INTRODUCTION
The next time you’re in America and somebody informs you they have to see something to believe it, tell them to look East. Ask them if they can see France.
Of course their answer will be, “No.”
Calmly inquire if they believe France exists.
Unless they’re mentally deficient or lying, their response will be a reluctant, “Yes,” since they know where this line of questioning is going. Immediately, their argument ceases to retain logic. If you’re not currently in France, or close enough to view it with your naked eye, you only believe this nation exists because of images you’ve seen of it, perhaps a trip you once took there, or stories inculcated by others. Due to the curvature of the Earth, and our inferior ocular abilities, one can’t see France from America. Still, we take for granted it’s there, crankin’ out croissants, teachin’ folks to seduce women and generally pissin’ people off.
As a species, we like to think we’re anything but gullible. Ironically, the best-selling book of all time — one at least two billion humans believe is factual — is a publication of which we know not the authors. We tell ourselves ghosts, spook lights and UFOs are the stuff of legend, and then adhere to a doctrine that professes some guy parted an entire sea with the wave of his staff.
Endless photos, radar reports and videos substantiate the existence of anomalous objects navigating about our atmosphere. High-ranking military officials; fighter, as well as commercial pilots; politicians and scientists currently attest to having witnessed inexplicable aerial enigmas. Uncountable hours of pilot-to-tower and tower-to-pilot audio exist, affirming the presence of unexplained skyward conundrums. Still, we dismiss this staggering mass of proof.
Paranormal television shows — more about jump-starting one’s career than objectively researching what might be legitimate topics — haven’t added credibility to the study of the unknown. Anybody with a camcorder having a night vision feature on it can make a name for themselves, scaring their friends in the dark. Few are those who labor fastidiously over research regarding the strange.
The Paranormal Road Trip series endeavors to change all that. I’m not asserting the subjects provided herein are factual, but the material surrounding each is the most current.
Hell, I don’t know if a small town dog in Missouri was able to read numerous languages, or if there’s a massive spaceship buried beneath a UFO observatory in Colorado. I have been to both locations, though, and managed to soak up abundant amounts of information on the topics included in this blog. I’ll leave you to determine whether an aerial craft of inscrutable origin came to rest along the Rio Grande river in 1955; or how many spirits, if any, you’ll be sleeping with, whilst frequenting the Oliver House in Bisbee, Arizona.
Paranormal Road Trip 3 — as with all the volumes in this series — is an honest attempt to provide investigators of the preternatural with a road map for uncovering verity.
Simply because many people discredit others for being intrigued by ghouls, goblins and the unexplained, don’t let that deter you. After all, nearly a third of the population on this planet believes in a burning bush that talks.
Hugh Mungus
Sources:
Books:
Paine, Thomas. (2006). The Age of Reason (Barnes & Noble Library of Essential Reading). Barnes & Noble. ISBN: 9780760778951
Online Sources:
Major religious groups:
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Major_religious_groups#Largest_religions_or_belief_systems_by_number_of_adherents
Parting of the Red Sea:
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Parting_of_the_red_sea#Narrative
The Burning Bush:
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Burning_bush#Biblical_narrative
The cascade of sweat kept Charles from steadying the gun. Unexpurgated adrenaline raced through his veins. The rifle seemed strangely cumbersome as he aimed it between his dog's eyes. A misfire would mean unnecessary anguish, and that's not what this was about. Tears clouded the man's vision while he lined up his shot. "Why the hell am I doing this?" he wondered.
It didn't matter. It had to be done. Everyone knows dogs are dirty and carry germs. Charles couldn't have germs in his home.
The man squeezed the trigger. Fire exploded from the rifle. The dog's face disintegrated, as the beast collapsed into a bloody heap.
"Jesus!" Charles recoiled.
Some of his adored canine's decimated brain had splattered his shirt. More germs.
Charles stripped away the contaminated garments, covering his favorite pet with a crisp, linen sheet.
Donning new, unused gloves, he dragged what remained of the animal up the basement stairs. Halfway into the flight, he realized 80 pounds felt like 800 and he probably should have undertaken this task somewhere closer to the bedrooms. But then the filthy beast’s blood would have soiled not only the hardwood floors in the upper level, but the priceless area rugs, as well. Yes, he had made the correct choice, but having to lug dead weight up over 50 steps didn't make the decision any easier. It was approximately an hour before he had gotten past the first floor. By then, he was exhausted. So enervated, in fact, Charles decided it was time he sleep. Crawling into his lavish bed, the delusional man placed the hunting rifle between his lips and pulled the trigger for a second, and final, time that evening.
A dismal legacy of tragedy surrounding the Lemp Mansion, in St. Louis, Missouri, may have resulted in what Time magazine referred to as, "one of the nine most haunted places in America." Built in 1868 by Jacob Fiechert, this lavish dwelling is renowned by serious supernatural seekers.
During the mid 19th century, Lemp Brewery was the first to distribute beer nationwide, as well as internationally. Until prohibition, this lucrative empire was one of the most revered in the Gateway to the West.
Emigrating from Germany in 1836, Johann Adam Lemp established a grocery store in St. Louis, Missouri, only to discover the best selling item on his shelves was his hand-crafted beer. Realizing his lager's financial potential, Lemp traded in his grocer's apron for that of a brewer's hat, and a legacy was born.
Following Johann's death in 1862, William Lemp Sr. — Johann’s son — assumed the reigns of the dominion. Thanks to William's enterprising abilities, Lemp Brewery continued to thrive.
Frederick Lemp — William Sr.'s favorite child — began studying the family business in hopes he would further the brewery's tradition of success. Unfortunately, the stress of running such an imposing corporation caused Frederick to die of heart failure at the tender age of 28.
As a result of his son's death, William Sr. spiraled into declining mental health, until he killed himself with a .38 caliber revolver in 1904, whilst in his bedroom at the Lemp Mansion.
William Lemp, Jr. assumed control of the Lemp Brewery, following his father's suicide. When the company began failing, Billy — as he enjoyed being called — was forced to sell his family's legacy for pennies on the dollar. Distraught, William also shot and killed himself with a .38 caliber revolver on the main level of the premises in 1922.
Charles Lemp — William Jr.'s brother — assumed residence at the Lemp Mansion, and shortly thereafter cultivated an exacting fear of germs. By 1949, in the clutches of dementia, he killed his beloved Doberman Pincher in the basement of the home. Dragging the dog halfway up the first level stairs, he shot himself dead in his own bedroom.
About as uplifting as watching Midnight Cowboy, Leaving Las Vegas and Requiem for a Dream, back to back, in a terminal illness ward.
After the collapse of the Lemp family, subsequent residents of the mansion reported uncanny knocking sounds and phantom footsteps throughout the home. Now an impressive bed and breakfast, bizarre phenomena plague the antique location.
Glasses have been witnessed levitating off the bar in the restaurant, and flying through the air of their own accord. Numerous employees and visitors report observing apparitions strolling about the venue. Certain guests have been unable to spend an entire evening on the premises, having either witnessed paranormal anomalies, or becoming too disturbed to withstand the darkness of the night.
Three areas of the property: the main stairway, the attic and what’s referred to as the Gates of Hell — the entrance to a set of caves running beneath the building — house the most enigmatic activity. Onlookers from the street occasionally report viewing the face of a young boy peering out a window in the mansion’s attic. Patrons staying in the William Lemp Suite testify to witnessing footsteps racing up the main staircase and kicking at the door, reminiscent of William Lemp Jr.’s actions after hearing his father shoot himself in 1904.
For the inquisitive paranormal investigator, or traveler seeking outstanding bed and breakfasts, 3322 DiMenil Place in St. Louis, Missouri, is a must-see. Stop by the Lemp Mansion for lunch, dinner or an evening's stay. You won't be disappointed.
Sources:
Books:
Strait, James. (2008). Weird Missouri: Your Travel Guide to Missouri's Local Legends and Best Kept Secrets. pp. 193–195. Sterling Publishing Co., Inc. ISBN: 1402745559
Online Movies:
Zzyzx: Destination One. Lemp Mansion:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hNJlu3xR5Qw
Online Sources:
Lemp Mansion:
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Lemp_Mansion
Lemp Mansion [2]:
http://www.lempmansion.com/
The Haunted Lemp Mansion in St. Louis:
http://www.legendsofamerica.com/mo-lempmansion.html
The time to pull the curtain back on this subject is long overdue [...] It is definitely time for government, scientists, and aviation experts to work together in unraveling the questions about UFOs that have so far remained in the dark. It’s time to find out what the truth really is that’s out there. *
— former White House Chief of Staff, John Podesta
* Kean, Leslie. (2010). UFOs: Generals, Pilots, and Government Officials Go on the Record. pp. xi–xii. Harmony Books. ISBN: 0307716848
The night sky ripped open, exposing the massive, pulsing portal before Larry’s rotting ’73 Cadillac.
The DUI lawyer swerved, uncertain if what he was observing was the real deal, or attributable to the three Manhattans he’d washed his $12.99 corporate meal down with. Who hadn’t heard tale of bizarre occurrences out here in the badlands of the San Luis Valley? Of course, witnessing something, and listening to a trailer park housewife rant on the evening news were two different things.
