the exact figure, and 93 million miles from the sun. Now, we go away from the sun to the rest of the planets. Mars, the next one, is 4,200 miles in diameter and 141 million miles from the sun. Now a big jump, through an area in space in which are spinning many thousands of asteroids and planetoids, which many an astrono­mer believes may be the result of a former shattered planet, which legends have told us might have been called Lucifer.

We now come to the biggest planet in the solar system: Jupiter, 87,000 miles in diameter and 489 million miles from the sun. Next is Saturn, 72,000 miles in diameter, the second largest planet, which is 886 million miles from the sun. Now we take another big jump to Uranus, 32,000 miles in diameter and is located the staggering dis­tance of one billion, eight hundred million miles from the sun. Another big jump and we are at Neptune, 33,000 miles in diameter, located two billion, eight hundred million miles from the sun. And finally we come to little Pluto at the outer limit of our solar system, 3,600 miles in diameter and located three billion, seven hundred million miles from our sun.

Now we have had a fast trip around the solar system, haven't we? It has all been in our minds. We have needed no tickets, required no airplane or rocket, just our attention. How did we make this trip? Sim­ply by the vibrations of our mind.

Now all this is not encumbered by our physical bodies. Our mind, and especially the "souls" of those who are trained, can move at will wherever it is wished. Does it seem quite so impossible, then, for us to contact other planets and the people on them? But more espe­cially for "them," who are much more advanced than "we," to contact us?

Mr. Howard Menger will tell us more about our highly-developed neighbors, our older brothers of other planets and outer space: That these are truly our brothers, that they are not to be feared; that, in­stead, they are to be respected and treated with esteem and with as much understanding as we can muster. They are not to be treated with fear and hate, as we on Earth so ignominously treat our own Earth brothers. People from outer space live in peace, not under the shadow of perpetual war.

But you did not come to hear me talk; you came to hear Mr. Howard Menger.

Howard Menger is a sign painter by trade, and a very good one, if growth of business is any criterion. I do want to stress this: Howard Menger makes no money from his contact with space people. On the contrary, it has cost him both a great deal of time and money. The fabulous amount of time he has devoted, and his great loss of sleep have naturally cut into his business and into his income.

Some people I know give one half of one per cent or even one percent of their income to charities, or to humanitarian undertakings, and feel rather exalted and self-righteous for having done so. But Howard's devotion to our space brothers has cost him more than 50 percent of his income, and, of course, his time. But in spite of these enormous sacrifices, Howard does not expect nor want anything for himself. He is making his sacrifice for his brothers in space and on this earth.

If one is prone to criticize, he might well remember this: Howard Menger is a most sincere person and a very fine gentleman. He has graciously consented to hold this meeting tonight so that those people who have seen him on the Steve Allen and other TV shows, and heard him on radio programs, especially the Long John Show which is on WOR (710 on your dial and on every morning from 1:00 to 5:30 a.m.), can see and hear him in person.

In the maelstrom of today the raising of men's minds must be increased, and truth brought forward. And it is Howard Menger's objective to do just this.

So without further ado, it is with great pleasure that I now turn this stage over to Mr. Howard Menger. . . .





(**)

"FASTEN SEAT BELTS!"

(Publisher’s Note)

Before Howard Menger pushes the blast-off button and sets us spinning into uncharted regions almost beyond the stars, just a word, and a warning, from the Ground Crew.

This is Gray Barker, president of Saucerian Books, and the pub­lisher of FROM OUTER SPACE TO YOU, giving you final instruc­tions and wishing you a bon voyage.

I wish I were making this trip with you and living again for the first time your remarkable trip, as I did when I first read the author's manuscript; but alas, I must remain, as the publisher, with my feet on the ground.

To make this trip easier for you we have organized this book in a manner of which I do hope you will approve. Knowing that we will have casual readers, along with those who will wish to delve deeply into the more thoughtful metaphysics Howard Menger also will pre­sent, we have decided to publish the material in two books or sections. The first will contain the author's astounding story of his contacts and dramatic physical experiences. Not through intent, but by fortunate virtue of the fact that Howard Menger has an extraordinary command of narrative, you will find it reads as easily as any modern fast-moving adventure story.

We have moved the author's more thoughtful material to the last part of the book. The hasty reader may wish to finish Book One and put the volume on the shelf; but those who, after wetting their feet in the Milky Way, wish to gain deeper insight into the teachings of the space people as expressed by the author, will find Book Two even more rewarding.

And now, as you fasten your seat belts, our word of warning: this trip is dangerous. You will travel into areas of great intellectual peril, especially if you have made up your mind beforehand not to believe the author's story. Many of you will accept it as it is told; some of you may escape total belief and preserve many of your former opinions by believing that Howard Menger has presented only an allegory, as a framework for the metaphysical principles he wishes you to under­stand. Unfortunately there will be casualties, and for those we express deep sympathy. Some of you will read, and somehow, in an effort to disbelieve, will not give the author the benefit of even your good-humored laugh; instead the book will engender in you great anger and a desire to shout your disbelief to the world. Those readers we pro­foundly pity. For there are ideas here which will add a little something—a little inspiration, a few cogent thoughts, or even only a few thought­ful chuckles—to the life of the firmest skeptic.

I came back from the trip still a skeptic, and you may, too; but when you again touch Earth I believe there will be, as was on mine, a trace of a glow on your face.

And to those wonderful souls whom God, The Universe, or who­ever He is, has blest above all: those who can believe without reser­vation, I give you a trip the likes of which you have never before dreamed possible, and a magic steed that will put a Pegasus to shame. You will enjoy the trip—ah how you will!

Finally, we add. . . .

What?

Oops! We've talked too long. It's too late to get out now! Fasten seat belts and get ready for——





(I)



BOOK ONE



TAKEOFF !

(1)

The Girl on the Rock

It was in Grantwood, New Jersey, that I met my first love.

I was born in Brooklyn, N.Y., Feb. 17, 1922, but when I was a year old Mother and Dad moved to Grantwood where we lived for several years.

The object of my affection was a classmate, a fluffy, feminine, blonde, blue-eyed bit of pulchritude, who completely stole my young heart.

But my parents were quite amused when I announced that I intended to marry my six-year-old sweetheart. The romance was short-lived and I brokenhearted when we moved to a country property in High Bridge, N.J. My brother, Alton, was four at the time; and I was eight.

I could not quite forgive my parents for taking me away from my love—until I saw the beautiful rolling hills and fields of northern New Jersey. The newness and excitement of the country slowly supplanted the hurt memories of the girl I left behind.

We children were delighted with our new home in the country. The fields were covered with daisies when we first saw the farm. To the rear of the house were fruit trees and woods and brooks which made a veritable paradise for two young energetic boys.

Dad and Mother worked hard to fix up the small, modest bungalow. Meanwhile my brother and I enjoyed long treks into the woods and fields. We played explorers, and exciting were our safaris into the jungles of the nearby woods, all fraught with imaginary and delightful dangers.

During the summer we had many playmates. Next door was a summer boarding house which accommodated many families during the summer season, and there we always found willing companions among the visiting children.

The winter I remember most as fields of white and steely blue shadows at about dark when reluctantly we would have to go inside, leaving behind our sleds, our games of "Fox and Goose" in the snow, and, rarely, skating when the nearby pond would freeze over. Some­how I remember those winters on the farm with a sadness and a gnawing, lump-throated longing, akin to the feeling when, as a child, I would, in quiet moments, even then begin thinking—that all of these wonderful moments could not last. That soon—far too soon, I would be a man; and even then I knew that once full grown, such moments and such mysteriously ecstatic feelings could never be re-experienced.

But I suppose we loved the summer best, when the woods and country living opened a whole new world to us.

It was in this pastoral setting, in the warm, lavish extravagance of June and July that I began to experience other feelings I was at a loss to explain.

I began to have "flash-backs," or hazy remembrances of scenes, places and happenings which somehow were familiar to me, but were outside my real experiences. They seemed to be of another world.

About this time we began to see the discs in the sky.

We watched them skim across the heavens, hover, and sometimes disappear. My playmates did not always see them, but I seemed to sense just when to look up. Alton saw them too, and when we told our parents they only smiled patronizingly as if in quiet agreement of what they felt were youthful flights of fancy.

