CHAPTER 3—FIVE-INCH BLONDES AND THREE WILD GEORGES

“A new, unnatural cross between

A mystic, monster, and machine.”—Sir Alan Patrick Herbert

 

ORFEO ANGELUCCI had become an important name in the flying saucer field by 1954. His book dealing with his original contacts with people from other planets had attracted a great many followers. But after much publicity and many lectures, his health began to fail him again, and he decided to retire to a small cottage in the High Desert, near Twenty Nine Palms, California, home of the celebrated “lady” of like nomenclature.

One evening, a few weeks prior to Christmas, he drove into that small community to have dinner in the town cafe. Entering the restaurant, he was struck by the dynamic presence of a young man seated there.

“Hello, Orfeo,” greeted the stranger, who announced that he might be called “Adam.”

Ordering two steaks and dismissing the waitress, the young man offered Orfeo “a very rare champagne.” Handing Angelucci an ivory-colored pellet, he pointed to one of the water tumblers, and the contactee dropped the tablet into it. Orfeo was fascinated as he saw the glass become a goblet of bubbling amber nectar, and he recognized it as the magic potion of before. Drinking it down, he began to feel the same strange and wonderful sensation of well-being.

Soon Adam revealed that he was a physician from Seattle who, although less than forty, had but a few months of life left—at least on this Earth. He admitted that when he learned his fate he left his practice for a period of contemplation and decision. As Adam spoke, the two men became aware of a third, empty, and unused tumbler on the table. It began to glisten and suddenly filled with the golden nectar. Staring at the glass, they heard the soft hypnotic strains of etheric music—and they were stunned. Before them, a vision was beginning to form in the image of an exquisite miniature woman dancing in the glass. She was radiantly beautiful, magnificently formed, and no more than five inches tall. Her eyes were a brilliant emerald green, her hair was long and golden, and her flesh was tinted ivory and rose. She was barely concealed by a transparent silken robe.

Incidentally, on the air I quickly reminded Orfeo that I thought we had run up against a minor semantic difficulty because, as I often say, it’s a family show. And I suggested to Orfeo that the robe was possibly translucent, rather than transparent.

Her whole body pulsated, faster and faster into a frenzy of excitement and passion. The music grew wilder and madder. A collision of cymbals! A crush of drums! And the tiny creature dropped to her knees, exhausted. In moments she began to fade. In a minute she was gone—completely.

Then Adam began his fantastic tale.

One evening, as he was walking in the desert, he reports, he became aware of a yellow-orange light circling overhead. Music floated down from it. As he stared, the light dimmed and disappeared; but simultaneously a voice from nowhere spoke:

“Adam, may I speak with you?”

He was astonished, but that was nothing to what he felt as he saw a mist began to form in front of him. Soon he realized that it was taking the shape of a shimmering silver dome-designed spacecraft. It was solid and real, and so was the inescapable “beautiful woman” who stepped out.

I should mention immediately, for the benefit of the prophets out there, that the gal was not Orfeo’s friend of other worlds, Lyra, and she was not a large economy-size version of the five-inch blonde. But, nevertheless, when she invited Adam for a trip into “a new estate,” he accepted gratefully, and they entered the spaceship.

As the flight got under way, she told him her name was Vega. Prattling on, as women will, about the great mysteries of the universe (and she had the answers to many of them), she remarked that they were traveling at ten million miles an hour. You have to admit that’s fast. But, I understand, it’s rough on gas.

As they sped from one solar system to another, during which time Vega was more than a little friendly, she admitted that neither her people, nor her “peers,” had achieved the speed of light. (Naturally, you have to expect pseudo-science once in a while, even from space people.) After a while he discovered that Vega was from Alpha Centauri, where they’re—wouldn’t you know it—many centuries ahead of our world.

During these intimate hours with Vega, she assured Adam that, although they were playing around “an outpost of love,” soon they wouldn’t even remember each other. However, she did guarantee him that before long he’d run into another woman of her race, and that she’d be the greatest. His anticipation was a little dampened when, she also told him that the new girl, who’d be named “Launie,” would be considered somewhat “retarded” among her own kind. Vega, in a flash of amazing modesty, added, however, that compared to “Launie,” even she was nothing.

