Thank You, Followers & Readers

Okay, so I'm often techno-clueless and my Internet comprehension hovers somewhere akin to a lizard's ability to tongue-flick one insect at a time -- lacking that fly-catching multitask talent that so many of you possess as non-lizards.

Many months ago, I became aware via a blog alert that some people wanted to become "followers" of my blog. Knowing not what a "follower" was (except I realize that surgical terminology includes instruments used in succession called filiforms and followers, hardly relevant in this instance), I became naturally suspicious. Unfortunately, and I truly offer my apologies, I rejected their offers to become "followers."

But even we non-geek computer users approaching geezer status wise up eventually, at least a little, and I now understand through trial and error that followers are the good guys. In the interim, I seem to have accumulated even more followers -- some of you with backgrounds and reputations that come as a real surprise -- and in my continuing digital stupor I just want to say thanks for believing I occasionally have something to say (despite my evolving and angry politics! -- a subject I would love to avoid but cannot, because I can see that we're in trouble. . .). Or maybe to some I'm simply a curiosity or boring sleep aid.

However, I remain curious about the very word, "followers." For example, are my followers akin to followers of the Charlie Manson family? If I wanted you all to organize and commit crimes for me, would you do so? Or say, hmm, that maybe I ask you all to invade a small country so I can become king, would you? I doubt that I could actually plot out the perfect crime for my followers to pursue -- but maybe I would ask you all to write cryptic notes and stick them way in the back of your sock or underwear drawer so they wouldn't be discovered until after you die someday. The note would read simply:

I'm sorry about the murders, but they deserved what they got. One more to go.

I don't think that would be a crime exactly, but it would drive your families and law enforcement agencies nuts. What are they going to do, conduct a seance with a Ouija board and temporarily bring you back for ethereal interrogation?

I started this blog in 2007, intending only to post scans of important and interesting UFO-related documents from my old files going back to the sixties, and this we have accomplished. If you start from the beginning, you'll find letters from military officials and even from "known" names such as Sen. Robert F. Kennedy and Rep. Gerald R. Ford (long before his political ascension). But I've included other things, too, and I think the variety balances out.

While I'm the first to admit that I think earlier blog entries are the best, I hope you'll hang in here because every once in a while I find something worth posting. True, I'm no longer active in UFO research and rely upon the info already out there via the courtesy of other members of the dedicated, but that's why I've tried to include some of the best links available.

For instance, if you stay in touch with blogs from the incomparable journalist Billy Cox and veteran common-sense researcher and writer Kevin Randle, you'll be ahead of the game. Frank Warren's "UFO Chronicles" and Grant Cameron's "Presidential UFO" flirt with both the new and the old, and Linda Moulton Howe's "Earthfiles" often serves up a stranger-than-science brew. The NICAP site, not to forget, reflects pure UFO history of gargantuan proportions. There are more links and I value ALL of them, and so might you. Please, keep them shining on your own personal radar.

So thanks, everybody, whether you've become followers, regular or occasional readers, or folks who simply stop by now and then because you "can't believe what a jerk" I am sometimes (I can't believe it, either, and I have no intention of changing!). By the way, when Election Day comes around, you might consider voting for horses or dogs. Considering the alternatives these days, it's not difficult to endorse Equine Party or Canine Party candidates. What about house cats, you ask? Nope, no Feline Party -- house cats have no need to engage in politics because they always get what they want. But you already knew that, didn't you?

When Lights in the Night Ain't Right

A characteristic and reliable aspect of the UFO phenomenon is its ability to manifest itself in rural and forested areas, and frequently over farm fields and back roads. Debunkers take great delight in this information, consequently offering their own guffaws and questions like, well, how come it's always some farmer in the back woods who sees these things? This is, of course, blatantly untrue (and offensive to farmers), but such questions always evoke a few laughs from any unknowing audience.

Many years ago, amidst newspaper reports of cattle mutilations allegedly caused in some way by UFO activity around the country, I wrote a newspaper letter to the editor and cautioned that supposedly untouched living animals in the immediate areas may be just as important for research as the dead and mutilated ones -- perhaps more so. A suspected relationship between low-flying or hovering objects and animal populations has long been documented, and one might easily wonder if major, as yet unknown, UFO-related influences upon our lives, animal lives, vegetation or the planet occur under cover of darkness, during anticipated secret moments in out-of-the-way places.