Dad, a handsome blond-headed man with patrician features, was an adamant Catholic, while mother, with enough red in her auburn hair to insure a fiery disapproval of certain of his beliefs, was an unyielding Methodist; and sometimes the difference in interpretation of religious concepts would lead to most voluble discussions.

While their discussions never led to disharmony, I was caught between my loyalty to both of them and was often deeply disturbed because I did not know which to believe entirely. Religion was the only matter about which Dad and Mom could never agree, and I remember that when their talking of it led to near arguments I would go off to myself and sometimes cry.

But in confusion of trying to analyze, in my young way, these con­flicting beliefs, I learned to think for myself and form my own concepts of God. That I believe I owe to my mother, for in spite of the difference of religious views to which I was exposed, she managed to firmly establish in my mind and heart the omnipresence of an Infinite Creator.

My brother and I continued seeing the bright, shining circular ob­jects in the sky, and one day one of them landed in the field where we were playing.

It was a disc-shaped object about ten feet in diameter. Afraid, but fascinated and curious, we walked toward it to get a better view. As we neared it we noticed another bright object, a much larger one of similar design, hovering in the sky above the smaller craft, as if ob­serving it and us.

Our hearts palpitated, but curiosity overwhelmed our fright as we proceeded cautiously.

When we were about 25 feet from the object, the larger airborne craft disappeared; and while we were trying to muster enough courage to go closer, the disc on the ground began vibrating, then took off at a terrific rate of speed in a blinding flash of light.

This experience we again enthusiastically recounted, but again our story was assigned to the realm of childish imagination.

I believe that Mother sensed, however, my gift of sensitive percep­tion, for now and then when I mentioned such things to her I could tell that behind her pretended disbelief was a knowing look of under­standing.

Gradually feeling a need to be alone, I began going off by myself, deep into the woods. There I had the feeling that somehow I could find the answer to the odd half-memories I experienced.

Some very strong impulse always drew me into one certain area of the woods. True, it was a beautiful section of the forest, idyllic in the summer, with a brook and almost tropical plants and foliage—but I knew in my heart that something else beside the natural beauty took me there.

A feeling of peace permeated the place, though interrupted at times by chattering and busy squirrels, running up and down trees in noisy pursuits. I remember timid and inquisitive rabbits, a deer which occasionally would come up very close. The soft-eyed gentle animal seemed to trust me and consider me one of the usual inhabitants of the forest.

To this enchanted spot I came at every opportunity I could find.

But one day in 1932, when I was ten, I saw something even more beautiful than the surroundings.

There, sitting on a rock by the brook, was the most exquisite woman my young eyes had ever beheld!

The warm sunlight caught the highlights of her long golden hair as it cascaded around her face and shoulders. The curves of her lovely body were delicately contoured—revealed through the translucent material of clothing which reminded me of the habit of skiers.

I halted in my tracks, and for a moment my breath stopped. I was not frightened, but an overwhelming wonderment froze me to the spot.

She turned her head in my direction.

Even though very young, the feeling I received was unmistakable.

It was a tremendous surge of warmth, love and physical attraction which emanated from her to me.

Suddenly all my anxiety was gone and I approached her as one would an old friend or loved one.

She seemed to radiate and glow as she sat on the rock, and I won­dered if it were due to the unusual quality of the material she wore, which had a shimmering, shiny texture not unlike but far surpassing the sheen of nylon. The clothing had no buttons, fasteners or seams I could discern. She wore no makeup, which would have been unneces­sary to the fragile transparency of her Camellia-like skin with pinkish undertones.

Her eyes, opalescent discs of gold, turned their smiling affection on me with a tranquil luminescence.

"Howard," she spoke my name, and I trembled with joy.

"I have come a long way," and she paused smilingly, "to see you, Howard . . . and to talk with you."

I shall always remember those first words exactly as she spoke them; but then my thoughts swirled in a maelstrom of emotion and slowly coalescing understanding as she continued to talk.

I remember that nobody had ever spoken to me as she did. She talked with me as if I were much older.

She said she knew where I had come from and what my purpose would be here on Earth. She and her people had observed me for a long time and in ways I would not quickly understand.

When she spoke of her "people" I still could not understand they were from another planet; as I listened in awe, my eyes delighted in feasting on the beauty of this lovely creature.

Every movement of her body, as she stood up and walked toward me and reached out her hands to me was a symphony of rhythm, grace and beauty. I seemed to be encompassed by the very glow, almost visible, that emanated from her presence. Somehow the entire area surrounding us appeared to take on a greater kind of radiance. I have often tried to describe it as like seeing a Technicolor movie in three dimensions and being a part of the action in the film.

Again she pronounced my name and reassured me she knew who I was, "from a long, long time."

And then some words that have taken on even more joy and meaning as I have grown older:

'We are contacting our own."

She told me that even though I did not understand many of the things she told me then, later in life I would. Her words would be impressed on my mind—I suppose she said "subconscious"—but it was difficult, as she said again, to make me understand.

I remember that she compared the idea to that of a phonograph, which would be played back to me time and again.

"It is no fault of yours, Howard, that you cannot understand every­thing. Do not worry." And she laughed musically.

She continued to speak to me as if I were an adult. I cannot remem­ber many of her exact phrasings, but the "phonograph" has played back the ideas, each "replay" taking on more and more meaning. Some of the actual words were beyond me, for they were words that meant nothing to a ten-year-old: "frequency" . . . "vibration" . . . "evolvement." . . .

She smiled most of the time as she spoke, and now and then she laughed as she answered questions before I could ask them. She seemed to know all of my thoughts.

But then a look of sadness came over the beautiful face, and tears came to my eyes as for the first time I pitied my new wonderful friend.

She spoke of a great change to take place in this country as well as the world. Wasteful wars, torture and destruction would be brought on by the misunderstandings of people.

"As you grow older," she said, "you will grow to know your purpose. You will help other people grow to know their purpose too."

This would depend on "evolvement" and "universal laws," and I would be drawn to other people who have missions akin to mine. universe-people.com

Then she stood up and I knew she was about to say goodbye. I noticed she was about my mother's height, slender, lithe, with no ex­aggeration of voluptuous curves.

She extended her hand and grasped mine. It was warm and soft and I was reluctant to let it go.

I began to cry.

"Don't worry, Howard," she promised. "You may see me again ... but it will be many years before you do. And I am not nearly so wise nor wonderful as others of my people who will often visit with you."

"Where do they live," I asked perplexedly and almost petulantly.

"Ah, far away, but you will find them. They will come to you. You will know where to go and meet them. And if your mind is troubled, remember, they will always be around—watching out for you . . . guiding you."

Again she laughed and I could not help be affected with her happy humor. I laughed, too, though with tears drying on my face. She said I should leave first, then she would go.

"May I look back?"

"Oh yes, Howard, you may look back!"

And I did, after walking slowly away. She was still sitting on the rock, smiling, and she waved.

I turned and ran, sobbing, first hardly audibly, then louder and louder, till my wails of a happy kind of sadness grew and filled the forest.

(2)

The Man in Khaki

I often went back to the brook in the woods, hoping to see her.

The place looked the same, though lacking the radiance which seemed to illuminate it that one day. The brook still ran musically be­side the rock; the foliage was still lush, and the squirrels kept up their chatter—but the lady was not there.

But in time it seemed that the enchantment of the place had gradually faded. Perhaps I was growing up. Perhaps I had never seen her and only imagined I did.

I wondered about it often as I lay awake nights, remembering. I de­cided that even if the beautiful girl were not real, the things she had told me were taking on more and more reality.

I remembered she said I would undergo many trials. That I would be unhappy. Partly due to the many mistakes I would make—natural things, due to miseducation; or the pangs incurred in a gaining of edu­cation.

The experience with the golden haired naiad of the forest had a pro­found and lasting effect on my life.

Throughout my life the things I had learned in the forest were to lead to conflict with the conventional ideas of the world.

It began with a difficult time in school. A great deal of the informa­tion my teachers tried to convey to me was, I knew, untrue.

The girl on the rock had told me of life and people on the other planets; yet in school we were taught that the planets in our solar sys­tem were lifeless worlds, either too hot or too cold, or covered by poisonous gases. Nevertheless I soon learned it was often better to put down the accepted answers even though I knew they were wrong. One had to live with other people and their ideas.

But sometimes I rebelled, and as a result many of my classmates and teachers grew to think I was odd.

