Tag Archives: aliens

Aliens, Brothels and Fireworks

Lonely Nevada road

Heading north from Las Vegas to Tonopah NV and Winnemucca NV is a lonely, barren stretch of road until:

Roadside entertainment in NevadaAliens appear to have landed and set up some brothels.

Roadside entertainment in Nevada

They brought some outer space trinkets to sell:

Roadside entertainment in Nevada

And one giant firecracker:

Roadside entertainment in Nevada

Area 51 is an extension of Edwards Air Force Base and the subject of much secrecy including conspiracy theories and UFOs. I’m sure you didn’t believe me when I said I’d seen a UFO as a child. I’d no proof. It was only lodged in my little girl memory.

NOW I have photographic proof of a more recent sighting!! Ooooo! What’s that?

Drone over Nevada

Do you know what this is?

Drone over Nevada

UFOs, Flying Saucers and Me

Once we’d decided absolutely to live in Florida, we fell for the seductive charms of the American Southwest.

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We were lured by arid landscapes on high plateaus with layers of rugged purple mountain ranges as a backdrop; warm dry air; sunlight so bright I can almost see to read without my glasses; desert sunsets; a pleasing mix of Spanish and Native American architecture; acres of white sand with no sea in sight; the unfamiliar flora of Joshua trees (the funny little people of the tree world on which it is said Dr. Seuss modeled his trees), saguaros, mesquite trees, tumbleweeds, incredible cactus flowers; the unfamiliar and thrilling fauna of scorpions, rattlesnakes, coyotes and road runners.

And flying saucers.

The guidebook we were using recommended a visit to the UFO Museum in Roswell, New Mexico. In its words the museum “inadvertently exposes the whole tawdry business as transparent nonsense” referring to the 1947 crash landing of a flying saucer manned by little aliens.

UFO Museum Roswell NM

The feeling I had as we entered the museum was not disbelief so much as not really caring one way or the other, the same as if I was going to see a science fiction movie. I expected to be entertained by a lighthearted couple of hours looking at mocked up spaceships.

As I began to read through witness statements, taken at the time and in later years, as well as the government and military’s vehement denials (to this day) that anything otherworldly had happened, I became intrigued. As I looked at grainy photographs and amateur drawings, my interest waned.

Then I saw it – a drawing of a spaceship I had seen when I was a little girl. Jimmy drifted further away in the museum as I stared at the simple drawing. It all came back to me as clearly as if it were yesterday.

I was no more than five years old and sitting in the back seat of my father’s Buick as he drove along Taylor Avenue close to where we lived at the time in the suburbs north of Baltimore. What appeared to be a commercial airliner without wings – although I wouldn’t even have thought of it in those terms at that age – was hovering right above the houses facing the road. It was so low I could see the rectangles of light of the “passenger” windows. My little girl mind imagined it was landing on the rooftops. The image seared on my mind was the row of rectangles of dazzling bright light. And as I stared it zoomed off.

The sight was vivid in my little mind for many years, then faded with the decades.

Until now.

And I had never spoken of it.

Rushing to find Jimmy, I blurted out, “I’ve seen a flying saucer.”

“Well of course you have.”

“No! Not here. When I was a little girl. But I never told anyone.”

“Why?” he asked, grinning at me.

“Maybe I thought they wouldn’t believe me.”

“Are you sure it wasn’t one of your crazy dreams?”


It wasn’t a dream, was it?

I went back and stared at the drawing some more. No. It wasn’t a dream. It had been early evening and dark. The rectangles of light had been intense in the large dark shape hovering over the rooftops. A stationary aircraft, but not a helicopter and it didn’t make a sound. I had known that wasn’t quite right, but a five-year-old’s head is full of wonderment and anything is possible. My mind hadn’t developed the ability to analyze using logic.

I hadn’t said anything to anyone because . . . why hadn’t I said anything? More than feeling silly, I was scared. This was at the height of the Cold War with the U.S.S.R. It frightened me. I never told a soul.

At my elementary school, as well as fire drills, we had air raid drills. Every classroom in the school trooped into the corridors and closed the classroom doors to protect ourselves from flying glass. Shoulder to shoulder we faced the wall, crouched down, and face to the floor clasped our hands behind our necks and waited for the all clear. The posture would have been useless with post-war bombs but we continued to practice the drill at various schools for years.

It was all very alarming in a strangely exhilarating way. The Russians were coming. The spaceship I saw I was convinced was full of Russians and they were going to bomb us. If I never told anyone what I saw it might never happen.

That’s how it worked in my tiny mind and Jimmy confirmed a similar way of juvenile thinking a few days later by telling me of a headline he’d seen as a young lad delivering newspapers. “Khrushchev Says 8 Bombs Will Obliterate England.” He was fearful too, and for years, but never confided in his family or friends. Perhaps we’d have made good spy material. Strong silent types.