The aperture — if that’s what it was — had to be the size of a pro football stadium! A perfectly rectangular pro football stadium, devoid of light.
Johnny Cash ceased his half-spoken monologue about the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse, as the factory-installed radio died like a bad stand-up comedian.
Following Larry’s initial thought — which equated to, “What the fuck is that?!” — the distressed motorist told himself, “It’s descending!”
Unfortunately, his powers of perception were correct, as the conundrum dropped from the sky and touched down in the middle of the interstate, no more than three miles in front of his rusted grill.
The attorney slammed on the brakes. Rather than slowing, however, the car’s headlights died.
“Shit!” Larry shrieked.
Driving sans illumination after sundown in the San Luis, was about as intelligent as scuba diving without oxygen tanks. The distance from any major metropolitan area, and a lack of street lights, made this region darker at night than the deepest desires of a serial killer.
Larry ripped the keys from the ignition. Again, the result wasn’t what he’d expected, as the car red lined on a collision course with the humongous conundrum.
He knew it was akin to signing his death warrant, but he yanked the steering wheel as hard as he could. Traveling at over a hundred miles per hour, he braced for the vehicle to roll. Instead, the path of the corroding car refused to deviate. In shock, Larry let go of the wheel entirely. Because its last alignment took place during the Reagan Era, this would have normally caused the Caddy to bank into an immediate left turn. Much to the frightened driver’s surprise, the moth-eaten machine continued forward, on what seemed a predestined path.
The breach now loomed ominously above him, no more than a mile in the distance.
Larry’s eleventh-hour effort found him reaching for the driver’s side door handle, hoping to abandon ship. At 120 miles per hour, this was probably less intelligent than stepping onto the Moon in shorts and a tank top. Still, what else was he to do?! This situation sucked like a nuclear-powered vacuum. Of course the doors locked of their own accord before he could make his escape.
“Son of a bitch!” Larry screeched.
It was as if whatever move he made, some invisible force was one step ahead of him, with the opposite agenda in mind.
No more than a thousand feet from the ingress, the salesman could distinguish faint, moving silhouettes inside the anomaly. At 150 miles per hour, he had less than five seconds to formulate the final thought of his life. “Swedish twins…” was all he could muster before his vehicle vanished into the opening, on its journey into the unknown.
Nestled adjacent the Sangre de Christo Mountain Range, encompassing south central Colorado and northern New Mexico, awaits the San Luis Valley. Laden with a history of frontier justice, this area is inundated with legends of cattle mutilations, cemetery lights, ghost stories and UFO sightings.
One of the most frequented destinations visited by ufologists nationwide is the UFO Watchtower, two and a half miles north of Hooper, Colorado. The locale is an expanse of open land, upon which a domed building — an alien-themed gift shop — and accompanying UFO observatory reside. Presided over by a single family, the attraction offers ample space not only to camp, but also view the San Luis Valley night sky, renowned for its anomalous sightings. The land surrounding the Watchtower has been decorated with sheet metal representations of Grey extraterrestrials, and even an alien head fashioned from a satellite dish.
Contiguous the tower, a rock enclosure known as the Healing Garden has been created over an area said to encompass a pair of oppositely spinning vortexes. The point at which these whirlpools of invisible magnetism converge is known as the Eye of Pieces. It's claimed the garden is presided over by two large entities who look after the entrances to the portals. The soil here purportedly emits a positive energy, capable of soothing the weary highway traveler and causing compasses to spin wildly off course.
From the vantage point of the UFO Watchtower, one can view the majesty of the Sangre de Christo Mountain Range, as well as the famous Great Sand Dunes — the tallest sand dunes in North America.
Gaze up at the bountiful sky, as not only sightings, but landings of unexplained craft have been reported in this area. Since temperatures can plummet to 60 degrees below zero with windchill during winter months, spring and summer are the best times to visit the Watchtower. Even so, the attraction is open year round, 24 hours a day. Paranormal related events are held on premises, so check www.ufowatchtower.com — the locale’s Website — to ascertain what they've got going on at any time of the year. Admission is $2 per person or $5 per car, and there's always plenty to purchase in the adjoining gift shop.
Sources:
Books:
Kean, Leslie. (2010). UFOs: Generals, Pilots, and Government Officials Go on the Record. pp. xi–xii. Harmony Books. ISBN: 0307716848
Messoline, Judy. (2005). That Crazy Lady Down the Road: All About the World Famous UFO Watchtower. Earth Star Publications. ISBN: 0-944851-14-2
O'Brien, Christopher. (1999). Enter the Valley: UFOs, Religious Miracles, Cattle Mutilations, and Other Unexplained Phenomena in the San Luis Valley. St. Martin's Paperbacks. ISBN: 0312968353
Online Movies:
1995 Salida, Colorado UFO Footage:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dDUey9e_U2Q
9News Storytellers: The UFO Watchtower:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KJ3tJi4oYCw
Real UFO — Salida, 1995:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rHNSGCGjC_I
Zzyzx: Destination Two. The San Luis Valley: Part One:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Bevxv5EesZ8
Online Sources:
Colorado's UFO Watchtower:
http://jalopnik.com/5696590/colorados-ufo-watchtower
The Great Sand Dunes National Park and Preserve:
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Great_Sand_Dunes_National_Park_and_Preserve
The UFO Watchtower:
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/UFO_Watchtower
The UFO Watchtower [2]:
http://www.ufowatchtower.com/
"What made Henry Ford rich?" Sam Van Arsdale asked his Black and White Setter.
The amiable dog sidled up to a Model T.
A collective gasp washed over the onlookers.
“Find a car with the license 132875," Sam requested of his faithful pet.
Jim crossed the small town avenue and rested his paw on the running board of a vehicle with the exact identifying number.
The crowd responded with reverence. A bystander from the group shouted a command in what appeared to be French. Sam gazed up, nonplussed, as he, himself, wasn't bilingual.
Jim, however, nosed at an observer — the town's Methodist pastor.
Van Arsdale engaged the French-speaking individual who had voiced the order. "What did you say to Jim?"
The man replied, "I asked if there was a Bible in the crowd."
In unison, the horde turned toward the minister, who produced a copy of the New Testament from his pocket.
Was this some sort of parlor trick? If so, how could such an intricate scheme be carried out? After all, this was the first trip Jim had taken to the hamlet of Warsaw, Missouri. He knew none of the individuals gathered to witness him perform. Who was this furry marvel defying science?
Until three years of age, Jim was a faithful companion, but in no manner out of the ordinary. Born in Louisiana, March 10, 1925, the dog was part of a litter of seven.
Enter Sam Van Arsdale, who purchased Jim and began training the Setter to hunt. Out sporting one day, Sam suggested taking a respite. "Let's sit in the shade of that hickory tree and rest," Van Arsdale proposed.
Jim immediately found the foliage in question and relaxed beneath it.
Astonished, Sam directed, "Show me an oak tree.”
Jim sat up, trotting to a nearby oak.
Taken aback, Van Arsdale spent the day observing his hound discerning cedar trees from walnut; hazel bushes from stumps.
Shortly after the incident, Sam and his family relocated to Marshall, Missouri. It was during this period Jim's abilities transcended a single language, as orders were given him in French, German, Greek, Spanish, etc. The whole time, the Setter performed flawlessly.
It soon became obvious Jim understood a variety of written discourse, as well. During one instance, a Greek language class wrote what appeared to be a command. When Jim failed to respond, a bewildered Van Arsdale handed the request back to the student who had penned it.
"Evidently Jim won't do this one," Sam pardoned. "Will you read it for us, so we'll know more about it?"
The scholar replied, "It says nothing. It's only the Greek alphabet."
Over the years, Sam attempted to determine the source of his dog's aptitude. Controlled tests were administered, and each time Jim performed without flaw. The canine's abilities burgeoned as he began to predict the future. Allegedly, Jim foretold the winner of the Kentucky Derby seven years in a row. He was even able to determine the sex of unborn children. In 1936, the pooch correctly presaged the victorious team in the World Series, as well as the victor of that particular year's presidential election. Jim’s talents became so well-known, Sam was offered $665,000 to sign a one year film deal for him and his dog. Being of judicious mind, Van Arsdale declined.
As if the aforementioned attributes weren't incredible enough, Jim also seemingly comprehended instructions supplied in shorthand, as well as Morse Code.
And then, on a sad day in 1937, the miracle of Jim came to an end. During a hunting trip, the extraordinary animal collapsed for no conceivable reason. Although Sam was able to speed his companion to a veterinarian, Jim died moments after being laid upon the physician's table.
When Van Arsdale attempted to have Jim buried in the family plot in Marshall, Missouri, authorities denied the grieving owner's request. As such, Jim was enshrined in a custom-crafted casket adjacent the cemetery gate. Eventually, the churchyard was enlarged so the canine's grave would reside within its confines.
Jim the Wonder Dog Memorial Park — a peaceful testimonial to Jim and his astounding abilities — is located along Lafayette Avenue in Marshall, Missouri. This quaint town resides in Saline County, almost mid-state, and can be accessed via Interstate 65 or Highway 240.