My intellectual rebellion had a bad effect on my school grades.

I remember that once we were assigned to write a theme for an Eng­lish class, and I chose the subject, "The Evolution and Evolvement of Man," in which I developed how man had ascended from the very life cell (which in itself possesses a consciousness and a portion of the Infinite Creator), to the time when he first stood erect on two legs. My teacher marked an "F" on my paper because my views conflicted with his religious ideas. As in other classes, I noticed I was becoming un­popular.

So I became quiet and retiring, keeping my ideas to myself.

I finished four years of high school despite my frustration of being unable to express what I knew to be true.

Shortly after leaving high school in 1941 I worked at an arsenal in north Jersey for more than a year. Then I entered the army.

This was 1942.

They sent me to a tank outfit in the southwest.

For a while the harsh new environs of Army life took my mind from the many things which had occupied it while growing up. We were on maneuvers from Texas to Louisiana for 18 months. After arriving there, somehow the girl on the rock and the ideas she had expressed, particularly of the brotherhood of man, grew to be like a dream, as the terrible realities of war pushed her from my thoughts.

But, then, in one of the most desolate places I have ever been, a firing range outside El Paso, another strange thing happened that once again brought my earlier experiences into vivid focus.

We were camped in the desert, not far from the Rio Grande River. The naked, stark sterility of the immense scene nevertheless had a kind of rather odd beauty about it. It was a lonely and silent place. We could hear coyotes barking in the distant hills, which, though in contrast to the immense tranquility of the region, they seemed only to add to the great silence by providing a contrast to it.

During many of those nights I had a feeling I did not dare describe to my buddies—a feeling that we were not alone. That we were being observed . . . though by watchers who protected us.

One night I again saw what I now know to be an observation of discs in the sky, and thereafter I saw more of them, both during the days and nights.

The results of past experience restrained my exhuberance, and im­patience to point out the discs to my buddies. Whether or not they saw them I do not know; if they did, no doubt they mistook them for our own high flying aircraft.

One night a couple of my buddies insisted that I go with them into the nearby town of Juarez. Though I did not appreciate the loud, garish entertainment offered by such towns, I agreed, hoping it would break the monotony of camp life.

When we got into town I had no difficulty breaking away from my friends, for they knew I was not interested in the kind of entertainment it offered us. I wandered off by myself to look for some souvenirs to send home.

As I walked down a street toward a curio shop I had spotted, a taxi pulled over to the curb and the driver addressed me in Spanish.

I replied in perhaps the worst Spanish on earth that I did not speak the language and his look showed me he hastily agreed. Then he said something else and pointed at a man in the back seat.

I am afraid the novelty of the occasion quite nonplused me. Much to my later chagrin I remember the first thing that struck my mind were some of the stories related in the bull sessions back at camp.

The man had long blond hair which hung over his shoulders. His skin appeared suntanned. The first quick observation showed that he was taller and heavier than the average Mexican.

He spoke to me in English quite pleasantly, though I remember he had a slight Mexican accent.

"I have something to tell you. Would you get in the cab?" he asked, but I demurred, making the excuse I had to find my buddies and go back to camp; and at the same time I walked on. As I turned he smiled and merely said, "All right," again quite pleasantly.

When I told the others about it, there were many guffaws; and for several days I was the butt of much good-natured ribbing.

But upon reflection I wondered if I could have made a mistake. I re­membered the discs, and again many of the things the girl had told me.

Could this have been some of "our people" who she had promised would seek me out:

". . . They will always be around . . . watching out for you . . . guiding you."

But I never saw the man again.

Maneuvers moved us from place to place and finally we arrived at Camp Cook, in California, where a lot of scuttlebut had it we were being readied for shipping out. I wangled a leave of absence and went to Abilene, Texas, to see my first born—my son, Robert. My wife and baby were staying there with relatives, and we had a happy reunion.

A few days after I returned, another happening in the chain of events, which would finally change my life completely, occurred. As I was walking on the camp grounds I heard someone call my name.

I looked around, but saw no one familiar. I thought I must be mis­taken.

As I continued walking, a man in khaki uniform approached me from the opposite direction, and I again heard my name called out.

It seemed to be coming from his direction, though I could not figure why because I did not know the man.

He was of average height, and apparently muscular and well built.

All the while I was puzzling over what he wanted with me and the peculiarity of the voice—not so much the voice as of my confusion about where it was coming from. It seemed to be coming from his di­rection, yet it was not audible. Later I was to learn the sound was not audible but a projected mental sound which I only thought I heard.

A stab of memory quickened my mental processes as I realized this was telepathic communication, for I had heard the sound not with my ears but with my mind.

I stopped in my tracks. Was this the kind of man the girl had spoken of—someone from another planet? This sudden realization that such a thing was possible stunned me for a moment and for a brief second or two I was even afraid—though it was an occasion I had long hoped for and longingly expected.

Then he greeted me, speaking audibly, pronouncing my name and extending his hand. I stood there staring at him with, I am embarrassingly afraid, a very blank look on my face. Slowly I raised my hand and took his.

I suspect the first space man I met did not gain an impression that earth people had firm handclasps, because mine was very weak.





Then he smiled, put a gentle pressure on my hand, and I suddenly felt warmth glowingly permeate my entire body.

Then I returned the handshake, grasping the handclasp with my other hand as I again realized some of the same feelings I had experi­enced long ago on the rock in the woods.

As that scene came flashing across my mind again in what seemed a whirl of stimuli, he picked up my thoughts.

"Yes, Howard, I know of the contact you had with one of our peo­ple when you were very young, and you will see her again in the fu­ture. . . ."

I looked up with what must have been an obvious appearance of joy and met his eyes. He smiled knowingly.

He was a fine looking man. Although there was something definitely unusual about him, he could have passed—and did—for an ordinary G.I. The singularity of the man probably was not because of the finely chiseled features and the luminous, almost liquid quality of his eyes, but in the communication I felt. I could sense that the man was kind, wise, emotionally and spiritually developed beyond anyone I had ever met.

Although a kind of reserve he wore as if a part of him set him apart from an ordinary person, I somehow accepted with no surprise the emergence of an underplayed, yet natural sense of humor.

"I know about your Juarez contact," he said; and it was confirmed that the man in the taxi had been one of the space people.

He chuckled.

"We told him he should cut his hair. I have, you know. It's difficult even for us to keep up with you folk and learn just how you think."

I apologized for goofing up the contact, but he waved away my remonstration. He realized that army regulations encouraged caution in such areas, and that Juarez was not the best place in the world for an interplanetary meeting.

Then I stood open-mouthed in amazement as he related, in a matter-of-fact manner, things I had never dreamed could happen.

Many Mexican people knew about what I termed "flying saucers" and had been contacting the occupants of the craft.

"Long before the time of the Conquistadores," he added, "we made contact with the Aztecs. We helped these people in many ways, and it is too bad the conquerors came in war instead of good will and friend­ship; for there were many things the Aztecs could have taught them. Instead they witheld these secrets, and these perished with the civiliza­tion."

Some of the secrets had to do with the use of sound and light to pro­duce power and run machinery, though my new friend didn't elucidate. He remarked that gold discs which were sent back to the Queen of Spain contained such secrets, but the Spaniards were interested only in melting down the gold. I gathered from his conversation that the discs were some sort of sonic instruments used for levitations when turned to the frequencies of individuals using them.

Other civilizations received the use of marvelous instruments, and these were used for peaceful purposes. But as in the case of the Aztecs, the secrets were destroyed or forgotten when warlike races invaded.

"Thus it happens, over and over again, Howard. You'd think we'd give up—we won't."

The man in Juarez was a visitor from a planet (he did not say what planet) who came to contact remnants of his own people still living on earth—descendants of an ancient race which originally came here from his own planet.

The surprises kept coming. He suddenly told me that my outfit would be leaving for Hawaii soon, and that I would be put on detached service with special duties which would give me more free time for certain tasks I was to perform. He said I would have a contact in Hawaii and would be given further instructions.

Another person in our camp had also been contacted, he said. I asked him who.

"An Army officer," he replied, without giving the name. Sensing my curiosity, he added. "It makes no matter; you and he will not meet."

A few weeks later we shipped out to Hawaii.

(3)

Hawaii Contact

The "G.I.'s" predictions proved remarkably accurate.