If we look at the UFO in this way, then any and all of those isolated little reports from sparsely populated areas should always be of interest.

I thought of the importance of smaller UFO events this week when I happened upon a couple of newspaper clippings from the 1970s and, as it turns out, I had been able to get some witness cooperation in completing report forms for one of the major UFO organizations. Today's information comes from The November 9 and 11, 1976 editions of The Geneva Times of Geneva, NY, and concerns an object apparently witnessed by several people in the area of Phelps, NY. Newspaper reporter Paul Moderacki, who investigated and wrote both articles, had kindly sent the clippings to me (It's difficult to believe nearly 34 years have passed! Seems like only yester. . .).

Events unfolded as high school student Dan Webb was driving home at about 10:30 p.m. on a November, 1976 evening from his job at a K-Mart. He suddenly heard a "whirring" sound that he at first interpreted as the wind, but then he saw a glowing saucer-shaped aircraft moving across the fields at a height he estimated to be 70 yards. Webb went on to explain how he used various neighbors' houses as reference points, and he first spotted the thing over a road surface directly in front of him.

"I could see it as plain as day," he said. "It had huge windows with a very bright yellow light inside, on the top were green lights, and the bottom had alternating red and blue lights." Driving slowly, Webb kept his eyes on the object all the way home.

His mother, Linda Burns, had been waiting for his return and related that "I saw some bright lights coming toward the house. . .and I figured it was Dan, but now I don't think it was. About five minutes later, he came running into the house looking white as a ghost, and dragged me outside." She saw the object, but not as well as her son because by that time it was over the woods. When it disappeared, she recalled, snapping her fingers, "it didn't move off slowly. It was gone like this."

Webb, a high school senior, called the sighting "the weirdest experience I've ever been through," and quickly drew a sketch of the saucer (see drawing) while the sight remained fresh in his mind. He likened the object's width to the size of his house's roof and its height to half the size of the two-story house.

But the story didn't end at Webb's home. Two days after Moderacki's initial newspaper article, he wrote another (Nov. 11), this time including two more witnesses who came forth to report what might have been the same UFO. Molly Leitner and Paulette Stowell were riding home from work together at about 11:15 p.m. that Monday when they saw an object with red and blue lights on its bottom and a yellow glow on top. They saw it from a distance, but felt it was the same thing Webb viewed because of the flashing colored lights and their position relative to the object.

So, one more UFO sighting for the bucket. Now what? Now nothing. You take the reports, you file them away and. . .and? At least this one featured multiple witnesses and an indication of noise involvement (the "whirring"). What was that thing and what was it doing? It was doing what UFOs do out over country roads, fields and forests -- whatever that is.

Extremely Bad Makeover

(Slow day at the blog. . .no giant UFO news to report today. . .at least over at the Securities and Exchange Commission they have nothing to do but watch porn all day. . .while the rest of us have to at least pretend to be creative. . .not sure I can offer much today. . .getting sleepy. . .so tired. . .oh, PLEASE, no more nightmares of appearing on Dancing With the Stars wearing giant clown shoes. . .here it comes. . .drifting off. . .a dream. . .a nightmare on Robert's street. . .let the fantasy begin. . .eyelids closing. . .no way to stop this. . .gonna be a bad one this time. . .I just know it. . .zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz. . .)

With some difficulty, being a virtual techno-boob, I nonetheless managed to get the video camera functioning. I settled into the chair and leaned back a bit, looking somewhat like a patient of Dr. Kevorkian, ready and waiting for that decisive medication moment. Looking straight into the lens, I took a breath and began speaking, hoping to get it right, like the other people who send videos to the Extreme Makeover: Home Edition show.

"Hi! I'm the Robert Barrow family! I'm Robert, and my age is. . .well. . .I'm not THAT old, but as you can see, I'm an adult." Not bad, I thought, not a bad start at all. "Look, I know that a lot of people you help are beloved and respected for contributions made to their communities or families. Well, I'm not that person. I used to help people, but I've become old and miserable, and, frankly, today's one of those days when I wish I could annihilate every human on the face of the earth!" I tried to cry for the camera, but tears escaped me.

"So, anyway, I was thinking, my house isn't looking that great and, since I am kind to animals, I decided to send you this video and ask if maybe you would come and knock my house down and give me something nice. Here, let me show you some scenes of the house. . ."

