Thursday, February 23, 2017

More Revelations About Roswell, 1947

Army Point-of-View Proves Catastrophic for Disc Theory
"Yeah, this is it -- this is the flying disc"

The narrated discussions presented in the article below have been fostered amidst the absolute and often expressed desire for an accurate record of the suppositions and point-of-view held by our friend Roger Craggett. In pursuit of this, we have recorded numerous interviews with him, in the context of his needs alone. This means that nothing will be published without his prior approval and unconditional support for the claims herein expressed.

SPI SANTA FE NM -- "No, no, no, the belief in UFOs is not fucking ridiculous!" 

You can hear the deranged smile in his voice. 

"The people who believe in UFOs are. And they're pretty obvious about it. I don't have any problem with the concept. It has resulted in a fairly large number of absolutely wonderful science fiction novels and stories and movies and even T.V. series, some of which can genuinely be considered classics. The concept is fine. It's when people start believing in the concept that the insanity walks into the room. What these idiots call evidence is not evidence. Clearly. When you read a witness report that is fictional, you don't call it evidence. You call it what it is: a joke. Except in this case, nobody's laughing and a lot people are getting irate and nervous, so it's a bad joke. Got it?"

According to Roger Craggett, the worst joke of all is the entire Roswell UFO mythos. In his opinion, poor storytellers have mindlessly created folktales from first person accounts they have little ability to make credible. And credibility, Craggett insists, is the only part of the story that matters.

"Throughout history, you've got a small handful of men and women who achieved great honor and fame due to their remarkable ability to render believable stories about the Gods and Goddesses that gave meaning and purpose to the lives of common men. The social status of such people, for probably the first time in history, became either irrelevant or possible to surmount. Names like Aesop and Homer come to mind. Aesop was a Thracian slave, while Homer, a blind man from Chios, was entirely dependent on the good will of others. And this handicapped charity case would eventually be recognized as the greatest of Greek storytellers, a reputation that enabled others to incorporate his character and his personality into their own poetic works, an act of creative editing that would eventually see Homer interacting with the same Gods and Goddesses that were believed to govern, or at least contribute to, the fate of all men on Earth and in the underworld." In the process, of course, the folklorist himself was lost to time, an admired beacon pointing the way to Mount Olympus throughout the centuries as the once-radiant source eventually vanished and melted away. But his stories became immortal, shining in the firmament of eternity like flowering stars.

The construction of folklore became a much admired field of human endeavor, and schools were founded for the purpose of training those with the gift to take advantage of their natural talents in a world that bestowed great respect and often riches upon the greatest of its poets, its dramatists, its storytellers. They helped to create some of the first schools in ancient western history, precursors to colleges of rhetoric and drama and later of law. Many were open to anybody who could establish the talent and the natural grace demanded of such men of respect and grand will. The only requirement was the true desire to control the the fate of one's world using only those gifts bestowed by the Gods without consideration of status, wealth, or which potentate you may or may not have pledged your blood and your allegiance to. This in turn led to the tradition of the bards that contributed so much to the constantly mingling cultures of Western Europe, a tradition that is justifiably lauded for preserving the true history of the western world during a period of such warfare and strife that it threatened to devour Europe in a Dark Ages that could have destroyed every other tradition and culture rising on its own merits.

And the worst joke of all 
is the entire Roswell Mythos
Not everybody, of course, is gifted with such talents. Those without the gift, however, were not stupid, and according to Roger Craggett, they discovered the means by which ordinary men, men without the natural talent for rhetoric, men without any native ability to apply to the tales of their tribe could still hijack the fame and the blessings they could not otherwise earn. They proved that it was possible for men without the poet's breath on their brow to still achieve for themselves and their families the respect and the admiration that had previously been accorded only to those harboring within their hearts and their minds and their aspirations those legends and tales of ancient Gods, Goddesses, spirits, djinn, demons, and all manner of natural and unnatural forces believed to interact with humanity.

"Oh, yeah! But there was only one way these untalented and lazy orators could collect the respect and the admiration they lusted after, yet didn't deserve!

"They had to put themselves in the story..."

Thus was born the "eyewitness" of our fantastic literature, the scourge of logic, poetry, and natural histories everywhere. "The eyewitness gave birth to the hoax and to the fraudulence of modern UFOlogy. Those unable to create had to attract attention, and they eventually determined that such attention could be demanded by those who insist, 'I'm not very good at describing these things, but I did see it, and that gives me the authority others lack!'

"And the world bought it, because the 'eyewitness' presents a point-of-view that the world is naturally attracted to. Those other guys have nothing -- no authority at all that common men can rely on. They want to believe, because the experience of belief is more powerful and more sustaining than that of mere 'entertainment', and belief outside of the recompense of trust due to cultural conditioning is easily supported by witnesses. That's the true dividing line between the Old Testament and the New; it's the whole point behind the stories of the saints and the martyrs. Y'see, Christianity had the need for witnesses to the Kingdom of God, just as the Apostles were witnesses to the redemption of Christ that relies on the conquering and the subsequent destruction of true death.

