Page 19 of Flying Saucers Magazine - May 1959

"As the finest optical work may have its abberations, so may the first grindings of the paradimensional mind; but we must remember that the optician may even prefer glass with bubbles, realizing that apparent defects may really indicate fine quality in the raw material." - D. C. Lucchesi in "KEYING THE PARADIMENSIONAL MIND"

I have often considered it might be fun riding in space ships, as have Adamski, Menger, Fry and the others. But frankly the novelty of such an occasion would, I am sure, frighten me so severely I would decline any such offer of transportation by saucerians. Perhaps that is why they have, to date, NOT offered me such a ride.

Anyhow, I remember talking with Don Leigh McCulty, a newspaper editor and motion picture theatre associate of mine, and remarking to him I would rather take a trip in most anything, even a Sputnik, than to tackle the Pennsylvania turnpike That was mid-January, and I was desperately anxious to get into New York to take care of some social and business matters, mainly the printing of the Howard Menger book, "FROM OUTER SPACE TO YOU" then in the middle stages of typesetting.

I would need my car, for I knew I must see a number of personalities, saucerenthusiastic and otherwise, all over the NYC-Jersey City area. I couldn't go by plane-or saucer, even if I wanted to.

The American Automobile Club was little more help than Don. They kept telling me I shouldn't start at all, for most of the turnpike was covered with ice, and the mountain roads leading from Clarksburg to the super highway were even worse And Don, knowing of my cowardice on hazardous roads, only made matters worse by suggesting I take out more insurance.

Don and I sat down in Anderson's Restaurant as I studied the TripleA Trip-Tik map fearfully. But that was not all that worried me.

"Along with the problems of the weather," I complained further, "I'll be out of town an entire week. And I have to get out the column for Ray Palmer. If I miss the deadline he might send a couple of his private Dero out after me."

Don sat there a long time, not saying anything, the way he often does when you ask him a question. But he's always thinking and half an hour later he'll give you some kind of an answer.

During dessert he looked up from his copy of VARIETY (the show biz bible) and I knew he was about to make some pronouncement.

"Your 'Chasing the Saucers' article is always the same old thing - why don't you change it now and then?"

I sat there and burned under his critical appraisal.

"Leave all your clippings and sighting reports behind and borrow a typewriter while you're in Jersey. Write about the people you meet up there?"

I thought it was a terrible idea, since he brought it to light, but in the end Don would be right, as he usually was. I mulled over my plans. I hoped to meet a man who claimed to be the prince of a planet 8/ light years away; I planned to drive up to Bridgeport, Conn., and see Albert K. Bender who claimed to have been shut up by three men in black suits back in 1953. I would meet many other saucerers.

"Hm-m-m."

I slammed down the coffee cup and buried my head behind the large first issue of "The Outpost Reporter," a new saucer-occult publication put out by Tom O'Neil, of Southern Pines, N.C. If I let Dom know I liked the idea, he would be telling me how to do everything.

The turnpike turned out to be clear of ice, although the precipitous mountain roads leading to it had in deed increased my piety. Once I had let out the car to 65 an hour I couldn't wait until I pulled into the New York area and could telephone some of my contacts. When I hit the New Jersey turnpike I rang up Aug ust C. Roberts long distance and told him, I'd be dropping in about midnight (knowing he would not have to be at the office the next day).

When I arrived at 443 Ogden Ave. NE, Roberts was in his favorite haunt, the darkroom.

"And how is the photo editor of FLYING SAUCERS?" I greeted him.

"Just ready to put these 8x10's in the wash, so that we can talk - but don't grab my hand. I've had it in the hypo."

I looked at the pictures swirling in the wash. "Who's that fellow with the odd-looking eyes?"

"Oh, that;" (he said in a matter-of-fact tone), "he's Prince Neosom of the Planet Tythian."

"He's the fellow I was tipped off about. Do you think he's on the level?"

"Who knows? I met him briefly at his press conference. That's where I got these shots. I have a tape I want you to hear, though, made by a fellow who's spent a lot of time with him.

Roberts held up one of the prints thoughtfully. "I see I should have used No. 2 paper."

That was like Roberts. Here he was developing pictures of a man from outer space and he was interested mainly in some small points of photography. But I could sense he was also skeptical.