Sources:
Books:
Strait, James. (2008). Weird Missouri: Your Travel Guide to Missouri's Local Legends and Best Kept Secrets. pp. 98–99. Sterling Publishing Co., Inc. ISBN: 1402745559
Online Movies:
Jim the Wonder Dog:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tLCPJtlyYtA&feature=related
Jim the Wonder Dog [2]:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZFxJp0JwqzM
Online Sources:
Jim the Wonder Dog:
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Jim_the_Wonder_Dog
This all happened quickly, and I didn’t know what to think. But in a few seconds, another one came out! It started circling around us. Once again, all the instruments went out and the radio was garbled. Then, when it moved away, everything became operational again, and all the equipment worked fine. This one, too, looked sort of like the moon — a round, bright light. *
— former pilot in the Iranian Air Force, General Parviz Jafari, Retired
* Kean, Leslie. (2010). UFOs: Generals, Pilots, and Government Officials Go on the Record. pp. 88–89. Harmony Books. ISBN: 0307716848
Often referred to as the "other" Roswell, according to Colonel Robert B. Willingham, it's become both the most astonishing experience of his life, and a source of great fear.
Imagine serving in the Armed Forces for 26 years. Envision being a highly decorated officer of World War II, as well as receiving a Purple Heart in Korea. Visualize nearly losing your legs to a mortar shell. Conceptualize helping the U.S. military transition from propeller-driven aircraft to jet fighters. Imagine accomplishing all this and being denied your rightful pension for an unspecific reason. This is the spot Colonel Robert B. Willingham claims to find himself in.
What would cause such a distinguished individual to be threatened by the very country he defended?
The answer to that question may have come on a day in 1955. A day that would forever alter Robert Willingham's life, and possibly the course of human history.
Robert Burton Willingham was born August 15, 1926, in the hamlet of Holliday, Texas. Home was a blue-collar environment. The son of an oil field laborer, Robert seemed destined for the hardworking existence of his father. Thanks to a perspicacious intellect, Willingham was able to transcend what appeared to be his fate.
By age nine, Robert was taking regular flying lessons from friend and neighbor Pete Minich, who owned a World War I French biplane. This early exposure to aircraft spawned a love for flight that would later spill over into Willingham's career.
Throughout his schooling, Robert consistently displayed more intelligence than his teachers. It was an altercation with his high school principal that lead Willingham to enlist in the Armed Forces. After nearly engaging in fisticuffs with the aforementioned Mr. Gerring, Robert made a mad dash for the nearby courthouse and, in a show of defiance, registered for military service.
What initially seemed a rash decision actually provided Willingham with opportunities he wouldn’t find in small town Texas. During an illustrious career in the Army, Robert served beneath General George S. Patton, constructing bridges across terrain originally believed impassible by Allied soldiers. Willingham’s exemplary abilities were noted by the Armed Forces, as he rapidly achieved the rank of lieutenant.
The Air Force, in turn, became impressed by the amount of flying hours Robert had logged since he was a young boy, and drafted him into service as a fighter pilot. During the Korean War, Willingham flew missions clearing the way for ground forces beneath his P-51 Mustang. On December 27, 1950, Robert found himself racing for a foxhole, when a mortar shell detonated beside him. The attack buried 52 pieces of shrapnel into the soldier’s flesh, nearly costing the young lieutenant his legs. A long-term head injury — resultant of the barrage — would later plague Willingham, causing diminished blood flow to his brain.
Bequeathed a Purple Heart and informed his days of combat were over, Robert continued flying as a pilot in the Air Force Reserve. The 1950s brought about a paradigm shift in aviation, as the military transitioned from propeller aircraft to jet fighters. Lieutenant Willingham assisted in testing the latest technology.
This era also marked an evolutionary advance in bombardment-style planes, with the implementation of B-47 and B-52 bombers. Both combined the maneuverability of a jet fighter with the capability and payload of a transport aircraft.
It was during a mission in which Willingham was flying an F-86 Sabre — escorting a B-47 — that he, and six other aviators, would encounter a UFO streaming past them at nearly 2,000 miles per hour. The training flight in question simulated the route U.S. bombers and their entourage would fly as counter attack to a Soviet nuclear strike. The formation — comprised of one bomber and four fighter jets — was scheduled to head north along the west coast, stopping outside Soviet air space. Spring weather conditions were clear: an optimum time to be airborne. Prior to reaching El Paso, Texas, the Distant Early Warning Line (DEW) from Canada alerted the squadron to the presence of an unidentified aerial object speeding toward them.
The pilot of the B-47 contacted Robert, inquiring about the bizarre, luminous craft now 20 degrees in advance. Before Willingham could respond, the anomaly — “a big, bright light" — raced south past the five planes. At an elevation near 50,000 feet, the enigma came within 35 to 40 miles of the entourage. In the blink of an eye, the object made an abrupt, 90 degree turn without losing velocity. This amazing display of control led Willingham to believe what he was witnessing was no conventional aircraft.
Sparks emitted from the vessel, as it altered course and angled toward the ground at 45 degrees, racing for the Texas/Mexico border. Shortly thereafter, the craft disappeared from sight.
Astonished, Willingham broke radio silence. Concluding whatever he and the others observed must have crashed, Robert suggested he fly to the vicinity where the vessel may have impacted. A pause ensued as the B-47 pilot radioed headquarters in Denver, Colorado, for confirmation. Moments later, Willingham was granted clearance to investigate.
The inquisitive pilot was off, racing toward the Rio Grande, bringing his jet to a dangerous altitude of 800 feet, in order to get a clear view of the ground. What Willingham witnessed next forever changed his life. There, in the desert just south of the border, rested a defunct, circular aircraft. In the aftermath of the downed vehicle, a trail of unearthed sand and metallic debris was visible.
Taking note of a waning fuel supply, Robert radioed his squadron, requesting permission to touch down. Upon receiving authorization, Willingham landed at nearby Carswell Air Force Base.
Since the bomber would receive escort from four different F-86s out of El Paso, Robert decided to investigate the crashed vehicle he had discovered. Lieutenant James P. Morgan flew Willingham 50 miles south to Corsicana Air Field. From there, Robert enlisted the help of Jack Perkins — a good friend and an electrical engineer on site. Realizing he'd require a second pair of eyes to corroborate his story, the pilot told Jack what he'd encountered and asked if the enlisted man would accompany him to the crash location. Perkins consented, and the men commandeered an Aeronca Champion — a small, two-seater aircraft with "no lights, no radio, no nothing.” It was the perfect vehicle for landing in tight spaces devoid of a runway. With the onset of night less than five hours away, the men realized they needed to get airborne as soon as possible. In the mad scramble, Willingham was unable to secure a camera.
The slight plane traveled the 300 miles to Langtry, Texas, in two hours. Beneath the circling aircraft, the downed, unorthodox object lay crashed adjacent the Rio Grande River. The image was nothing short of mind-blowing. A trail through the earthen floor indicated the craft had hit and bounced for approximately 300 yards before coming to rest. It was clear the vessel had fragmented into three, definite portions, scattering considerable debris in its wake. What appeared to be a dome — the top of the craft — now rested some 50 feet from the remaining body of the vehicle. The object was circular and 21 to 25 feet in diameter, while the cupola was upwards of 15 feet across.
A troop of Mexican soldiers, replete with military issue vehicles, secured the site. What awaited Willingham and Perkins remained a mystery. Would the soldiers prove hostile? Were the Mexican forces intent upon securing the fragmented vehicle for themselves? Robert landed his plane on a ledge between the Rio Grande and the crashed UFO.
As the two men exited the aircraft, tension among the awaiting soldiers became all too apparent. Willingham deduced the Mexican military wasn’t intent on recovering the peculiar vessel, since they brought no trucks with them. Jeeps and cars were plentiful, but vehicles large enough to haul an object the size of the defunct craft were missing. As Robert and Jack neared the location, it became obvious the UFO was still radiating heat. Soldiers had draped blankets over the vessel, in order to warm them for the onset of night.
During the next hour, Willingham — who spoke rudimentary Spanish — would ascertain the Mexican military was simply guarding the mysterious craft until the U.S. government arrived. When Robert motioned to his flight suit, explaining he was part of the United States Air Force, one of the officers in attendance inquired, "So what do you want us to do with all this?"
It was a pivotal moment that could have changed the course of history. Aware of rumors that previous downed UFOs uncovered within Mexico had been transported to the country's capital, Willingham replied, “[…] take it down to Mexico City or wherever it is that you take them."
During the conversation, a curious resident of adjoining Langtry waded across the Rio Grande and approached Robert, recognizing him as U.S. military. The man informed the pilot he had been laboring in his backyard when a fireball raced over the top of his house, crashing across the river.
Somewhere about this time, an additional group of officers approached Willingham, vehemently demanding he remove his plane from the scene. As the Mexican soldiers were armed, Robert and Jack complied. On his way back to the Aeronca, determined to retrieve some proof of the crash, the pilot carefully bent down and grabbed a portion of the wreckage. Wrapping the smoldering remnant in a handkerchief, Willingham hid the chunk of metal in his flight suit. Little did the pilot know, the token would haunt him for the rest of his days.