Finally, after passing from one experience to another, Adam’s saucer was ushered into an enormous “mother ship.” This mechanical monstrosity was shaped like two facing saucers, and was some ten miles in diameter. It housed half a million persons.

In this fantastic craft, or floating city, which he called “Andromeda,” the physician from Earth encountered an endless series of amazing things, places and people. One of the most important of these was a girl named “Lily,” with whom he became pretty involved. All of which was somewhat confusing, since he was on the lookout for this chick named “Launie,” who had been strongly touted to him. Later, it turned out that “Lily” was “Launie,” “Launie” was “Lily”—and, like I said before, I don’t dig that any more than you do. He also got to know some of the top men around the action, meeting Orfeo’s friend “Neptune” and other such people.

Then came the last of the out-of-this-world females Adam was to meet. Her name was “Aleva,” but that ended up, unfortunately and obviously, as “Eve.”

These two entered upon the adventure to end all adventures. This was the most. Adam and his gal took a space ship, and traveling at 50,000,000 (that’s fifty million) miles an hour, plummeted into the center of the sun! That’s the way Orfeo tells it. Adam and his fair-faced friend zoomed into the sun and out again. And let’s face it, neighbors, that’s a pretty wild stunt.

Eventually, Adam got back to Earth and, I suppose, died. Orfeo wrote the story, which made for his second successful book.

Today, Angelucci still lives on the West Coast. He writes and lectures, and tells his extraordinary tales. Once in a while he gets to New York, and we have lunch and chat. And every time I’m more impressed than before. He’s one of a kind in a life made up of one-of-a-kinds. But what else can I tell you about the amazing and charming guy named—Orfeo Angelucci.

*****

“I am George Adamski, philosopher, student, teacher, saucer researcher.” That’s the way George introduces himself in one of his early books, and who’s going to disagree? He lives near the famous astronomical observatory at Mount Palomar, California, conducting his investigations of ships from outer space with two telescopes of his own—a 15” housed one and a 6” portable job.

In his version it all began on October 9th, 1946, during a shower of meteors over San Diego. As the atmospheric disturbance came to a close, he and his party suddenly (remember, it almost always happens “suddenly”) noticed a gigantic dirigible overhead—but it disappeared almost at once.

Less than a year passed George had his second sighting. On this occasion he witnessed 184 “bright objects” wheeling about the sky, reversing in mid-flight, and speeding off in the opposite direction. He later ascertained that there were really 204 of the “things.”

He continued to notice various of these phenomena through his telescopes and photographed many of them—more than 500, he claims,—although he does admit that not more than a dozen of the pictures offer “proof that these craft were different from recognized Earth craft.” During these years Adamski wrote many articles and gave many lectures on flying saucers, interplanetary travel and the possibility of life on other planets. As a matter of fact, it must have become obvious to the saucer people, or anyway to the professional saucer sighters, that things were getting a little monotonous. After all, how many sightings is the public going to read about before it gets bored with the whole deal? True, Dan Fry had created a little stir with his bit in 1950, but that hadn’t turned into action. Then things began to move. First the original Orfeo Angelucci tales, then Adamski’s “man from Venus” report.

It was noon, Thursday, November 20th, 1952, and George was cruising out on the desert near Parker, Arizona, with some friends. George Hunt Williamson, who has built a reputation in the saucer and occult fields, was there along with four or five others taking scenic photographs. Unexpectedly (which is almost the same as suddenly), an enormous, cigar-shaped, silver ship appeared above them, and hung motionlessly. In a few moments Adamski “got the feeling” he should go “down the road” to meet some space people. Leaving the group, he ventured along the sand. Before long he saw a circular “scout ship,” obviously from no local airline, and standing nearby was a man from another world. The stranger was small in stature, light in weight, slightly oriental in appearance, long-haired, and as pretty as a picture—a picture of “an unusually beautiful woman,” that is.

Exchanging some fast sign language, Adamski discovered he was from Venus, that his saucer came from a huge “mother ship,” and other fascinating “facts.” After a while they got tired of talking and the spaceman took off, leaving behind, silhouetted against the golden desert, the strong silent figure of George Adamski—friend to men from other worlds.

