CHAPTER IV
The July Crisis
During the first two
weeks of July the saucers' reconnaissance of the earth was rapidly
stepped up. Flying singly, in pairs, or in group formations, the strange
machines were seen all over the world. But in the early stage there
were few public sightings, at least in the United States. Most of the
saucers were operating at night, and they seemed to be focusing on
defense bases, atomic plants, and military planes.
From the
8th to the 12th, for some unknown reason, one saucer group took a
special interest in our Midwest states. By the 11th, the Filter Center
at Ypsilanti, Michigan, was flooded with reports. But since most of them
came from Air Force pilots, Intelligence could keep them secret.
As the
teletype accounts poured into Washington and Dayton, Intelligence
officers watched with growing uneasiness. At first they had hoped it
was only a brief flurry. But now the sighting curve was going up
steeply.
No one
knew the reason for the sudden mass operation. It might be a new,
large-scale reconnaissance before some final decision. It could be the
first step toward contact-perhaps even mass landings.
That
thought was enough to give anyone cold chills. For five years silence
had masked the intentions of those
54
who controlled the
saucers. They might be planning a peaceful contact—or an all-out attack.
Even if
the first contact began peacefully, no one could be sure it would end
that way. Most Americans were totally unprepared, even for friendly
visitors from space. Panic might lead to wild stampedes from cities. It
could also set off violent armed resistance. What the visitors would do
in that event was grimly easy to guess.
There
was still a chance that the new operations would end before the public
found out. So far, few sightings were known outside the Air Force. On
July 5, one report had leaked out after several pilots saw a disc-shaped
machine near the atomic-energy plant at Richlands, Washington. And from
Korea a news dispatch had described a sighting by Canadian naval
officers; for over an hour they had watched two discs maneuvering above
their ship. But fortunately most reports were from service pilots, and
these were confidential. Not even news correspondents at the Pentagon
were aware of the growing tension.
On July
12 another teletype report came in from the Midwest, but this, too, was
kept quiet. At 9 o'clock that night a lone saucer, glowing blue-white,
flashed over Indiana. At Delphi it was seen by several civilians, among
them an ex-Air Force jet pilot, Jack A. Green, who is now a flight test
analyst for Northrop Aircraft Company. When Green went to the Delphi
police station to report the sighting, state police were already on the
wire, helping the Air Force collect detailed information. The same thing
occurred at several other Indiana towns, but somehow the newspapers
missed the story. Fortunately, from the Air Force viewpoint, the saucer
had been too high to attract wide attention.
For 24
hours more, Intelligence officers kept their fingers crossed. But their
luck was running out. On the following night the story broke wide open.
The
scene was the city of Indianapolis. It was Saturday night, and the
streets and parks were crowded. Suddenly
55
a bright yellow glow
appeared in the sky. As startled citizens stared upward, a huge,
oval-shaped machine raced out of the southeast and over the city. Barely
5,000 feet high, it was seen by thousands of people as it streaked
overhead, trailed by a fiery exhaust.
In two
minutes police, airport, and newspaper switchboards were swamped with
calls from frightened citizens. Thousands more hastily spread the news
to neighbors who missed the saucer. For a while a panic seemed in the
making. Then, when the saucer did not return, the hysteria gradually
died down.
While
the strange machine was approaching Indianapolis, it had been seen by
several airline pilots. One of them was Captain Richard Case, who was
flying an American Airlines Convair. When he first sighted it, his
airliner was 30 miles southeast of the city, cruising at 300 miles an
hour.
"It was
a controlled craft of some sort," he said when he landed. "We were
flying at 5,000 feet when I first saw it. The saucer seemed to be at
about 15,000, going three times faster than we were. Then it changed
course and came toward us, losing altitude. It dropped to about our
level, then took off northwest, over the city."
Five
other pilots soberly told the same story. One was an Eastern Air Lines
captain, another from the Air Force. Until that night all had been
skeptics. Now they were convinced that the saucers were ominously real.
But it
was the mass hysteria in Indianapolis that worried the Air Force.
For the
first time a saucer had flown down over a large city, low enough to be
seen by thousands. Until then, Intelligence could only guess what a
close-range sighting would do to large groups of people. Now they knew.
Hours
afterward the city was still tense from unanswered questions.
Where
had the saucer come from? Who had flown it? Why had it come so low over
Indianapolis?
56
Because
the weird machine had passed over so swiftly, there had not been time
for fright to grow into panic. But had it dived lower, circled the city,
or landed, it might have set off a stampede.
Even
before the Indianapolis report reached the Air Force, they knew that
some strange, high-speed craft was operating in the area. Just before
the sighting, Air Force radar men at Kirksville, Missouri, had picked up
a mysterious device flying with terrific velocity. Before the track
could fade from their scope, they quickly computed its speed.
The
unknown machine had been making over 1,700 miles an hour. From the size
of its blips, the radar men estimated it was as large as a B-36 bomber.
Though
this sighting was kept secret, by the next day the whole country knew
the Indianapolis story. But this was just the beginning.
That
very night, while the Air Force was still nervously watching the Midwest
reaction, another dramatic sighting hit the headlines. This time the
scene was the East coast.
At 9:12
p.m. a Pan American DC-4 approached Norfolk, Virginia, on its way to
Miami. At the controls was First Officer W. B. Nash. Second Officer W.
H. Fortenberry was acting as the copilot. Both men had been flying for
more than ten years, with thousands of hours in airliner cockpits.
Cruising
at 8,000 feet, the DC-4 was a few miles from Newport News when a red
glow appeared ahead. The pilots saw six huge, disc-shaped machines
racing toward them, but at a lower altitude. The discs, which were
flying in the flat position, had a brilliant orange glow like red-hot
metal.
As the
formation approached, in echelon, the leader suddenly slowed, then
flipped up on edge. As if on signal, the five other discs also flipped
up edgewise. Almost reversing its course, the leading machine flipped
back to the horizontal and streaked off to the west. Following through,
57
the others also
swiftly changed their direction, then again lined up behind the leader.
A second
later two more discs shot out from under the DC-4. As they speeded up to
overtake the formation, the pilots saw their color suddenly brighten.
Apparently this was a clue to the strange machines' propulsion, for the
first six discs had dimmed as they slowed for the turn, then had
brightened again as they speeded up.
Amazed
and disturbed at what they had seen, the pilots radioed Norfolk and
reported the sighting in detail. By the time Air Force Intelligence
officers met them at Miami, the story was already on the press wires.
Twelve
hours later, near Newport News, a commercial pilot encountered two
saucers with pulsating lights. Their speed, more than 600 miles an hour,
gave him no chance to close in for a better look. That same night
another saucer was sighted by naval officers at Miami and still more
reports came in from Norfolk, the Bahamas, and Hampton, Virginia.