I panned the camera around and then returned it to my direction. "Well, that's about it. I think you can see that I deserve your attention. I wish I could be more positive about life in general, but when things suck, things suck. I wish I had 500 nuclear bombs right now -- uh, but even you probably can't bring anything like that along, I don't suppose? Well, thank you for watching and have a nice day." For dramatic effect, I held up a drawing I made of a smiley face, and then turned the camera off.

Early the next morning, I mailed off my video to Extreme Makeover: Home Edition, anxious to get a response as soon as possible. The rest of the week, I made plans, just in case they chose my video. Why wouldn't they? Who could be more deserving?

I was amazed.. A week after I mailed the video, somewhere around 6:00 in the morning, I awoke with a start as a familiar voice outside shouted through a megaphone, 'GOOOOOD MORNING, BARROW FAMILY!! ROBERT. . .ROBERT. . . JUST ROBERT. . .!"

In my haste to get dressed and run outside, still experiencing the blur of just awakening, I only put on socks and undies -- on the wrong body parts -- and threw open the door. "I CAN'T BELIEVE IT, IT'S. . ." And then I noticed my dressing errors. "OOPS," I shouted, "HOLD ON!" I hurried back inside and attired myself properly.

Thrusting the door open, I rushed outside and gave everybody a hug, starting with Ty and then all the others in his crew, and because I can never remember their names I simply called each Jack, even the woman. After hugs and smiles, Ty spoke: "Robert, your video impressed us very much, and here to help us today is a special guest, a popular recording artist. . ."

"Oh, this is incredible, Ty," I said, "don't tell me. . .it's that Justin Beeper, or Beaver or something, right? Or The Jones Brothers?"

"Heck no, Robert! Everybody. . ." Ty said, motioning to the open bus door behind us, "give a big welcome to Tiny Tim!"

We all stared and stared at the bus, but nobody exited. "Um, isn't -- didn't Tiny Tim die years and years ago?" I inquired.

After a few moments of silence, one of the Jacks replied, "Looks like he's not coming, then."
Well, that was a disappointment. But there was more. From a rear exit stepped a dozen members from the National Academy of Sciences. "Robert," one of them began, "we've heard about your basement and we're here to see for ourselves if it's true."

"Oh -- you mean the. . ."

"Yes," he said, nodding. He then escorted his colleagues into my house, leaving me with Ty and the Jacks.

Ty spoke: "Robert, while we're working on your house, you're going on vacation to a very special place that starts with the letter D!"

"Wow, you mean -- you mean I'm going to Disney World, Ty? Disneyland? Or Denver? Vegas?"

"Robert," he scolded, "there's no D in Vegas."

"Oh, right, so where then?"

"Robert, you're going to beautiful. . .Detroit!"

"Whaaaa?"

"Yes, we're sending you on a Detroit vacation for two days!"

"Two days in Det. . .?"

"Hurry!" Ty ordered. "See that cab over there? Get in and you'll be on your way!"

"Wait," I protested. "Where's the limo?"

"Just get into the cab," he said, shaking his head impatiently. We'll see you soon. Have a nice time!"

"In a minute. First I have to check on the science people." I walked quickly toward the house and joined the folks in the basement.

"Mr. Barrow," asked a scientist, "do all of these jars contain. . ."

"Yes," I quickly responded, "sheep rectums." Sighs of wonderment and curiosity erupted from the group.

"Why sheep rectums?"

"Don't you people ever visit Earthfiles dot com?"

"And where did you find these?" demanded another scientist.

I had to think quickly, hoping to avoid a repeat of the drastic actions I took last time somebody asked me that question. "They're from. . .from. . .garage sales."

"Indeed?"

"Yes. . .and. . .and the ones in the corner came from. . .a. . .a church bake sale."

"Fascinating!" offered another voice. "These are ideal for intensive scientific scrutiny."

"Would you. . .um. . .like to take them all with you?" I hesitantly suggested.

The group gasped in astonishment. "Are you serious? You're willing to part with all of these jars of sheep rectums?" asked yet another scientist.

"Why not?" I asked. "I can always get more." A few eyebrows were raised. "You know, at garage sales."

Apparently content with my response, the team nodded in unison, stuffed jars into their travel bags and departed. Quickly, I packed a bag and took the waiting taxi to the airport. Ty and the Jacks had left a laptop computer in the back for me.