But that was only the beginning. The world was to hear much more about space ships, space men, and life on other planets. And from whom? George Adamski, of course.

On February 18th, 1953, he was picked up at his Los Angeles hotel by Firkon, a Martian, and Ramu, a Saturnian. They took him to meet their friend, and his, Orthon—the man from Venus.

Soon George was being treated to a tour of inspection of a space craft which was not too different from the one Dan Fry rode in. And like that fortunate gentleman, Adamski found himself suddenly airborne. A huge chart flashed and flickered, a huge panel of buttons were pressed and punched, and it was wild. About eight miles up they approached a 2,000 foot long, 150 foot thick, cigar-shaped “mother ship.” Naturally, they flew right inside and landed.

He finally ended up in a Radio City type lobby with a Bardot-built blonde Venusian chick. Her eyes were “gentle and merry.” The second was even greater, and was a brunette whose eyes, according to George, promised anything but mere gentleness and merriment. Her name was Ilmuth—which, let’s face it, sort of killed the whole thing right there. She was strictly from Marsville. Far out, that is.

But then came the big moment. George Adamski met a portrait. A “symbol of Ageless Life.” Which he tells us left a far deeper and more profound impression on him than the super-sexy set of space gals. And although he devotes three pages to them and only a half page to it, I certainly don’t doubt it.

Most of the time on the “mother ship” was spent asking questions. He discovered, along with other contactees, the following: All other planets have superior architecture, science, engineering and medicine to that of the earth; people of this planet were the only ones in the Universe capable of “evil,” war, crime, emotional imbalance, and everyone else is just about perfect. Furthermore, he found out that the ship he was on was at that time 50.000 miles above the Earth. Given an opportunity to visit the immensities of space, George thought it looked like “billions upon billions of fireflies...flickering everywhere, moving in all directions as fireflies do.”

As they started back to George’s personal planet, he was introduced to a great sage, a universal wise man, who was almost 1.000 years old. It was from him that Adamski received the real message. It went about like this.

In space there are innumerable planets, pretty much like the Earth. Each moves around a sun, pretty much like our sun. In each case there are twelve planets in a system. Twelve such systems are whirling around a sort of super-sun, creating what our scientists call an island universe. Twelve island universes spin about something else, and twelve of these swing around...and so on, without end.

Many planets are populated, but most are so advanced that we Earthians couldn’t possibly understand them. Fortunately, however, and so maybe we’ll get to visit the rich relatives yet. Another very encouraging thing to know is that we’re not the stupidest people in the universe—just in this solar system.

After assuring George Adamski that the space people were only coming to Earth to help us—which is, I believe, what every conqueror in history has told the victims—they brought him home.

A couple of months later he ran into Firkon, on the street as it were, and they stopped in a small cafe to chat. Frankly, when I heard the Martian’s order, it broke me up. Peanut butter on whole wheat bread, apple pie and black coffee. How American can a foreign planet spy disguise himself?

Finishing their snack, they hopped out to another and much larger model of flying saucer. But the quick spin up to the mother ship was pretty conservative from a contactee point of view.

These neighborly visits continued until August 23, 1954, when Firkon admitted to Adamski that the visit of the moment was to be the last.

During his adventures, Adamski “took many photographs” of the craft, which is pretty exciting—until you see the pictures, and then you pays your money and you takes your choice.

Over the years, Adamski has sold many thousands of books, and given hundreds of lectures in the United States and elsewhere. He’s one of the really big men in the flying saucer field. He tells great stories. Too tall to see over, but not too thick to see through. But it’s a pretty good living.

*****

The first contactee I ever met was George Van Tassel, owner and operator of Giant Rock Airport, a private landing strip at Yucca Valley, California.

One night he and his wife were sleeping out in the middle of the desert when he was awakened by an odd man in a ski-type uniform. Having identified himself as “Solganda,” the spaceman, he told George to follow him, which Van Tassel did. In moments they were standing beneath a flying saucer hanging above the earth. Overhead, in the belly of the ship, was a hole, and as he moved forward with Solganda, both were caught up in an anti-gravitation stream and lifted into the craft.