The ink
was hardly dry on these stories when a sighting near Denver broke into
print. On the night of the 17th, Captain Paul L. Carpenter, flying an
American Airlines DC-6, received a radio warning from a flight ahead. A
flying saucer formation had just raced past the leading plane. Cruising
at 25,000 feet, Carpenter and his crew turned down their cockpit lights
and stared into the night.
Then
suddenly they saw four lights, moving at fantastic speed. The saucers'
course took them to one side, too far to see any details. But by
checking the time in sight, and the angle of sky traversed, Carpenter
made a rough estimate of their speed.
It was
3,000 miles an hour.
For the
third time in three days the saucers were front-page news. Beside
Carpenter's report, the July 18 papers carried a saucer story from
Veronica, Argentina. Within hours of the American Airlines sighting, six
discs had been seen over the Argentine city. Hundreds of Veronica
residents
58
had watched them
maneuver and circle before they climbed into the night.
By this
time reports were coming in from all over the United States. Some were
caused by the growing excitement. People searching the sky for saucers
were sometimes misled by balloons, by planes banking in the sun, or
searchlights on clouds at night.
Some
Defense officials, even a few Air Force officers who hadn't seen the
evidence, believed most of the sightings were caused by the saucer
hysteria. But the Intelligence officers knew better. Too many veteran
pilots, both military and airline, were reporting identical discs,
lights, and maneuvers. Many reports from the general public had also
been confirmed, though with tension increasing it did not seem wise to
admit it.
It was
plain now that air bases, cities, key industries— every vital phase of
our national life—were under close observation. At least three types of
UFO's had been seen, one with colored, revolving lights, another with
lights that blinked at intervals. It was possible the lights were some
kind of signal, an attempt to communicate with the earth. But the radio
silence made it seem unlikely. Intelligent beings who had mastered space
travel would certainly be able to duplicate our radio transmission
system. But no strange codes, or unfamiliar word-sounds, had been heard
by our monitors.
There
was nothing the Air Force could do but wait. All Ground Control
Intercept stations had their orders. Saucers would be tracked as
swiftly as possible. If there was any hope of an interception, jets
would be scrambled instantly. The pilots had their orders, to get every
detail possible in hope of a clue to the sudden increase in sightings.
But
there was one thing for which the Air Force was not prepared—the
insistent demands from papers that had formerly jeered at the saucers.
At first
most of these newspapers had gone on scoffing. More than one Air Force
officer prayed they would keep
59
it up; wisecracks
might keep down hysteria. But now many papers had stopped joking and
were demanding the answers.
On the
morning of the 18th the United Press at Dayton asked for an interview
with Captain Ed Ruppelt. Though General Samford's directive prohibited
such interviews, Ruppelt was told to answer the questions—refusal to
talk, at this time, would only increase suspicion.
"Does
the Air Force think these sightings are just hallucinations?" the UP
man asked Ruppelt.
"No,"
said Ruppelt, "We’re convinced that people making these reports actually
see something in the sky. But what the objects are is another question."
Answering another query, he admitted that jet fighters guided by radar
had chased UFO's but had failed to catch them.
"Some of
the objects," he said, "have been tracked at speeds up to 2,000 miles an
hour."
These
were honest answers. But Ruppelt's failure to identify the saucers led
to new trouble. Several editors, worried by stories of Russian-built
saucers, warned then-readers that this might be the answer. One foreign
dispatch, which helped to bolster this fear, was based on an account in
the Saarbrucken Zeitung. Published on June 28, 1952, it appeared
to be a semiofficial report on a large disc found near Spitzbergen.
According to the Zeitung, six Norwegian jet fighters had been
flying near Hinlopen Straits when their radio was jammed by a strange
interference. As the jet pilots circled, looking for the cause, Flight
Captain Olaf Larsen spotted an enormous blue-metal disc, wrecked on the
snowy ground.
Accompanied by a rocket expert named Norsel, several Norwegian Air Force
officers landed near the disc in ski-planes. No one was found aboard.
The disc, said the Zeitung, was 125 feet in diameter and made of
some unknown metallic substance. A plexiglass domed compartment
60
in the center
contained a mass of remote-control equipment—it was one of the
remote-control radio units which had caused the signal interference.
The
disc, as described in the news story, was powered by 46 jets on the
outer rim. When the jets were in operation, this caused the outer ring
to rotate around the stationary control unit.
When the
disc was dismantled and taken to Narvik, experts were supposed to have
discovered these facts: The flight range was over 18,000 miles. The
altitude range, 100 miles. The disc was equipped to carry high
explosives.
Then
came the line that, in the present tense situation, could easily be
dynamite:
"The
chronometers and instruments bear Russian symbols ... It is assumed the
disc came from the Soviet Union and was grounded by receiver failure."
No one
in the Air Force had believed the story, but a routine check had been
made. As was expected, the Norwegian government denied any knowledge of
the disc. But the damage had been done. Many Americans, unaware of
Norway's denial, tied the report to Dr. Mirachi's warning of another,
more terrible Pearl Harbor. And so the fear of the saucers grew.
The
sighting curve was still rising. But even the confidential reports gave
no hint of the reason for the nationwide reconnaissance. Only once, on
the night of July 18, did a saucer maneuver as if preparing to land.
Just before this, airmen at Patrick Air Force Base, in Florida, saw four
of the strange devices circling near the field. Shortly after they
turned away a fifth saucer came out of the west. Angling in over the
base, it made a 180-degree turn, like a plane in a traffic pattern.
Then, accelerating at terrific speed, it raced back to the west and
vanished.
Until
this time, no other case had matched the Indianapolis sighting in its
effect on the public. With all the reports from defense bases, this was
thin comfort to the
61
Intelligence men in
Washington. But at least the hysteria had not gotten out of hand.
Then, on
the morning of the 20th, even that thin consolation was snatched away,
as Washington itself took the spotlight. The action covered a wide area,
in and around the capital. But the most dramatic scenes took place in a
strange, windowless room—the Air Traffic Control Center at Washington
National Airport.
Although
its operations dovetail with those of the tower, the Center is located
in a separate building, a fourth of a mile away. In the tower, operators
control only the final approaches, landings, and take-offs. But the men
at the Center reach out by long-range surveillance radar to track planes
100 miles away. Heavy traffic, even in clear weather, must be carefully
funneled in to the airport approach lanes. After take-offs, airliners
must be dispatched from congested areas to their assigned levels. In
fog, storms, and when cloud ceilings are low, planes must be guided in
by two-way radio, kept separated while pilots are flying blind, and
"stacked up" when necessary, to wait their turn for landing.
It is a
precision job. The Center controllers never see the planes they guide
in, as they track them on the main scope. But thousands of lives depend
on their quick, accurate tracking and split-second recognition of the
various aircraft blips.