"The guy's only been killed three times, you know. Guess that leaves him six lives to go. And every time he's been knocked off by the Three Men in Black."

We chuckled. But I knew that although Augie joked about the Three Men, he still was convinced that at least one man had been involved with them. I had also suspected that many saucerers, hearing of Albert K. Bender's run-in with three men, had added the same inky-clad personages to their somewhat farfetched narratives.

"Well, how did the Three Men kill him," I wanted to know - "with some sort of occult power?"

"Once with a revolver, in the back, incidentally (and as he enumerated the crimes he would hold up a separate print and inspect it); once by crushing him to death, and I don't know just how, and finally with a machine gun."

"I hope his story doesn't have as many holes as are in him."

"It probably has. But I want you to hear the tape by Doug Hancock. Maybe you can make up your own mind. Hancock is an Army manhe's assigned to an Army band-who brought Prince Neosom to New York."

We ran through the first part of the tape on which Hancock described how he first became interested in saucer research and had been given some amazing demonstrations of space messages by Buck Nelson while posted in Missouri. Then it developed that it was through Nelson that he became acquainted with a woman in Clarkston, Michigan who invited him to her home to meet whom she described as "a man I'm sure you'll find it interesting to meet."

It so happened that Hancock's training ended at Fort Leonardwood and the Army gave him a new assignment in Brooklyn, with a sevenday period to make the trip So Hancock decided to stop over at Clarkston and see what the invitation was all about. Mrs. Lowery met him at the airport, drove him to her home where she introduced him to her husband and to a house guest with whom Hancock would spend four amazing days.

Mrs. Lowery told him the guest was a space man!

"One of the first interesting things I noticed about this man, who was wearing a khaki uniform and patches on his shoulder was that he had quite a gift of gab. He told me he had been contacting saucers for several years, and that he had been out into space to visit a 2,000-mile wide artificial planet called a "Thejenon."

"I sat up and took more notice "Augie," I exclaimed, "I think I've met this Prince Neosom, only at the time I met him, he didn't have that name. I met him when I attended a dinner in my honor in Detroit shortly after my book came out. Oh, yes (I remembered), his name was Lee Childers. But he wasn't a spaceman then, and that I can't understand."

"I think Doug will clear that up, at least to his satisfaction,"' Augie replied, flipping the recorder back on."

"He told me that a brother of his, named Marcus, was in command of the "Trejenon," and that several times, after he had been killed, he had been taken out to the artificial planet and brought back to life," the tape continued. "A space person, the prince in fact, from the planet Tythian, took over his body on one of these occasions."

Hancock was also impressed by seemingly mystic powers possessed by the Prince. Once Neosom had properly diagnosed an appendical condition he already knew he had from a former visit to a doctor. Neosom also pointed to a small magnet hanging from the ceiling, placed there, he said, to detect the presence of saucers. As the Prince concentrated mental energy upon it the magnet suddenly moved! If this was not enough to impress Hancock, his saucerian friend's vocal parambulations about life on other planets was enough to convince him.

So the Army bandsman persuaded the Prince to come to New York for a lecture and enlisted the help of Harry Hoffman, of New York, and other enthusiasts to help with the project.

But Augie was dissatisfied with his pictures of Prince Neosom. "They wouldn't permit a flash and I had to take them in the available light on fast film. As a result they're pretty thin. Here, you can see the get-up he wore at the lecture."

The bushy-haired, alleged otherplanetarian wore what probably was an ordinary slack suit, and it probably was the strange patches which made it so saucery. On one shoulder he wore a patch bearing a cross, on the other a similar patch illustrating revolving planets. Over the heart was another cross.

Hancock Silenced

The telephone interrupted us and Augie wondered who would be calling that late of night.

"Oh, hello, Bill (Gray, it's Bill Woods)," and then Augie interjected a "What!"

I wondered what Bill Woods had come up with. If anything was happening in the New York area concerning saucers, I knew that Woods, founder of the saucerzine, "FLYING SAUCERS AND MYSTICISM," would have found out about it. I impatiently waited for Augie to give up the phone so I could say hello to my old friend.

Augie turned to me. "Well, they got Hancock."

"How do you mean?"

"They shut him up. Put him in the loony bin."

"Let me talk to Bill," I begged.

"Just what happened to Doug anyhow?"