"Within our Gospels creep the worms of this false authority. Look to the doubts of Thomas. If they are not conditioned and molded to modestly create the scion of belief where such belief is either impossible or fails to inspire with the true breath of language, then they are nothing more than the pinions driving a sharp-edged tale with no purpose to it at all, and having no purpose should not make pretense of it. The doubts of Thomas were constructed to persuade -- nothing more. They add nothing to the resurrection story and nothing in that story suffers in their absence. Of course, these are religious tenets, invented to separate a man from himself. UFOlogy, like the tales of Bigfoot or the lost and painful screams of Picklenose John, is merely a lark's tongue aspiring to be the well-paying career of a celebrity. It's just sickening dishonesty."

The hearts of men have been conditioned by life and by the "world observed" to doubt the existence of authority presupposed. That is precisely why rhetoric is an art form that uniformly rejects the mindless creations of a poor storyteller crouching before his desire to effect belief amongst the most gullible and the naive. Along the way, such fools tend to forget that authority, being a creature in awe of the impossible, cannot, in true nature, exist. It is for this reason, and this reason alone, that art was created.  When performed well, it deserves our admiration and respect -- and, yes, our love and our belief as well. When it is done poorly, it deserves the weight of our criticism, but also a measure of our respect for the attempt. It takes courage to conduct one's private, fevered orchestrations in public, and it is appropriate to acknowledge that. But the eyewitness hijacks belief by adding his own contempt for the value of traditional arts into the recipe that his desire for recognition and fame has inspired him to produce. Such a man deserves our scorn and earns for himself the reputation of the fool and the buffoon. 
   
"That defines the whole Roswell UFO thing pretty solidly. You've got a bunch of poor and dishonest storytellers trying to establish the religious persona of flying saucers and dead aliens using nothing more than pure invention. You gotta believe that it just isn't the honest to God truth that's gonna make you into a celebrity and get you that low interest rate on a third mortgage! Or, Hell, buy your little girl a new car. Or get your big girl a vacation to the south of France. And it's all nothing but a hoax! It's goddamn pathetic...


And the whole thing's nothing but a hoax!

"In the America we all know, unfortunately, we don't doubt our eyewitnesses; we are trusting in our nature and therefore we find the multiplicity of lies abhorrent and without even a single measure of worth in all human professions and all fields of endeavor excepting politics alone. That is why so many of our prisons and penitentiaries are so overcrowded. It is why America has a higher per capita rate of incarceration than any other country on Earth. It is why so many of the men and women we lock up in those many prisons and penitentiaries that we maintain to best preserve our communities, our property, and our lives are innocent of the crimes they were tried, convicted, and sentenced for having committed. You see, we Americans have not yet learned the primal lesson of the eyewitness:  a whole lot of times, they're simply wrong. And quite often they are simply wrong on purpose.

"Well, I don't pay a lot of attention to liars, and I don't intend to recognize fantasy. That's why UFOs piss me off ..." 

Roger Craggett is particularly incensed by the whole Roswell flying saucer mythos. "What the Hell's the appeal? What possible significant mystery could ever exist that the entire world would ignore for thirty years after the fact? If you want to understand this idiocy, you have to examine the context -- the beginnings and the ends of every question that's been presented. When you've done that, then come talk to me." 

Unfortunately, as we've already discussed, Craggett has never been very good at trying to define, measure, and filter out the beginnings and the ends of anything. He is so wrapped up in the contents of the present, in the practice and the conditions of his livelier years, that he tends to overlook the motivations of a man gazing out in some confusion from inside of an issue he longs to understand. Motivations speak to the whys and the wherefores of the matter at hand, and these elements are far more likely to describe the anxieties of a man who begins an activity, and who determines from the very beginning the course and the directionality of his own personal universe than those conditions that have never been credibly observed or experienced by any other individual anywhere else on this planet. It's unsurprising, really, that he considers any debate of fact in regard to UFOs a singular perversion having more in common with necrophilia than any genuine desire to determine the truth thus far undiscovered. It's a dead horse. Pound it.

It has to be acknowledged, however, that where the Roswell case is concerned, the beginning is so muddied and intemperate that it seems to have been sheared off of the story completely, which is something that Craggett sure as Hell did notice, even though doing so was an application of logic somewhat out of character for the man. He noticed it almost immediately, which for Craggett is a signature of distinction, a sign of brilliance in regard to an issue he would prefer to ignore. And a man, any man, will only rarely abandon and ignore the trigger of his own brilliance, which is why Craggett starts and ends every single day recognizing this same unchanging yet uncharted conviction: you'll never know anything about what came down out of the skies north of Roswell, New Mexico in 1947 unless you know everything there is to know about that quietly inconsistent cowboy, Mack Brazel. He found the alleged wreckage, he reported it, he issued a number of very early statements intended to define his position, and then he refused to discuss it, at least publicly, for the remainder of his life.

The basic story is commonly known around the world. Brazel found the remains of something that he thought had something to do with the flying disc mystery.  The Roswell Army Air Corps released a public affairs statement that one of the discs had crashed near the base, and was in the process of being recovered. Overnight that story changed. Suddenly, according to Craggett, there was only the mistake:  "it was an identification error. It was a weather balloon apparatus that had been recovered, a common enough mistake, we're so sorry, maybe next time we'll get it right. That story seemed solid enough, for a command that generally disliked stories, and we know it was well received, because it went unchanged for over thirty years until a bunch of UFO flakes decided that the next big deal was going to be some silly revelations of another cover-up, not a spoonful of sugar. For God's sake, after Nixon, folks were ready to believe anything -- anything at all.  And so a bunch of greedy, dishonest idiots called themselves 'eyewitnesses' and sold them flying saucers at Roswell. It was just bad timing for the truth. Bad timing. How pathetic is that?"

