CONTEXT of the first kind - CLOSE ENCOUNTERS of the third kind

July 27, 2023

CONTEXT of the first kind - CLOSE ENCOUNTERS of the third kind - and an EPIPHANY of the smartest kind.

PART TWO

“Sometimes it is the people no one can imagine anything of who do the things no one can imagine.”

― Alan Turing - father of the modern computer.

Before we go further down that road to Unraveling Roswell, some context.

First off - I'm not a UFOologist, if that even is a thing. I'm not a true believer. I've spent more time debunking UFO claims than supporting them and later I will reveal why.

Furthermore I never served in the military, I hold no secret clearances, never signed a non-disclosure agreement and I speak without any authority other than my own. I am neither a dis-informationist or part of any government conspiracy, although some have claimed I am.

I'm well aware (if the powers that be) take notice of what I write here and that if by some small chance it causes anyone to question the popular narrative of the Roswell UFO crash incident, then this blog will have served its purpose.

As such, I'm aware that I and it will then become subject to much scrutiny and (including) the standard operational security procedures put in place by those who keep the secret of secrets of Roswell. Those procedures are, Deny, Disprove and Discredit.

That said, let it be known as a journalist I'm also well aware of the consequences of revealing my sources and will refuse to do so.

I guess that makes me somewhat a wildcard or as one of my idols aerospace engineer John Hoboult would put it best. "As somewhat a voice in the wilderness..."

John Hoboult would go on to be the one who figured out the best way to put man on the moon. I'm no John Hoboult, but I do share his logical and unique way of looking at a problem and solving it.

For those reasons that makes me a nobody, a nothing special who can offer no proof of what I post and yet (when all is said and done) I'm sure you'll look at it and you'll think, that makes perfectly logical sense.

My day job, is as chief video-journalist for a television station in Texas, which requires me to get the story, interview people involved in the story, assemble the story and report the truth without exaggeration or bias.

Still, you (the reader) don't know me from Adam and whether you believe what I write or not is entirely up to you. I encourage you to do your own research, be skeptical, ask questions, educate yourself and take nothing here at face value.

That said, ask yourself one question: How do you know anything at all?

The answers is the things you know to be true are based on three things:

1: What you have learned through observation.

2: What you have learned through experience.

3: What someone else has told you.

You then decide what you want to believe to be your truth.

You believe in gravity because you feel it pulling you down, and you see it when you drop anything. You depend on it to be a constant whenever you lie anything down. You've observed that to be true.

You've read or were taught in school that the Earth is a planet floating in a solar system in a universe in space among billions of universes. Very, very few of us have been off the planet and have witnessed that as fact, but we take their word for it.

We've also been told that so far we are the only intelligent beings known to exist. Yes, there are theories, speculations, videos, fuzzy photos and stories of others who claim they've seen craft not of this world but so far, not one has not landed on the White House lawn on national TV, popped the hatch and a little grey alien has come out saying, "Take me to your leader."

And yet on the date in history 7/26/2023 special hearings are being held in U.S. Congress (and televised internationally) seriously exploring the claims by military pilots and Pentagon insiders that the U.S. is in the possession of extraterrestrial technology and "non-human biologics."

That's something I never thought I'd see.

Could disclosure be far behind?

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In the previous post I wrote about my first sighting of what then was called an Unidentified Flying Object (UFO) and now renamed Unknown Anomalous Phenomena aka UAPs.

Soon after the sighting it was relegated to the unsaid family history bin as just one of those things and something we just didn't talk about especially in front of my father.

As a scientist of sorts (a geologist) to him UFO's were just pop-culture hokum and crazy talk. From his standpoint, talking about them did not foster intelligent thought nor were they worthy of discussion. They were non-science, or more to the point nonsense. UFO became a dirty word in our household, one covered in the stink of lunacy.