"Gray, all I know is that the Army put him into the St. Albans Naval Hospital -that's out on Long Island - for observation."

"Is he crazy, or is this another Reinhold Schmidt case, Bill?"

"He's no crazier than the rest of us, if that means anything. He did believe implicitly in the Prince Neosom thing, which frankly I'm a bit sorry I helped sponsor-but aside from that he simply believes in flying saucers, and, of course, the contact cases. Give me Augie back; I think Harry Hoffman and I are going out there."

I presumed he meant to the hospital to see Hancock. Augie took the phone and gave a long series of "Uh-huh's" and short comments. Finally they hung up.

"We're going out to see Hancock, but we can't make it until Saturday."

I knew Augie talked with Woods often, so I queried him about the skepticism he had shown about Neosom when I had spoken a few minutes previously.

"Oh yes," Augie remembered. "He did mention that if you wanted to find out more about Neosom you should see Mike Mann."

"Mike Mann. Oh yes, he's the fellow in the tent." I was thinking of the tent he and other members of the Parapsychology and Saucer Investigation had erected an Howard Menger's farm during the Spacecraft convention held there last September. The kid and two other members had formed a circle around me as soon as I stepped out of the car, tried to get me down to the tent to see some kind of a weird machine they were demonstrating there. I never did have the time to look at it, though.

"What kind of a machine does this fellow have?" I asked Augie.

Augie said something like, "A Hironomous machine," but something came up to change the subject right then. (See Shaver: "Heironomons Bosch"-Rap)

Bender Silenced Again

I had been holding back some news which I knew would be disappointing to Augie. He and Dominick Lucchesi had probably dug more information out of Albert K. Bender, than anybody else, after the Bridgeport, Conn., saucer researcher had suddenly closed down the International Flying Saucer Bureau, when (he said) three men in black suits visited him.

Even before my book, "THEY KNEW TOO MUCH ABOUT FLYING SAUCERS" came out, Augie had wondered every day just what it was that Bender found out: the information which evidently brought the three men and their threatening ultimatum.

"I just remembered something important, Augie. Before last night I felt I couldn't tell even you or Dom."

Augie's eyes lit up. "I'll bet I can guess what it is."

"I don't think you can."

"Bender's going to write a book?" Augie questioned hopefully.

"I wish he were. That's just it. He AIN'T."

Then I explained what had happened. I had known that Bender had almost desperately WANTED to talk -even from the beginning. After I had become a publisher, and had Howard Menger's "FR0M OUTER SPACE TO YOU" on the press, I figured Bender to change his mind if I published a book he would write. I felt he would trust me with the manuscript, with the knowledge I would hold up its release of it as long as he wanted me to. Then I figured Bender might, after five years, have decided to tell the three men to go hang themselves.

So I ventured a letter to Bender (we still correspond occasionally, though not about saucers). My hunch was surprisingly right! Bender shot back an air mail saying that lately the situation had changed for him, mainly because he and his wife, Betty, would like very much to go to England to live. That was her ori-

ginal home and he had fallen in love with the country during a brief visit there. They would need money and the royalties would help. And, more important, I sensed another reason in his letter: perhaps once out of the country he might feel freer from repercussions?

"In fact, Augie, I was all set to drive up to Bridgeport and see Al and Betty this coming Thursdayand I suppose I still will-but last night something that came through the mail hit me like a ton of bricks!"

"I'll bet he backed out."

"You're right - all too right."

I told Augie how I sensed that something was wrong just as soon as I pulled the letter from the mail box. It was a brief note:

"Last night I started writing the first chapter and something happened. I have again decided that now is not the proper time to discuss anything about flying objects."

"And that was that," I told Augie. "I wondered just what happened. Did the three men, or whatever agency sponsored them, just know, somehow, the moment Bender had started writing-or did Bender simply start thinking of the probable consequences and just back out? Anyhow, I'm going to see them, because I want very much to meet Betty for the first time and visit with Al, without discussing saucers."

"Did you tell anybody about the plans for the book?"

"Absolutely nobody - excepting a business acquaintance with no interest in flying saucers, from whom I hoped to obtain some of the financing for the book - not even you and Dom. And you know if I would tell anybody it would be you boys."

"Why don't you take Dom up there with you. Maybe he can get something more out of Bender?"