Looking about, George observed that there were a couple of pilots at the controls of the ship, but this small crew was bypassed without a word. With a “snap of the thumb”(!) seats appeared out of the wall, with a second snap a cabinet opened up and displayed expansion-contraction uniforms which adjusted to fit all sizes.

Conducted below the deck, Van Tassel was permitted to see the counter-wheeling rotors, which were the propelling machinery of the ship, functioning.

After this extremely brief visit he was escorted out of the saucer and back to his wife and desert bed. As he left, Solganda assured him that they would be back. But that was in 1953, and at this writing the good contactee was strictly a one-time man in the contact department. But never fear, if he lost out on the physical meeting level, he really started to swing on the telepathic plane. In fact, you get the impression that he operates with an almost “open line” to the etheric spheres.

Regardless, from his telepathic contact with the other planets, George Van Tassel has been able to collect the information which forms the contents of his several books. (Unlike the traditional messiahs, who had disciples to write their teachings for them, the contactees, taking no changes, almost always write them themselves. Usually several volumes at several bucks apiece.)

Actually, it makes little difference which one of Van’s volumes you read, because, for the most part, if you’ve read one you’ve read them all. There are literally hundreds of phrases, sentences, and even paragraphs, that appear word for word in all of his writings. Let me quote the dedication to one of them, “Into This World and Out Again”:

“This book is dedicated to the people from other life levels in space. The 4th density center of the Quadra-Sector, Blaau. The Council of Twelve Lords in our solar system. The Council of Seven Lights on Shanchae. The Space Station Schare (Share-ee) and all its complement of guardians. Also the active participants in the reception of this information at the College of Universal Wisdom.”

I think that it’s only fair to tell you at this point that if you understand the above passages it’ll be a waste of time for you to read further. You already have the message clasped in your hot, damp little kooky hand. However, I must admit that you “ain’t heard nothin’ yet,” because if that dedication ain’t nothin’ I don’t know what isn’t.

One of George Van Tassel’s major activities is the operation of the “Universal College of Wisdom,” and its through this organization and its publication, “Proceeding,” that he’s able to spread the message. And quite a message it is.

To begin with, he’s sort of rewriting the Bible. Particularly the Book of Genesis. Some of that enlightened Van Tassel material instructs that Man was created of the Adamic race. He was a spaceman. Eve was the highest form of animal. Instead of Adam mating with one of his own kind, and Eve mating with one of her animal kind, they mated with each other. This was the original violation. To quote Van Tassel, “not in eating the apple; it was in eating the wrong apple.”

At one point a little later, he comments that “the space people were the first human forms of life to occupy the Earth.” In other words the “humans” were space people. But elsewhere he takes the opposite position when he insists that “the Earth people (not the space people) are called ‘humans’.”

With regard to Jesus Christ, George asserts he was the last space teacher to be introduced to Earth via normal birth, adding however that “Joseph was a foster father to Jesus. There was no blood of Joseph in Jesus.” Which certainly seems to contradict his claim that it was a “normal birth.” On another occasion he claims that “Mary volunteered for the assignment (!!!) of bringing through birth—to the Earth—a true son of our Adamic race (that is, the space people.). Jesus also accepted the assignment knowing beforehand what his earthly birth would entail (reincarnations carefully woven in later on). Mary became pregnant and was landed on the Earth by one of our ships.”

By this time, I feel pretty sure that it won’t come as any great surprise when I tell you that, according to Van, the Star of Bethlehem was a flying saucer hanging around to keep an eye on everything. It should also be noted that this same craft has been orbiting about the Earth for many thousands of years, and will be the method employed to return Jesus to this planet for the Second Coming.

If, at this point, you feel that he has thrown in everything but the Great Pyramid of Gizeh in Egypt, you’re wrong. He has that, too, describing it as being some 25,816 years old (but of course that was a couple of years ago).

And then there are George’s “little men” who live below the surface of the moon. Or—

“Contrary to the opinions expressed by our scientists, the center of our planet consists of a sun. This sun, as the core, rotates in the opposite direction to the moving crust.” Or—

Space people maintain a space station that has orbited Mars for thousands of years. Ten miles in diameter, it is noted by our astronomers as a Martian moon. Or—

There are many visitors from Venus wandering about the Earth without being recognized. Or—

Light does not travel at approximately 186,000 miles per second, as our scientists have believed for some time; it travels at either 202,000 miles per second, or at 388,000 per second. (I must admit that I can’t remember if it travels at any of the other available speeds in between.) Or—

Some of our top scientists, government officials, teachers, are from outer space, but their minds have been “blanked” until their comrades take over.