The
radar room at the Center, where this night's action started, is a long
dim-lit chamber, darkened so that scopes can be easily read. At
midnight, as the 20th of July began, eight traffic experts, headed by
Senior Controller Harry G. Barnes, entered this room and took over the
watch. The night was clear, traffic was light, and the men settled down
for a routine eight-hour duty.
For a
few minutes Barnes bent over the main scope, a phosphor-coated glass 24
inches in diameter, with a pale lavender glow. Traveling around the
glass, like a clock hand, was a purplish streak called the "sweep." As
Barnes
62
knew, the sweep's
revolutions, six per minute, matched the rotation of a huge parabolic
antenna on a nearby hill. The compass bearing of the sweep showed the
direction of the radio beam transmitted by the antenna.
At the
time the Center was tracking a single airliner, several miles from the
airport. As the rotating beam struck the plane, its echo or return was
reflected to the antenna-station receiver. Highly amplified, it showed
as a small round spot on the face of the cathode-ray scope. Every ten
seconds a new purplish blip appeared, showing the airliner's changed
position.
From the
track made by these blips, it was simple to read off the plane's
course—the phosphor-coated glass retained seven blips before the first
one faded. Barnes' practiced eye measured the distance between the
round purplish spots. Using the ten-second interval, he could tell the
plane's speed at a glance. From measurements on the scope, he also could
tell the plane's location, distance from the field, and its compass
bearing.
When
traffic was heavier, he and the other controllers could pencil in the
tracks, marking each plane's position with a numbered plastic chip. But
there was no need tonight; the sky was practically empty.
At about
12:30, Bames went out to the supervisor's desk, leaving Controller Ed
Nugent at the main scope. Two other controllers, Jim Ritchey and James
Copeland, were standing a few feet away.
At
exactly 12:40, seven sharp blips suddenly appeared on the scope. Nugent
stared at the glass. The strange planes, or whatever they were, seemed
to have dropped out of nowhere. There was only one possible answer. The
unknown machines had raced into the area at terrific speed, between
sweeps, then had abruptly slowed, there in the southwest quadrant.
"Get
Barnes in here—quick!" Nugent told Copeland.
The
senior controller came on the run. Both console
63
scopes showed the
strange blips. Bames hastily buzzed the tower, got Operator Howard
Cocklin.
"Our
scope shows the same blips!" Cocklin said swiftly. "I can see one of the
things. It's got a bright orange light— I can't tell what's behind it."
Now
really alarmed, Bames flashed word to the Air Defense Command. Then he
turned back to the main scope. The unknown machines had separated. Two
were over the White House, a third near the Capitol—both prohibited
areas. Keeping his eyes on the glass, Bames called Andrews Field, across
the Potomac in Maryland.
"We're
tracking them, too," a worried radar man told him. "We've got them the
same place you have."
"Are you
sending up interceptors?" Bames asked quickly.
"No, the
field's being repaired. Our jets are up at Newcastle."
Bames
hung up, looked at the other controllers.
"The
interceptors will have to come from Delaware. It may be another
half-hour."
For
several minutes they silently tracked the saucers. Then Controller Jim
Ritchey saw that one was pacing a Capital airliner which had just taken
off. He cut in his mike and called the captain, a veteran named "Casey"
Pierman. Giving Pierman the saucer's position, Ritchey vectored him
toward it.
Until
then, the saucer's tracked speed had been about 130 miles an hour.
Suddenly, to all the controllers' amazement, its track came to an
abrupt end. Where the next blip should have been was only a blank space.
A moment
later Pierman called back.
"I saw
the thing, but it streaked off before I could get close. It climbed out
of sight in three to five seconds."
The
controllers stared at each other. Here was the answer to the blip's
disappearance. Incredible as it seemed, the saucer had zoomed completely
out of their radar beam
64
between sweeps. That
meant it had accelerated from 130 miles an hour to almost 500 in about
four seconds.
A few
minutes after this, Barnes and the others got a new jolt. One blip track
showed an abrupt 90-degree turn —something no plane could do. Then as
the sweep came around, another saucer suddenly reversed—its new blip
"blossoming" on top of the one it had just made. From over 100 miles an
hour, the mystery machine had stopped dead and completely reversed its
direction—all in about five seconds.
On top
of this uncanny discovery, a startling report came in from the tower.
Operator Joe Zacko had been watching his ASR scope, which was built to
track high speeds, when a saucer abruptly appeared on the glass. One
look and he knew it was moving at fantastic rate. Fascinated, he
watched its blips streak across the screen as the saucer raced over
Andrews Field toward Riverdale.
When the
trail suddenly ended, Zacko hastily called Cocklin. Together, they
figured the saucer's speed.
It had
been making two miles per second—7,200 miles an hour.
From the
trail it was plain that the saucer had descended vertically into the ASR
beam. It had leveled off for a few seconds. Then, climbing at tremendous
speed, it had zoomed out of the beam again.
For some
unknown reason, the jets had not arrived. (There were rumors later that
another saucer alarm, near New York, had taken all available fighters.
Though the Air Force denied this, the delay was not explained.)
The
saucers now had been circling Washington for almost two hours, and
controllers' nerves were getting taut. Until tonight, some had laughed
off the idea of visitors from other planets. But now they were badly
shaken. For the simultaneous radar tracks and visual sightings added up
to only one answer.
Up there
in the night some land of super-machines were reconnoitering the
capital. From their controlled maneuvers,
65
it was plain they
were guided—if not manned—by highly intelligent beings. They might be
about to land— the capital would be a logical point for contact. Or they
might be about to attack.
Being
cooped up in this windowless room didn't help. The tower men and the
airline pilots at least could see the strange machines' lights. Whatever
happened, they'd have a few moments' warning. All Barnes and his men
could do was track the machines and pray they were not hostile.
By now
Barnes had an eerie feeling that the mysterious visitors were listening
to his radio calls. Two or three times saucers darted away the instant
he gave pilots directions for interception. Not once did a pilot get
close enough to see behind the lights.
It was
almost 3 o'clock when the Air Force jets reached Washington. Just before
this, the saucers vanished. Apparently they had sighted the distant
fighters or heard them call the Center. Five minutes after the jets
left, the queer machines reappeared, swarming all over Washington. One
of them, its shape hidden by a large white light, followed a Capital
airliner close to the airport, then raced away.
As the
sky began to lighten, the saucers ended their five-hour survey of
Washington. But before they left, at least one witness distinctly saw
the shape of the elusive machines. At about 5:30 a radio engineer named
E. W. Chambers was leaving the WRC transmitter station when he saw five
huge discs circling in a loose formation. As he watched, dumfounded, the
discs tilted upward and climbed steeply into the sky.