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I went on with my life as a boy, having a relatively normal upbringing. I was creative like my mother, loved to draw and paint. I loved animals, catching frogs and turtles and releasing them. I was a daydreamer and my teachers told my parents I spent too much time in class staring out the window.

School was boring and restrictive. I would much rather spend my time outdoors, lying on the green grass staring up into the skies which was a favorite pastime of mine. The UFO encounter in Ohio faded into my consciousness but I realize now it was always in the background.

My interests naturally gravitated to all things aerospace. I grew up during the space race and whenever they aired a space launch on television I was there taking in every word. Every time I heard a plane fly over I'd run out in the yard to see it. I devoured books on the subjects of rocketry, aircraft and space.

In the third grade I won a art contest with a detailed drawing of the Mercury capsule. The prize, a field trip trip to Columbus, Ohio where I got to shake the hand of a real astronaut, John Glenn, the first American to orbit the earth three times. He wouldn't be the only astronaut I would meet, just the first.

I remember my mother buying a complete set of World Book Encyclopedias and at first my father was angry, thinking she had been hoodwinked by a sick-talking door-to-door salesman but after they started arriving (one book a month) and he saw how much I loved reading them he changed his mind.

He considered himself a scientist and as a result, science and knowledge were good things plus he'd rather me reading the encyclopedia than Mad Magazine or comic books, which if ever he found he threw in the trash.

Still, even though I may not have read my school books I did enjoy reading the encyclopedia. It's also a because of those encyclopedias my schoolwork improved considerably. My least favorite classes became my favorite classes, in particular, science, history and English.

I discovered I also liked to write.

When I was thirteen I once wrote a 12 page essay on the meaning of the ending of Stanley Kubrick;s 2001 A Space Odyssey. My teacher accused me of either copying it or one of my older siblings having written it for me.

I remember my mother confronting the teacher and scolding her for even suggesting I cheated. These are not humble-brags but facts pertinent to the back-story and the beginning of understanding what contributed to the course my life would take.

Before our family moved to Oklahoma City, we summered at a place called Buckeye Lake. It was there where another seemingly chance encounter with a piece of technology that would become an important tool in my future investigational arsenal.

I saw it as we came through the front door. Up against one wall was this enormous and intriguing device. I was immediately drawn to it. I plugged in the huge tube-filled Hallicrafters shortwave radio. My father explained to me what it was and what it could do. Later that evening he plugged in the outside aerial antenna and we fired it up.

I can still recall the deep hum as it came to life. The back was open and I could see the vacuum tubes start to glow. As the tubes warmed up there was a distinct smell of dust being heated up and burned off the tubes. My father let me spin the big dial and tune through the shortwave bands. I heard far away sounding voices speaking in strange languages that I had never heard before. We happened on ship-to shore telephone transmissions from sea-going vessels on the open oceans. I was hooked although I didn't realize it at the time.

Although I would grow-up to get my college degree in photographic studies and mass media, my skillset and interests would lead to a secondary career as a writer, specializing in cutting-edge aerospace, and communications technology. I would go on to write articles for magazines such as Popular Science, Popular Communications, Aircraft Illustrated and I became a monthly columnist for two magazines, Monitoring Times, Popular Communications and my own self-publication The Intercepts Newsletter, which was directly linked to that old Halicrafters radio.

I also became a novelist and wrote a book for children, Mekay's 1st Life and The Interceptors Club & The Secret of the Black Manta . Neither were best sellers but they provided a constant stream of income during a time when freelance work was far and few between.

Enough of my resume let's get back to the subject at hand, what placed me on the road to unraveling Roswell.

It was in November of 1977 my life changed. I was 20 years old, attending Amarillo College in Amarillo, Texas majoring in photographic studies. I liked photography. It was a great way to meet pretty girls who wanted to be models also I was good at it and was told so by one of my instructors who said I had a natural eye for photographic composition.