The journey back to Corsicana Air Field was an arduous one, as night fell and the small plane without lights braved the darkness and a considerable headwind. Upon returning to Carswell the following day, Willingham prepared a regulation written report regarding what he had encountered.
An onslaught of threats on the part of the military would commence to keep Robert from ever going public about the event. The pilots in Willingham's squadron were immediately sequestered to distant locations. Although Robert attempted to establish contact with the captain of the B-47 he had escorted, he was less than successful. When Willingham got a hold of one Colonel Miller — who had presided over his verbal debriefing following the incident — the officer stated that he, himself, was retiring and it would be best if Robert did, as well. Around this time, the mysterious phone calls commenced. Incognito Air Force personnel contacted Willingham, alerting him if he spoke candidly of what he witnessed, grave consequences would ensue.
Unnerved by the threats, but curious as to what he had encountered, Robert turned to the one piece of evidence in his possession — the metal debris. Having learned the art of welding at the age of 10, and being an amateur metallurgist, Willingham ran numerous tests on the scrap. The pilot soon determined the artifact, although exceptionally light for its size, could not be cut. Heating the specimen to 3,800 degrees Fahrenheit, Robert was astonished when the wreckage refused to submit, unlike other metals he had run similar experiments on.
His curiosity piqued, Willingham took the remnant to a military metallurgy lab in Hagerstown, Maryland, where more extensive tests could be administered. The following day, Robert received a mysterious phone call from the facility stating the plant would no longer be in service. The specific individual Willingham had given the piece of metal to hastily told the pilot, "Someday I'll find you." With that, the phone went dead.
When Robert endeavored to collect his alloy sample, he was informed the laboratory had no record of it. Willingham was also enlightened the major to whom he had relinquished the proof, was never an employee of the Armed Forces.
A cloak of secrecy was being drawn over the incident. Frustration gave way to anxiety as the cryptic threats continued. Admonitions, coupled with the disappearance of all other witnesses to the sighting, compelled Willingham to remain silent. Two years after losing his unusual specimen, Robert received a perplexing correspondence via mail. The letter was unsigned, with no return address given. A single sentence stating, "I don't know what kind of metal it is, but I’ve never tested anything like it before” comprised the entire communication. Willingham continues to believe the missive was from the metallurgist to whom he bequeathed the fragment.
Attempting to determine the source of the aircraft tracked the day of the incident, Robert visited the radar room at Carswell Air Force Base. It appeared somebody had been thorough in their complicity, as air traffic controllers claimed nothing out of the ordinary had been monitored.
Somewhere around this time, Willingham received a phone call from a superior identifying himself as "Iron" White. The officer cautioned Robert to keep what he knew to himself, or face calamitous consequences. The message would be reiterated in a subsequent telephone exchange from an esoteric official by the name of Major Sealton.
Cognizant clues left behind by this incident would soon disappear into a black hole of concealment, Willingham flew solo to Langtry, in search of evidence. Circling the crash site, it became clear how serious a matter he was dealing with. Not a sign of the wreck remained. It was as if some sort of crew, specializing in removal of downed UFO evidence, had scrubbed the area clean.
Robert's assessment may be valid. Operation Blue Fly was purportedly developed as a reaction to an unsettling incident termed The War of Los Angeles. On an evening in 1942, 1,430 rounds were fired at numerous UFOs above the City of Angels, and not a thing was hit. Professedly, the military had been so concerned as a result of this breach of national soil, they created a task force with which to confiscate UFO wreckage and study it. This bureau, referred to as the Interplanetary Phenomena Research Unit, was later named Operations Blue Fly and Moon Dust. Numerous ufologists believe whatever Robert witnessed in the desert south of Texas, was most likely made to vanish by a highly proficient team.
Whatever the case, the pilot heeded the warnings and remained silent about the subject until 1967, when he granted an interview to a regional newspaper in Pennsylvania — where he was stationed. Ten years later, UFO investigator W. Todd Zechel ran across the article and decided to speak to Willingham. The meeting between the two men compelled Robert to file an affidavit with NICAP, also known as the National Investigations Committee on Aerial Phenomena. Roughly one year after his testimony, Willingham divulged his experience to a Japanese television crew who were producing a documentary about UFO encounters in the United States.
Colonel Willingham has neither pursued, nor received, financial compensation for his story. If anything, he may have paid dearly for what seems a natural curiosity. Beyond the fear-inducing threats, Robert’s military pension was purportedly denied when he retired in the 1970s. The Air Force claims Willingham is being repudiated his annuity for different reasons. According to Robert, he’s not only a veteran of two wars, but a Purple Heart recipient who served his country for 26 years, and is now being disallowed what he’s rightfully due.
Even so, Willingham remains of tremendous disposition, concluding his lack of pension is one of those "consequences" the mysterious voices cautioned of on the phone. "That's fine. I'm not looking for money," the ex-soldier states. His conduct confirms his claim.
That such repercussions have been executed, suggests what Robert witnessed in 1955 was of great importance to the government. Could the aircraft furrowed into the sand have been an experimental military vehicle?
Robert considers this possible, had the vessel not performed maneuvers unlike any plane the United States has ever possessed. Another reason the pilot believes what he observed was extraterrestrial, was the sample of wreckage he retrieved from the crash. It exhibited attributes inconsistent of earthen material.
The U.S. was creating saucer-shaped craft during the 1950s. Two designs, in particular, the Avrocar and Project Silver Bug, are now declassified. Colonel Willingham not only watched a demonstration of the Avrocar, but also sat in its cockpit. Ostensibly, the test craft never attained an altitude of more than 10 feet before becoming unstable. Additionally, the Avrocar wasn't capable of speeds demonstrated by the conundrum Willingham observed in 1955. Project Silver Bug was rudimentary, and the military maintained they never developed a working model. Certain investigators, though, predicate Silver Bug actually flew and did accomplish momentum upwards of 2,000 miles per hour.
In the end, an inquisitive mind is left with far more questions than answers. Since a bunker of secrecy fortified by 50 years of silence encircles the event, the truth may never be known.
For Robert Willingham, he may have been fortunate enough to encounter a phenomenon most of us can only imagine. Similar to astronauts traveling to the Moon, the pilot might be one of a privileged few. At what price, though, has Robert paid for his experience? His life has forever been altered.
Currently, Willingham resides in a tiny north Texas town, where he's a pillar of the populace. Venerated by locals, the pilot plays in a band known as the Texas Roughnecks. His days are engaging and, aside from the effects of injuries suffered in Korea, his nights are peaceful. One speculates, though, if his dreams transport him back to 1955. Do visions of a crashed spacecraft overwhelm his sleep? Only he may know the answer to that question.
Researcher Kevin Randle has illuminated new particulars regarding this incident. Dr. Randle points out the Distant Early Warning Line, which Willingham asserts played a part in this 1955 encounter, wasn’t in use until 1957. According to Dr. Randle, Colonel Willingham claimed he’d been flying an F-94 when he encountered the UFO in question, but later asserted he was piloting an F-86. In addition, Robert stated the event occurred in 1948, but later changed the date to 1950 and then 1955. In order to substantiate his contentions, Robert Willingham provided pictures of himself in a Civil Air Patrol (CAP) uniform, as opposed to that of the Air Force Reserve. Members of the CAP — a volunteer agency — would never be allowed to fly missions transporting live nuclear weapons.
Is it possible Willingham had forgotten the date of the alleged encounter? Since the event reportedly took place over 50 years ago, this seems conceivable. Still, such a significant milestone would likely forever impact a person’s life, the details of which would be difficult to misrecollect. The discrepancy between CAP and Air Force Reserve uniforms is a tough impediment to overcome, since it provides evidence in opposition to Willingham’s claims.
In the end, are we talking an elaborate, thoroughly entertaining campfire story, or a valid account of a UFO crash? Your guess is as good as mine, and a great place to start searching for answers would be the southwestern portion of the Lone Star State.
Langtry, Texas — near the area Robert Willingham allegedly witnessed a crashed UFO — had a population hovering around 145 back in 1990. Since then, the hamlet — home to the infamous Judge Roy Bean Saloon — hasn't much changed. Langtry can be accessed via Highway 90, which springs from Interstate 10. If approaching from the west, be certain to stop off in Marfa, Texas, to view the mysterious Marfa Lights.
Sources:
Books:
Kean, Leslie. (2010). UFOs: Generals, Pilots, and Government Officials Go on the Record. pp. 88–89. Harmony Books. ISBN: 0307716848
Randle, Kevin D. (2010). Crash: When UFOs Fall From the Sky: A History of Famous Incidents, Conspiracies, and Cover-Ups. pp. 138–145. New Page Books. ISBN: 1601631006
Torres, Noe; Uriarte, Ruben. (2008). The Other Roswell: UFO Crash on the Texas-Mexico Border. RoswellBooks.com. ISBN: 098175970X
Online Movies:
Colonel Recovers UFO Crash Debris:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RHq55XPH0S4&NR=1
Former USAF Pilot Saw UFO Crash:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=USiN4n_Eke0&feature=related
Pilots Chased UFO, Saw It Crash, Visited Crash Site:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=G0uAX46mg8Y&feature=related
Retired Pilot Saw ETs at UFO Crash Site:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9u7yd9j1qR0
The Other Roswell: UFO Crash on the Texas-Mexico Border:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WEDDlY_XmRQ
Online Sources:
Distant Early Warning Line:
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Distant_Early_Warning_Line
Langtry, Texas:
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Langtry,_Texas
The grizzled noose constricted tightly around the big man's windpipe.
