Outer Space to You Page 2

  And now, as you fasten your seat belts, our word of warning: this trip is dangerous. You will travel into areas of great intellectual peril, especially if you have made up your mind beforehand not to believe the author’s story. Many of you will accept it as it is told; some of you may escape total belief and preserve many of your former opinions by believing that Howard Menger has presented only an allegory, as a framework for the metaphysical principles he wishes you to understand. Unfortunately there will be casualties, and for those we express deep sympathy. Some of you will read, and somehow, in an effort to disbelieve, will not give the author the benefit of even your good-humored laugh; instead the book will engender in you great anger and a desire to shout your disbelief to the world. Those readers we profoundly pity. For there are ideas here which will add a little something—a little inspiration, a few cogent thoughts, or even only a few thoughtful chuckles—to the life of the firmest skeptic.

  I came back from the trip still a skeptic, and you may, too; but when you again touch Earth I believe there will be, as was on mine, a trace of a glow on your face.

  And to those wonderful souls whom God, The Universe, or whoever He is, has blest above all: those who can believe without reservation, I give you a trip the likes of which you have never before dreamed possible, and a magic steed that will put a Pegasus to shame. You will enjoy the trip—ah how you will!

  Finally, we add...

  What?

  Oops! We’ve talked too long. It’s too late to get out now! Fasten seat belts and get ready for——

  Book One — TAKEOFF!

  1. The Girl on the Rock

  It was in Grantwood, New Jersey, that I met my first love.

  I was born in Brooklyn, N.Y., Feb. 17, 1922, but when I was a year old Mother and Dad moved to Grantwood where we lived for several years.

  The object of my affection was a classmate, a fluffy, feminine, blonde, blue-eyed bit of pulchritude, who completely stole my young heart.

  But my parents were quite amused when I announced that I intended to marry my six-year-old sweetheart. The romance was short-lived and I brokenhearted when we moved to a country property in High Bridge, N.J. My brother, Alton, was four at the time; and I was eight.

  I could not quite forgive my parents for taking me away from my love—until I saw the beautiful rolling hills and fields of northern New Jersey. The newness and excitement of the country slowly supplanted the hurt memories of the girl I left behind.

  We children were delighted with our new home in the country. The fields were covered with daisies when we first saw the farm. To the rear of the house were fruit trees and woods and brooks which made a veritable paradise for two young energetic boys.

  Dad and Mother worked hard to fix up the small, modest bungalow. Meanwhile my brother and I enjoyed long treks into the woods and fields. We played explorers, and exciting were our safaris into the jungles of the nearby woods, all fraught with imaginary and delightful dangers.

  During the summer we had many playmates. Next door was a summer boarding house which accommodated many families during the summer season, and there we always found willing companions among the visiting children.

  The winter I remember most as fields of white and steely blue shadows at about dark when reluctantly we would have to go inside, leaving behind our sleds, our games of “Fox and Goose” in the snow, and, rarely, skating when the nearby pond would freeze over. Somehow I remember those winters on the farm with a sadness and a gnawing, lump-throated longing, akin to the feeling when, as a child, I would, in quiet moments, even then begin thinking—that all of these wonderful moments could not last. That soon—far too soon, I would be a man; and even then I knew that once full grown, such moments and such mysteriously ecstatic feelings could never be reexperienced.

  But I suppose we loved the summer best, when the woods and country living opened a whole new world to us.

  It was in this pastoral setting, in the warm, lavish extravagance of June and July that I began to experience other feelings I was at a loss to explain.

  I began to have “flash-backs,” or hazy remembrances of scenes, places and happenings which somehow were familiar to me, but were outside my real experiences. They seemed to be of another world.

  About this time we began to see the discs in the sky.

  We watched them skim across the heavens, hover, and sometimes disappear. My playmates did not always see them, but I seemed to sense just when to look up. Alton saw them too, and when we told our parents they only smiled patronizingly as if in quiet agreement of what they felt were youthful flights of fancy.

  Dad, a handsome blond-headed man with patrician features, was an adamant Catholic, while mother, with enough red in her auburn hair to insure a fiery disapproval of certain of his beliefs, was an unyielding Methodist; and sometimes the difference in interpretation of religious concepts would lead to most voluble discussions.

  While their discussions never led to disharmony, I was caught between my loyalty to both of them and was often deeply disturbed because I did not know which to believe entirely. Religion was the only matter about which Dad and Mom could never agree, and I remember that when their talking of it led to near arguments I would go off to myself and sometimes cry.

  But in confusion of trying to analyze, in my young way, these conflicting beliefs, I learned to think for myself and form my own concepts of God. That I believe I owe to my mother, for in spite of the difference of religious views to which I was exposed, she managed to firmly establish in my mind and heart the omnipresence of an Infinite Creator.

  My brother and I continued seeing the bright, shining circular objects in the sky, and one day one of them landed in the field where we were playing.