"I've already asked Al by phone, before he backed out on the book,

and it's out. He will see NOBODY, not even you two, except me. Besides, I think it would be quite unmannerly to go on a personal visit and start asking him questions which might be upsetting."

"The reason I mentioned Dom is that I was thinking he might be able to pin down just what he did inadverently get from Al during one of our visits after his 'hush-up.' Do you remember Al's telling Dom that at one point in our conversation he had hit upon the secret Bender knew?"

I had heard Dom mention it, but hadn't been there at the time. Anyhow, as I recalled a conversation with Dom, he couldn't remember what it was he had hit upon, so was right from where he started.

"Maybe you're wrong," Augie said confidentially. "Sometimes I believe Dom KNOWS what he hit upon and doesn't want to reveal it for fear of getting Al into trouble."

"I can say one thing," I agreed with Augie; "if I had a secret the revelation of which would do me great harm, I would not hesitate to entrust it to Dominick. Who knows -maybe Al TOLD Dom what brought the three men to visit him!"

I told Augie I might know more when I returned from Bridgeport, and that we'd probably get together several times during my New York visit.

"I must run along now. As you may know I'm staying a night or two in very unusual surroundings, considering my various disagreements with James Moseley."

"Yes, I heard you were invited to Jim's place."

Jim Moseley had stopped at Clarksburg during a trip home from Peru, where he said he was doing archeological work. Although we had rather constantly feuded in print I decided to ask him to stay overnight at my apartment rather than have him go to a hotel. I thought I'd like to try and be as friendly as possible with him and that I might as a result get to know him better. After all, Moseley was still considered the most mysterious person publishing an amateur saucer magazine. When Moseley apparently saw that I wasn't going to shoot him, he warmed up and turned out to be a nice guy. But even after a few drinks he wouldn't tell me much about his activities in South America.

Maybe it was only courtesy, but Moseley invited me to repay the visit, and I hastily accepted. I wanted to see his apartment for one thingthe place in which Augie seriously believed he had seen psychic phenomena take place during a seance.

"At last I'm going to have a chance to see that apartment," I told Augie. "By the way, just what do YOU think of Jim?"

"Jim's all right," Augie said curtly.

Augie saw me to the door. I could sense he had something else on his mind.

"One thing more about Prince Neosom I didn't mention before. There's only one thing that makes me wonder if he JUST MIGHT be what he says he is."

A puzzled expression came on his face.

"It was over at Bill Wood's house. Neosom had a press interview there. We were sitting around talking and a television set was on in the next room. Suddenly he stood up and pointed his hand toward the set. You won't believe this, and he probably had us hypnotized or something - BUT THE SET WENT BLACK, EXCEPT FOR ONE STRANGE LITTLE SQUARE IN THE CORNER OF THE SCREEN, for two or three seconds as long as he was making that weird gesture."

"Augie - get some sleep!" I laughed.

A Visit With Moseley

"Don't try to find my place. You'll get lost if you do. Drive to the Fort Lee Diner as soon as you reach the town and telephone me from there. I'll drive right down there and guide you to my apartment."

I imagined all sorts of things after I had read this paragraph from Moseley's letter which contained directions to Fort Lee. Did he not wish to give away his street address (he receives all correspondence at a box number)? That would be silly, for I could soon find out from the street signs after I got there. Or did Moseley simply want to appear to be mysterious? Or maybe he knew from experience in directing people to his place, that I would likely lose my way?

It was probably only that. For I had enough trouble finding Fort Lee and the diner. I rang up Jim.

"I'll be there before you know it," he said enthusiastically, and I detected in his voice what seemed to be honest pleasure that I was finally there. "Don't order anything. I've waited having a snack for I wanted to buy your dinner - however late it

is for dining."

I selected a booth in the diner, noisy with customers even at that late hour. From the looks of the dress of the customers, I figured a local plant of some sort had just changed shifts.

As if he lived only around the corner, Jim showed up in what seemed to be no time at all. He came in and shook hands, sat down. I had always wondered what people around Fort Lee knew or thought about Moseley, and that probably was the reason I noticed a peculiar hush come over the diner. Nobody seemed to be talking. Instead I had the impression they were straining their ears to hear what we were saying.