After being sent to Hawaii, as he had promised, I was taken out of the tank crew and transferred to Battalion Headquarters and made a battalion draftsman; and, as predicted, I did work on detached service with the Navy.

As we had parted I could not help thinking that these people from other planets seemed to know the past, present and future. Again he had sensed my thoughts and smiled, terminating the conversation with another handshake, and walked away.

Most everything he had told me had already come true, except the contact he promised, and this I impatiently awaited, almost breath­lessly.

It was a strange, wonderful feeling, to meet these people. Somehow, as unimportant and weak as I felt in their presence, there was still the knowledge of kinship I couldn't help sensing.

So it was that one early evening after work I did not hesitate to ac­cede to a strong impulse to visit a section of cavern area a few miles away.

I "borrowed" a jeep and took off.

I didn't know exactly where I was going, excepting for the general area. It seemed I was being led.

Near the caverns I stopped, then pulled the jeep off the bumpy, dirt road, and walked through the dense underbrush toward the caves.

I knew I would meet one of the space people. Ordinarily I would have been fearful of being alone in such a wild place. But the thought of the meeting erased all of my natural apprehensions.

Suddenly I halted as I saw a figure ahead of me. Through the under­brush I could see it was a female form.

As I walked closer I discovered she was a beautiful woman with long dark hair and dark eyes.

She was dressed in a sort of flowing outfit of pastel shades. Under a kind of flowing tunic, translucent and pinkish, she wore loosely fitted pajama-type pantaloons.

She stood about 5' 6'', with the dark, wavy hair falling over her shoul­ders and the tunic floating gracefully around the shapely contour of her body. The warm, moist air of the tropical evening seemed to caress her finely molded features.

I stopped in my tracks, staring at her in uncontrolled admiration, until she extended her hand and called out my name.

Although I shall always remember the girl on the rock with a special kind of memory, this girl, too, exuded the same expression of spiritual love and deep understanding. Standing in her presence I was filled with awe and humility, but not without a strong physical attrac­tion one finds impossible to allay when in the presence of these women.

She immediately sensed that part of my feelings and also my embar­rassment at knowing that she sensed them.

"Oh, Howard," she almost chided, "it's only a natural thing, I feel it myself. It flows from you to me as from me to you."

But many other men under similar circumstances would not react in the same gentlemanly manner as I did, she remarked, as I could detect an undercurrent of good-humored jest in her words.

Then she grew more serious.

"That is one of the reasons you were chosen out of many thousands for contact with my people and the enlightenment you will conse­quently receive."

Again she read my thoughts.

"Oh, to be sure, Howard, if you weren't a gentleman, I would have the proper defense. So many people's egos are greater than their hu­mility. But yours isn't."

Again I was taken aback with amazement at the knowledge of these space people.

"I know about the little Portuguese girl and what you did. It was a wonderful thing to do, Howard, and it showed you as the real man that you are."

I am always sensitive to praise, though I deeply enjoy it. I shyly lowered my head and turned a bit red as usual. She referred to the little blond girl on which some of my aggressive buddies tried to force their unruly attentions. I had stepped in, suddenly brave enough to fight a mountain lion, managed to extricate the young woman and had taken her home. Her family had greatly appreciated the gesture and had re­ceived me into their family as an intimate friend.

"In other words, I think you're 'passing,' Howard! Isn't that the way you say it in school?"

I was again overjoyed. I was so afraid that, feeling so powerless and inconsequential in the presence of these people, they would think me as inferior as I myself imagined.

"You have been observed closely, as you now realize. You will be trusted and have further contacts."

She also made predictions. Our outfit would go to Okinawa, would arrive there between April 1, and 5, 1945.

My abhorrence of war she easily picked up telepathically.

"I know how you feel, and it is most admirable. You cannot think of killing a living soul. But yet you cannot understand why you yet help play such a role. You will be contacted on Okinawa, and you will be told much more about this."

I hesitated to ask her if I might be killed, but it was on my mind.

"Oh no, don't worry—but be careful! You will have some narrow escapes."

The average person with whom I talk about these contacts does not realize that the space people, though far superior to us physically, men­tally and in spiritual developments, are still much like us. Often little gasps of amazement come when I tell of intimate conversations, and the warm humor of the visitors. They would probably stand sancti­moniously before the space people, afraid they might say or think something wrong—until, of course, they received the same feeling of ease I did immediately, even at the first meeting.

At such a meeting one knows innately that one's every thought is bared under powerful telepathic observation. And with such knowledge one suddenly realizes he cannot hide anything, and becomes completely honest, both with himself and the visitors. It is a refreshing, cleansing feeling, which carries over into everyday dealings with one's fellow men.

The conversation with the beautiful girl was so fascinating I hoped I hadn't annoyed her with too many questions. I learned, for one thing, she was from Mars. As to meeting her again, she wouldn't state firmly; instead she explained we might meet again, and I would have to know by my inner feelings whether it was really she.

Suddenly I realized the sun had set, and as I looked toward the horizon, still bright with a hundred shades of red, then back at her, she smiled, and extended her hand.

We said goodbye and I walked back to the jeep. It was dark by the time I arrived back at camp.

(4)

A Narrow Escape

True to the girl's prediction, we landed on Okinawa the first week of April, 1945, and into a reign of horror she had charitably spared my anticipating.

It is an undescribable feeling to board an LST and head for an enemy shore. As our small boat neared the beach, I steeled every nerve in my body, not knowing when the fury of enemy resistance would be unleashed.

At that climactic moment the briefing we had just received on board ship held little comfort—but we hoped they were right! Our aircraft had given the island a saturation bombing of such thoroughness and in­tensity our officers believed that all organized surface resistance had been smashed. And even as we neared the beach our naval vessels riddled the island with concentrated shell fire.

I had the feeling our landing had been too quiet. And I was right. The Japanese were still there—in force. They were really "dug in," hiding in caverns and concealing themselves in outlying areas.

If I had ever thought of war with a connecting glamour, that idea was soon gone. War on Okinawa was a grim, horrible thing, without a vestige of glamour, parading and glow some people may associate with it. This was guerilla warfare, without any actual front, with hand-to-hand fighting.

The Japanese had not lost their power to retaliate. One evening after a rather quiet day, our bombing and strafing planes were returning to the airstrip when a Navy Hellcat, the last plane in, flew in low, without attempting to land. Suddenly it opened fire on us. We hit the ground and took whatever cover we could find as it sprayed the area with machine-gun fire.

We were surprised and aghast. Had one of our own pilots gone mad? We later discovered a Japanese pilot had somehow gained control of one of our planes and had managed to slip in on us and make the daring attack, which did great damage.

The enemy kept us constantly harrassed by shelling us from a nearby island which they still held. The shelling did little real damage and was done I suspected, mainly as a psychological weapon.

One day as I was patrolling near the air strip one of the shells fell short and hit pretty close to me. I heard it coming and flattened, and thought I had escaped injury.

As I got to my feet I felt something stinging in my right eye. I put my hand to my eye and managed to pick out something with my fingers. It was a piece of shrapnel.

I stumbled to the hospital area and received treatment, but the eye became infected and finally went blind.

I was hospitalized in a large tent near the camp where busy doctors and nurses worked hard and skillfully at all hours; but they could not prevent the infection from spreading to my other eye. I was completely blind.

Something happened in the hospital tent that I have often wondered about. Perhaps I can never be certain.

During the first week there a kind, soft-spoken woman came to my bed, and began talking with me.

When I asked her if she were a nurse, she didn't reply directly, but said she was not really assigned to my section.

"You are one of the persons I have come to see."

I detected a reluctance in her voice to tell me much about herself, and did not press any more questions.

She must have known a lot about me. She called me by name, though I figured she could have obtained that easily from the hospital records or the doctors in charge. She offered to write letters home for me, which I declined, not wishing my family to know I was hospital­ized. *

*) When I returned home I found that my wife had known almost the exact date I lost my sight. She had told her family, "I know what happened to Howard. He's blind!"

She assured me my sight would be restored, and, surely enough, it came back gradually. When I first saw my soft-spoken friend, I noted an attractive woman with wavy brown hair, dark eyes, and fine white teeth. She was dressed in an army nurse's uniform.

Although I suspected she was one of the space people, she never made herself known directly. Near the time of my release she said that I would soon meet a very interesting person. I assumed it would be an­other contact.

