One of the earliest entries in this blog last year concerned my encounter with the U. S. Secret Service in the late seventies, after The White House apparently received a charming letter threatening President Carter in some way (I never saw the letter), and several names of innocent people, including mine, appeared on the document. The people -- oh yes, I'm pretty certain I know who originated this brilliant project -- who perpetated this recreational activity had no way of knowing my congressman had already recommended me for a position with the Carter Administration in the event that a new UFO study would begin (it did not), so maybe it should have been obvious that I wouldn't be inclined to bite the hand that might feed me a UFO gig, you know?
That matter was settled in short order and all of us whose names were involved were cleared and, though I don't know what happened after that, I'm hoping all hell broke loose if the "write" folks were located. Maybe they weren't.
In those years of "The Letter," there would be a peculiar event here and there. For instance, one night during the wee small hours I awoke to a ringing phone, and upon answering a person claiming to be calling from a hospital informed me that family members had experienced a serious auto accident, and I needed to get to the hospital right away. The call was a hoax.
On another occasion, the very people whom I always assumed responsible for the letter and other such mischief were caught stuffing mailboxes with racist literature. This time, the police nabbed them.
And, just what I needed, then came this latest work of art. In 1980 Coral Lorenzen sent me a copy of a letter received at APRO, and at the top of the original she had written a notation for her office staff to "File under 'Nut.'" I sure hope there was room left in that file because this letter was a gem. I've reproduced it here in very small size because I'd rather you not actually read it. The letter concerned only one subject, me, and the writers accused me of some very strange things and professed knowledge of unsettling things about me. Since they didn't really know me, their fictitious ramblings were simply outrageous and annoying.
Like most hate letters written by the imbeciles of the world, the spelling was hideous, and of course there was no signature or return address, only APRO's address at the top and bottom of the envelope.
In a follow-up letter (see), Coral realizes I suspect the writers' identities (oh yes, more than one...), and she also mentions wearing a brace (she had tripped over the family dog and sustained a severe injury that would burden her for years).
By 1980, I was sick to death of the bunch I assumed responsible for this letter and other actions I suspected, so when this occurred I took the letter almost immediately to the local Secret Service office so they could make a copy and, I hoped, would stay interested. If you look closely at the page displaying the envelope, in the upper left you'll see the faint blue stamp of the U.S Secret Service office acknowledging receipt of the documentation.
Once again, I don't know the outcome of all this, but I do know that, as years passed, one of the people I suspected from the start perished in a very peculiar death-by-fire situation that he seemingly initiated himself. The details of this bizarre event appeared in newspapers. Another potential member of the guilty parties also ended up in a bad situation, though still living, if a search I performed on the Internet was correct. The problems I encountered with these people ceased at last, and their brand of childishness -- at great cost especially to themselves -- never returned. And I really hope to never, ever have to visit the Secret Service office again. I suspect they have enough to deal with. After all, who do you think is charged with the grave responsibility of flying those mysterious black helicopters? Uh huh.