"I'm sorry I kept you so late," 1 apologized. Then more loudly, "I stopped in Philadelphia to blow up a munitions factory." That would give the eavesdroppers something to mull over, I laughed secretly. Jim didn't seem to appreciate the joke.

"Let's grab something quick," he suggested. "You're pretty tired."

I followed Jim's Buick away from the diner and onto a series of side streets, expecting to see him signal for a driveway any second. But he continued driving, led me out of Fort Lee. I thought he might have to stop somewhere before returning home, and that was responsible for the delay-for the time between the telephone call and his arrival had seemed so short. About ten minutes later, after several winding streets we turned back onto a main route and came to another little town. After more windings around we pulled up to a huge apartment building where I parked beside his car.

"Well, here we are. I'll help you with your things."

I wanted to ask him how he had arrived at the diner so quickly, but figured it was a simple matter of being in error about the time. Maybe I had nodded off into a cat nap while in the booth. I had been very tired.

I had heard rumors that Moseley was a wealthy man. The grapevine had it that he was worth half a million dollars. If he were that would explain why he never worked, at least so far as anyone knew. If he was indeed a monied person his apartment surely would show it. And knowing Jim was a bachelor I also wondered if his apartment would be unkempt as my own. I turned to walk toward the entrance of the huge building.

"No, I always go this way," he indicated, leading me around the back along a dark walk.

"I always go in through the basement," he explained; "It's much nearer."

We walked into a long hall and walked to a self-service elevator, al

ready waiting at the basement level, I noticed. At the third floor we walked down a long pleasant-looking hallway to a door with a peephole over which was a nameplate, "James W. Moseley, Las Palmas Ventures, Inc."

Jim ushered me into a large living room and quickly my eyes surveyed the room. It was neatly furnished and orderly, though I assumed he would have tidied up before he received a guest. The new, modernly designed furniture was of good quality, though certainly not overly expensive. And excepting the fact that the furniture matched too well, and, to me, needed a bit of unbalance to make the room more interesting, the apartment showed excellent taste.

"We'll just take this into your bedroom now," Jim, who was carrying my heavy suitcase, offered. The guest room was similarly furnished, in the same blond furniture, and looked quite comfortable. Some pictures on the wall would have given it more warmth, but I suppose Jim hadn't got round to completely furnishing it.

"Don't mind the window across the court. Nobody has been able to figure out whit that woman does over there all night."

This sounded weird, but I was so tired I didn't take much notice of the cryptic remark. We walked back out the hallway to the living room.

"Sit down and I'll fix drinks. Is Scotch OK? I didn't get to the store today to stock up."

"Anything, Jim. But I warn you. One drink and I'll be right off to sleep, right in the living room."

Then something caught my eye in the hallway. Jim had paused in the kitchen to take ice cubes from the refrigerator. Lining the wall was a series of portraits. Three of them were the most notable: Herbert Hoover, 'Truman and Eisenhower. The Hoover portrait was signed, "To Jimmy" and the others "To James W. Moseley."

As Jim emerged with the drinks, I walked on ahead and he didn't mention my obvious interest in the portraits. And I didn't question him about them.

"If you're not too tired, I'll show you some of my Peruvian items," he said, indicating a large cabinet, with what I assumed was Inca pottery, small figurines and miscellaneous items lining the shelves. "There's nothing really valuable here, but I enjoy my small collection."

My interest was drawn to a corner, to a table adorned with two large black figurines, an African man and woman. They were beautiful, but something about them repelled me-as near as I can explain it, a feeling of evil seemed to emanate from them.

"Well, tomorrow, you must tell me the individual story of each item," I remarked, dropping almost exhausted onto a couch. But suddenly I was wide awake. At my elbow was a glass bell jar, covering a small pedestal. Jim laughed, reached over and lifted the jar.

I was surprised that the decoration did not repel me more than it did. Instead it incited what must have been only a rather morbid interest.

"Tell me the truth, Jim; is that a REAL AND GENUINE SHRUNKEN HUMAN HEAD!"

"I should hope so," he said in a matter-of-fact tone; "considering what I paid for it!"

I looked at my glass. It was empty. That was unusual because I don't drink much. "Here, fix me another one, though make this one stronger." I petitioned.