Fortunately the saucers were gone before most people awoke. As it was,
hysteria grew rapidly after the story broke. At first the Air Force
tried hard to play down the Washington sightings. For several days
officers denied that Andrews Field radar men had tracked the machines.
One spokesman insisted the Control Center scope had been defective.
Another officer, to prove the incident was
66
unimportant, said
that no fighters had been sent to the area. But their attempts to reduce
public fear were in vain.
Telegrams, long-distance calls, letters by the thousands poured into the
Pentagon. Congressmen, under pressure from voters, demanded action.
Newspapers, syndicates, and radio commentators began to insist on a
press conference.
The
demands put Intelligence on the spot. If they admitted the saucers were
real, the fat would be in the fire. They would have to tell the country
just what the evidence showed. All they could do was refuse to talk, and
pray the cycle would end.
But as
new sightings came, the pressure grew. From Texas a weather bureau
observer reported a saucer racing by at 1,000 miles an hour. Civil
Defense aircraft spotters told the press of circling discs in New
Jersey, California, and a dozen other states. Scores of other reports,
by private citizens, appeared in local papers and were picked up by the
wire services.
In many
cases the secret Intelligence reports backed up the published stories.
On the night of July 23 a saucer showing a bluish-green light was seen
over Boston. A few minutes later it was picked up by GCI radar. When
Ground Control vectored an F-94 pilot toward the saucer, he saw the
weird light and locked onto the object with his own radar. But the jet
was swiftly outdistanced. In another case Intelligence officers
confirmed a series of sightings at West Coast aircraft plants. Engineers
at one plant, who watched the discs maneuver, told reporters the saucers
were "definitely controlled machines."
This
news story revived fears of a secret Russian weapon, as two or three
radio commentators tied it to an article in the London Sunday Graphic.
According to the Graphic, a 50-foot metallic disc had been seen
in a forest clearing near Hasselbach, Germany. Since this was in the
Soviet zone, the story implied that it was a Russian machine.
67
The
details gave it an authentic sound. Two figures, witnesses said, had
climbed into the conning-tower. The outer rim began to glow, then became
bright red as the ring rotated. With the tower retracted, the saucer
rose straight up, spinning like a top.
To make
it worse, from the Air Force viewpoint, the chief designer of Vickers
Aircraft had partly backed the report.
"If the
description is accurate," said the Vickers expert, "it may be a military
hovering craft. From the glow, it could house a jet plant to provide
vertical take-off. The metallic suits (worn by the two figures) could be
protection at high altitudes ... But I'd have to be shown a saucer to
believe in it."
Several
American commentators, in repeating this story, left an alarming
question in many minds. Were the saucers a Soviet spotting device, now
marking key American targets for later attack? Intelligence officers
knew it wasn't true, but that didn't help the frightened people who were
writing the Pentagon.
By the
morning of July 23, even high Air Force officers were urging
Intelligence to hold a press conference and relieve public tension. The
Director, Major General John A. Samford, found himself in a hot
crossfire. But he knew the dangers of a public discussion and he
stubbornly held out.
When the
next two days passed with no highly dramatic reports, Samford and his
staff began to breathe easier.
Then, on
the 26th, the dam broke.
The
trouble began at Key West. Early that evening a red-lighted saucer
flashed over the Naval Air Station. It was seen by hundreds of people. A
destroyer escort hastily put to sea, following the course the machine
had taken. Then official silence fell.
Shortly
after this, at 9:08 p.m., a formation of saucers descended on Washington
for the second time. Luckily, they were too high to be seen by most
people in the city.
68
But as before,
jittery controllers at the Center tracked the strange machines. Again,
Andrews Field and Washington Airport tower men confirmed the saucers'
maneuvers, pinpointing them simultaneously at spots where lights were
seen by airline pilots.
Oddly
enough, the Air Force jets were again delayed in getting to the scene.
But this time, when the first fighters arrived, some saucers were still
in sight. Flying at top speed, over 600 m.p.h., Lieutenant William L.
Patterson tried to chase the nearest machine. But it quickly left him
behind.
Meantime, Air Force Intelligence had gone into action. Major Dewey
Fournet, Jr., the Pentagon's top investigator, had been rushed to the
Center. With him were Albert M. Chop and an officer specialist on radar.
For two hours they watched the saucer blips, Fournet and Chop quizzing
Barnes and his men while the radar specialist checked the set.
Several
newsmen, tipped off to the sightings, were waiting when Fournet and the
others came out. The three men refused even to speculate on what the
saucers might be, but they confirmed Patterson's report on the
unsuccessful chase.
The new
Washington story broke with a bang in papers all over the country.
Within 48 hours newspaper editors from coast to coast were hammering at
the Air Force. One demand for the truth, a typical editorial, came from
the Rocky Mountain News in Denver.
"It is
incredible—as well as a terrifying thought—that our Air Force, with all
of its facilities, hasn't been able to identify these objects ... If
these so-called saucers involve experiments cloaked by military secrecy,
it is time to take off that cloak in the interests of national sanity.
There are enough real dangers in the world without the unnecessary
addition of imaginary ones.
"On the
other hand, if they do not actually know what these objects are, then
let there be no more boasting of our
69
scientific and
military advances until they do come up with the right answer."
Even
under the furious barrage from within and outside the Pentagon,
General Samford still battled against any public discussion. But in the
end he
had no choice.
From
somewhere higher up, General Samford was given an order. I have reliable
evidence that it came from Lieutenant General Nathan Twining, now the
Air Force chief of staff. Regardless of the source, Samford was told, in
effect: "You will hold a press conference."
At no
time in the five-year saucer scare was any man put in a tougher spot
than the Director of Intelligence.
What
could he say? What was safest, the best for the country?
Without
actually saying so, he could let Americans believe the saucers were a
secret U. S. device. It was not true, and probably few papers would
accept it, after all the denials.
Even if
the public believed it, this could cause a dangerous complacency, and
Congress was sure to cut badly needed appropriations. With a superior
weapon like the saucers, there would be less need for new long-range
bombers and conventional guided missiles.
So that
answer was out.
There
was only one safe step, in the nation's present mood.
The
saucers would have to be debunked.
It was a hard step
for General Samford to take. It meant reversing the new, sober approach
which Intelligence was making. It was risky, too—this time the public
might not believe the Air Force statements.
But it
was the only way to stop the rising tide of fear.
70
CHAPTER V
The Powder Keg
Since 1947, as
General Samford knew, the Air Force had frequently tried to debunk the
flying saucers. Each time it had been more difficult. How could it be
done now, with any hope of success?
It was
impossible to go back to the 1949 statement, which explained away all
sightings. For the Air Force was now on record that many were still
unsolved. The latest figure, given out by Captain Ruppelt, was 25 per
cent; some Intelligence officers privately made it much higher.