One would imagine that the creation of a new version of the Holy Scriptures would be enough for one man, or a contact with people from outer space, or being the recipient of fantastic and revolutionary extra-terrestrial information; but none of these have fulfilled the need, or possibly he would call it “the work” of George Van Tassel. As has been mentioned before, he operates an airport and has established and is building the “College of Universal Wisdom.” But there is more. Van is also responsible for the plans for a “rejuvenation machine,” and for the efforts which are supposed to lead to the building of a great laboratory near the “College” to house it. But this remarkable device we’ll discuss later in the book, along with the other amazing machines of our time. At the moment we’ve been concerned with George’s activities where they were involved with the extraordinary flying saucer phenomenon. And I suppose we’ve touched on most of his action in this area—but not quite. Annually, George Van Tassel promotes and directs the topper of them all, his “Interplanetary Spacecraft Convention.”

From all over the country, and even beyond, come the messiahs of this and almost any other world you can think of, and many you can’t. There are lectures, talks, classes, conferences, pamphlets, books, magazines, records and tapes for those who would like to convince—and for those who would like to be convinced. And who pays attention to such nonsense? Some of the top newspapers in the country and magazines like Life and Harpers.

And so George Van Tassel seldom leaves the close comfort and security of his airport and immediate followers, but he’s not resting. There’s always something new. In 1960 he suddenly appeared, buttoned, bannered and boosted, running for the presidency of the United States. This year America, tomorrow the world? Who knows what world he, and the “space people,” have in mind? Certainly not this one. But you can’t deny that a man selling a mixture of unequal parts of mysticism, occultism, religion, contactology, ESPology, and plain social politics is merchandising a strong mixture. And there are an awful lot of people who don’t agree with me when I tell George Van Tassel that I don’t buy the bit.

*****

George King of England—is what he calls himself, and you can’t be sure whether he’s pausing after “George,” or after “King,” but it doesn’t really matter because after about three minutes you get the idea strong and clear. This is the third and last of the trio of Georges who wield great influence around the world where flying saucer people meet.

King claims that his first contact came during May, 1954, as he stood in his London flat washing dishes. Before this, he says, he had never heard of saucers. And then that afternoon came the voice:

“Prepare yourself, you are to become the voice of Interplanetary Parliament!”

And, for the moment, that was all there was; but eight days later the real action began. He was in his apartment again when he heard a “rustling” and, looking up, he saw a ghost-like thing passing through the closed door. It was the “projection” of a famous living Earthian, who told the ex-cabbie what the contact was all about. He was to be the representative on this planet of the people from other worlds.

Today, if you ask George why he was selected above all others to perform this extraordinary task, he mumbles something about having once taken a couple of courses in Yoga, and that he “supposes the space people thought he was the right man for the job,” and all that gaff. But if you press him he falls back on the most often heard phrase in the entire history of saucerology, the mystical and the occult:

“I’m sorry, but I’m not permitted to divulge that information at this time...”

Since that second contact, the first physical one, King has been in constant touch with the space men. He speaks to them telepathically almost daily.

At first the word was delivered via lectures, with a few trances thrown in when things were slow. But when the ball got rolling he was able to form the “Atherius Society,” which was named after the “main communicator.” The purpose of the group was to pass along the messages the spiritual Mr. King received from outer space. This being mainly accomplished through personal appearances and a little magazine named “Cosmic Voice,” which is subtitled “Mars and Venus Speak to Earth.”

This incredible thirty-two page pamphlet comes out six times a year and is edited by the King of the contactees, George. It carries material that’s often unbelievable, and usually massively tasteless, but it is well-designed to appeal to the gullible, the lonely, the old, the tired, and the foolish.

