Conspiracy theorists have taken time off from party, gender and the usual run of politics to resummon and oldie-but-goodie, UFOs.
Given the rancor and stridency such said-hot-button
Considering some of the other hot-button topics of sure to generate ranting and rancor, flying saucers are a welcome distraction, especially potential “portals” both real and sham scientists perch on the lip of discovering in remote places provide assurance communication with space aliens, parallel universes and the like might be next.
Per ancient astronaut theorists, aliens have made many cameo in our skies and or even on Earth. Ancient Middle East empires from Egypt to Iran to Saudi Arabia to Turkey, scribes from tribes in Asia and Latin America … don’t forget Australia and Antarctica … concur we are not alone.
The late 1950s through ‘70s were boom years for such sightings, soon supporting a cottage industry of quasi-scientific findings to assure readers and their sources. Photographers got paid for and enjoyed the creative challenges of documenting week in and week out, meeting deadlines with still more “evidence” via compelling shots.
Time marches on. Shooters then and now could have used sharper cameras, fewer fuzzy focuses — unless deliberately so — plus photo-doctoring (now quicker, simple and far easier to pass off as real) in creating evidence” audiences and publishers still demand.
Big, bold headlines; still snazzier, dazzling uses of the time’s even then fast-evolving tech, make it consistent yet mix it up … remain valued to this day.
So if such little green creatures from unknown space with communication skills far advanced beyond ours were serious about communicate with earthlings, wouldn’t they drop in on Central Park in New York City, or what was once the White House Rose Garden? It never happens.
An extension school holds officials are hiding the real (as opposed to false) truth that the earth is hollow and UFOs used volcanoes or points in the Bermuda Triangle are portals to these bases. Invaders may also have zipped here from the moon’s dark side for a look-and-see.
The latest cover-up is that 20 some astrophysicists just vanished with no explanation. Lack of information incubates such suspicious theories.
Now the Statute of Limitations has long expired, I can now confess Cub Scout friends and I had fun foisting a UFO scare of our own. Inflating thin-plastic dry-cleaning bags we could surely find somewhere, release them just before sunset, they would reflect in the light. When we shared shots like we could convince dupes in our hometown aliens were fast enroute.
When the woman at the laundromat asked why we needed the bags, we solemnly said for a science experiment. So on a windless night, inflating the solar-reflecting bags with a Coleman camp stove, at Cape Canaveral, and launched them.
After two nights’ trying but not getting reactions we’d hoped for, we neon spray painted and floated our hot-air balloons again. As incentive, we told a card-carrying John Birch Society member we suspected UFOs might be in our area.
He happened to be out that night with binoculars, saw our handiwork and called his mates who immediately radioed local police we were being invaded by little green men from Mars. Father had a police scanner, so we listen in on their frequency.
Soon cops were swarming like Barney Fife on steroids. The newspaper, fortified by one or more bumps from a flask he kept exactly for such purposes, wrote an article placed above the fold on the second section of the next edition.
That led the minister at a small church to launch into pulpit-pounding, semi-Gospel inspired sermons about space aliens so be prepared as the End is night.
When my father shared said reports with ham radio friend, they too went out searching, foregoing, too, checking out TV pro wrestling bouts for a week or two the better to scan the skies.
Then Mrs. Grace Bonesteel from the drycleaning company cut off our plastic bag supplies and next time reporting our naughtiness to the school principal who would put it on our “permanent” “Then you’ll be sorry,” she said. The “Olds,” our parents, were always threatening that permanent-record business, but she scared us so that ended that adventure. that was the end of our adventure.
After the UFO scare, police stayed on due lookout for feral J.D.s (Juvenile Delinquents in that time’s parlance) toilet-papering (we called it TP’ing) neighbors’ trees. Hams resumed watching Hard-Boiled Haggerty and Vern Gagne trading pile-drivers and atomic drops till “fights” ended.
The hoodwinked young cleric was invited to don new vestments in a place more suited to his skills, and Birchers uncovered “New Math” to add “Base 10” in conspiracy folios now bulging to spilling over from bulky briefcases or other means of transport — say backpacks, laptop cases, purses, duffel backs, totes, implanted onto their persons somehow. These might make fun slideshows or sideshows, some sorts of shows at least.
But three hips and one heart transplant, hurray! UFOs are back in vogue. They’re resurged since NASA and the Defense (today War) Department confirmed there were things in the sky they could not, at least yet) fully identify. These proved giant balloons or gas bags flying over U.S. soil with “Made in China” labels on them. That or they were spy ships. Can you prove that it doesn’t matter?
A couple in ultra desert remote Nevada this year claimed 10-foot-tall space aliens had procured visitation rights. This just in: two fighter jets have been reported trying to chase down at least one UFO on our very own state’s east side.
Such late-breaking promise of menace feeds our hunger to solve something science can still not fathom.
My theory is some poor mug had to clean out his mother-in-law’s basement, came across a big hoard of supermarket tabloid ms we still see sold in store check-out lanes and had the bright idea to check out recycling them for the entertainment if not edification of those still willing to shell out. Or some low-paid newspaper hack trying employ his/her skills making easier moolah on social media.
Just what to do if one of those NIMBY aliens lands in your backyard is clear: dust off Steven’s .22-caliber rifle too long left unused and plug him, her or it lest he/she or this unspecifiable-gender creature wastes you first.
Or how like in the movie “ET” we’ll be like kids who welcome and protect the cute little outer space dude from the big bad Olds, until he/she/or it is ready to take off and head home again. We can only hope they he/she/it has his/her/its phone camera in hand then.
There is nothing I can do about such yet-unseen creatures, benign or lethal. But what a diversion from all that’s grim.