Even
admitting that 25 per cent were unsolved was misleading, for it evaded
the basic facts. Actually, the Air Force reports showed nearly 500
genuine saucer sightings. The excitement created by these authentic
accounts had caused many erroneous reports. But this did not change the
basic situation.
Instead
of admitting this, a reverse approach had been used. The implication was
plain: If the Air Force could solve 75 per cent of the cases, probably
the rest could be explained, with a more scientific analysis.
Misleading or not, this reverse approach would have to be the foundation
for debunking the saucers now. Samford's problem, then, was to explain
the remaining 25 per cent. He could say that the saucers were probably
some
71
strange phenomena,
completely outside our present understanding. Even some Air Force
officers, who didn't know the facts, believed this was true. But it
ignored the sighting patterns and the proof of definitely controlled
maneuvers.
How many
shrewd newsmen would swallow this vague answer after the Washington
sightings?
The high
speeds and maneuvers, General Samford knew, had to have a specific
answer. What made it harder was the simultaneous visual sightings and
radar trackings, especially the accurate pinpointing by the Center and
Andrews Field. There had to be some explanation, or the newsmen would be
on him like hawks.
There
was one loophole—the temperature-inversion theory publicized by Doctor
Menzel.
Samford
and his Intelligence staff already knew the theory. It was based on an
effect well known to scientists. Ordinarily, air gets colder as altitude
increases, but under certain conditions there may be layers of warm air
with cool air underneath.
Since
light rays move slower in a denser medium, they are refracted, or bent,
as they pass from cold to warm air. It is this which causes mirages on
deserts or on heated roads where motorists seem to see pools of water
ahead. Like light, radar waves also move more slowly in a denser medium
and are bent in the same way. When a temperature inversion is strong
enough, it will cause a refraction effect.
According to Menzel, observers reporting saucer lights had been misled
by reflections, either of ground lights or of the stars, tire moon, or
the sun. In the same way he explained radar saucers as ground objects
picked up by deflected radar beams, then re-reflected by the inversion
layer to show on scopes as strange blips. The apparent high speeds and
violent maneuvers, he added, were caused by reflections of moving
objects such as cars or trains, or by turbulence in the inversion. In
the latter case the agitated
72
air reflected the
light or radar waves unevenly, creating false effects of motion even
from fixed objects.
During
July several prominent scientists had refused to accept Menzel's claims.
But few of the public knew this. Even General Samford, at that time, did
not have all the evidence against the astronomer's theory.
Regardless of its merits, it offered the only out. It did explain a
small number of sightings, perhaps two to three per cent. Some
Intelligence officers were afraid it might backfire; there was one key
fact in the Washington cases which would blow it sky-high. But so far
this fact had escaped the press. If no one brought it up, the answer
might stick.
No one
in Intelligence, from General Samford on down, wanted to take this step.
But after the press conference order, they had no choice.
It was
obvious that General Samford should not face the press alone. He would
have to have help, not only in covering technical angles but in
handling dangerous questions. With a large group, questions could be
passed back and forth to give the Director a breathing spell.
When the
details were worked out, the conference was set for July 29. The group
would include several UFO experts from ATIC—Colonel Donald L. Bower, of
the Technical Analysis Division, Captain Ed Ruppelt from Project
Bluebook, Captain Roy L. James, Mr. B. L. Griffing, and other civilian
specialists from the Electronics Branch. To cover the interception
angles, Major General Roger M. Ramey, Chief of the Air Defense Command,
would be on hand with some of his staff.
Up to
the very last, the Intelligence officers hoped that the conference would
be canceled. But the sightings, instead of letting up, were still
increasing.
That
very morning Army officers and Indiana state police had watched a weird
"dogfight" between several discs over Indianapolis. Three hours later a
saucer had scouted the atomic energy plant at Los Alamos, racing off
73
at high speed when
Air Force jets went after it. Other Intelligence reports, coming in by
teletype, hinted that the 29th would be a peak day in this July saucer
cycle.
By noon
the Air Force had still another headache. The night before a story by
INS had reported a new Air Force order—if saucers ignored orders to
land, pilots were to open fire. At Washington, Frank Edwards had picked
up the flash and repeated it on the Mutual network. Telegrams
protesting the order were now coming in from all over the country. One,
typical of the rest, came from Robert L. Farnsworth, president of the
U. S. Rocket Society. Also wiring the White House, Farnsworth gave
United Press a copy of his message to help arouse the nation. It read:
"I
respectfully suggest that no offensive action be taken against the
objects . . . Should they be extraterrestrial, such action might result
in the gravest consequences, as well as alienating us from beings of far
superior powers. Friendly contact should be sought as long as possible."
Under
this new barrage General Samford gave up his last-ditch attempt to
postpone the conference. By this time no one could have stopped it
without a disastrous flare-back. Many people would have suspected some
frightening answer too terrible to make public.
It was
nearly 12 o'clock when an Air Force officer phoned me that the
conference would be at 4. Thinking it would be sooner, I'd planned to
fly to New York at 5, to be ready for radio and television dates on the
following day. On the way in, I stopped at the airport, switched my
reservation to 7 o'clock, and then drove on to the Pentagon.
At 3:50
the conference room was half-filled. I recognized C. B. Allen, aviation
man for the New York Herald Tribune; Gunnar Back, television
commentator; Clay Blair of Life; Doug Larsen of NEA; and a dozen others
from big-city papers and national magazines. By 4 o'clock the room was
packed with top correspondents, wire-service
74
men, and
commentators. I hadn't seen a bigger turnout since the A-bomb story
broke.
Promptly
on the minute, General Samford came in, a stockily built man with
whimsical blue eyes. His shrewd, pleasant face showed no hint of
concern—it was not for nothing that he was Director of Air Force
Intelligence.
Behind
Samford came Major General Ramey, a florid-faced, serious-looking
officer. Their advisers spread out around the platform—an impressive
group of colonels, majors, captains, and civilian specialists. Only
Ruppelt came near to matching Samford's unconcerned look. Most of the
others were sober-faced, and with good reason.
For the
next hour or so they would be sitting on a powder keg. Two simple
questions would light the fuse. All they could do was pray that nobody
thought to ask them.
In his
opening remarks, General Samford set a pattern which he used later in
answering difficult questions. Normally, Samford is not a verbose man:
on occasion he can be as terse as a drill sergeant. But clipped words,
short sentences, often give a dramatic effect, and the Director wanted
no drama here. A dry, academic approach was the best answer, and Samford
did his utmost to set the pattern.
"I think
the plan is to have very brief opening remarks," he said in a slow,
unruffled voice, "and then ask for such questions as you may want to put
to us for discussion and answer. Insofar as opening remarks are
concerned, I just want to state our reason for concern about this.