  It was a disc-shaped object about ten feet in diameter. Afraid, but fascinated and curious, we walked toward it to get a better view. As we neared it we noticed another bright object, a much larger one of similar design, hovering in the sky above the smaller craft, as if observing it and us.

  Our hearts palpitated, but curiosity overwhelmed our fright as we proceeded cautiously.

  When we were about 25 feet from the object, the larger airborne craft disappeared; and while we were trying to muster enough courage to go closer, the disc on the ground began vibrating, then took off at a terrific rate of speed in a blinding flash of light.

  This experience we again enthusiastically recounted, but again our story was assigned to the realm of childish imagination.

  I believe that Mother sensed, however, my gift of sensitive perception, for now and then when I mentioned such things to her I could tell that behind her pretended disbelief was a knowing look of understanding.

  Gradually feeling a need to be alone, I began going off by myself, deep into the woods. There I had the feeling that somehow I could find the answer to the odd half-memories I experienced.

  Some very strong impulse always drew me into one certain area of the woods. True, it was a beautiful section of the forest, idyllic in the summer, with a brook and almost tropical plants and foliage—but I knew in my heart that something else beside the natural beauty took me there.

  A feeling of peace permeated the place, though interrupted at times by chattering and busy squirrels, running up and down trees in noisy pursuits. I remember timid and inquisitive rabbits, a deer which occasionally would come up very close. The soft-eyed gentle animal seemed to trust me and consider me one of the usual inhabitants of the forest.

  To this enchanted spot I came at every opportunity I could find.

  But one day in 1932, when I was ten, I saw something even more beautiful than the surroundings.

  There, sitting on a rock by the brook, was the most exquisite woman my young eyes had ever beheld!

  The warm sunlight caught the highlights of her long golden hair as it cascaded around her face and shoulders. The curves of her lovely body were delicately contoured—revealed through the translucent material of clothing which reminded me of the habit of skiers.

/>   I halted in my tracks, and for a moment my breath stopped. I was not frightened, but an overwhelming wonderment froze me to the spot.

  She turned her head in my direction.

  Even though very young, the feeling I received was unmistakable.

  It was a tremendous surge of warmth, love and physical attraction which emanated from her to me.

  Suddenly all my anxiety was gone and I approached her as one would an old friend or loved one.

  She seemed to radiate and glow as she sat on the rock, and I wondered if it were due to the unusual quality of the material she wore, which had a shimmering, shiny texture not unlike but far surpassing the sheen of nylon. The clothing had no buttons, fasteners or seams I could discern. She wore no makeup, which would have been unnecessary to the fragile transparency of her Camellia-like skin with pinkish undertones.

  Her eyes, opalescent discs of gold, turned their smiling affection on me with a tranquil luminescence.

  “Howard,” she spoke my name, and I trembled with joy.

  “I have come a long way,” and she paused smilingly, “to see you, Howard...and to talk with you.”

  I shall always remember those first words exactly as she spoke them; but then my thoughts swirled in a maelstrom of emotion and slowly coalescing understanding as she continued to talk.

  I remember that nobody had ever spoken to me as she did. She talked with me as if I were much older.

  She said she knew where I had come from and what my purpose would be here on Earth. She and her people had observed me for a long time and in ways I would not quickly understand.

  When she spoke of her “people” I still could not understand they were from another planet; as I listened in awe, my eyes delighted in feasting on the beauty of this lovely creature.

  Every movement of her body, as she stood up and walked toward me and reached out her hands to me was a symphony of rhythm, grace and beauty. I seemed to be encompassed by the very glow, almost visible, that emanated from her presence. Somehow the entire area surrounding us appeared to take on a greater kind of radiance. I have often tried to describe it as like seeing a Technicolor movie in three dimensions and being a part of the action in the film.

  Again she pronounced my name and reassured me she knew who I was, “from a long, long time.”

  And then some words that have taken on even more joy and meaning as I have grown older:

  “We are contacting our own.”

  She told me that even though I did not understand many of the things she told me then, later in life I would. Her words would be impressed on my mind—I suppose she said “subconscious”—but it was difficult, as she said again, to make me understand.

  I remember that she compared the idea to that of a phonograph, which would be played back to me time and again.

  “It is no fault of yours, Howard, that you cannot understand everything. Do not worry.” And she laughed musically.

  She continued to speak to me as if I were an adult. I cannot remember many of her exact phrasings, but the “phonograph” has played back the ideas, each “replay” taking on more and more meaning. Some of the actual words were beyond me, for they were words that meant nothing to a ten-year-old: “frequency”...”vibration”...”evolvement.”...

  She smiled most of the time as she spoke, and now and then she laughed as she answered questions before I could ask them. She seemed to know all of my thoughts.

  But then a look of sadness came over the beautiful face, and tears came to my eyes as for the first time I pitied my new wonderful friend.

  She spoke of a great change to take place in this country as well as the world. Wasteful wars, torture and destruction would be brought on by the misunderstandings of people.

  “As you grow older,” she said, “you will grow to know your purpose. You will help other people grow to know their purpose too.”