In the “Cosmic Voice,” the British contactee has announced that his mother Mary (please note) King has met people from Mars and Venus, entered their space ships, and taken trips in same. One issue describes such a blasphemous caper somewhat as follows:

Mary King was flying high in a Martian spacecraft when she was told that she was to meet two Venusians. Suddenly they appeared and she recognized one as...”our dear Jesus.” According to this offensive “report,” Christ called her “little sister of the Earth,” and asked if she had brought along a book by her son, George. Fortunately she had thought to do so, and so Christ took the volume and said:

“Oh, Supreme Master of all Creation, Higher than the Highest, Mightier than the Mightiest, Greater than all Greatness, We bring to Thee this offering in great Love and humility From our beloved brother of Earth—George—The one Whom Thou didst choose to be a leader Among men of Earth, in this their New Age.” In conclusion, Jesus told her to tell George that...”this Book is now and forever will be—Holy.”

Upon her return to Earth, her son interviewed her about her trip.

“He did speak to you about the time when you were alive when Jesus was on Earth and He also told you of your contract with Jesus in those days?” (I don’t have to point out that this is a slightly leading question.)

“Yes, definitely,” she replied. “He told me who I was in a former incarnation; it explained my intense love of the Master Jesus.” (The implication here is both too obvious and too offensive to explain.)

“He also mentioned,” King continued, “the fact that I had had a previous incarnation in a certain place?” (Follow the leader!)

“Oh, yes, definitely true,” she replies unexpectedly.

And on and on it goes, building the myth higher and higher. While King admits that he has no saucer of his own, and that he has had no invitations to go flying about in one, he still has collected a library full of information unavailable to Earthians. For instance, he tells us that Juperterians don’t “breathe as we do.” Of course, if you wish a further explanation, you’ll have to get it from him. The Saturnians have a somewhat simpler situation; they have “still bodies,” and they live several dozen lives, which is pretty impressive when he adds that any one of these life-spans is about 60,000 years long.

As far as space travel is concerned, it will all seem quite clear to you, if you understand that the larger craft achieves the velocity of “V-12!” Which means, of course, the speed of light to the twelfth power. Naturally, he doesn’t mean that it flies that fast in this dimension. This is in the 16th or 17th dimension—but I suppose that was automatically understood.

During an appearance on my radio show, George King had what I consider a wild exchange with the great comic Jackie Gleason. I think that it put contactees of his type in their proper perspective. It came about in this way.

On a previous occasion, having stopped by during one of the saucer broadcasts, Jackie had made an offer of $10,000 cash to anyone who could produce conclusive evidence that there was higher intelligent life on other planets. Without mentioning the famous comedian’s name, I told King that such an offer had been made and that if he could fulfill its demands, I’d have that small fortune for him by noon the following day. First King asked what I meant by “evidence,” and then said that it made no difference, since he could not accept the challenge even if ten million dollars was offered. At this point a call came in on my private line and I had it transferred to the “beeper phone” (an arrangement which permits both sides of a phone conversation to be broadcast). It was Jackie Gleason wanting to discuss the entire matter with the English contactee. Their exchange went exactly like this (and I’m quoting from the tape):

GLEASON: HOW are you?

KING: Very well, thank you.

GLEASON: Are these people from outer space good friends of yours?

KING: I believe that they are friends of mine, yes.

GLEASON: Could you call upon them for assistance? For instance, if you were in some sort of legal difficulty, embracing some part of their recognition of you, would they come to your aid?

KING: Under those circumstances, they would help, yes.

GLEASON: If I were, for instance, to say to you that you are a bare-faced liar, now you know you could sue me for libel, right?

KING: Yes, yes.

GLEASON: Now do you think that you could get any legal assistance from them in a case like this?

KING: No, I don’t

GLEASON: Why?

KING: Why should they help?

GLEASON: Well, you’re championing their cause.

KING: No, no, I’m not. I’m trying to give a spiritual message, which I believe to be good for all people...

GLEASON: Why do we need a spiritual message from someone in a flying saucer?

Don’t we have enough from Christ, Buddha, Moses...men like that?

KING: Do we live by those teachings?

GLEASON: Yes, I do.

KING: You do? Then you’re the first Christian I’ve ever seen.

GLEASON: You mean that no one lives by the laws of Buddha, or Christ, or...

KING: I never met anyone.

GLEASON: By the way, do you know that every time you are uncertain when you say something, you cough. Do you know what that means psychologically? In other words, you cough every time you tell a lie.