I never saw her again after that day on which she said that.

When I returned to camp my buddies suggested that I apply for a purple heart and that by the point system could return home more quickly. I laughed and replied I certainly did not want any medals, and did not want to go home yet. While my buddies kidded me about not wanting to leave the pretty nurses I had met at the hospital, I smiled, knowing that I indeed had some unfinished business, but of a type they could never conceive or dream of.

If my hunch I had about my pretty friend at the hospital was true, there was someone else on the island I had to meet. . . .

Two weeks after my release from the hospital I received an impulse to drive away from the camp, never anticipating what would really oc­cur. Again I "borrowed" a jeep, my heart leaping in anticipation of another meeting I was certain would result.

I drove along a dirt road toward the northern end of the island, pass­ing deserted native villages which had been bombed and shelled almost out of existence. The road led down into a valley where the trees and shrubs were still intact, indicating there had not been much shelling.

I drove off the road through the light shrubbery. Toward the hills I saw evidence of a number of caves. Closer inspection showed some of them had been dynamited to seal in unfortunate Japanese who had "holed up" there.

About 500 feet off the road I stopped and for the first time was per­plexed.

The impulse had left me.

It had been strong at the beginning, but now I was left without fur­ther mental instructions.

At the same moment I was struck with the realization that it was growing dark.

This time, as before, the impulse to drive away from the camp was attended with an unusual kind of bravery. But now I realized the spot I was in.

I would probably lose my way if I tried going back. Then the remain­ing Japanese on the island were bolder after dark. My jeep might be attacked or a sniper might get me.

I decided the best thing to do was to spend the night there.

I unrolled my pack and pitched a tent. Finding a piece of wire nearby, I strung it in a square ten feet away from the tent and about one foot above the ground. One end I attached over the tent, with my mess kit poised directly over my face, so that the slightest pressure on the wire would dislodge the contents of the kit onto my face and awaken me. After setting my crude but effective alarm system, I slipped off into sleep, while instructing myself that I must arise early enough to make my way back to camp before I was missed.

I had not slept long when, with a clang, the mess kit came down in my face. I instinctively grabbed my carbine.

Cautiously I peered out of my tent. It was a misty night, with a few overhanging clouds. I could barely discern a shadowy form moving around outside. Then my eyes became accustomed to the dark and I could see it was a large animal of some kind. I was greatly relieved. I figured it was likely one of the stray domestic animals from one of the deserted villages.

So I reset my alarm and once again fell into a deep sleep.

I must have slept for two hours when, BANG! The mess kit again was in my face.

Just as I reached for the carbine, a bayonet came down through the tent between my left arm and the gun.

In a split second I had full cognizance of my precarious situation. I bolted out of the tent, and there over it was the hugest Japanese I had ever seen. He was so busy harpooning the tent (and what he hoped was me) that he did not see me emerge.

I let him have it in the back of his head with the butt of the carbine, and he crumbled over the tent.

Just then two others came at me with bayonets poised from a few feet away. Never before had I realized my strength and agility. I lurched toward them, grabbed the rifle from the one on my left, and it went off into the air. At almost the same moment I shoved the butt of my carbine into the face of the other one.

It all happened so quickly that I actually collided into the one on the right and fell. As I stumbled, I rolled away from him, picked up his rifle and gave him a crashing blow on the head.

He slumped to the ground with a groan. The other man took a shot at me, but missed me in the dark. I took a running dive at him. I was now unarmed. With a quick, unexpected butt in the belly with my left knee, I managed to get his rifle away from him and then hit him over the head with it. Down he went in a heap like a sack of laundry.

I thought I had killed all three of them, yet during the heat of the skirmish I was overpowered with the feeling that I must not shoot or stab them. I sat down for a moment, breathless at what had happened. I think I cried unashamedly because I feared I had killed three human beings. After I calmed down, I rolled the first Japanese off the tent, got my gear together and left.

I found my way back to camp without incident, and not until then did I realize what a narrow escape I had. It was fortunate that the three Japanese were very large; and I noticed that these larger men were not as quick on their feet as the smaller soldiers. As I was about to credit myself with the remainder of the victory, I suddenly thought of the meetings I had experienced. Then I realized that I probably had a great deal of help, and very capable help indeed!

(5)

A Prediction

Back at camp the very next night I awoke with a start.

A voice called to me. I thought it must be one of my buddies. The voice called out, "Howard," several times.

I looked around. Everyone was asleep.

The voice came again.

"Howard!"

Then I realized it was the same inaudible kind of communication I had received at my second contact.

Again I received a strong impulse to drive to the northern end of the island, and I dressed quickly and silently left the camp.

The impulse again led me to the location I had been the night be­fore. I got out of the jeep and walked toward one of the caves.

Then I saw him, standing near the cavern entrance.

I could make out in the moonlight that he was very tall and well built. I walked toward him. He must have purposefully stood in the light so that I could see that he was Caucasian, dressed in Army khaki and unarmed. Even though the events of the previous night still cau­tioned me, I had no doubt from the first sight of him. I had the same warm, comforting feeling, I had experienced at the previous meetings.

When I was within speaking distance he smiled and said, "Hello, Howard."

I returned the greeting.

"I see you got my message and followed the mental directions all right this time. It's too bad about last night."

"Then you know what happened?" I asked unbelievably.

He nodded.

"I'd rather not talk about it," I told him. The horror of having killed three human beings whose bodies were probably nearby, made me feel uneasy and disturbed.

"Yes, of course I know—and understand," he assured me. "In fact I know more things that you have done and will do than you realize. We know more about your people on Earth than your people know about themselves. That's how I can understand why you don't want to talk about the incident."

He sat on a rock and indicated that I sit by him.

"You see, my brother," he continued, "this experience was neces­sary, as you shall later discover. If you had known of these contacts and the message we bring sooner, you would not have entered the army with the purpose of killing your fellow man.

"Knowing of your reluctance to kill a human being, we thought it best for you to go into the army as a regular G.I., because you would thus be a better contact for us."

Then I began understanding why it had been necessary for me to go to war.

"If you had been aware of the complete futility of killing others in wars you would not have gone into the army and probably would have been imprisoned as a conscientious objector."

I was beginning to see that these people were as realistically practical as they were highly developed spiritually.

"Such a record would not have been good background for the job you are yet to do. People would look upon this background as un­patriotic and would not listen to you."

My friend then told me that contacts are chosen on the basis of what the individual is like deep down inside: what he will do under duress and in extreme emergency; whether he would rather kill or be killed.

"Actually, Howard, there is no death. Only the physical body, or the shell, dies, and even that is not really destroyed. The soul lives on eter­nally, learning by its mistakes, always progressing. The good that is done is accredited to that soul. The mistakes are forgotten."

I asked him his name so that I could address him.

His answer was simple:

"Names are not very important."

The chain of events had been so unusual that I had often wondered if I were only having a dream. I asked him if what I was experiencing was really true.

"Am I losing my mind—or is it really possible that I am contacting people from other planets?

For the first time my friend was amused—but sympathetic.

"Yes, you have been contacted by people from other worlds and you are not losing your mind."

Then with an almost confidential, but humorous tone, he added:

"If you think you're crazy NOW, Howard, wait until you see some of the other things that are going to happen to you!"

He told me my country would win the war.

"Without the aid of the United States, Britain and Russia would have been conquered by the Germans, who are far ahead in technical and scientific skills, and—(he paused)—you are yet to learn many things about their developments.

"They have used this knowledge for destruction rather than for peace in your world. The Japanese will surrender shortly, for they are about to be blasted into submission by a power which will shock the world, both in amazement and in sensibility. It will be a more infamous kind of destruction than occurred at Pearl Harbour—far, far more infamous."

This same power, he explained, would be used partly for peaceful purposes by governments of the world, but mainly for defense. It was the latter use which he said could lead to the destruction of the entire planet.

"Remember that the murdering of one man or mass destruction is one and the same. Evil is not gauged by the magnitude of the crime. The evil intent which goes against our Infinite Father's laws will turn the same laws against your people. However, our Infinite Father does not punish, destroy, or put any discomforts in our way. Man himself creates such, and blames God for his own discomforts. He even asks the Creator to punish others for their wrong doings."

He paused, and I was ready to ask a rather selfish question, consider­ing the magnitude of the instruction I was receiving.

Like the others, he anticipated my question.