Bloodshot eyes bulged.
Anguished hands strained to free themselves from the ropes that bound them.
Terrified onlookers averted their children's gaze. A few women in the crowd fainted at the horror transpiring before them.
The 6' 4" mass of flesh, blood and bone known as "Yankee" Jim Robinson was slowly, painfully strangulating. Because the average height of a grown man during the mid-1800s was 5' 5", the makeshift gallows from which Jim was choking to death was too short to accommodate his frame. Robinson’s toes scraped the ground, keeping the noose from snapping his neck. Jim would suffocate for at least 15 minutes before perishing. The final image embedded in the condemned man's mind? A rowboat.
Strangely enough, being witness to such gruesome frontier justice, Thomas Whaley, a New York businessman, decided to construct a residence on the location of the botched hanging. Perhaps resultant of the fact he was sentenced to death for stealing a simple skiff, Yankee Jim's spirit is said to walk the second floor of the Whaley House, in Old Town San Diego, California.
Allegedly, Jim's specter isn't the only otherworldly presence occupying the one time home. Due to a failed marriage, Thomas' second oldest daughter, Violet Whaley, shot herself in the chest, whilst in the storage shed behind the house. Upon discovering his wounded offspring, Thomas carried Violet to one of the bedrooms, where the woman perished.
The tragedy had a profound effect on Mr. Whaley, and his specter is claimed to haunt the top of the dwelling’s stairwell, often scowling over the banister. Thomas' disembodied laughter is also a reported staple throughout the residence.
The presence of Anna Whaley, Thomas’ wife, is claimed to periodically walk the home in an elegant gown, staring intently at visitors, while smelling of lavender perfume.
As if occurrences at the Whaley House weren’t bizarre enough, Regis Philbin — yes, that Regis Philbin — determined it was time to uncover the truth regarding the home’s mysterious events. Said consummate investigative journalist decided to spend the night at the house in 1964. About as promising as sending Shaquille O’Neal undercover to a clandestine neo-Nazi meeting, R.P. did assert to experiencing something ghostly during his stay. According to this media magnate, at roughly 2:30 AM the shit came down, as an ethereal entity traversed the expanse between the study and the music room.
Paranormal phenomena adheres to no set schedule at the Whaley House, as anomalies have been witnessed on premises day and night. The home — now a museum and state historical landmark —is open in a variety of hours, so check their Website at www.whaleyhouse.org prior to a visit to the Old Town treasure. Admission to this historic residence — at 2476 San Diego Avenue — is $6 for adults, $5 for seniors and $4 for children.
Sources:
Books:
Bishop, Greg; Oesterle, Joe; Marinacci, Mike. (2006). Weird California: Your Travel Guide to California's Local Legends and Best Kept Secrets. pp. 218–219. Sterling Publishing Co., Inc. ISBN: 1402733844
Reinstedt, Randall A. (2000). California Ghost Notes: Haunted Happenings Throughout the Golden State. pp. 109, 131, 133–135. Ghost Town Publications. ISBN: 0933818106
Sammons, Mary Beth; Edwards, Robert. (2006). City Ghosts: True Tales of Hauntings in America's Cities. pp. 234–236. Sterling Publishing Co., Inc. ISBN: 1402735391
Steiger, Brad. (2003). Real Ghosts, Restless Spirits, and Haunted Places. pp. 369–374. Visible Ink Press. ISBN: 1578591465
Online Movies:
Zzyzx: Destination Eight. Haunted Southern California:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XMsTsRCLWs4
Online Sources:
The Whaley House:
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Whaley_House_%28San_Diego,_California%29
The Whaley House [2]:
http://whaleyhouse.org/
Shredding metal combined with the shrieking train whistle, as the locomotive tore through the school bus. The only sound more horrifying was the panicked screams of the children inside the vehicle meeting their demises. Those in the front of the motor coach died instantly. The unfortunate souls in the rear met with a more terrifying fate, as the powerful train dragged the wreck along the tracks for half a mile. Eventually, the bus would sever in two, dislodge and come to rest in a field. Many, if not all occupants, including the driver, would be dead.
"Life is timing," I thought to myself. This was one instance — a bus packed full with children, stalled on seldom used train tracks — of poor timing.
I envisioned the nightmarish scene as I parked my car at the base of the incline, facing uphill. Thirty feet before me was the spot upon which the horrible accident had supposedly occurred. Surrounding street names were those of various people — according to legend, a eulogy to the children who had lost their lives that day. I stared into the night. A coyote howled. Something sizable to my left rustled in the brush. With or without a bus full of spirits and a gravity hill, this was one scary location.
I popped the hatchback and rummaged through a mountain of empty vodka bottles in search of the baby powder. Was this an urban legend, or would it work? According to tale, if you park your car at the bottom of this incline, direct it uphill and release the brake, the souls of the kids who died in the bus wreck will push your vehicle to safety over the tracks.
Oh, yeah. The baby powder? Was I gonna shoot nine ball at a local dive bar later, and make some beer money? Was I a world champion power lifter, who happened to stop in San Antonio to test out another myth before taking Olympic gold?
Survey says, "None of the above." As if this tale of terror hadn't already been more poorly received than a shipment of string bikinis to the North Pole, this legend came with an uncanny addendum. It's been reported that, should those participating in this supernatural experiment sprinkle talcum over the backs of their vehicles, they'll have a morbid surprise awaiting them upon completion.
Opening the baby powder container, liberally distributing the fine particles over the trunk of my car, I wondered, "Would child-sized handprints really appear along my automobile?"
I also speculated whether talc would be damaging to an Earl Scheib $99 paint job. Pulling the top off the receptacle, I dumped the entire bottle of white stuff over my vintage, two-toned Ford Fiesta. All in the name of science, right? Parascience, that is.
Throwing the empty container in the backseat, I hopped behind the wheel, released the break and got ready to roll...uphill.
It's a popular urban legend. A school bus crash; a gravity-defying hill; guardian spirits who leave evidence behind in our dimension. The question is, “Are we talkin' reality, here, or could this be a contemporary campfire story?
Gravity hills allegedly exist across America. Most states attest to possessing at least one. A portion of these tales are tied to spirit entities, while others purportedly result from magnetics gone awry. To be certain, San Antonio, Texas, boasts one of the most popular versions of this saga.
Parking your automobile at the base of train tracks may cause an accident, and is not recommended. Nobody wants future generations relating the story of your spirit pushing cars uphill. So be cautious, should you decide to visit this locale.
San Antonio’s terrorized tracks are securely situated on Shane Road — which can be found in the southeastern portion of the city. When traveling Interstate 410, take exit 42 and turn south onto Southton Road. From there, make your second right — which will be Shane Road. Three-quarters of a mile ahead, the legendary tracks — which are still in use — await.
Sources:
Books:
Brown, Alan. (2008). Haunted Texas: Ghosts and Strange Phenomena of the Lone Star State. pp. 40–41. Stackpole Books. ISBN: 0811735001
Treat, Wesley; Shade, Heather; Riggs, Rob. (2005). Weird Texas: Your Travel Guide to Texas's Local Legends and Best Kept Secrets. pp. 202–204. Sterling Publishing Co., Inc. ISBN: 1402732805
Online Sources:
Ghost Children Upon San Antonio's Railroad Tracks:
http://www.legendsofamerica.com/tx-ghostlychildren.html
Urban legend:
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Urban_legends
Tom frenziedly steered the battered bumper of the Dodge Dart toward the woods.
The hovering orb emulated the car's movements.
The Best of Creedence shrieked from the automobile’s eight-track player. A robust Moon lit the motorway before the berserk driver. In his rear-view mirror, the traveling salesman watched the ball of light race over his car. A moment later, the glow reappeared inches from his face, a windshield between him and the enigma. The man swerved the decaying relic on wheels to the left.
The light followed.
Miniature, stolen bottles of Jim Beam careened off the dashboard, out the passenger's side window, and into the night. Tom — who sold bogus vacuum cleaners — was certain his unscrupulous career had garnered him an E-ticket to Hell. He felt the heat emanating from the globule before him. The fluorescence was so blinding he could barely see the road.
Shrieking, he recalled the Bible in the glove box. Opening the compartment, an eight ball — consisting mostly of baby laxative — spilled to the puke-stained floorboards. Free drink coupons from out-of-state brothels followed suit.
Screaming, Tom rummaged through the cubby for his last chance at salvation.
"Where are you when I need you, goddamnit?!”
The light raced adjacent the driver's side window — a window he realized was open. Certain whatever this insanity was had designs on decapitating him, the salesman released his grasp on the wheel, diving headfirst for the glove compartment.
The car spun wildly before careening into a ditch. The engine — equivalent to that of a riding lawn mower — died, and waning headlights pierced the blackness toward the sky. The hood burst open, as steam disgorged forth. The vehicle cooled. The scene returned to normalcy. At least as normal as things could be on the Devil's Promenade.