Well before he began asking his own questions about these matters, Roger Craggett already suspected that Mack Brazel was the only key to the tale told, and it was within the heart of Mack Brazel that the staid investigator would find the answers he was looking for.
Roger Craggett already suspected that Mack 
Brazel (above) was the only key to the tale told
He was clearly the only credible witness available. If Brazel could be properly isolated and properly assessed in the right context, the whole UFO thing -- true or false -- would naturally fall into place exactly where it belongs. And Craggett was dead certain regarding what that solution would be: the flying saucer would crash and fall back into the garbage dump of history just as it has always deserved. It says something singular about the man to recognize that his desire to prove the fallacies inherent to the Roswell circus was more than enough reason to keep him investigating the matter and examining the men and the politics that were involved, even during those lean years when nothing at all could be established insofar as the actual history of the incident. It was frustrating, because he was rarely successful when it came to uncovering those facts that supported his thesis. Of course, his standards of evidence were significantly higher than those held by the UFO faction, which was at least something of an intellectual relief whenever he was forced to consider his many failures.

Craggett did uncover something he considered relevant, however, something that other investigators seem to have ignored. Aside from the original claims made by Mack Brazel, whenever actual evidence was applied to location, the sources that came forward to promote one alleged crash site over another were always associated on some level with the United States Air Force or Army Air Corps, the intelligence gathering components in either the military, the CIA or the FBI, or were attempting to locate the crash site on private property, where it could potentially be used to make money. The motivations for these individuals were overtly obvious. Craggett found it problematic that in such cases, it could easily be assumed that a classic misdirection strategy was being applied to keep the original crash site a secret. The fact is, eleven crash sites have been identified over the years, and not a single one of them represents a credible solution to the Roswell mystery. To Craggett, it seemed as if someone or some organization had been purposely muddying the water by throwing so much crap into it that the true site might never be found. Even worse, given the proposition that there is no real evidence to support any of the crash sites alluded to, the discovery of related artifacts might very well represent an impossible task, and would therefore become just as useless as any other Roswell flying saucer mystery -- and just as unresolved.

Brazel, unfortunately, was no help at all. Aside from the fact that by the time Craggett got motivated enough to look at the original sources, Mack Brazel had been dead for a good many years, even when he was alive all he was prepared to do was act like Roswell and flying saucers and dead aliens scattered all around the desert like so much wind blown flotsam on the beach had nothing at all in it that might interest him. He was perenially pissed off, and after reporting what he found and satisfying the "goddamn Army Air Corps", he wanted nothing more to do with the matter, and he made very short work of anyone who reached out to him with questions hanging around the back of their throat. He just told them to swallow it and leave. "Get off my property" became something like the first tenet of a new religion designed and applied by and for the silent.

Something had happened with Mack in 1947 when the Roswell flying saucer allegedly crashed during a thunderstorm; everybody knew that much. The Army officers over at Roswell had kept him locked up and angry for a good week, and he was spitting crazy over that when they finally told him he could go on home -- he had earned it, they said. By the time he got home, though, he wasn't anywhere near angry enough to tell folks everything he'd seen. As far as he was concerned, and for the rest of his life, the only thing he saw was exactly what those officers at the Roswell Army Air Field told him he saw. About the last word he said on the subject was to the deputy who drove him home at the end of that first bad week. According to the deputy, he said something odd and out of place during that long drive back to his home, and part of that statement was later published by one of the E. W. Scripps Company titles, The Albuquerque Tribune: "I told 'em to arrest me, to put me on trial. That was the whole reason I turned myself in to federal officers. They just told me to shut the Hell up, that no one was going on trial, and just locked me up again."

Now that's an odd comment to make in any conversation, but in the context of 1947, it strongly suggests that Mack expected to be arrested. He wanted to be arrested. Why would anyone expect to be arrested for doing nothing more than letting the Army know that he had found one of their weather balloons? Why would anyone expect the world to come down on top of him for reporting a possible flying saucer? Remember, this was 1947, not 1997, and context is everything. Most folks didn't even know what the Hell a flying saucer was in 1947.

According to his driver, Mack was dead quiet by the time he got home, and according to everybody else, he stayed that way for the rest of his life. Whenever someone cornered him on it, or kept insisting that his story seemed unlikely, he kept the conversation very short and very sweet, saying that he wouldn't be much of a patriot if he failed to keep his promise, and by God he had made a scarlet vow to the entire Army Air Corps. People in town said he was old-fashioned that way; the fact that he gave his word was significantly more important than the content of his alleged testimony, and he had no intention of staining that aspect of life that bestows honor on a man -- even a poor man with nothing left to hang onto. He sure as Hell wasn't about to start doing so merely for the sake of good conversation.

The problem with this stand is best defined by the fact that nobody was ever clear about what promise he had made that he intended to keep. They just guessed that it had something to do with the claims he made and the flying saucer he supposedly found. Right. That was a guess that caused a whole lot of silence in the years to come, and a lot of folks later had cause to be thankful for that small blessing. Of course, a lot of folks were also making a lot of money by that time, and if Mack Brazel wasn't adding a whole lot of superfluous details to the story, it gave them that much more freedom to determine for themselves whatever superfluous details should be added.