"Nevertheless, Howard, the war will be over soon and you will be home by Christmas."

He then told me other men on the island had been contacted, but that none of them knew the others and each kept the secret.

"Be calm and steady yourself, Howard. We have been spending a lot of time in conditioning you and preparing you for your work to come. We are contacting people all over the world."

He said that something very shocking would occur soon which would shake the world from its lethargy and raise it from the shadows of ig­norance into the light of awareness and understanding. But this great event would not come without much misunderstanding, resentment and hatred. Nevertheless, we can learn only through mistakes, he reiterated.

"Man must learn what he is, where he came from, and what his real purpose is here on this planet."

He told me I would be further enlightened as to my true mission, and as I listened I inwardly felt I had begun to know what that purpose was.

"Not everyone comes into the realization of this, but the ones who have been contacted are aware of the true purpose of mankind."

He moved, as if he were rising, then paused.

"I have almost forgotten, Howard, that you are likely very curious about many things, more about us, for instance. You're free to ask, you know. Certain things we cannot reveal to you at this time, but I'll do my best to answer your questions."

Relaxing a bit, I put to him some of the questions I was almost afraid to ask earlier.

He was from the planet Venus, he replied to my most eager question.

"But how do you come here?"

"In a ship. A ship unlike anything you have ever dreamed of. The force will be difficult and probably impossible for you to understand. It is an electromagnetic force, not unlike the force which holds planets, suns, and even entire galaxies in their orbits. This force is a natural law, which has been given to us by our Infinite Creator to be used for good purposes."

"But why have not our own scientists discovered this power."

"Ah but they have. Yet they do not know how to apply it. If they did know the secret they probably would use it for destructive purposes. Until they are ready to utilize it for peaceful ends, our Infinite Creator will prevent their understanding it."

We talked for what seemed to be but a short time. Later I realized it had been more than an hour.

Finally he arose.

"We must end this discussion, and I will say goodbye to you, my friend," he said softly as he extended his hand and smiled.

"Will I see you again?"

"No, I'm afraid I'm done with you—and I'm sorry, because I like you. But you will meet others who will continue this instruction. Your contacts will become more frequent back in the states. We have much work to do on your planet among your people, and we must do it quickly—while there is still a planet and people to work with!

He turned as if to leave, then halted and addressed me once again.

"You will wonder what I meant by that last remark about danger to your planet. Very shortly you will know to what I referred."

I left the area, somewhat confused and disturbed. I could not believe that conditions were so serious on our planet.

A few days later someone pressed a button and fiery hell fell on Hiro­shima. . . .

(6)

Back to the States

We left Okinawa in late October and boarded a ship for Korea. From there, where I stayed a very short time, we shipped out for the States.

I arrived on the west coast about the middle of December, 1945, and wasted no time boarding a train east. My wife and I and our small son enjoyed a wonderful Christmas that year in the homes of our parents. After the holidays I found a house for my small family near Washing­ton, N.J., and we moved there.

Like most other young men, I looked at civilian life almost fearfully. For the first time I faced the responsibility of providing for a family in a changed world.

I considered several jobs, but couldn't decide which to make my livelihood. In this period of readjustment and confusion which was for­tunately short, I don't remember thinking to any degree about my space contacts. Early one morning an idea struck me.

"I'm going into business for myself," I remember telling my wife.

I possessed some skill as a sign painter. So I bought a second-hand truck and some equipment, rented a shop and soon was ready to do business. Although I had fretted with various misgivings about going into business, soon I found a great deal of work, and noted, with grati­fication, that my customers liked the services.

One day I realized I was doing very well, indeed. I had taken care of my debts incurred by going into business, and was putting a little money in the bank.

My life had settled down to a normal pace and we were content.

For the first time I found myself having time to think about the strange experiences I had encountered overseas, and again remembered that first wonderful meeting during childhood.

It was in June, 1946, when I again received a very strong impulse to return to the enchanted area of my boyhood. I drove to my parents' home in High Bridge, got out of the truck, and headed for the wooded area remembered so well.

As I walked, I began wondering about my experiences and caught myself doubting that the events actually had occurred. Somehow, the war, and the unfamiliar places I had been, now seemed unreal—as if it had been a movie I had attended the night before and then found my­self back in the world of reality.

For a moment I even wished it were so. I had a good business, a family, and for the first time in my life was content. The memories of the girl on the rock and the other wonderful people were like fasci­nating dreams—but with them a feeling of responsibility, and a certain knowledge that to fulfill whatever destiny they had mapped out would entail an upsetting of this happy, easy life.

I paused and looked around me. These woods and fields were real —like they had always been. They were more real—that was the tragedy. The enchantment of my boyhood was no longer here. Now I lived in a world of men, a world of hum-drum average men. I found myself liking it; too much.

I kicked at a rock and watched a small beetle scurry from the de­pression where it had been. I watched it for a second, then turned. I had decided to go home.

Then I jumped a foot off the ground and let out an exclamation. There was a tremendous flash of light and the sense of heat on the back of my neck. I turned. Above the vast western section of the field a huge fireball moved at tremendous speed.

It looked like a huge spinning sun, shining, pulsating and changing colors. It hovered over the field, as I stood watching it, seemingly trans­fixed.

The pulsating color changes diminished and the fireball turned into a metallic-looking craft, surrounded by portholes.

It descended slowly to the ground. When it was almost on the ground I could make out the form clearly. It appeared to be bell-shaped, and reflected the sunlight like a mirror.

I realized this was not a machine built by anyone in this world.

I didn't know whether to run back to the truck and get my small camera, drop flat on the ground, or get out of there entirely. Suddenly encountering such a thing after my quiet life back at home was frighten­ing.

Then I remembered my wonderful friends and knew that some of them must be inside the machine. So I waited and watched, still unable to move, completely fascinated.

Soon an opening appeared on a flange around the bottom of the craft. It is difficult to describe the opening, because it wasn't there one mo­ment and the next moment it was. The best I can describe it is to com­pare it to the opening of an iris in a camera lens.

Two men stepped out.

They were dressed alike, in blue-gray ski-type uniforms. They wore no hats as long blond hair moved with the breeze. I could see they were fair-skinned, and of average height. As I had admired others who had contacted me, I noted they were physically handsome, with broad shoulders, perfect proportions.

Then something removed my attention completely from the two men.

Through the large opening in the craft stepped a beautiful woman. She had long blond hair and was dressed in a similar outfit, which fitted loosely over what was a shapely body. The material was semi-translu­cent, of a soft pastel color which seemed to glow.

She looked at me and began walking toward me.

My heart began palpitating as a shock of remembrance stabbed at me.

"Could it be? No, is it possible!" I thought.

And yet, as she approached, she appeared to be the same woman I had met 14 years ago. Now a man, I could really begin to appreciate her beauty.

She smiled, and seemed to know what I was thinking.

But I couldn't put the amazement out of my mind. This lovely crea­ture had not changed at all in appearance during those 14 years. She still looked only about 25.

She approached me, extending her hand. As I took it, a feeling of relaxation and well-being consumed me and, for the first time since seeing the fireball, I could move.

"Are you actually the girl—the girl on the rock?" I asked.

"Yes I am. The same girl, Howard."

"But you're no older—" "Oh but I am. Guess, Howard, how old I really am."

I just stood there looking at her.

"I'm more than 500 years old. Now you can refute anyone who says a woman tells little falsehoods about her age!"

"But you haven't changed—"

"Of course not."

Then she looked at me, at my entire body, and my face burned. It was something like a visiting relative looking over a small boy to see how much he had grown.

I knew she was gently teasing me as she winked and added, "Oh, but YOU have changed!"

She said that in past ages man had lived a life span of hundreds of years on this very planet, when the atmosphere was similar to the one which now exists on Venus. It was not only the atmosphere of Venus, she hastened to add, but the way her people lived, thought and ate, which was responsible for such longevity.

"When we live according to the laws of our Creator we are blessed by the gift of longevity. But this is not the greatest one. It is only a by­product of our blessings."

As she talked she looked up at me, and I suddenly discovered I was taller than she. I was now 25, and we appeared to be the same age.

"When you get over your wonderment," she said happily, perhaps I can surprise you again. Although you haven't realized it, you have been under constant observation from the moment we parted years ago."

I turned red again, and hung my head.

She laughed.