As Tom regained consciousness, the first thing he noticed was the Bible he was clinging to. The second thing he observed was a definitive lack of the spook light that had been following him.
The crack of noon the next day saw a new parishioner at the Superhighway Sanctuary of Salvation. Of course, said venue was conveniently located beside a strip club with some of the cheapest well drinks in the state, but all work and no play...
What exactly is a spook light?
To the best of my knowledge, nobody’s certain what these anomalies are.
Numerous enigmatic effulgences can be attributed to reflections, headlights, geologic aberrations and swamp gas. But what of those radiant enigmas we can't explain?
This same query has been posed for over a century in regard to the Hornet Spook Light — a paranormal irregularity seen almost nightly from the diminutive town of Hornet, Missouri. For in excess of one hundred years, a kaleidoscopic globule has been witnessed after sunset traversing this territory from east to west.
As early as 1836, Native Americans observed this abnormality bounding across the rural locale. The first record of the enigma appeared in the 1881 publication Ozark Spook Light.
The radiance is claimed to be between a baseball and basketball in size, floating and spinning over a dirt road known as the Devil's Promenade. Some assert to have witnessed the Hornet Spook Light above tree level, swaying back-and-forth, akin to a lantern being toted by an unseen force. Allegedly, the most opportune time to witness this anomaly is between 10 PM and midnight.
Thus far, the cause of the spook light eludes investigators. To disregard it as car headlights would be specious, since the aberration was witnessed prior to the mid-1800s, before such inventions existed. Conjecture this conundrum may be rising swamp gas seems valid until one considers this radiance, unlike gas, isn't influenced by rain or wind. In addition, the Hornet Spook Light is aberrantly powerful, suggestive of an object not naturally occurring.
Speculation atmospheric discharge may be at the source of the mysterious light seems possible. Due to plate tectonics, gigantic disks of rock continually shift beneath the surface of the Earth. According to theory, at the intersections where these slabs meet, electrical sparks can be emitted. These areas of connectivity are known as fault lines — regions often associated with earthquake activity. A zone inclusive of the Devil's Promenade — stretching from Missouri to Oklahoma — was rocked by four earthquakes during the 1700s and, thus, may be a region in which active plate tectonics occur.
Frequency and interactive properties set the Hornet Spook Light apart from other unexplained illuminations. How about a radiance that reportedly appears inside moving vehicles? A light some assert races alongside cars, or lingers mere feet from bystanders.
The peculiarity has spawned a mass of ghostly explanations. Some feel the effulgence is the spirit of a beheaded, Native American chief who perpetually searches for his missing skull, lantern in hand. Others spin the yarn of a prospector whose family was mercilessly kidnapped by Indians. The miner — toting a handheld torch — hunts perpetually for his lost wife and children.
Devil's Promenade and the renowned spook light are located 12 miles southwest of Joplin, Missouri. From the city of Joplin, travel west on Interstate 44. Just prior to crossing the border into Oklahoma, exit onto Star Route 43, and head south four miles. At this point, you'll reach a crossroads, aptly designated Devil's Promenade. Make certain to bring a camera, some friends and a sense of adventure.
Sources:
Books:
Coleman, Loren. (2001, 2007). Mysterious America: The Ultimate Guide to the Nation's Weirdest Wonders, Strangest Spots, and Creepiest Creatures. p. 297. ISBN: 1416527362
Movies:
On the Fringe: Season 1, Episode 3 'The Hornet Spook Light'. Prod. The PVG's. Perfs. Keith "Wildman" Foster, Jordan "Jorbo" Hughes, Justin Minor, Lyndon "Duke" Nobles, "Irish" Joe White. DVD, 2009
Online Sources:
Devil's Promenade & the Hornet Spook Light:
http://www.legendsofamerica.com/MO-Spooklight.html
The Hornet Spook Light:
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hornet_Spooklight
The Hornet Spook Light [2]:
http://www.prairieghosts.com/devprom.html
A stop along Route 66 funkier than an acid trip in an amusement park filled with cannibalistic, psychotic clowns, is Oatman, Arizona.
This quaint burg is home to approximately a hundred residents. Located among forgotten desert ridges, Oatman found life as a tent city for local prospectors during the early 1900s. Accommodations in these parts were scarce until 1902, when the Drulin Hotel — eventually renamed the Oatman — was constructed. Boasting eight practical rooms in which miners could take shelter from the unforgiving elements, the venue achieved true notoriety in 1915 when a pair of gold hunters discovered a ten million dollar vein in the area.
As with most Wild West towns, construction comprised entirely of wood makes for a great bonfire, and Oatman went up in flames three separate times. Vital life's blood once again flowed through the hamlet's arteries when Route 66, upon completion, careened travelers on a picturesque corkscrew past this bantam borough.
Today, the burg is filled with tourist shops, the allegedly haunted Oatman Hotel and roaming donkeys. At night, a pack of perhaps 50 burros retire to the outlying hills. During the day, these merry mules saunter into town, greeting carrot-wielding tourists wandering the municipality's major avenue. Most stores lining Main Street sell the above-referenced, phallic-shaped veggies to feed the local ass population.
The interior walls of the bar at the Oatman Hotel are lined with one-dollar bills, permanently placed by the venue's clientele over the course of decades. As such, the estimated value of the saloon’s wallpaper is roughly 60,000 greenbacks.
This trend began when prospectors would call for some much-needed hooch, clear their bar tab and affix a dollar bill to the wall as pre-payment for libations the next time they came to town. Man, if only booze was that inexpensive now, I’d be hammered constantly, as opposed to the 10 hours of sobriety I strive for per week.
The Wild West was an immense place, not easily traversed on horseback, so many of these thirsting travelers were one-time customers. Thus, the mass of capital accumulated, until it became trendy for anybody entering the venue to slap their sweat-soaked notes against the wooden walls.
The Oatman Hotel is also where Clark Gable and Carole Lombard enjoyed their wedding night, after tying the knot in neighboring Kingman. According to legend, Gable loved to gamble, and sought solitude when not sweeping starlets off their feet. The Tinseltown icon often vacationed in Oatman, trying his luck at several of the hamlet's now-defunct poker tables.
Purportedly, both Gable and Lombard's ethereal entities have been seen, and photographed, wandering the Gable/Lombard Honeymoon Suite. Allegedly, the ethereal presences of these former celebrities appear very much in love. Disembodied laughter, and hushed whispers emanating from the couples’ fabled room, are reported to this day.
The spirit of Oatie — a miner who drank himself to death behind the saloon — also reportedly continues to haunt the Oatman Hotel. A native of Ireland, Oatie traveled to America pursuing financial freedom. Although his pilgrimage across the Pond was successful, the same can't be stated for that of his family's, who died on their way to the States. Distraught, Oatie hit the bottle with a vengeance, and the rest is history.
Oatie's spectral visitations are harmless and prankish. From time to time, the lingering Irishman's apparition can be heard playing bagpipes about the hotel. This good-natured spook is claimed to open and close the lone window of his former residence and sometimes yank the covers off his bed.
The Oatman Hotel is located at 181 Main Street in Oatman, Arizona, on the left hand side of the thoroughfare when entering via Route 66. The streets in Oatman roll up at dusk, so plan your trip to the community during daylight hours. Should you be traveling from Kingman, prepare for a winding ride at a snail's pace through a picturesque portion of the Mother Road.
From Interstate 40, take exit 44 and be certain to keep your eyes peeled for signs to Oatman. At this point, you'll have about 23 miles of pavement in front of ya'. From California, Oatman is roughly 30 miles east of Needles. Vehicles sporting extended wheelbases — motor homes, RVs, etc — should take heed, as switchbacks along Route 66 are typical. If traveling in an oversized automobile, access Oatman via Highway 95 from Interstate 40, taking the Topock exit at the border of Arizona and California.
Although the Oatman Hotel no longer accepts tenants, the historic downstairs bar — a definite tourist hotspot — continues to remain open.
928.768.4408
Sources:
Books:
Branning, Debe. (2004, 2007). Sleeping With Ghosts!: A Ghost Hunter's Guide to Arizona's Haunted Hotels & Inns. pp. 89-93. Golden West Publishers, Inc. ISBN: 1885590970
Robson, Ellen; Halicki, Dianne. (2008). Haunted Highway: The Spirits of Route 66. pp. 149–151. Golden West Publishers, Inc. ISBN: 1885590431
Treat, Wesley. (2007). Weird Arizona: Your Travel Guide to Arizona's Local Legends and Best Kept Secrets. p. 93. Sterling Publishing Co., Inc. ISBN: 1402739389
Trimble, Marshall. (2004). Roadside History of Arizona. pp. 299–301. Mountain Press Publishing Company. ISBN: 0878424717
Online Sources:
Oatman — A Living Ghost Town:
http://www.legendsofamerica.com/AZ-Oatman.html
Oatman, Arizona:
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Oatman,_Arizona
The Haunted Oatman Hotel:
http://www.legendsofamerica.com/AZ-OatmanHotel.html
Old wives' tales. We've all heard 'em. The number 13 is unlucky. Using the same pencil to take a test as the pencil you studied with guarantees you an "A." Covering your mouth while yawning prevents your soul from evacuating your body.