He told me that I should seriously consider a career in photography. When I told my father that is what I decided to do with my life, he was livid. He had this idea of me following in his footsteps and embracing geology which I thought was incredibly boring. Plus the last thing I wanted to be like was my father, an abusive man who beat his wife and his kids.

At this time my mother had finally come to the same conclusion that the whole family had years earlier that she didn't want to spend the rest of her life being told she was dirt. She divorced him while I was in my first year in high school, found herself a job and began the long road to reclaiming her life and being herself. She is and will always be my hero.

Anyway, I was walking through the college quad when a flyer caught my eye. It was for a special advance audience test screening of a film by renowned director Steven Spielberg called Close Encounters of the Third Kind.

The title was intriguing and I was a fan of Spielberg's work. I loved Jaws and especially the cinemaphotography of Sugarland Express. Vilmos Zsigmond's photography had a certain look that I was trying to emulate in my own work.

Attached to the flyer were tickets. I scooped up a handful and planned to attend. The showing was in the middle of the afternoon and I would have to skip a class but didn't see the harm in it.

After all it wasn't high school, it was college which I really enjoyed because it made me feel like an adult, free from teachers who scolded me for being a daydreamer or coloring outside the lines.

In college we were encouraged to color outside the lines and it fostered my creativity which was the exact opposite of what my father wanted me to do. As a result he decided he would not help me fund my college education and I would have to go it alone. It was a small price to pay for my freedom and to be who I wanted to be.

Back to the movie ...

I decided to take my mother and sister. We decided to make a day of it, see the movie and then go have dinner after. We bought our popcorn and found our seats. To my surprise the audience was made mostly of college students, some in the very classes I was skipping. Seemed I wasn't the only rebel.

There movie opened up with the famous orchestral build to a loud crescendo that not only startled you but sucked you in. This was also the first movie any of us had attended with surround sound and it was totally immersive.

Then came the first scene where we saw the UFOs flying down a road being chased by the protagonist character and the police. That scene floored me. In an instant it brought me back to that night in 1964 Ohio. Although the UFOs in the film didn't look the same, the grace in which the moved over the road, around bends with fluidity was amazingly similar.

I looked over at mom and it was clear she was feeling the same way. During the course of the movie the memories came flooding back as if it was yesterday. It was if Spielberg had been there.

After the movie ended it was clear to both me and my mother that not only had we seen a marvelous film but one that had awoken a shared memory we had been told to suppress and never speak about again.

We dropped my sister off at her home (she was married at that time) and although she liked the movie, it didn't seem to evoke the same feelings it had with me and my mother. I was still living at home at the time (now having to cut corners to fund my continued education) and also to help support my mother who was struggling after the divorce.

We went and grabbed a burger at a place called Char-Kel which had these amazing tasty smoke-flavored hamburgers that were also incredibly cheap.

As we ate in the car we discussed the film and what happened in 1964 at great length. She talked about how my father had branded her as crazy and to never talk about it again. She said it was the first of many death-nails pounded into their marriage. I could tell it was still hard for her to talk about the incident even after all these years.

She also was very surprised I remembered the incident with such clarity. This was the first time we had spoken about the 1964 UFO.

The date was November, 16, 1977.

When Close Encounters of the Third Kind was released nationwide, both me and my mother would go see it many times, sometimes with multiple viewings in the same day, and as much as we loved the UFO scenes there was another that triggered a epiphany in my brain that lead to an idea, then an obsession and finally would be key to unraveling Roswell.

It was the air traffic controllers scene:

Watching it over and over it struck me that the way to prove UFO's were a real thing was to listen in on the radio communications of aircraft and aircraft traffic controllers. I remembered the old Hallicrafters radio at Buckeye Lake and that one of the bands was marked Aviation Band.

Surely pilots were encountering UFOs just like in the movies and reporting them on frequencies I could monitor?

It became crystal clear to me that the next time I got paid, I was not only going to buy a multi-band radio with aviation monitoring capabilities, but I would become a master at monitoring the radio spectrum.