"No, you haven't always been a good boy. There have been times when . . ." and she made as if she were going to take a whack at me where people usually sit down. I flinched and recovered my composure. Then I laughed with her.

She realized, she said, how my mind and interests had deviated from spiritual teachings they had given to me.

"You have been wrapped up in your business. You have a family— and I can't blame you too much for throwing all your energy into your work. You have also made a great many mistakes in your personal life. But we expect that; no one is perfect. We're not either."

Again, I felt very small. If this wise and lovely creature was not perfect, then what was I.

"We do not condemn anyone for ignorance in such matters. The environment in which you live on this planet forces you to comply with certain social and ethical performances. Man's laws are often good, Howard; but at best they are only misinterpretations of the uni­versal laws."

I asked her what was in store for me in the future.

"It is best that one does not know too much of the future, for it would rob him of the proper impetus to progress and to make decisions. We must learn from mistakes of our past lives.

I wondered what she meant by "past lives."

She picked up my thoughts.

"People live in fear of death, when in truth there is no death. It is only a change from one condition to another."

But she said nothing more about "past lives," and I supposed it was a matter not yet ready for discussion.

"I have good news for you—because I think you like meeting us. You will have many more contacts which will further instruct and condition you. Each contact will be a step in this development. For instance, one contact will deal with "diet"; others will deal with marital problems in a social sense; you will learn a great deal about technology and our science from certain of our people."

She laughed again.

"Yes, you will be busy."

I would also be taught how to develop and use my own mental powers, which she said were present, but lying dormant. I would be able to direct other people through mental contact and assistance.

"You will meet certain individuals of this planet who will come to you at our direction and help you. You will form groups and teach people. Some of these whom you will teach will themselves become teachers and assist you in your mission. One person we will send to you will assist you in forming a body of 12 men to work in conjunction with us, by using the combined thought power of the men in bringing about universal laws and wisdom in the various groups in which they will teach.

"Some of the people in these groups will have contacts in the future, depending upon whom can be trusted and who will be worthy of the responsibilities entailed."

Then she gave me a specific direction:

"Howard, your story must not come out until late summer of 1957.

Then you must make the story known through all channels of com­munication, even through some new channels that you would not understand at this time."

She could detect I was thrilled at the prospect of being widely known, and quickly deflated my ego.

"This, Howard, in the way your people speak, will be 'no fun.' Many will believe you and listen to what you say. Even more will resent you and heap ridicule upon you. Not just 'people', but even your own family and close friends, Howard. That will hurt most."

I began thinking. This might not be so pleasant after all!

"You can 'pull out'—now or even later. Are you willing to go on?"

I didn't hesitate for an instant. "Yes," I said.

She leaned forward and kissed me gently on the cheek.

(7)

Field Location No. 2

She turned quickly, walked to the ship and stepped into it. The two men followed her. The opening closed and the craft rose vertically. When it was three to four hundred feet above the ground, it disap­peared in a westerly direction with a flash of light.

Although it took a few weeks for me to get over the thrill of the new meeting and my mind was not always on my work, I found my sign advertising business growing even more rapidly.

There had been a change in me. Although I always tried to do the best kind of work I knew how to do, I now found myself trying to give my customers a little more for their money, and going out of my way to help them. More and more people heard about my shop and came to have work done. My business continued to prosper.

In the fall of 1947, a young man, neatly dressed in fall clothing, entered the shop.

Though he said he was a real estate man, there was something odd about him. And he didn't act like other extroverted, back-slapping real estate men I knew. He talked for a while about some small matter, possibly the weather, while I could detect he was deciding just how to approach me on some other subject. Finally he told me he was thinking of putting up some "For Sale" signs near a place called Pleas­ant Grove, about eight miles from the shop, and would like some advice.

It is always pleasant for a man to be asked for advice; besides he was pleasant, spoke softly and called me by my first name from the beginning; so I agreed to go with him.

He did not introduce me to a young lady waiting in the car.

"It's a lovely piece of ground," the young lady volunteered.

"Yes," the man said, "but we feel we are asking too large a price for it . . . in today's market."

The young lady smiled to herself, as if she were enjoying some private joke. I made some small talk about local sales of property.

Halfway there, the conversation fell off and there was silence. Very abruptly the man changed the subject.

"Howard, we know you are keeping your contacts with our Brothers a secret as you have been instructed."

I didn't know if I should feign surprise or not, since I had detected something unusual from the beginning and my suspicions had steadily grown.

"Oh, you ARE. . . ." and I chuckled.

He simply came out with a wide grin, and drove a few hundred yards without speaking further.

"You see, Howard, I have been taught much of real estate, but little of acting."

I could see his message was to be serious, so I simply smiled again and grew pensive.

"We know how it is to hold all this inside you. It is frustrating, for we know how much you have wanted to reveal to everyone what we have told you. You're that kind of person. You would like others to share your joy, your inspiration and enlightenment. That's one reason we selected you."

I felt humble as he spoke to me, softly, directly, always in a very positive manner.

"No, I'm afraid we won't be painting any signs where we're going today. We're going to show you a new contact point. We'll call it . . . say, 'Field Location No. 2.' It is a farm area, quite secluded—a really good place for us to land where no one can be harmed by the electro­magnetic force which emanates from our craft."

That was the first time I had heard anything about danger associated with the ships. He sensed the apprehension in my thoughts, and ex­plained. himmels-engel.de

"Even a small craft, the type we use for observation and reconnais­sance will nullify or make neutral anything electrical, such as the electrical system of an automobile, radios, television and the like."

I relaxed, for I had supposed he meant that the forces might hurt people even from a distance. Then I could see his reasoning. Someone traveling near to a landed space craft and finding their motor dead, might become afraid. Especially if at the same time radio and tele­vision sets in one area should stop operating. I wondered what would happen if a human touched or got close to one of the machines.

Again he answered my thoughts.

"Howard, we use many kinds of energy which is available to our Infinite Father's children. These powers are all around us in this vast universe. One type of power we use in our small observation craft would kill a man instantly, or over a longer period of time—depending on how high the power was stepped up from the main control switch at the pilot's instrument panel. You'll not understand much of this now, but will remember it later after you are further instructed. The cause of this danger is an electromagnetic flux, or field, revolving around the craft, and the rate of speed of this flux is the determining factor in the amount of damage done.

"Your body is made up of an infinite number of little solar systems, just like your own solar system, each having its own field or gravictic force around it, with particles revolving in their respective orbits, as the planets do. All of these components—and that's a better term than 'particle'—are held in their orbits by this gravictic force, in a re­lationship of almost perfect equilibrium.

"Think again of your solar system. Can you imagine what would happen to your earth if one of your closest neighbors, say Mars or Venus, or even the Moon, which you call a satellite, were removed from its place in orbit?"

I thought for a moment and, still confused by his talk, was shocked by an imaginary vision of suns and planets spinning around, striking each other, and worlds coming to a horrible end.

"Do you mean to imply that if I touched a space craft when the power is stepped up high enough, it would upset the balance of millions of atoms which make up millions of molecules which in turn make up the cells, organs and so on that make up the human body?"

"I'm afraid your vision of a human body flying apart in all directions is a bit overdrawn," he replied, "but you have the basic idea. The dam­age this would do to human tissue also might lead to certain diseases which are becoming more prominent on your planet—and a slower death might result, such as cancer of the blood, a malfunction of the liver or some other organ."

The talk was becoming even more interesting to me, and both my companions noticed my enthusiasm and smiled. I immediately enjoyed a wonderful thought that if a body could be destroyed by a power upsetting its natural field of balance, why couldn't it be created by the same great force? Why couldn't a vital organ be cured of a disease once the balance of the millions of atoms and molecular structures of which it is made were set back into natural orbits.

Again he read my thoughts and said, "Howard, we have been curing people with this type of power for centuries. We do not have doctors as you would think of them. Your doctors attempt to cure ailments from the outside: with injections, harmful rays, surgery and other meth­ods. On my planet sickness is a rare occurrence: but when a body does show symptoms of some ailment, this same body realizes that it has been negligent in living one of our Infinite Father's natural laws.

"Improper eating habits, for example.

"When the proper food, grown in perfectly balanced, natural soil, is consumed, it produces healthy blood. The blood is the carrier of nutriment to every part of the body. When the blood is perfect, the body will function perfectly."