Well, how about the legend that lizards, more appropriately horned lizards, require practically no air, food nor water in order to survive? A pudgy reptile designated Old Rip validated this myth by remaining isolated within a concrete block for more than 30 years before emerging alive.
Eastland, Texas. 1897. Local County Clerk Ernest Wood decides to test this particular folk tale by securing a living horned toad inside the cornerstone of the town's courthouse during construction of the building. Thirty-one years later, the edifice undergoes demolition to make way for a more modern version of the structure, and a crowd of 2,000 locals gather to witness the cracking of the cornerstone.
The concrete block is split, and from it, a number of items are removed, among them something resembling tree bark. Examining the strange object, County Judge Ed Pritchard comes to the conclusion the lifeless article is none other than Old Rip, himself. Just as the local magistrate holds the languid beast overhead for the crowd to see, the creature moves on its own. Within seconds, the little reptile fidgets about as if it hadn't been incarcerated for the last 31 years in a block not much bigger than its body.
Achieving local hero status, the enigmatic toad is christened Rip Van Winkle; Old Rip, for short. The curious come from far and wide to view the newly revived creature. Weighing in at a few ounces, Rip is taken on a countryside tour, including a visit with then-President Calvin Coolidge. Unfortunately, three decades of isolation had greatly deteriorated the lizard’s immune system and he contracted pneumonia, perishing no more than a year after emerging from the cornerstone.
Insistent upon preserving Old Rip's memory, the hamlet of Eastland had the miniature reptile stuffed and mounted inside a diminutive velvet coffin. The deceased creature’s body is now on display at the Eastland County Courthouse at 100 West Main in Eastland, Texas.
The above town — approximately 100 miles west of Dallas, and 60 miles east of Abilene — can be accessed via Interstate 20.
Sources:
Online Sources:
Eastland, Texas:
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Eastland,_Texas
Ol' Rip the Horned Toad:
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Old_Rip
Old Rip: Miracle Horny Toad:
http://www.texastwisted.com/attr/oldrip/
Over the course of thirty-one minutes, the UFO jumped miles in merely a few seconds. […] The pilot and crew viewed the target on their own radar and were able to actually see the huge UFO simultaneously […] the FAA will not investigate unless the object can be identified by an airborne pilot, and instead the FAA will offer a host of weak explanations. If the FAA cannot identify the object within FAA terminology, then it doesn’t exist. *
— former FAA Division Chief, John J. Callahan
* Kean, Leslie. (2010). UFOs: Generals, Pilots, and Government Officials Go on the Record. pp. 224, 226, 228. Harmony Books. ISBN: 0307716848
Blue fire incinerated the night sky. The desert floor radiated more brightly than Times Square on New Year's Eve.
Bob raced to the edge of his boat, affording himself a better view of the airborne anomaly.
Something the size of a semi trailer was tearing a breach in the heavens. The object accelerated, on a collision course with Earth.
The fisherman braced for impact. Three. Bob covered his head. Two. He closed his eyes. One. The boat captain prepared for a blast akin to Nagasaki.
Silence. A tense breath passed. And then two. The evening air carried no sound.
The fisherman opened his eyes. A sapphire glow emanated from beyond the riverbank. Bob wondered if this was the area where the mysterious craft had come to rest. A swarm of military helicopters arriving 20 minutes later provided the boat captain with his answer.
May 14th, 2008. The hours before dawn brought a mystery to the tiny town of Needles, California. On this date, witnesses claim an inexplicable object crashed to Earth west of the Colorado River.
Frank Costigan — former chief of security for LAX Airport, and now local resident — professes to having observed the crash around 3 AM. According to Costigan, the anomaly emitted enough light to illuminate most of the sky. Racing from northeast to southwest, the object slowed and accelerated, as if under intelligent control. Moments later, Costigan lost sight of the enigma behind a crop of hills. Awaiting a resultant explosion, the ex-police officer was astonished when the impact generated no detectable noise.
Hours later, David Hayes — owner of local radio station KTOX — would view a procession of ominous vehicles, sporting military license plates, racing into the desert. Making eye contact with a driver in the formation, the disc jockey asserts one of the arcane suburbans would later park itself outside his place of business.
A separate witness to the crash, seeking anonymity under the esoteric moniker of Bob, reported observing the fiery enigma come to Earth 100 yards west of the river. Initially, this bystander believed whatever struck the planet was a plane. While attempting to call 911, Bob observed a fleet of black helicopters arriving on scene roughly 20 minutes later. Among the vehicles was a Skycrane, which lifted a massive, radiating object from the ground and flew off in the direction of Las Vegas.
The mystery deepened when KTOX received a call from a colleague in nearby Laughlin, Nevada, asserting the town's airport had been overwhelmed by Janet planes on the evening of the wreck. Janet aircraft are inconspicuous vehicles used to transport contract employees to and from Area 51.
Shortly after the incident, the black suburbans witnessed about Needles vanished. Whatever plummeted to Earth also dematerialized, although perhaps not without a trace.
Frank Costigan believes something the size of a transport trailer, traveling at extreme speed, should have left physical evidence upon impact. Perhaps burn traces or debris remain in the aftermath of the wreck. Since the region is far from easily traversable, it may take a team of dedicated researchers to uncover latent proof.
Game for an adventure? If so, head to the Golden State and see what you can dig up. Be certain to arrive prepared. The area in which the mysterious craft purportedly came to rest is dense with scrub, making exploration arduous.
Part of San Bernardino County, Needles is located in southeastern California, abutting the state of Arizona. Access the modest town via Interstate 40 or Highway 95. Route 66 also careens through the heart of this hamlet.
Sources:
Books:
Kean, Leslie. (2010). UFOs: Generals, Pilots, and Government Officials Go on the Record. pp. 224, 226, 228. Harmony Books. ISBN: 0307716848
Randle, Kevin D. (2010). Crash: When UFOs Fall From the Sky: A History of Famous Incidents, Conspiracies, and Cover-Ups. pp. 286–289. New Page Books. ISBN: 1601631006
Movies:
UFO Hunters: The Complete Season Two. Prod. John Alon Walz. Perfs. Dr. Ted Acworth, Bill Birnes, James Lurie, Pat Uskert. DVD, 2007. ISBN: 1-4229-3099-8
This is not a chapter dedicated to your overweight, beer-guzzlin' uncle who keeps forcing you to "pull his finger."
All tranquility drained from hometown America in the late summer of 1944, as Mattoon, Illinois, was thrust into turmoil.
Urban awoke to a sickening smell wafting through his bedroom. Through the gaps in the drawn curtains, he could see the luminance of yet another sunrise.
“God in Heaven,” thought the groggy man, as he rose from his procumbent position. “Did a sewer pipe—?“
Before completing his thought, a pound of cattle, a handful of green beans and a glass of lager evacuated themselves involuntarily from his throat.
On knees of Jell-O, with waves of nausea washing over him, Urban collapsed back to bed, demanding his wife search the kitchen for a gas leak. Chivalry was obviously dead and buried in 1944 Mattoon. Mrs. Raef attempted to comply, but discovered she was paralyzed from the waist down.
Shortly thereafter, another Mattoon resident awoke to the sound of her daughter choking. Trying to aid her child, the woman discovered she, herself, was immobilized by some invisible force.
11 PM. September 1: the following evening. Mrs. Kearney of Marshall Avenue shrieks for help, as all sensation drains from her legs. Mrs. Kearney's sister detects a heavy foreign odor in the house, and contacts local law enforcement.
Returning from work, Mr. Kearney spies and pursues a shadowy figure amid the shrubs beneath one of the home's windows. The suspect escapes, but from that evening forth the conundrum known as the Mad Gasser is bestowed a physical description.
Following the incident at the Kearney household, six attacks of similar fashion are reported. Each victim recounts inhaling a "sickly sweet odor,” prior to experiencing nausea and a feeling of paralysis from their waists down for between 30 and 90 minutes.
Not until September 5 is palpable proof of a Mad Gasser obtained. Upon returning home at 10 PM, Carl and Beulah Cordes discover a scrap of cloth upon their front porch. While examining the fabric, Beulah vomits — her face bloating — and experiences partial paralysis of her lower extremities. And you thought small town folk didn't know how to have fun. Officials aren’t able to uncover any chemicals capable of evoking such a violent response from the cloth.
That same evening, Mrs. Leonard Burrell encounters an unknown assailant entering her bedroom window and attempting to spray her with gas. Everybody’s gotta have a hobby, right?
A panic coursing through Mattoon causes the FBI to join forces with local police. Sounds like a brain trust about as promising as running headlong into oncoming traffic. Puzzling footprints are discovered outside town residences, along with strange lacerations in the window screens of homes.
By September 12, anxiety in Mattoon reaches a fevered pitch. Law enforcement are receiving too many reports of gas leaks and possible attacks to distinguish between legitimate accounts and false alarms. To deal with the onslaught, police issue a statement claiming the incidents are nothing more than hysteria, experienced by local women, fearful for their husband's lives, who were fighting abroad in World War II. Although attacks subside, following the declaration, the statement fails to account for individuals being assaulted.
In the end, the Mad Gasser didn't killed anyone, and motive was never determined.