Roger Craggett, however, was not one of the thankful. He found Mack Brazel's attitude decidedly unfortunate, because it meant that the only resources he could use were those he had already dismissed as unlikely and hardly credible due to so many obviously motivating factors having been introduced. He was unable to find the original site of the alleged incident, because the only witness he could trust had stopped talking and then died. Members of that mute cowboy's family had pointed at what they claimed was the original site, but when one person points at three places over the course of a six year period 20-years after the fact, trusting that person becomes naturally problematic. Craggett had no idea where to start searching once he crossed those with a second-hand story to sell off of his list, and that was pretty much everybody.

"After nine years of investigation, I had no idea where I was or how in the world I was going to find something, anything to cling to in explanation. And I was pissed-off and physically sickened by every little UFO fuck I was pointed to by a bunch of people who also had no idea what in the world was going on. Everybody in those UFO groups has their own favorite little theory to propose, to believe, or sometimes just to sell and none of it ever makes any sense, but they grab at it like it's the last word of God or something. Every single one of these guys is dead certain that you can't trust the government, you can't trust the Air Force, you can't trust the FBI, you can't trust the Army, and you sure as Hell can't trust the CIA, and yet every single goddamn witness they toss out as the brand new caretaker of the true story, the only one who can break down the greatest cover-up in human history, has extremely long-standing ties with the government, the Air Force, the FBI, the Army, or the infuckingcredible CIA, and they see nothing wrong with any of it! For God's sake, even Maj. Jesse A. Marcel -- who publicly stated that what he recovered in 1947 was 'not of this world' -- was attached to the 509th Bomb Group Intelligence Office! It's like every single UFO hunter in the country was born brain dead, and that's your only real conspiracy -- the conspiracy that explains how to believe when you know nothing. How do these people fail to see the most obvious flaw in their repertoire of idiocy? Anybody making claims contrary to their belief is guilty of disinformation and working with the feds, but any source with an actual, verified connection to the feds gets a pat on the back for courage and bestowed with the magical talent for infallibility. I swear, it's just insanity. But I was still at a dead end myself, so what the Hell kind of critic does that make me? Like everybody else, I had nothing."


Major Jesse Marcel of the 509th 
Bomb Group Intelligence Office
Of course, having "nothing" didn't really stop folks from looking, and it didn't stop those who looked from polishing up that "nothing" until it was so bright and shiny that a lot of people didn't even bother looking at anything else, even if it came with its own price tag. It's that price tag, in fact, that makes it so difficult to believe that those 30-years-after-the-fact investigators didn't start their detective work with a pre-ordained conclusion already written up in what would eventually be chapters one, two, and three of whatever myth-making manual they intended to publish first. They certainly weren't alone, though. A number of unofficial investigations were ultimately introduced to the media market as a result of heightened interest in the case, all of which hinged on conclusions that were very different from what had originally been reported in newspapers 30-years earlier. Some of those conclusions were a bit unsettling. For instance, a number of privately funded investigators had immediately concluded that Mack Brazel had discovered the remnants of an actual, extraterrestrial flying saucer that had crashed near the Foster's property, one that had probably originated not just off-planet, but outside of our own solar system entirely; he had discovered part of an alien craft that had reached the end of its long journey through the darkness with a very rude and unconditional finality. 

The officers at the Roswell Army Air Field had, in fact, agreed, claiming that what Brazel discovered was one of the "flying discs" that had been so widely reported throughout June and July, 1947. For modern audiences, this kind of explanation to describe what Brazel had discovered is electrifying. It gives the impression that the scattered remnants of tin foil, wood, tape and heavy paper that was reportedly found is actually a flying saucer, one that was capable of traveling through the vacuum of outer space. And if it's a flying disc, as the army originally insisted, it would be ludicrous to suggest that such a craft had been created with tin foil, wood, tape and heavy paper. A flying saucer of the type of craft that people refer to today whenever they mention "flying saucers" are clearly not made of such flimsy materials.

In the summer of 1947, however, such a claim is inconsistent with actual history. The reports of flying discs throughout much of the nation represented a mystery, not a fait accompli that establishes extraterrestrial visitation. In Los Angeles, for instance, one of the newspapers published the theory that "flying saucers" represented the possible outcome of "experiments in transmutation of atomic energy", an explanation many scientists dismissed as "gibberish". 

The explanation most often put forward by scientists, astronomers, physicists, the military and government spokesmen at all levels was that the discs were very likely "man-made". Astronomers were very quick to dismiss the explanation that the discs were meteors or some other natural phenomenon, which is why most educated therorists believed, as did Dr. Oliver Lee, Director of Northwestern University's Dearborn observatory, that the mystery was merely one more byproduct of military weapons experiments. "We realize that the army and navy are working on all sorts of things we know nothing about." Very few people were promoting the theory that the flying discs originated on another world, possibly in another galaxy. The closest that anybody ever got to such a theory was when Dr. Lee theorized that the flyings discs might represent "the same sort of thing as sending radar signals to the moon, one of the greatest technological achievements of the war, and accomplished in absolute secrecy." The only real question was whether or not the Department of Defense, which in '47 was known as the National Military Establishment, had an obligation to inform the citizenry of the United States that they were indeed responsible for the sightings. The science fiction explanation that proliferates today, partially as a result of the unofficial investigations of the incident at Roswell, was not a valid issue in 1947.