"Well, what happens if someone on your planet breaks an arm or leg? What if someone is severely hurt by some unavoidable accident?"

"We are almost there," he said, with the same tactful way of avoiding a subject I was not yet ready to hear about that I noticed in the others I had met.

We rounded a bend.

"Well here we are, Howard: 'Field Location No. 2'."

It seemed strange to me that it had taken so much time to cover the short distance to the place at which we now found ourselves. It had taken at least twenty minutes. I intended to remark about this, but he interrupted my thoughts.

"We did not really intend to make you think we were in the real estate business. People were listening in the apartment above your shop, and as we had pulled up to the curb outside, people were watch­ing us. That is one reason we did not give you our names."

I had often wondered why these people hesitated to give me their names.

"There is nothing mysterious about our hesitance about names. We really don't have any, that is, as you would think of names. I know it puts you at a disadvantage, though, so why don't you call me. . . .

(and he thought for a moment) .... 'L------'— that's a nice name, now isn't it?"

"And what shall my name be?" mused his beautiful companion. They laughed and I could detect that they were finding the process of selecting names for themselves diverting.

"I know, T------,' " she said as both she and "L...." extended hands as if in an introduction.

"Very glad to meet you, Howard," "L------" jested.

I shook hands with these wonderful people while an unexplainable and delightful feeling permeated my entire being.

As we walked into the field I perceived it was similar to the place near my parents' home where the first landing had occurred, though more secluded than the former. Evidently it had been "Field Location No. 1."

He turned to me.

"I hope you will be able to remember this location. I realize there are many curves in the route and some confusing turn-offs from the main road similar to this one. But if you will take notice of that tree near the entrance, you will see it is a good landmark."

The tree he indicated was not a large one—about 20 feet high with a trunk about 12 inches thick at the base. But it was the tallest tree in a hedgerow and I was certain I could remember it.

"You will receive a telephone call advising you of the time and place of your next contact. Mental contact can sometimes be confusing, as you well know from your unhappy experience on Okinawa."

So he knew about that, also!

"We'll go back the way we came, Howard, and you can fix the route better in your memory."

We got into the car, and it seemed that in no time we were back at the shop. Again he answered my thoughts.

"We are in a hurry. After we leave you we have many miles to travel —deep into the heart of the state of Pennsylvania."

"L------" did not state their business in Pennsylvania, nor did I ask. I was more interested in learning more about the propulsion of their space craft, and their methods of curing diseases. These were answers many people would like to know.

Yet, even though I should learn all of this, the information must be kept secret until the summer of 1957. I still had a 10-year period of silence ahead of me. A further period of instruction, no doubt, which would involve more contacts, no telling where or when.

One thing uppermost in my mind was a possible contact where clear, authenticated pictures might be taken, maybe even movies. I won­dered if they would permit me.

The car pulled out and I stood watching it leave. About a hundred yards away they hit a "chuck-hole" many strangers failed to avoid, and "L------" looked back at me and waved, at the same time smiling somewhat sheepishly.

(8)

The Exploding Disc

The days following the brief meeting with the two inspiring people left me in a physical and mental state which is difficult to explain. I just couldn't get my mind on my work.

My wife noticed a difference in my manner. I would become irritable and moody; at other times I lost myself in deep thought, holding my­self almost incommunicado with the world.

It must have been very difficult to live with me some of the time. My mood also affected the business. I got so far behind with my work we suffered financially. Finally I found it necessary to take out a small loan in order to get back on our feet again.

Then as suddenly as I had entered them, I snapped out of my strange doldrums, the business progressed rapidly and all was smooth and calm again. Rose was a loving and devoted wife, and I considered myself fortunate in this earthly venture toward success in business and our marriage.

Our son, Robert, was a great inspiration. His intelligence and physi­cal growth was above average for his age. People were amazed at this precocious child who could walk and utter a few clear words at the age of six months.

One day he astounded a small audience when, at the age of three, he sang "Old Man River" in its entirety. We were proud and happy parents, and once again I was a sojourner in this world.

Family life and the sign business went along smoothly for about two years. We had saved a few dollars and bought a small home of our own, one block from the main street in the town of Washington, N.J., with the help of a G.I. loan and the local bank.

We redecorated the house and changed a small garage into a sign shop. We were located in what we thought was a pleasant and peaceful section of town—an interracial, though predominantly colored neigh­borhood. My wife and I had no resentments nor prejudices toward the Negro race; if we had, we would never have moved there. After living in the neighborhood a few months we discovered that a few of the colored families resented our presence. I learned that other colored families wanted to buy the house we owned, but hadn't been able to manage the down payment. I also learned that the people who sold the house to us were practically forced to abandon it because of neigh­bors' intolerant attitudes.

They made it so miserable and uncomfortable for them they took a large loss on the property, but still were happy to move.

We realized that as a minority family we would be subjected to the same intolerance, but we still tried to avoid forming any resentment toward our neighbors. We believed that all races and creeds could live together in peace and harmony. In spite of our own attitudes of toler­ance and good will, the situation worsened.

Whenever I left the house on business to see a potential customer, my family suffered all kinds of abuse and indignities. One time I came home early and found Robert, then six years old, surrounded by about 15 children, most of them over 10. They were pummeling him with rocks, some of which struck him on the head. They were circling him with rough-hewn spears and keeping in time to a jungle-like chant ac­companied by a home-made drum.

Of course I saw "red" when confronted with such ignorance, re­gardless of the color, race or creed involved. If it had been childish rough-house, I could have forgiven it, but I had spoken to the parents of the children time and again, asking them to make their children halt such unmannerly treatment of my own young children—but it was to no avail. We couldn't let our children walk to school alone, fearing they would come home beaten and battered. We learned that the school was also having its share of difficulties with the same unruly children. My wife found it unsafe to be seen outside the house in our own back yard. She would be insulted, abused, and many times she had to retreat back into the house under fire of rocks. Their plan was working, as it had with the previous occupants, and we made up our minds to sell at a loss, also, and make a search for a more peaceful community which would be more conducive to a successful sign business and a happy home life.

There are many reasons why I have decided to make this particular incident known to the many wonderful people who will read this part of my life, which was not a pleasant part of it. One reason is that from the very beginning of history anyone, or any group or nation, who has attempted a sincere move toward living in a peaceful coexistence with others has failed because one side or the other has reached a point where jealousy, greed, resentment, or misunderstanding has come be­tween their difference of color, race or creed. This has usually ended in hatred. Sometimes it has resulted in physical as well as mental pain— in torture, murder—and then we must have our wars, whereby we at­tempt to solve the unaccepted differences with force.

What happens in a small neighborhood, in towns, cities, states or na­tions is summed up by the same ugly nine-letter word: IGNORANCE!

The feelings toward us in our neighborhood were not all bad. One wonderful fellow, also in business for himself, expressed himself to me in almost these same words. He still lives near there. He is colored. But isn't it a shame that we should identify a man by his color, rather than his deeds? I believe a man is entitled to freedom and peace of mind, re­gardless of his color or religion.

All of us have a spark of the Infinite Creator within us, and certainly this spark is of no different color in different individuals. The soul is beautiful under the skin, regardless of its physical shell in which it is expressing through natural law. There are stages of evolvement, but one is not any "better" than another.

Our children who are growing up in this world of ignorance won't change the world into a better one of understanding and love, unless we, the parents, along with the schools, colleges and churches, teach them—not with words but with deeds.

In our churches we teach our children to be good else God will punish them. This, in my understanding, is a degree of ignorance. GOD DOES NOT PUNISH ANYONE. Anything which happens to us we bring upon ourselves. God is all men, all things, and is present every­where, in an Infinite Universe. Man is but an infinitesimal, physical, limited expression in this three dimensional world. Man is an insig­nificant frog in a barrel, who has no concept of the beautiful lake on the outside of his little world.

But I must get back to the chain of events which culminated in even stranger sights and more amazing revelations to me.

In the spring of 1950 we visited my brother-in-law, who told me of an interesting experience shared by his wife while they were driving in the country a few weeks before.

They were driving slowly through Pleasant Grove, off Rt. 24, a few miles from their home, when a blinding, orange flash attracted their attention. They slowed down and watched the fiery ball explode in mid-air over a field to their left. The entire field below was lighted up by the explosion and appeared to be on fire. Becoming frightened, they drove away as quickly as possible.

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