"The Air
Force feels a very definite obligation to identify and analyze things
that happen in the air that may have in them menace to the United States
and, because of that feeling of obligation and our pursuit of that
interest, since 1947, we have an activity that was known one time as
Project Saucer (press name for Project Sign) and now, as part of another
more stable and integrated organization, have undertaken to analyze
between a thousand and two thousand reports dealing with this area. And
out of that
75
mass of reports that
we've received we've been able to take things which were originally
unidentified and dispose of them to our satisfaction in terms of bulk
where we came to the conclusion that these things were either friendly
aircraft erroneously recognized or reported, hoaxes—quite a few of
those—electronic and meteorological phenomena of one sort or another,
light aberrations, and many other things."
The
general's involved sentences could not have been better calculated to
ease the tension. Already the saucers seemed a little less real. He went
on in the same detached, academic manner.
"However, there have remained a percentage of the total, in the order of
20 per cent of the reports that have come from credible observers of
relatively incredible things. And because of those things not being
possible for us to move along and associate with the kind of things that
we've found can be associated with the bulk of these reports; we keep on
being concerned about them.
"However, I'd like to say that the difficulty of disposing of these
reports is largely based upon the lack of any standard measurement or
any ability to measure these things which have been reported briefly by
some, more elaborately by others, but with no measuring devices that
can convert the thing or idea or the phenomenon into something that
becomes manageable as material for the kind of analysis that we know."
Several
reporters looked at each other blankly. The man on my right leaned over
to me.
"If he's
trying to befuddle us, he's already got me," he whispered.
The
general went on for two or three minutes.
"Our
real interest in this project is not one of intellectual curiosity, but
is in trying to establish and appraise the possibility of a menace to
the United States. And we can say, as of now, that there has been no
pattern that reveals anything remotely like purpose or remotely like
consistency
76
that we can in any
way associate with any menace to the United States."
Here, I
knew, Samford was skating on thin ice. Even before I saw all the ATIC
evidence, I had enough reports that did show a definite pattern. But it
was the general's job to dispel public fear, and admitting a pattern
would only have increased it.
After
mentioning reports of strange aerial objects back in biblical times,
Samford threw the conference open for questions. In giving the questions
and answers here, I have taken them verbatim from the official
transcript. It is not a complete account—the conference lasted 80
minutes, and many questions were unimportant. But all the main points
are included.
Since
reporters did not identify themselves, the transcript shows queries as
merely from "the press." In one or two cases I have identified men whom
I recognized.
General
Samford's preliminary remarks had, somehow, lifted the saucers into a
distant, shadowy realm. But the first question briskly brought them back
to earth. It came from Doug Larsen of NEA.
"Have
there been more than one radar sighting simultaneously?" he asked.
"That is, blips from several stations all concentrating on the same
area?"
"You
mean in the past?" said Samford.
"Yes,
sir."
"Yes.
That is not an unusual thing to happen to this sequence at all.
Phenomenon has passed from one radar to another and with a fair degree
of certainty that it was the same phenomenon.. . Now, when we talk about
down to the split second, I don't know . . ."
"Enough
to give you a fix so that you can be sure it is right in a certain
place?"
"That is
most rare," said the general.
"Has
there been any?" persisted Larsen.
"Most
rare. I don't recall that we have had one that gives us that kind of an
effect."
77
Larsen
and many of the others looked baffled, for this very point had been
emphasized by the Control Center men. But before Larsen could go on,
another man cut in with a safer question on ionized clouds. A minute
later a redheaded correspondent down in front tried to pick up where
Larsen was stopped.
"General, have you talked to your Air Intelligence officer who was over
at National Airport when they were sighting all these 'bandits' on the CAA screen?"
"Yes,
sir, I have."
"Have
you talked with the Andrews Field people who apparently saw the same
thing?"
"I
haven't talked to them myself, but others have."
"Well,
could you give us an account of what they did see and what explanation
you might attach to it?"
This was
getting closer, but Samford showed only a good-natured patience.
"Well, I
could discuss possibilities. The radar screen has been picking up things
for many years that—well, birds, a flock of ducks. I know there's been
one instance in which a flock of ducks was picked up and was intercepted
and flown through as being an unidentified phenomenon."
"Where
was that, General?" asked the redheaded man.
"I don't
recall where it was. I think it might have been in Japan."
In the
next five minutes the reporter's question somehow was lost in the
shuffle. Then Gunnar Back brought it to light again.
"General
Samford, I understand there were radar experts who saw these sightings
Saturday night or early Sunday morning. What was their interpretation
of what they saw on the scope?"
"They
said they saw good returns."
"Which
would indicate that these were solid objects similar to aircraft?"
"No, not
necessarily. We get good returns from birds."
78
"Well,
you wouldn't get as large a blip from a bird as—"
"No,
unless it was close."
"Did
they report that these could have been birds?"
"No,"
said Samford. (In fact they had flatly denied it, as I learned later.)
At this
point an Associated Press man broke in with a question on temperature
inversions. Samford passed it on to Captain James.
"What
sort of ground targets give these reflections?" the AP man asked.
"It
depends on the amount of the temperature inversion and the size and
shape of the ground objects," Captain James told him. I could see he was
uneasy; this was getting close to one of the key questions.
"Would
this reflection account for the simultaneous radar sightings and visual
sightings which appear to coincide on the basis of conversations
between the radar operator and the observer outside?"
"There
is some possibility of that," James said cautiously.
"Why
would these temperature inversions change location so rapidly or
travel?"
"Well,
actually," said James, "it can be the appearance or disappearance of
different ground targets, giving the appearance of something moving
when, actually, the different objects are standing still."
"Would
these pseudo-blips cause any difficulties in combat?"
"Not to
people that understand what's going on." James hesitated. "They do cause
difficulty."
Shortly
after this, another newsman came even closer to the danger point.
"Captain, was there a temperature inversion in this area last Saturday
night?"
It
jarred James; I could see that.
"There
was," he said briefly.
79
"And the
Saturday night proceeding?"
"I'm not
sure—"
"Did any
two sets in this area get a fix on these so-called saucers around here?"
"The
information we have isn't good enough to determine that," evaded James.
The
reporter looked incredulous. "You don't know whether Andrews Field and
Washington National Airport actually got a triangulation on anything?"
"You
see," said James, "the records made and kept aren't accurate enough to
tie that in that close."
"What is
the possibility of these being other than phenomena?"
This was
too hot a potato for Captain James. General Samford quickly caught it.
"I'd
like to relieve Captain James for just a minute," he said.
Confirming the query to guided missiles, Samford ruled them out in a
long discussion that reduced the saucers to "something” with unlimited
power and no mass.
"You
know what no mass means," he added. "There's nothing there."