At first Craggett believed that the command at Roswell Army Air Field must have had hopes of killing two birds with one stone: they could release an account explaining what Mack Brazel had discovered in the desert, and could reach a conclusion that resolved as well the mystery of the flying discs. Modern UFO historians tend to believe that the army's immediate about-face in relation to the "flying disc" theory supports conjecture that they were attempting to cover up the truth behind the flying saucer sightings, but it's equally likely, according to Craggett, that pulling away from the explanation for the discs was intended to prevent criticism; clearly, the discs had been described, at times, as accelerating to speeds that were simply impossible for a weather balloon to achieve, particularly one constructed of wood and paper. Craggett, however, was looking at the problem from the point-of-view of a person looking backwards from 2005 or so. It didn't immediately occur to him that things were very different in 1947. People today tend to forget that the first flying saucer ever seen by anybody was on June 25, 1947, about a week-and-a-half after Brazel found whatever it was that Brazel found.

At the time, Craggett didn't think very much about it, so he was still stuck in the little town of Backward Thinking, and the population of that annoying little suburb just off the map at reality's gate loves flying saucers. They can't get enough of them. Brazel, on the other hand, didn't even report what he'd seen -- not immediately. He acted for all the world like it was something he needed to work up to, something that might even be judged as a moral failing of some kind. Recognizing that just pissed Craggett off. His instincts coupled with all the background noise put out by modern UFOlogy made him want to get rid of all those flying saucers, because as much as some people like to bellyache and piss steaming spit and vinegar, there is nothing about the UFO issue that could possibly weigh very heavily on a man, proof of this being the almost relentless and pretentious assumption of applied sainthood being adopted by the contemporary crowds of the most recognizably foolish and inconsiderate professors of hoax law this planet has ever given birth to. 

To be honest, Craggett's instincts were dead on. Brazel never acted like someone who had found something new and revolutionary to the overly human minds we all happen to be equipped with. He acted like he was guilty of something, which really got to Craggett right where it's supposed to: in the pit of your stomach. The UFO mythos is just another excuse to keep the neighbors awake and angry for all those bedroom people who like noise a heck of a lot more than the rest of us like music. Keep it to yourself. Nobody cares. According to Craggett, those who precipitate the inane yet unexplained claims are basically worthless, even to themselves, and Brazel's actions and his emotions can't possibly be interpreted as anything less than consequential -- but only for him. As for the saucers, they've always been attention grabbers, not good science, and nothing at all like the result of someone's good detective work.

Unfortunately, in his eagerness to get rid of the saucer problem that he assumed was an obstacle, he had missed the most important part of the lecture. You see, Craggett had reached the conclusion almost immediately that anything the command at Roswell Army Air Field wanted to keep private and personal and out of the newspapers -- anything at all -- would have very likely elicited a similar response from them, which was little more than an excuse; any excuse would have worked just as well, but this one was dangerous because it attracted way too much attention to keep what really happened a secret for very long. It therefore became immediately necessary to change that excuse and come up with one that was a little less newsworthy. After all, public interest throughout the world was inflamed by reports of a "flying disc" having been recovered, not a weather balloon. Immediately shutting down any association with all those reports of flying discs was primarily a means to deflect public interest, so the motivation for doing so could literally be anything that the army wanted to remain tight-lipped about. It didn't have to be "a real live flying saucer!" It could just as likely have been related to atomic weaponry. If you try and cover up the fact that a 12-year-old child figured out how to build an atom bomb, because he found the top secret DIY manual that some army messenger had accidentally dropped while checking out the scenery, and you decided that a cover-up should take the form of a possible flying disc -- which would have been beautiful, because it would also tend to explain why so many military police were raking out a square-mile of desert like a giant box of kitty litter -- your cover-up story is still going to attract way too much attention from newspaper reporters all over the world. The actual story being protected isn't even relevant, only the possibility that someone might trip over it in the dark. 

And in the world of secrecy, my unfortunate friend, there is only the dark.

In his eagerness to rid the world of the "flying disc" mystery, Craggett dropped into the same old sand trap that many other investigators had dropped into before him. He made the very rude and untenable assumption that the U.S. Army had just made a stupid mistake regarding the "excuse story" they came up with. And, to be fair, that's exactly what most people thought, the only difference being that most people thought the army had made a stupid mistake and that Brazel hadn't found anything even remotely interesting. But then 30-years later, a small collection of treasure hunters and fools started trying to convince people that Brazel had indeed found something so alarmingly secret that the army went and got all excited about it, like a thirteen year old kid who found a stash of old Playboy magazines and started screaming, "lookee what I found! look at what I dug up!" while realizing at the very same time the extent of his own stupidity during that one blast of heavenly hyper-faith that every kid in the whole wide world discovers within his heart at least two dozen times in life before common sense tells him to shut the fuck up. The fall-out from the army's 12-hour bout with stupidity was allegedly realized almost immediately thereafter, as was their silly and sadly low key misapplication of public concern and well-being that caused them to make an almost instantaneous about-face to keep what had already been loudly announced as a brilliant find a complete secret, bouncing, thereby, like a jellyfish ball from one extreme to the other, just a subscription away from another relentlessly crowded newspaper full of American idiocy, a reflection of our ever-so-consistent nuclear paranoia that in this case represents such an oddly mild and unthreatening nightmare that millions of American idiots are still trying to explain it to a population that to this very day just doesn't give a damn. 