*****

Plenty of sunlight remained as my plane descended into marvelous Detroit. A waiting taxi shuttled me off to a seedy hotel whose name I didn't know, and during all the time spent in its confines I never left my room. Meals were ordered from room service and I kept the door locked. I learned right away not to open the door every time I heard a knock because sometimes the visitors were giant hungry roaches.

The morning after arrival, I communicated with Ty and the Jacks back at home via the laptop. As the morning progressed, I could see on the screen a bulldozer being unloaded from a flatbed, and within an hour it was razing my house. "What do you think?" asked Ty.

"Super, I replied, I can't wait to see what your team will do!"

"Well," he said, "you'll be coming back tomorrow, so the suspense will be brief. Enjoy Detroit!"

Oh my, I thought, how in the world can they build my new house by the next day? Must be they've elicited the help of hundreds of people. About this time, I felt glad that I didn't get any nukes because numerous helpers would be required to construct that house.
*****
My watch read about 4:15 p.m. when I arrived back in town the next day, later than I hoped, but the delay was inevitable because of weather problems and turkey buzzards flying into the engines. Extreme Makeover: Home Edition had a cab waiting at the airport (where, oh where, was the limousine that one logically anticipates?), and after a ride encumbered somewhat by rush hour traffic, I was back at the house. Peculiarly, the cab driver had pulled off to the roadside soon before our arrival and placed a blindfold over my eyes and, loosely, a paper bag over my head. And he tied my hands behind my back.

I heard the cab door nearest me open, and somebody took my hand and guided me out. They led me on a short walk and then we stopped. "Welcome back, Robert!" shouted an approaching voice. It was Ty. "Are you ready to see it?" he asked.

"I am! I can hardly wait!" I replied.

"Great! Go ahead and remove the blindfold."

"I will -- but can somebody untie me first, please?"

The uncomfortable bonds were loosened. I lifted the paper bag and untied the snug blindfold and, as I expected, the Extreme Makeover: Home Edition bus blocked my view of the new house. I glanced around the yard, finding it strange that no members of the construction crew were present so I could suddenly burst into tears and thank them as the program's cameras rolled. That's okay, I thought to myself, I'll just have to place more emphasis after the move-that-bus part where I scream, throw my hands to my face and shout, "OH MY GOD" a few dozen times as I jump up and down, hugging Ty and the Jacks with gratitude.

"Say the words!" Ty continued. "MOVE THAT BUS! MOVE THAT BUS!"

"Move it!" I yelled. "Move the damned bus!"

Slowly, the mammoth vehicle eased forward, heightening my anticipation and enthusiasm with each rotation of its tires. Suddenly, the site of my old house came into view, but, to my amazement and disappointment, there was no new structure, only a pile of rubble which had apparently been my original house.

"Wha. . .what's going on?!" I demanded.

"Here, this is for you, Robert," said Ty, handing me a nicely gift-wrapped package as he and the Jacks all boarded the bus. I stood there, dumbfounded, almost experiencing sleep paralysis, nearly unable to speak whilst adrift in my personal outrage as Ty continued, standing on the bus and apparently ready to close the door and leave. "I guess there's only one thing left to say -- welcome home, Barrow family, welcome home!"

"But. . .but. . .where's my new house, you freaks?" I managed to shout, as the camera crew recorded the scene from an open window on the bus.

"New house? What new house?" Ty asked.

"Ty -- Jacks -- I asked you to knock my house down and build me something nice to replace it," I angrily protested.

"Oh noooooooo you didn't," he cheerily replied. "In your video you clearly asked -- your own words -- that we come and knock down your house and give you something nice."

"And?"

"There's something nice in the package. Go ahead, open it." Suddenly, I heard uproarious laughter erupting somewhere in the bus. With that, Ty retreated into the background, the door closed and everybody was gone in a flash.

Silently, I stood near the rubble of my former home as darkness began to fall, and I felt a few sprinkles in the air. Enraged almost like a madman, I ripped open the small green gift-wrapped box, hoping to find a pile of cash, perhaps many thousands of dollars intended for home construction. But I was wrong, dead wrong. It was a fruitcake. Yes, it was something nice, but it was still a fruitcake and nothing more.