For the
next ten minutes the questions led into safer fields. By this time I had
changed my mind about questioning General Samford. It was obvious this
was a deliberate debunking, a carefully worked-out plan to combat
hysteria. There might be more reason for hiding the facts than I knew. I
decided to wait until after the conference and ask my questions
privately.
After
several vain attempts the red-headed man down front finally got back to
his original question.
"You had
two experts over there last Saturday night. . . What was their opinion?"
He had
put the query to Captain James, but again General Samford interrupted.
"May I
try to make another answer and ask for support or negation on the
quality of the radar operator? I personally
80
don't feel that is
necessarily associated with quality of radar operators, because radar
operators of great quality are going to be confused by the things which
now appear and may appear in a radar ... I think that a description of
a GCA landing has some bearing on that in which to get associated with
the GCA you have to make a certain number of queries and do a certain
number of things and then you become identified through the fact that
you obey..."
This
went on for a minute or so, during which the redheaded man began to
look a trifle groggy. Then Samford finished.
"Would
you address yourself to what I've just said?" he inquired.
"Yes,"
said the redhead. "What do the experts think? That was the question."
"The
experts?" said General Samford.
"The
ones that saw it last Saturday night. What did they report to you?"
"They
said they made good returns."
The
reporter, apparently a bit dizzy from the merry-go-round, gave up and
sat down. But another correspondent jumped up.
"Did
they draw any conclusion as to what they were, whether they were
clouds?"
"They
made good returns," said General Samford, "and they think they ought to
be followed up."
"But now
you come to the general belief that it was either heat inversions or
some other phenomena without substance."
"The
phrase 'without substance' bothers me a little," said Samford.
"Well,
could you—" "Say what we think?"
About 50
of the press, in one voice, shouted: "Yes!"
General
Samford smiled.
81
"I think
that the highest probability is that these are phenomena associated with
the intellectual and scientific interests that we are on the road to
learn more about, but that there is nothing in them that is associated
with materials or vehicles or missiles that are directed against the
United States."
"The
question whether these are hostile or not makes very little difference,"
said one reporter. "Are you excluding from consideration a missile, a
vehicle, or any other material object that might be flying through the
air other than sound or light or some other intangible? Somebody from
this planet or some other planet violating our air space?"
This was
the first direct mention of the space visitors answer. Instead of
replying directly, the general brought in outside opinions.
"The astronomers are
our best advisers, of course, in this business of visitors from
elsewhere. The astronomers photograph the sky continuously
perhaps with the most adequate photography in existence, and the
complete absence of things which would have to be in their appearance
for many days and months to come from somewhere else—it doesn't cause
them to have any enthusiasm whatsoever in thinking about this other side
of it."
But this
oblique answer did not tell the full story. Perhaps General Samford did
not know it, but several astronomers had reported strange objects
moving in outer space. On one occasion a distant, unidentified object
was observed for two nights by astronomers at the Naval Observatory in
Washington. Though they later decided it was probably a freak asteroid,
one astronomer told a Washington science editor, before this decision,
that a space ship could not be absolutely ruled out. In several other
cases astronomers had seen mysterious objects moving across the face of
the moon. And I had also heard reports, from two sources I believe
reliable, that Palomar and other large observatories had sighted and
photographed unknown,
82
controlled devices
maneuvering near the earth. According to my informants, these sightings
had been kept secret at the request of the Air Force. Even if this
particular report was wrong, the others, I knew, were correct.
One
reporter, not satisfied with Samford's answer, tried to pin him down.
"General, let's make it clear now you are excluding—if you'll affirm
that—you are excluding vehicles, missiles, and other tangible objects
flying through space, including the subhuman bodies from other planets."
"In my
mind, yes," said the general.
The man
on my right leaned over to me.
"Why
'subhuman?' They'd have to be superhuman to be that far ahead of us.
And I noticed Samford didn't make that an official answer."
A few
moments later one of the press brought Samford back to the subject of
simultaneous radar tracking. It was a touchy point. If the general
admitted the triangulation, by absolutely simultaneous radar bearings,
it would wreck the Menzel answer, as several scientists had already told
ATIC. But this time he had a determined opponent.
"General, you said there'd never been a simultaneous radar fix on one of
these things."
"I don't
think I wanted to say that," replied Samford.
"You
didn't mean to say it?"
"I meant
to say that when you talk about simultaneously, somebody will say, 'Was
it on 1203 hours 24 ½ seconds?' and I don't know."
"Well,"
said the reporter, "I'd like to point out this fact. The officer in
charge of the radar station at Andrews Field told me that on the morning
of July 20, which was a week from last Saturday, he picked up an object
three miles north of Riverdale. He was in intercom communication with
CAA and they exchanged information. The CAA also had a blip three miles
north of Riverdale and on both radars the same blip remained for 30
seconds and simultaneously disappeared from both sets—"
83
"Well,
their definition of simultaneous, yes," said Samford. "But some people
won't be satisfied that that is simultaneously."
"It is
pretty damned simultaneous for all purposes," the reporter said firmly.
But the
general refused to be trapped.
"Well,
I'm talking about the split-second people . . . they'll say your
observations are delayed by half a second, therefore you can't say it
was simultaneous."
Outmaneuvered, the reporter turned to Captain James.
"Does
your inversion theory explain away that situation?"
"It
possibly could, yes," James said warily.
"It
possibly could, but could it?"
"We
don't have the details."
"Is
there any reason why it couldn't?" the reporter demanded.
James
squirmed, looked at Samford, apparently in the hope of being taken off
the hook.
"General," the reporter said tardy, "can we get this clarified?"
For the
first time Samford ducked the issue.
"I'm
trying to let this gentleman ask a question—" he looked down at the
front row. "Excuse me."
For the
next 15 minutes Samford and his advisers had an easier time. One
reporter, quizzing Ruppelt, tried unsuccessfully to make him admit a
concentration of sightings at atomic energy plants. Mr. Griffing and
Colonel Bower, discussing the refraction-grid cameras, Schmidt
telescopes, and plans for more scientific investigations, managed to
avoid any pitfalls. So did General Ramey, when he explained a few of the
interception details. Then one reporter, who'd tried for ten minutes to
get the floor, tossed in a hot question.
"General, suppose some super intelligent creature had come up with a
solution to the theoretical problem of levitation.
84
Would that not be
mass-less in our observations, either by radar or by sight—no gravity?"
"Well, I
don't know whether I can give any answer to that," said General Samford.
"We believe most of this can be understood gradually by the human mind."
The
reporter, balked, sat down. But later he tried another angle.
"General, did you notice in all of your, say, 20 per cent of the
unexplainable reports, a consistency as to color, size, or
speed—estimated speed?"
"None
whatsoever," said Samford.