Although no physical evidence remains, the documents on display at the UFO Museum were very compelling. Those, with my own sighting and a photo of a flying saucer over the Chesapeake Bay were enough.

Over the years, numerous and diverse witnesses have given similar accounts of flying discs, scorched earth at the crash landing site, descriptions of pieces of the craft that had no earthly properties and alien bodies, one of which (of whom?) was alive for a short time.

Interestingly, the witnesses of the Roswell incident who blabbed to the press and flying saucer investigators were the ones not in government employment.

The rancher who discovered the crash site was asked “What about the little green men?” and in an unguarded moment he replied, “I never said they were green.”

Streetlight, Roswell NM

Government officials and career military personnel (who were later in life in receipt of a government pension) don’t even remember the “incident” and denied being involved when documentary evidence proves the contrary. Now you have to ask yourself why?

I don’t care if you don’t believe I saw a UFO. Decades later the remembered image is still intoxicating. In the words of one of the many witnesses who weren’t dependent on a government pension,

“I know what I saw.”

The Alien on Foreign Soil

“I hope that ice soon melts.”

Our noisy back seat passenger.
Our noisy back seat passenger.

“Me too.”

Our distracting back seat passenger was a cooler of ice water. We were on our way to Tubac and the ice rattled with every gear change, stop, start and turn.

“We’ll be very nearly in Mexico today.”

“It’s just another 20 miles,” I said after glancing at the road atlas.

“I hope we don’t get stopped by the Border Patrol. I don’t have my passport and green card,” said himself blithely.

“Shouldn’t you carry your green card with you all the time?” I said suddenly alarmed. The ice rattled in accordance.

“I don’t know.”

Foreign soil? I19 is measured in kilometers in the U.S.
Foreign soil? I19 is measured in kilometers in the U.S.

“I think you should.”

“You don’t carry your passport in England.”

“That’s not relevant. It’s a different country.”

“I know that,” said himself indignantly. I think the ramifications were beginning to sink in. “Anyway, you haven’t got your passport either.”

“I don’t need mine,” I said complacently. “It’s not against the law for an American not to have their passport with them on American soil. Not everyone even has a passport. I’ll just say I’m American and they won’t bother with me. You could try that.”

“You don’t sound American.”

“Doesn’t matter,” I said in my best clipped accent. “I’d be telling the truth.”

A few tense minutes passed as the desert landscape with mesquite trees crowding the road, distant mountains and Interstate signs marked in kilometers slipped by.

Uh-oh! If you've traveled in the Southwest, the distinctive Border Control canopy is immediately recognizable.
Uh-oh! If you’ve traveled in the Southwest, the distinctive Border Control canopy is immediately recognizable.

“Oh, bugger!” Jimmy exclaimed and he took a deep breath. The Border Patrol checkpoint loomed ahead on the other side of the highway. Every vehicle was being stopped coming north from Mexico. There was no way to avoid it on our way back.

“I’ve got my own truck keys. If they detain you and confiscate your keys I can still get home.”

“Oh, shut up.”

Fancy a crocheted typewriter?
Fancy a crocheted typewriter?

We managed to spend a pleasant afternoon in the artist colony of Tubac, strolling in and out of the shops, admiring the artists’ work, not spending $500 on a four by six inch painting and buying a pair of earrings instead, enjoying a Mexican lunch with Washington and Chilean wine and ignoring the elephant in the room.

Communing with some rusty old friends.
Communing with some rusty old friends.

During our alfresco lunch I commented, “I’ve got a beautiful view of the desert, mountains and blue sky from here. Shame about your view.” Jimmy was facing a rather large patron stuffing down a rather large lunch.

Quick as a flash he turned to face me and said, “Why? You’re just as beautiful as the desert, and sometimes just as prickly!”

Well! I wasn’t sure how to take that.

No escape.
No escape.

If you are wondering how we fared on the way home, we had no choice but to queue with all the other traffic for the Border Patrol checkpoint on the only road home from Tubac. I kept my mouth shut for once, knowing Jimmy might be feeling anxious. We rolled up to our turn for the interrogation and document check. Jimmy put his window down. The patrolman glanced at our American truck, with Arizona plates, then at the two harmless-looking old gits in the front seat and said, “You folks have a nice evening,” and waved us through.

Out of interest I Googled  Jimmy’s stance with regard to carrying his green card. The law states failing to have your green card with you is a misdemeanor and if you are found guilty you can be fined up to $100 and put in jail for up to 30 days.

Should the FBI, CIA, Border Patrol, Homeland Security, Arizona State Police, local sheriff or ICE want to come looking for Jimmy, his oversight had no criminal intent.

And he won’t do it again.

The reference to The Alien in the title is from my emigration to England many years ago. I was referred to as The Alien by the Foreign Office until I received permanent residency status. My then mother-in-law found this very funny so it became an enduring tag. I think to her I was quite alien.

Now Jimmy is The Alien.