About 25-years after that old-style Jacob and the Angel wrestling match between the facts and the fools that the American theater of the absurd tried and failed to present with just a little bit of dignity, Craggett came along and concluded that Brazel did indeed find something important, his inner spirit wrestled with his own reaction to whatever it was for a couple of weeks before telling the army about it, and the army decided that whatever Brazel found should not be publicized. To ensure the secret stayed a secret, they announced that one of the "flying discs" the entire country was so on fire about had crashed and been discovered in the desert north of Roswell, New Mexico. This, however, was so much of an overshoot, that the entire world was immediately eager to know all about that damn disc, so the army stepped back a bit from their awkward and irresponsible cover-up, and toned it down just enough to allow them to put a cap on the fizzy, shaken-up bottle of carbonated, world-wide journalism just before it overflowed the bottle and made what had been secret no longer secret in a very, very messy way like a Mentos and Coke cocktail. They locked Brazel up for what was apparently an annoying bit of time, but plenty long enough to give him a decent idea of what exactly his family would be looking at for the rest of their long lives after a completely silent and otherwise unrecognizable Army Ranger came along to put a bullet in his head just before dropping him like a stinking bag of laundry into a deep hole in the hot desert that Brazel himself was probably going to have to dig. And that was exactly how Brazel found himself a weather balloon -- zippity-do-dah. Do dah day.

The most disturbing part of the entire radical, nation-wide assessment of New Mexico's desert routine that came out of Roswell in 1947 was the army's incompetence, which is decidedly common to nearly every single explanation offered up in the past 60-plus years. Not a single one of the many hypothetical saucer stories that have been advanced fails to blame the entire disgusting mess on the complete and unconditional idiocy of the United States Army. It's almost funny how much stupidity managed to collect itself and breed throughout the army so soon after that same army had defeated in both the short and the long run every opponent it met on the field during World War Two. Even Craggett saw nothing remarkable about it. "I just figured that they picked the wrong excuse. Instead of deflecting interest in whatever Brazel had found, they were attracting interest from all over the world, so they needed to turn back, y'know, do a complete 180, 'cause it seemed obvious they didn't want all the attention they got. It was just a mistake they were fortunate enough to fix a day or so later. They was lucky all they got was embarrassed." 

But that wasn't what happened at all.

The disc is hexagonal in shape and was 
suspended from a ballon [sic] by cable
First mention of a possible flying disc, according to the commander at Roswell Army Air Field, had been advanced by Mack Brazel. Obviously, Brazel knew little about the disc sightings, and was instead offering an explanation more related to the shape of the radar reflectors often used on weather balloons than to the witness reports describing the flying saucers. This interpretation seems obvious given the contents of a memo sent to J. Edgar Hoover, Director of the FBI: "The disc is hexagonal in shape and was suspended from a ballon [sic] by cable, which ballon [sic] was approximately twenty feet in diameter." Hoover lost interest completely and ignored further reports on the grounds that the Roswell disc had been identified as a radar reflector. In fact, nobody involved with the alleged recovery described the "flying disc" as anything particularly alarming, which begs the question, why keep it a secret after you've already made it public? Even if was an actual flying saucer from the stars, you've already defined its nature to J. Edgar Hoover. There is simply no believable reason for backtracking on the story the way the Army Air Corps obviously did, unless you're genuinely trying to look like a pack of idiots. For God's sake, if the press or any other interested parties questioned the "flying disc scenario", all the army needed to do was trot out a radar reflector. "Yeah, this is it -- this is the flying disc; we're pretty sure a large number of flying disc reports can be explained the same way. Who knew?" 

Nobody knew; that's the point.

The only reason whatever Brazel had supposedly discovered out in the desert waste north of Roswell was initially reported as a flying disc, at least according to the army and local law enforcement, is because Mack Brazel had originally reported it as a flying disc!  As for Brazel, once he was released from the army's "care", he refused to address these issues at all, which means that one side of the only relevant conversation that was going on in the whole world was now just a blank stare. The result of this one-sided interpretation was a disaster for the truth, because it ensured for the next 60-years that most of the world would fail to examine in any real depth what the army had actually done, and what most of the world would fail to recognize what their ignorance of military and government procedures would ultimately redefine. Without the authority dictated by Brazel's point of view, we're forced to ignore the Army Air Corps' motivation as it applied to the world in 1947. Fortunately, any thorough examination of motives -- if it's done with knowledge and a compassionate nod to history -- will nonetheless suggest an honest resolution. 