Like a
chorus in Pinafore, several correspondents exclaimed in unison:
"None
whatsoever?"
I almost
expected Samford to come out with, "Well, hardly ever." Instead, he said
very firmly, "No."
It would
have been folly to admit that such patterns were known; it would
immediately have nullified everything Samford had said. But such
groupings did exist; even the Project report in 1949 had listed two
distinct types and certain frequency periods. However, General Samford
was not Director of Intelligence at that time, and he may not have known
of this analysis.
By now
the conference had run well over an hour. Some of the reporters were
anxious to close it and get their stories filed. But one man made a last
stubborn try to crack the simultaneous sighting angle.
"General, how do you explain this case? . . . The Senior Controller said
whenever one of the unidentified blips appeared anywhere near Pierman's
plane he would call Pierman and say, 'You have traffic at two o'clock
about three miles,' and Pierman would look and say, 'I see the light.'
This was done not once but three times. And then this past Saturday
night Bames vectored at least a half a dozen airline pilots in to these
things . . ."
"I can't
explain that," said Samford.
85
The
reporter looked amazed; he had obviously been expecting another evasion.
"Well,
how do you explain ... is that auto-suggestion or—"
"I can't
explain it at all," admitted the general. But a moment later, after a
comment on mesmerism and mind reading, he compared it with spiritualism.
"For many years, the field of spiritualism had these same things in
which completely competent creditable observers reported incredible
things. I don't mean to say this is that sort of thing, but it's an
explanation of our inability to explain."
Near the
last, a correspondent asked him if the Air Force was withholding facts.
The general replied that only the names of sighting witnesses were
withheld.
"How
about your interpretation of what they reported?" the newsman said
bluntly.
Perhaps
Samford's guard was down; it had been a trying 80 minutes, and he looked
tired.
"We're
trying to say as much as we can on that today and admit the barrier of
understanding on all of this is not one that we break."
Knowing
the service phrase "break security," I was sure this was what he meant.
Later several service friends of mine agreed. But evidently none of the
press took it that way, for no one followed it up.
As the
conference broke up, I heard some of the newsmen's comments.
"Never
heard so much and learned so little," one man said acidly. His companion
shrugged.
"What
did you expect? Even if they know the answer, they wouldn't give it out
now, with all this hysteria."
Pushing
through the crowd toward General Samford, I heard a press photographer
jeering at a reporter.
"OK,
wise guy, I told you there wasn't anything to the saucers."
"You're
nuts," snapped the reporter. "Didn't you notice
86
the way Samford kept
sliding around hot questions—and the way he kept taking Captain James
off the spot?"
"I think
you're wrong," said another newsman. "I believe it was on the level."
When the
group around Samford thinned out, I asked him the two questions I'd had
in mind.
"How big
an inversion, General—how many degrees is necessary to produce the
effects at Washington Airport, assuming they're possible at all?"
He
looked at me with no change in expression. I would not want to play
poker with the general.
"Why, I
don't know exactly," he said. "But there was an inversion."
"Do you
know how many degrees, on either night?"
"Excuse
me, General," someone broke in sharply. I turned around and saw Dewitt
Searles, now a lieutenant colonel, eying me suspiciously.
"You
still on this saucer business?" he said. Without waiting for an answer—I
had the feeling he had merely wanted to cut off my questions—he turned
back to Samford. "Any time you're ready, sir; the newsreel men are
waiting."
On the
way out, I stopped to talk with Captain Ed Ruppelt, a broad-shouldered
young officer with a disarming grin. I knew he came from Iowa, like
myself. After I introduced myself, he told me he'd read some of my
stories.
"I don't
mean the saucer book. I did read that—in self-defense, in case I ever
ran into you. But I mean those aviation yams, when you were writing
fiction."
With a
start like that, I hated to spring the two questions on him, but I did. Ruppelt looked at me thoughtfully.
"You
were talking with General Samford. What did he say?"
"He
didn't," I said. "Never mind, I can see you're on the spot."
We
talked a little longer, on safer subjects, then I went out to my car and
drove to the airport.
87
As the
airliner droned north, I thought over the high points of the press
conference. I was positive now it had been a cover-up, forced on the Air
Intelligence men by the July crisis. Obviously they had acted for the
good of the country, and I suddenly realized what an ordeal it must have
been.
But all
of this could have been avoided if the Air Force, back in the earlier
stages, had taken the American people into its confidence. During a lull
in sightings, Intelligence could have made a frank statement, perhaps
like this:
"Evidence shows that the saucers are real, that they are some kind of
revolutionary machines. There is no sign that they are dangerous or
hostile. We don't know where they come from, but we are certain they do
not come from Russia or any other nation on earth. It seems likely they
come from another planet and are making a friendly survey of the earth
before attempting contact."
Or, to
reduce the impact, the Air Force could merely have said that this was a
fair possibility.
It would
have caused some alarm. But gradually Americans would have accepted the
facts, even the possibility of a saucer attack—just as we now have
accepted the danger of A-bomb attack.
Such a
step would have ended all ridicule. Scientists would have felt less
squeamish about aiding Project Sign, and Congress would have granted
funds for an all-out investigation. Instead, secrecy had built up the
mystery, and with it public fear.
When I
reached New York, I checked in at the Commodore and then waited for the
early editions. By this time presses all over the country were beginning
to grind out the conference story. Ironically, even as the presses
roared, Air Force jet pilots were chasing saucers over two Midwest
states. One case, if it had been made public that night would have
ruined the inversion answer and wrecked the debunking plan. But I didn't
learn this until weeks later.
88
Just
before midnight, I saw the New York early editions. The Times
piece, by Austin Stevens, carried a front-page two-column headline:
Air Force Debunks
Saucers As Just Natural Phenomena
The
Herald Tribune story, by C. B. Allen, followed the same line.
Next
day, I called Washington. Neither the Post nor the Star
had questioned the Air Force answers. The Post story-was
headlined:
Saucer Blips Over Capital Laid To Heat
The
Associated Press account was in the same vein. Though the Washington
News and some other papers had hedged, it was clear that General
Samford and his staff had put it over. And in an item from Harvard, Dr.
Menzel assured the country that the saucers would disappear when the
heat spell was over.
After
all this, I wasn't too happy about my talks on television and radio.
Perhaps I shouldn't be trying to knock down the Air Force defense.
Though I'd tried to get all the angles in the last three years, there
might be a serious one I didn't know—something that justified the Air
Force debunking.
It was
too late to cancel the programs. They had been set for a week, beginning
with Bill Slater's "Luncheon at Sardi's" and going on up until late at
night. But when they were over, I came to a decision.
When I
got back, I would put it up squarely to the Air Force. If they convinced
me, I would keep still from then on.
No comments:
Post a Comment