KING: Do I?

GLEASON: Now, George, look at the juicy opportunity you have. Here’s a guy that you’re talking to that’s got a lot of dough. You can sue me for maybe a million dollars...and maybe get it. And all you have to do to get it is to bring one of your friends from Mars to O.K. this thing. And then you win.

KING: I’ve already answered this question. There isn’t a man on Earth who could do this.

GLEASON: In other words, you have absolutely no proof from these people whom you are championing? You have absolutely no backing from anybody from outer space for what you say?

KING: Just a moment, please. Just one minute.

GLEASON: I’m waiting...and cough a little bit.

KING: I shall put this phone down in a moment.

GLEASON: Yes?

KING: I’m a guest here, you see.

GLEASON: Not in my house, you’re not a guest. I think

you’re a phoney!

KING: CLICK!

And so ended the conversation between one of America’s best-known comics and one of England’s best-known contactees.

The last I heard, George King of England was still table-hopping from religion to space travel to religion to yoga to life on other planets to religion to ESP to contact with Martians and Venusians to religion, because that is what Mr. and Mother King are selling—a 20th century Messiah with a 21st century religion. It has a little something for anybody, and in the long run a lot of nothing for everybody—except, of course, George King and his Mom.

*****

As one hears the various stories which gather followers unto the different contactees, it becomes apparent that each one has specialized in one or two particular slants, but none ever approached the absurdity, conscious or unconscious, of the tale of “Bo, the 385-pound Venusian Dog,” as related by the Ozark farmer Buck Nelson.

Colorado-born Nelson, who tells his story with more vanity than grammar, and less conviction than confusion, has been a rural and urban laborer for most of his life. Finally, after having traveled in all of the states and several foreign countries, he settled down in the back hills of Missouri.

I first met Buck at the Van Tassel “Fourth Interplanetary Space Convention” on May 11th, 1957. At that time he was selling small envelopes of...but I’ll hold that, since it would be getting ahead of my story.

It seems that on an afternoon in July, 1956, Nelson stepped outside his house and saw three immense “disc-like objects” hanging overhead. As he signaled at the ships with a flashlight, he was struck by a “ray,” and he describes the effects:

“...I had suffered, off and on, from lumbago in my back and neuritis in my side and arm, for fifteen years. When I started to get up, easy-like, I was surprised because I felt no pain.”

From then on, apparently, Buck was visited by the space craft quite frequently, and on one occasion he made his initial contact. A saucer arrived, landing in his back pasture, and three men and a giant dog got out. One was a late relative and expatriate named “Bucky,” who was, at that time, residing on Venus. The second member of the crew seemed to be an apprentice, and the third was 200 years old, but looked 20. But the star attraction was “Bo”—a 385 pound Venusian shaggy dog.

This canine monster was left with Nelson, and it was during this period, when he was dutifully brushing and combing the great space hound, that he was able to collect the considerable amount of shaggy Venusian dog hair that he later offered for sale to the public at the Fourth Interplanetary Space Convention at Yucca Valley, California.

It was not long before Buck Nelson, like almost all of the other saucerologists, decided that his stories should be spiced up with a touch of religion. To begin with, in an atrociously badly printed little booklet about his “adventures,” Nelson is compared to “JOHN THE BAPTIST.” Eventually, this messianic complex hit its high point when Nelson announced that he had been given “THE TWELVE LAWS OF GOD...ON VENUS.” When you read them you find that they’re rather badly rewritten Biblican commandments. Why Buck didn’t feel that Moses had done an adequate job, no one has discovered. Although there is a good deal more to Nelsonic theology that is unlike the scriptures promoted by other contactees, none of it is particularly exciting or imaginative.

It is my impression that Buck Nelson has made very little money out of his wild, if somewhat crude, stories, but there are those who believe in him, many for just that reason. Frankly, I suspect that he would change this aspect of his activities if he could, but it just didn’t seem to be in the cards that he should make out in the way that Adamski, Van Tassel, King and several others have. Maybe his very nearness to the earth, to the hills, is part of his appeal. But to me there is something rather pathetic about this 60-year-old, fragmentarily successful contactee—Buck Nelson of the Ozarks.