Craggett may be only person in America willing to focus on the incident as it was being defined and redefined by the army. By doing so he couldn't help but notice that the only possible reason the army would have had for backtracking away from the saucer story so immediately and so thoroughly would be to maintain secrecy regarding an incident that had absolutely nothing to do with flying discs. This is also the only reason for Mack Brazel to keep his own role in the matter a secret as well, especially after a reasonable explanation had already been floated by the Director of the FBI. After all, Brazel would have been perfectly safe telling everyone he found a "flying disc", because the army had already made it clear that the "flying disc" could be easily associated with radar reflectors. This explanation is certainly what J. Edgar Hoover believed, and it is precisely why Hoover didn't give the incident any further thought whatsoever. He knew that the flying disc was a military-grade radar reflector. As Stan Lee would later declare, "'Nuff said!"  If Brazel had found either a weather balloon and radar reflector or an actual flying saucer, both he and the Army Air Corps would have been just fine coming out, as Brazel apparently did according to the army and local law enforcement, and declaring that a "flying disc" had crashed north of Roswell, New Mexico. There would have been no reason for the army to withdraw their story so quickly.  And yet, that's exactly what happened.


J. Edgar Hoover knew there was nothing 
important about the Roswell flying disc
On the other hand, if Brazel had discovered something in the desert that had nothing at all to do with flying saucers, any statement from the army proposing the "flying disc scenario" would have to be immediately retracted simply to prevent all those journalists from getting too close and possibly discovering the army's fundamental deceit. Had this occured, it would have proven decisively that the army was indeed stage managing a cover-up of some sort. It's a little difficult for someone to say "Yeah, this is it -- this is the flying disc," when you're pointing right at something that is not a flying disc -- like maybe an onion for instance. This is the only scenario that can possibly account for all of the army's actions in regard to whatever the Hell was going on in July 1947, including its very public assumption of unreasonable incompetence. The army didn't pull back on the story because they wanted to protect their very real flying saucer.  Hell, they could have just left the story alone and not one person in a million would have had a problem wth it. They would have nodded like J. Edgar Hoover did, and turned to look at whatever was next in line. The only reason in the world for the army to pull back on their story was to protect whatever it was that they were truly trying to keep in the dark and under the eaves. And it had nothing at all to do with the "flying disc mystery" that Brazel was apparently playing around with.

Most investigators and researchers willing to look at the case today, are necessarily critical of the way the army handled the whole matter. The flying discs represented a new mystery in 1947, and the term "UFO" hadn't even been invented, and yet the criticism directed at the army seems to be the result of the army's alleged stupidity for claiming that one of those mysterious flying saucers had crashed, and could be identified as a radar reflector of the type used throughout the nation on numerous weather balloons. This kind of an explanation, however, isn't necessarily a bad one unless you've already decided to invest that flying disc of 1947 with all of the properties of a UFO in 1977. J. Edgar Hoover had proven that when he accepted the radar reflector explanation without any further follow-up whatsoever, an action notably odd if the flying disc was an actual aircraft with unexplainable qualities. Not even Howard Hughes would choose to fly such an imaginary animal home, and he's one of the guys who bought into the deception in 1953 and thereby owned that tiny slice of government that 10-years later would find it useful to pretend John F. Kennedy had been murdered by the C.I.A. like solemn Pertinax at the hands of his own Praetorian Guards. It was the threat of ultimate blame for that horrendous crime that enabled the C.I.A. to overcome its own hubris and realize instead the most productive decade of its entire history, thereby making possible America's ultimate victory over Russian Communism and the destruction of the Soviet Union as a political force. The truth of this can be easily determined by merely examining the current membership of NATO, which now includes Albania, Croatia, the Czech Republic, Estonia, a united Germany, Greece, Hungary, Latvia, Lithuania, Poland, Romania, Slovakia, and Slovenia.  

Unfortunately, this type of discussion measuring the reactions of human creatures to the real and the unreal elements of aircraft that we have yet to properly imagine, as sensible and sound as the prospect of human economy in a world of cartoon characters and suicidal thieves, is exactly the kind of thinking that really sets Craggett on edge. He becomes like a puppy yapping at a porn star in downtown Houston. Unlike other investigators and researchers, Craggett gets handsomely pissed off every time he's forced to consider that damn flying disc mystery at all, and it doesn't matter a lick what year you're talking about. For Craggett, the whole thing is lunacy. Even after that ridiculous gathering of witnesses inspired by authors and cranks, he remained coldly positive that Brazel in a thousand lifetimes could never have found what was left of a flying saucer -- it's too ridiculous to even consider! A flying saucer, whether you're talking about 1947 or 2007, is faster than God and it comes from outer space; it isn't constructed of paper and balsa wood and wire and some pink tape with flowers and crap on it, and it isn't part of a weather balloon, or a Revell plastic model kit of an aircraft carrier, or a tiny Cessna with a wind-up rubberband engine and a tiny little cotton and fluff pilot with a cute little red ballcap. The fact is, if you look at all the newspaper reports from 1947, this whole scenario presents a solution that's so obvious and clear that not even the dumbass, well-funded army could be so dense and irresponsible not to get it. The whole country didn't give a tinker's damn about weather balloons or radar reflectors or those new vampire bat jets they were testing in the south of Wales, and although just about everybody in the entire country -- Hell, in the entire world! -- seemed so certain that those disks were man-made, and that they were probably top secret military ordnance like the guided missiles being developed in Texas or the newly realized spy aircraft that the military was testing in Nevada, everybody in the goddamn country still wanted to know exactly what those disks were and why nobody in the military or the government was willing to admit ownership of the damn things, all of which means those army boys must have been complete idiots to even consider using -- waitaminute ...