  This would depend on “evolvement” and “universal laws,” and I would be drawn to other people who have missions akin to mine.

  Then she stood up and I knew she was about to say goodbye. I noticed she was about my mother’s height, slender, lithe, with no exaggeration of voluptuous curves.

  She extended her hand and grasped mine. It was warm and soft and I was reluctant to let it go.

  I began to cry.

  “Don’t worry, Howard,” she promised. “You may see me again...but it will be many years before you do. And I am not nearly so wise nor wonderful as others of my people who will often visit with you.”

  “Where do they live,” I asked perplexedly and almost petulantly.

  “Ah, far away, but you will find them. They will come to you. You will know where to go and meet them. And if your mind is troubled, remember, they will always be around—watching out for you...guiding you.”

  Again she laughed and I could not help be affected with her happy humor. I laughed, too, though with tears drying on my face. She said I should leave first, then she would go.

  “May I look back?”

  “Oh yes, Howard, you may look back!”

  And I did, after walking slowly away. She was still sitting on the rock, smiling, and she waved.

  I turned and ran, sobbing, first hardly audibly, then louder and louder, till my wails of a happy kind of sadness grew and filled the forest.

  2. The Man in Khaki

  I often went back to the brook in the woods, hoping to see her.

  The place looked the same, though lacking the radiance which seemed to illuminate it that one day. The brook still ran musically beside the rock; the foliage was still lush, and the squirrels kept up their chatter—but the lady was not there.

  But in time it seemed that the enchantment of the place had gradually faded. Perhaps I was growing up. Perhaps I had never seen her and only imagined I did.

  I wondered about it often as I lay awake nights, remembering. I decided that even if the beautiful girl were not real, the things she had told me were taking on more and more reality.

  I remembered she said I would undergo many trials. That I would be unhappy. Partly due to the many mistakes I would make—natural things, due to mis-education; or the pangs incurred in a gaining of education.

  The experience with the golden haired naiad of the forest had a profound and lasting effect on my life.

  Throughout my life the things I had learned in the forest were to lead to conflict with the conventional ideas of the world.

  It began with a difficult time in school. A great deal of the information my teachers tried to convey to me was, I knew, untrue.

  The girl on the rock had told me of life and people on the other planets; yet in school we were taught that the planets in our solar system were lifeless worlds, either too hot or too cold, or covered by poisonous gases. Nevertheless I soon learned it was often better to put down the accepted answers even though I knew they were wrong. One had to live with other people and their ideas.

  But sometimes I rebelled, and as a result many of my classmates and teachers grew to think I was odd.

  My intellectual rebellion had a bad effect on my school grades.

  I remember that once we were assigned to write a theme for an English class, and I chose the subject, “The Evolution and Evolvement of Man,” in which I developed how man had ascended from the very life cell (which in itself possesses a consciousness and a portion of the Infinite Creator), to the time when he first stood erect on two legs. My teacher marked an “F” on my paper because my views conflicted with his religious ideas. As in other classes, I noticed I was becoming unpopular.

  So I became quiet and retiring, keeping my ideas to myself.

  I finished four years of high school despite my frustration of being unable to express what I knew to be true.

  Shortly after leaving high school in 1941 I worked at an arsenal in north Jersey for more than a year. Then I entered the army.

  This was 1942.

  They sent me to a tank outfit in the southwest.

  For a while the harsh
new environs of Army life took my mind from the many things which had occupied it while growing up. We were on maneuvers from Texas to Louisiana for 18 months. After arriving there, somehow the girl on the rock and the ideas she had expressed, particularly of the brotherhood of man, grew to be like a dream, as the terrible realities of war pushed her from my thoughts.

  But, then, in one of the most desolate places I have ever been, a firing range outside El Paso, another strange thing happened that once again brought my earlier experiences into vivid focus.

  We were camped in the desert, not far from the Rio Grande River. The naked, stark sterility of the immense scene nevertheless had a kind of rather odd beauty about it. It was a lonely and silent place. We could hear coyotes barking in the distant hills, which, though in contrast to the immense tranquility of the region, they seemed only to add to the great silence by providing a contrast to it.

  During many of those nights I had a feeling I did not dare describe to my buddies—a feeling that we were not alone. That we were being observed...though by watchers who protected us.

  One night I again saw what I now know to be an observation of discs in the sky, and thereafter I saw more of them, both during the days and nights.

  The results of past experience restrained my exuberance, and impatience to point out the discs to my buddies. Whether or not they saw them I do not know; if they did, no doubt they mistook them for our own high flying aircraft.

  One night a couple of my buddies insisted that I go with them into the nearby town of Juarez. Though I did not appreciate the loud, garish entertainment offered by such towns, I agreed, hoping it would break the monotony of camp life.

  When we got into town I had no difficulty breaking away from my friends, for they knew I was not interested in the kind of entertainment it offered us. I wandered off by myself to look for some souvenirs to send home.