I got into bed and lay there for a few minutes going over the day's happenings. I was too tired to worry

about the psychic phenomena Augie swore he had seen in the apartment. As I gave one final stretch and decided to close my eyes, a funny light in a window across the court caught them. Then I thought of Jim's remark and the woman who was supposed to do something odd all night. I opened the Venetian blind fully, and there, surely enough, was a lighted window. Whoever had the apartment apparently didn't worry about privacy, for the blinds were pulled up; though some plants obscured what was going on in the room.

The odd thing was the color of the light, a very white light which reminded me of a television screen. Squinting my sleepy eyes into focus I could barely make out what DID look like a television screen, though certainly a giant one. Whatever it was, it had some sort of scene oh it, but a still picture. Someone in the apartment moved in front of the picture quite often, as if watching or controlling it, but I couldn't make out what the party was doing.

Suddenly my knowledge that it was very bad form to peek overrode my curiosity and I lay down on the bed. I must have fallen instantly asleep.

I Meet "Dr. D."

Although I usually don't dream about flying saucers, that night, or rather the next morning, I DID. One of the things had captured me, and some terrible little men were carrying me inside, though I fought valiantly.

The little men turned into one large, husky individual shaking me.

"Wake up, wake up, you!"

Jim said we should hurry back becaues Dr. D. was almost due to arrive.

I was curious to meet Dr. D. ever since I had read his article in FLYING SAUCERS, titled "Why I Believe Adamski," though I couldn't see Jim's reason in constantly referring to him as "Dr. D." Most everyone who had read Dr. Leon Davidson's articles in Jim's SAUCER NEW knew "Dr. D." and Davidson were the same person. At the outset Davidson apparently wanted nobody to know he was writing for a saucer magazine at the outset, for he did highly classified work in , atomic physics, though lately he had dropped the pseudonym.

Someone rang Jim on the telephone. "That must be Dr. D.," he remarked; "Hello, Leon? Where are you?"

Suddenly Jim turned a strange shade of green, and let out an exclamation which wouldn't be polite to print. I wondered what Dr. Davidson had told him. He hung up and turned to me.

"Dr. D" has been visiting some friends in Jersey City and will be right up. But I've just done an awful thing. I forgot all about picking up Fortner!

Then I remember Jim's saying Yonah Fortner and I ought to get together. I was curious about meeting the chap who Jim said had become a rabbi at the age' of twelve, but since had become quite irreligious. I had read some of his articles in Jim's SAUCER NEWS, and they were amazing-not so much for what they said as the evident scholarship which had gone into them. Maybe I was hardened to hearing amazing statements, but it probably had been the apparent careful research which went Into the articles that led me to read his thesis stating Jehovah was a space man without gasping. Fort-

And the hearty, Brooklynesque voice made me realize who was so rudely rescuing me from the saucerians.

"Dom! You old son-of-a-gun!" When did you get here!"

Jim stood in the doorway, already shaven and dressed, enjoying the waking-up procedure.

"Better get up. Dr. D. is going to be here, you know."

Dominick Lucchesi said he had stopped over to have some breakfast with us before he went to work at Bendix on the noon shift. He wouldn't be able to see Dr. D., however, he explained disappointedly:

"What do you think of Jim's place?" he asked, in the latter's presence. I knew he was kidding Jim, and made some sort of answer.

"Did you notice the negative emanations - the weird psychic forces, as soon as you came?"

"Of course, as soon as I entered the living room," I joked back, and Jim smiled, as if he were enjoying the disparaging remark. Deciding I could shave when I returned, I threw on my suit and soon we were in the elevator. It halted on the basement level.

"Remember the story Palmer told -about the apartment house in Chicago?" Dom said solemnly. "When you got to the basement in the selfservice elevator it would stop there. But if you pushed the button twice after it stopped, something else would happen."

"Yes," I remembered; "the elevator would go ON DOWN!"

"I'll push it twice," Dom said, "and we'll see what will happen HERE!"

Jim threw up his hand to catch Dom's arm.

"Knock it off! Knock it off! You and your deros!".

Dom and I made an appointment to meet at his house later in the week and he rushed off to work after our late breakfast. Meanwhile

Jim said we should hurry back becaues Dr. D. was almost due to arrive.