Sprinkles slowly expanded into a steady rain as I stood there in the darkness, now illuminated only by the dim glow of a streetlight, and I casually took note of the situation. My house was a pile of debris, I was getting soaked, all I had to eat was a fruitcake and, maybe worst of all, my jars of sheep rectums were gone forever -- and I had lied to the National Academy of Sciences representatives regarding future procurement. The streets of America weren't exactly paved with sheep rectums, no matter how many strange lights appear in the sky during isolated incidents.

As for Extreme Makeover: Home Edition, well, you can bet that I'll never send them another video as long as I live. Couldn't they have left a bathroom standing? This is gonna be a really bad night. . .

("Wake up, wake up Robert," said the voice. "You're dreaming again." I rubbed my eyes and slowly opened them, grateful to escape the horrors of my mind's frightening images. But was I truly awake? Terror was hardly a stranger, for my eyes had become focused upon a female lizard-human from the ABC-TV series, V, who threatened me with a future nightmare where I would be forced to play a teenager on Vampire Diaries. "You're perfect, Robert," she advised, "none of those people playing teenagers on the CW network is under 45." Bad taste I can understand, but this? Oh, the horror, the horror, bad dreams, clueless scripts. . .and the sheep rectums are gone. . .)

NumbersUSA Battles Illegal Immigration

Amnesty? Yet again? Don't you just go to pieces when talk of UFO aliens disintegrates into tangible scream-fests about illegal aliens coming over the border?

The USA is learning a hard lesson, no thanks to government officials and feckless and/or wily religious organizations which encourage all the wrong people to enter this country. What happened to the days when grateful masses and intelligent and innovative folks like scientists and engineers were given priority for immigration status? What do we have an assortment of now?

Well, hmm, let's take inventory: Dirt bags, members of potentially murderous cults and the religion of fleas, clueless nitwits or agenda-ridden low-lifes whose only talents include churning out babies faster than rat herds on aphrodisiacs and -- not to forget -- an uncomfortable wave of immigrants with no apparent desire to speak English or to become assimilated into U.S. culture. Further, curiously, many seem intent upon re-establishing all the bad things about their native existence here in the states, while simultaneously eschewing American culture and hating us in their own special way. But, oh, boo-hoo, many come here "in search of a better life," and if they need to break our laws and cost U.S. taxpayers and social systems dearly for their uninvited presence, well that's just too bad. The rest of us are expected to bow, curtsy and feign politeness, lest enemies within, both native and newly arrived, automatically accuse us of racism or xenophobia. Whatever happened to logic, warranted suspicion and common sense?

As illegally immigrating criminals, murderers, rapists and thugs aplenty continue invading United States borders to "do the work that Americans won't do," many of us feel helpless to do anything, particularly when an impressive number of our so-called national leaders in either major political party -- destined, we hope, for the old heave-ho on Election Day -- didn't lift a finger to solve the evolving chaos while it was still easily manageable. Of course, much of this occurs because some employers on this side of the border desire a continuation of cheap illegal labor, and these employers belong in prison, where they can no longer pay off alleged public representatives in campaign cash or tainted promises.

Similarly deplorable is the "anchor baby" problem, which various presidents and Congress could and should have sworn off years ago -- where pregnant illegal women strive to deliver their babies in this country so the kids can be awarded full citizenship and, in the future, use this single event as a key to bringing in tons of family members from other countries. On a similar note, did you realize that it's fashionable now for pregnant women from other countries to fly into the U.S. quite legally, arriving simply to drop their -- yes, say the words -- anchor babies?

We don't like to see illegal aliens from China arriving at our ports in shipping containers and we must be outraged at the growing criminal element dictating frenzied activities which now cross the southern border of the United States. In the meantime, as if our entire society has gone crazy, we endure illegal alien "focus groups" telling legal citizens that we're racists and unreasonable because we don't wish to welcome criminals and long-term squatters with cake and ice cream.

Mexico is the real focus currently -- Mexico, through whose portals criminals from other countries make their way to the U.S.. Mexico -- whose homegrown criminals harbor no more concern for their own country than for the U.S. Mexico -- a country churning in such turmoil that its own kind, humble and gifted residents wish an escape to the north.