Many hypotheses have been suggested: Mass hysteria, noxious pollution from neighboring industrial facilities, and an actual flesh enigma are the most widely accepted conclusions.
In 2003, another theory was introduced by previous Mattoon resident Scott Maruna, in his book The Mad Gasser of Mattoon. Maruna asserts the bizarre incidents resulted from the actions of a mentally deranged Farley Llewellyn. According to the author, Llewellyn was a promising chemistry student at the University of Illinois during the assaults. Because Farley was suspected homosexual, he’d been ostracized by the town in which he grew up. To exact retribution, Llewellyn, and perhaps his two sisters, perpetrated the attacks. Maruna affirms a number of the assaults occurred in Farley’s stomping ground, and initial victims had been classmates with him in high school.
Even though Farley Llewellyn was a suspect in the malfeasance, he was never charged. It’s been proposed transgressions committed by Llewellyn may have been dismissed, since his father was a prominent member of the community. Oddly enough, not long after the incidents in Mattoon ceased, Farley Llewellyn's family institutionalized their son in a mental facility.
Whatever you believe was the catalyst behind the Mad Gasser, few can deny the abnormal nature of events occurring in Mattoon, Illinois, during 1944. This modestly-sized community can be accessed via Interstate 57, with Highways 16 and 45 traversing directly through it.
Sources:
Books:
Coleman, Loren. (2007). Mysterious America: The Ultimate Guide to the Nation's Weirdest Wonders, Strangest Spots, and Creepiest Creatures. pp. 249–264. Pocket Books, a division of Simon & Schuster, Inc. ISBN: 1416527362
Online Sources:
The Mad Gasser of Mattoon:
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Mad_Gasser
The last thing racing through Nat Anderson's mind was a bullet.
The policeman at the other end of the pistol hadn't hesitated. In his mindset, any man brazen enough to sleep with a betrothed woman should be prepared to face justice. Infidelity wasn't a crime in the eyes of the law, but it sure as hell was before the court of the Almighty.
Striding over the bloodied corpse, the officer's spit-shined boot sunk into a fist-sized portion of hot brain. Without notice, the incensed man made his way through the hotel. He had a purpose now. He couldn't be certain what it was, but killing his wife's lover had galvanized him.
The gunshot's thunderous report brought patrons from their rooms, and into the hallway. The policeman picked them off one by one. Old ladies, law-abiding citizens, it didn't matter. The carnage was intense and thorough. As the officer exited the property, five total would be tucked in tightly for dirt naps.
But the slaughter wouldn't end there. It took the crazed lawman 30 minutes to reach the outskirts of town. When he did, through a mire of hysterical tears, he used his final bullet on himself.
Meteorites, petrified wood and ostrich eggs decorate the Arizona landscape. Dinosaurs and miracles of faith define the underlying theme of the 48th state. Urban legends lie in wait, eager to be explored by modern-day adventurers braving the endless sea of interstate asphalt.
A must-see for anyone on a paranormal road trip through Arizona is the Oliver House: a bed and breakfast located in Bisbee. With whispers of 27 demises having occurred on the property, this is a stop preternatural investigators won’t want to miss.
Minutes from Mexico, the Oliver House is a return to an era when gold and silver ruled, and men would pay any price to have their share. Perched like a watchful eye above winding streets, this red brick, two-story structure awaits.
Built in 1909 by Edith Anne Oliver, as a backbone of operations for the Calumet & Arizona Mining Company, the Oliver House was later used as accommodations for prospectors. During this epoch, the establishment was plagued with a rash of violence that may have imparted upon it a league of restless spirits. Step lightly across the bridge spanning the mote adjacent the bed and breakfast, for any number of ghosts may await your arrival. Due to poorly kept records, the total amount of fatalities seen by the antique home is unknown.
The phantom of Nathan “Nat” Anderson — a man shot to death at the top of the Oliver House stairwell on February 22, 1920 — purportedly awaits in Room 13 for those brave enough to spend the night.
According to rumor, a policeman killed Anderson after discovering Nat was engaged in adultery with his wife. Upon shooting Nathan in the back of the skull, the magistrate proceeded to murder the remainder of tenants he encountered on his way out the building. When reaching the edge of town, the law officer supposedly concluded his spree of carnage by turning the gun on himself.
Although the identity of Anderson’s killer remains a mystery, there’s no denying reports of hauntings in Room 13 are frequent.
Reserve the Grandma Room at the Oliver House, and you may not be this vacancy's only occupant. The specter of an elderly woman, who purportedly perished of natural causes, continues to reside in the suite. Countless boarders and employees have witnessed this room's rocking chair moving under its own power. From time to time, a spectral image of the woman can be observed cleaning her surroundings in the dead of night.
Disembodied footsteps can be heard throughout the hallways of this bed and breakfast at all hours, and areas of intense cold are nothing new.
The Oliver House resides in Bisbee, Arizona, at 24 Sowles Avenue. Bisbee is located off Highway 80, south of the town of Tombstone. Upon exiting the main thoroughfare, call the staff and have them direct you in, as winding, nameless streets are commonplace in this nestled hamlet.
Sources:
Books:
Branning, Debe. (2004, 2007). Sleeping With Ghosts!: A Ghost Hunter's Guide to Arizona's Haunted Hotels & Inns. pp. 28–31. Golden West Publishers, Inc. ISBN: 1885590970
Treat, Wesley. (2007). Weird Arizona: Your Travel Guide to Arizona's Local Legends and Best Kept Secrets. pp. 198–199. Sterling Publishing Co., Inc. ISBN: 1402739389
Online Movies:
Zzyzx: Destination Seven. Haunted Arizona: Part Two:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Lo2msw1KSc8
Online Sources:
Haunted Lodgings: Bisbee Oliver House B&B:
https://4girlsandaghost.wordpress.com/2011/01/10/haunted-lodgings-bisbee-oliver-house-bb/
Oliver House, Bisbee:
http://www.hauntedhovel.com/oliverhouse.html
"God is my boss, son!" the man at the roadside stop elucidated, regarding the true meaning of the bumper sticker affixed to his car.
"What about the other one?" I questioned, pointing to the second of two sacrosanct sentiments blazing forth from the rear of his Cadillac Escalade.
It was the umpteenth time I’d traveled through the Bible Belt. With an outspoken disdain for religion, I was the axiomatic searing knife through butter in these parts. I understood engaging in this conversation in God’s Country could warrant me serious heat. Because I'd been on the road for eight hours, I didn't care.
"God does work in mysterious ways, my friend."
“So, what you’re saying is God is your boss, and your boss works in mysterious ways?”
“Amen to that!”
“Hmm. Well, if my boss began giving good people life threatening diseases, causing innocent folks to die in plane crashes and leaving one-sixth of the population to starve to death, I'd quit and find another job…Wouldn’t you?”
The grinning man’s smile faded more quickly than Matt LeBlanc's career following the cancellation of Friends.
"I didn't start this conversation. You did, with the invariably dreaded, 'Have you accepted Jesus into your heart?' precursor. I'm simply asking you a logical question."
"What's that?" the overheating kettle on the stove replied.
"You told me God was your boss. You then stated God works in mysterious ways. Since innocent children die horrific deaths every day for no apparent reason, doesn't it seem time you get yourself a new boss?"
Bewildered, and searching for a way to redeem his cartoon character salvation, the man stammered.
"You were obviously attempting to proselytize me, weren't you?" I tossed that one out because I was tired of dealing in a paradigm in which it was okay to use religion as an implement for control, but denouncing it made you a pariah.
Aghast, the man replied, “N— No! I have a wife and I'm heterosexual. I wasn't trying to—“
I handed the confused man back his copy of The Watchtower. "Recycle this. Maybe somebody will print something useful on it, like a comic book."
Why is it acceptable to attach veracity to a fairy tale about a guy who loaded two of every species onto a boat, but investigating highly credible, corroborating claims validating UFOs is laughed at? What’s more, the story of Noah’s Ark has been proven time and again to stem from the Epic of Gilgamesh, and told in various forms through numerous religions besides Christianity. Somehow these verities are overlooked, while overwhelming evidence in support of the paranormal — specifically UFOs — exists.
Thumb through nearly any thesaurus, and you’ll quickly discover one of the principal synonyms for the word “religion” is “cult.” Better yet, hop online and type “religion” into the search field at www.thesaurus.com, or almost any Internet reference source providing analogous terms.
Simply because the preponderance of humanity believes something, doesn’t make it incontrovertible. Galileo and Giordano Bruno comprehended heliocentrism — the fact the planets in our Solar System revolve around the Sun — was true. Still, one was imprisoned under house arrest, while the other was burnt at the stake for proclaiming what we now know to be reality. These severe punishments were dispensed by organized religion. As a result, science was suppressed, and human intellectual advancement stifled for hundreds of years.
It’s imperative we learn from history, and not make the same mistakes more than once. Study what appeals to you. Develop your own conclusions. Cessation of progress is no longer an option.
The preceding blog will be less well-received than nude, geriatric Olympics, or spinach stout.
Sources:
Online Sources:
Galileo Galilei:
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Galileo_Galilei
Giordano Bruno:
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Giordano_Bruno
Heliocentrism:
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Heliocentrism
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