I was curious to meet Dr. D. ever since I had read his article in FLYING SAUCERS, titled "Why I Believe Adamski," though I couldn't see Jim's reason in constantly referring to him as "Dr. D." Most everyone who had read Dr. Leon Davidson's articles in Jim's SAUCER NEW knew "Dr. D." and Davidson were the same person. At the outset Davidson apparently wanted nobody to know he was writing for a saucer magazine at the outset, for he did highly classified work in , atomic physics, though lately he had dropped the pseudonym.

Someone rang Jim on the telephone. "That must be Dr. D.," he remarked; "Hello, Leon? Where are you?"

Suddenly Jim turned a strange shade of green, and let out an exclamation which wouldn't be polite to print. I wondered what Dr. Davidson had told him. He hung up and turned to me.

"Dr. D" has been visiting some friends in Jersey City and will be right up. But I've just done an awful thing. I forgot all about picking up Fortner!

Then I remember Jim's saying Yonah Fortner and I ought to get together. I was curious about meeting the chap who Jim said had become a rabbi at the age' of twelve, but since had become quite irreligious. I had read some of his articles in Jim's SAUCER NEWS, and they were amazing-not so much for what they said as the evident scholarship which had gone into them. Maybe I was hardened to hearing amazing statements, but it probably had been the apparent careful research which went Into the articles that led me to read his thesis stating Jehovah was a space man without gasping. Fort-

And the hearty, Brooklynesque voice made me realize who was so rudely rescuing me from the saucerians.

"Dom! You old son-of-a-gun!" When did you get here!"

Jim stood in the doorway, already shaven and dressed, enjoying the waking-up procedure.

"Better get up. Dr. D. is going to be here, you know."

Dominick Lucchesi said he had stopped over to have some breakfast with us before he went to work at Bendix on the noon shift. He wouldn't be able to see Dr. D., however, he explained disappointedly:

"What do you think of Jim's place?" he asked, in the latter's presence. I knew he was kidding Jim, and made some sort of answer.

"Did you notice the negative emanations - the weird psychic forces, as soon as you came?"

"Of course, as soon as I entered the living room," I joked back, and Jim smiled, as if he were enjoying the disparaging remark. Deciding I could shave when I returned, I threw on my suit and soon we were in the elevator. It halted on the basement level.

"Remember the story Palmer told -about the apartment house in Chicago?" Dom said solemnly. "When you got to the basement in the selfservice elevator it would stop there. But if you pushed the button twice after it stopped, something else would happen."

"Yes," I remembered; "the elevator would go ON DOWN!"

"I'll push it twice," Dom said, "and we'll see what will happen HERE!"

Jim threw up his hand to catch Dom's arm.

"Knock it off! Knock it off! You and your deros!".

Dom and I made an appointment to meet at his house later in the week and he rushed off to work after our late breakfast. Meanwhile

ner's articles, run under "Y. N. ibn A'haron, B.D., S.T.M." instead of his shortened, Americanized name, claimed the knowledge was gained from translating Chaldaic, Sanskrit, and Aramic documents.

Jim thought of a solution. As soon as Dr. Davidson arrived all of us would drive over to Yonah's apartment in Brooklyn. Dr. Davidson wanted to meet Fortner too.

Jim answered the door and ushered in a big, blond, bespectacled and cheerful man and an attractive Mrs. Davidson. I had expected to see a dour-looking little fellow who tossed scientific words around and so was pleasantly surprised.

Dr. Davidson and Moseley had met very early in the history of SAUCER NEWS, and found many of their theories about flying s a u c e r a had agreed. Both held the opinion, that although some saucers might come here from outer space, most of them were built right here on Earth, mainly by Uncle Sam, and possibly by the Russians with the help of captured German scientists. Personally I had found the theory interesting, but felt both Davidson and Moseley went too far and often made data fit their theory when logical inferences couldn't otherwise be drawn. But I probably had done worse-in promoting the interplanetary theory.

I wasted no time getting "Dr. D." into a corner, for I was highly interested in one aspect of his saucersmade-on-Earth theory. I had just read his article, "Why I Believe Adamski," in the February FLYING SAUCERS. In essence he had stated George Adamski didn't meet space people at all; nor did he ride in flying saucers. But what was surprising, coming from Davidson, was that he believed Adamski was TELLING THE TRUTH-AS ADAMSKI KNEW IT.