I want my country to help Mexico achieve its potential. I want the United States to assist Mexico as much as possible so we can be great friends and partners in the best ways of the world. I want folks in the U.S. to stop craving street drugs which keep the Mexican cartels in business, happily terrorizing or paying off everybody in their path as they murder and disarticulate heads destined for fencepost ornamentation, in pursuit of drug kingpin status.

However, in the short term I want the borders protected to the max, and if that means calling upon the National Guard or going completely rad by stationing our brave military men and women on the border, then let it be. And for Pete's sake, I want my government to stop harassing and imprisoning its own border guards who accomplish their difficult jobs under thankless conditions. When I was in the Air Force a zillion years ago, a friend of Hispanic heritage fantasized about going to the border with heavy armaments and just shooting everybody attempting to sneak into the U.S. I know, that sounds terrible -- but considering current events, I guess he was a visionary of sorts.

We don't want everybody blown away at the border, yet many of us wish we could do something to make public representatives aware of our outrage. There is a place. . .NumbersUSA is that place, and you can find them at http://numbersusa.com/. Yes, they appreciate and need donations, but they also provide a valuable service for free. If you sign up (for free), they regularly provide you with personalized online faxes, pre-written and addressed for your individual representatives, to let you take immediate action regarding all kinds of immigration issues. You can add or delete comments, add a P.S. and generally put together your feelings in a rational and effective manner. At the click of a button, NumbersUSA instantly sends faxes off to your specific congressional offices and, when called for, the White House. Frequent e-mailed news alerts will keep you informed and on top.

They do make a difference, have been in force for several years and maintain an enormous and growing list of participants. The immigration issue is explosive, but violence solves nothing, so let your thoughts and your neighbors' frustrations be put to good use via the free faxing services provided by the concerned folks at NumbersUSA. Congress must hear from all of us, and this is a super way to become involved with the clear voice of the masses who oppose illegal immigration and the clearly proven economic and societal costs we cannot afford.

BY THE WAY: From Russia with lies? Before everybody scratches the eyes out of the adoptive U.S. mother who returned a child to Russia recently, somebody needs to take a long, hard look at the Russian "adoption agency" involved. In a part of the world where tons of children are born with fetal alcohol syndrome and a host of other problems leading to sometimes dangerous mental disorders, can there be any doubts that Eastern adoption agencies might lie -- a little or a lot -- to rid themselves of childhood troubles? The Russians can protest all they want, but from the land known for distortions, Putin and the international health benefits of lunchtime polonium on demand, we should be very suspicious about promises made to the adoptive mother.

Remember Cuba's last "boat lift" to the USA, when Castro conveniently made sure to empty his prisons and mental wards in our direction? Same thing, and we remain no less gullible and stupid as we welcome a world without end. Anyway -- can't you folks be content with adopting kids from this country? Fast adoptions are like fast food. Patience, please, patience.

One Little Thing in Mexico

The little things. How many little things does it take to clarify the bigger picture? And what happens when a growing mountain of little things obfuscates logic as we know it?

Yes, I've been rolling along with old news clips lately, and United Press International (UPI), like the Associated Press (AP), rarely failed to inspire the reader in previous decades whenever the UFO subject popped up. Every once in a while, another maddening little piece of the puzzle appeared in newsprint. Here's a little Mexican UFO story from May of 1975, not reported in much depth by UPI, but intriguing nonetheless:

So let's say you're lounging around a control tower in Mexico City in the summer of 1975, watching air traffic control personnel do their thing at the Benito Juarez International Airport. Sitting at two separate radar screens are Julio Interian and Emilio Estanol. Turning attention to a small Piper plane flying miles away, each controller suddenly sees an image of an unidentified object pacing the craft off to one side. Terrified pilot Carlos Antonio de los Santos Montiel, age 23, noticed something, too -- he claims that a total of three UFOs had followed him for 10 minutes as he approached the airport at 15,000 feet.

Though Montiel saw three objects, the controllers noted one. "I observed the plane from the moment it was over Tequesquitengo (50 miles south of Mexico City) until it landed," explained Interian. "When it was above the Ajusco (Mountain), I noticed another mark on the screen move rapidly away from the plane." At that very moment, Montiel radioed that the multiple UFOs he observed had departed.

Of considerable interest was the pilot's admission that he was unable to control his plane while the objects remained close. "I started to cry out of desperation," he later reported.
UFOs, radar, witnesses and effects suggestive of mechanical or electromagnetic interference: All elements of a story that never seems to end.