-- which is when the whole world turned inside out and back again so quickly it blanked out the sun, the whole goddamn sun! and Craggett knew like the sound of a rocket going off with the stuttering voice of cold thunder on top of those electrical dreams and explosive mayhem that the army didn't make common dumbass mistakes like that, not in 1947; Jesus God not even in 1997! And he laughed, yeah, he laughed his ass off 'cause he suddenly knew what was going on here, and what everybody else had completely missed.

The United States Army was far too purposeful about everything to make the kind of silly and irresponsible mistake that everybody in the entire world, regardless of what side of the issue they're arguing for, seems to be so certain of. Hell, they just won World War Two and that was a gathering of minds and warriors that nobody had even contemplated before it happened. World War One was the war to end all wars, but compared to World War Two, it was "Bat 'n' Ball Day" at Dodger Stadium.

It occured to Craggett almost like a revelation on Mt. Sinai that what the army had accomplished in 1947 was a signature example of true genius. The United States Army, having used and retained warriors of such genius throughout World War Two, was flush with it. And nothing motivates genius more than fighting a war to defend your nation -- and World War Two was such an extensive war that Americans have never seen the likes of it since. We had a surplus of genius to work with in 1947, and Craggett, quite suddenly, had realized the extent of that genius, and how it was reflected in the flying saucer to weather balloon scenario that the army was responsible for. That entire incident with its timing and its expression of incompetence was nothing less than brilliant and flawless psychology as far as Craggett could see.

"If you've got something that you want to hide, you draw attention to it in a big, big way, without revealing anything you consider important, and then you pull back and say, 'hey, guys, we're really sorry -- we just got it wrong. 'Our mistake, please don't hold it against us. We're just so sad and stupid is all.' The only problem with such a strategy is that part of the plan where 'you draw attention to it in a big, big way.' Of course, if you can't pinpoint the location that you're otherwise doing everything you can to define, then you really don't have a problem. When you tell the world that your big clumsy-ass mistake was established in one of these eleven places, which box do you pick -- hey, hey! Let's Make a Deal! -- all of a sudden you don't have a problem any more -- you've got a multiple choice, social studies test. And those guys knew the Hell out of their social studies. Sadly, nobody else did; but, then, nobody else was running the world the way the powerful and the wealthy United States of America was doing in 1947. The only problem with this scenario is the press. If you empower the press to start looking in desperation for the real story, you run the risk that someone will actually stumble over the truth, and that presents a problem that the army and the government of the United States wanted to avoid like a crash test dummy wants to avoid a brick wall. That problem, however, is easily mitigated if you're controlling the story: you reverse your stand almost immediately so nobody has the chance to examine it, and then you apologize for the obvious stupidity that led you to adopt that position in the first place. After all, Americans have never had a problem accepting and believing in the proposition of government stupidity, even when it's so clearly undeserved.

"The big miracle in Roswell wasn't this magic flying saucer. The big miracle was the fact that the army attracted no suspicions at all when they screamed out, 'hey, we got one! Bingo! We win!' Nobody would have been in a position to suspect anything at all if it hadn't been for a bunch of money-hungry, mutant conmen trying to convince everybody with a wallet that the army's misdirection strategy was actually a hasty bout of honesty that unfortunately had to be covered up for no real or established reason the very next day, and they did it 30-years after the fact! You want to know why we're so certain that a flying saucer just isn't an issue? Because the testimony that substantiated that claim was introduced to the world 30-years after the fact! In the course of those 30-years, not a single one of these freaking Roswell witnesses came forward with their claims. It wasn't until 1979, when a couple of applesauce stompers proved that there was money in the lie, and all you had to do was follow their example. They discovered buried treasure that you could dig out of the desert with a publication contract and a pen instead of a shovel. Goddamn irresponsible was all it really was. They didn't define or discover anything; they created shit and then tossed it at the whole world like a pissed off howler monkey in a cage!"

Brilliant and flawless psychology means that the army was well aware that once the "flying disc" had been identified as something prosaic, interest in the Roswell find would drop to absolutely nothing and would stay that way forever. Unfortunately, the army failed to predict the rising freakshow that sailed into Roswell a good 30-years later while convincing the whole world to come out and have a look.

It wasn't too long after his singular revelation that Craggett met Ardajio Jonas. It was at a nearly empty American Legion club in Santa Fe, New Mexico, and the two men were certain they had nothing in common, so it was an easy afternoon that they filled with a couple of pitchers of draft beer and some pastrami sandwiches that were thrown together at the last minute. And then, just for the sake of conversation, Jonas started talking about Patient-X and all the odd little stories he had to tell about this cowboy he knew named Mack Brazel.

And then Roger Craggett's whole world changed.

Thus ends our Part Two...

This work is the culmination of The Saucerologist's most complex and lengthy investigation to date. As a result, the necessity for travelling throughout the States of New Mexico, Maryland, Georgia, and Utah to conduct interviews and to access numerous archives of personal records has increased significantly the expenses and time required to complete the task. While it's true that we would prefer not to incur such a taxing condition, we would nonetheless be far more dissatisfied were we to ignore such obstacles that fate has placed before us. Expenses are relatively easy to ignore. Doing so, however, tends to increase the relative effect of the time we have invested in our pursuit of the truth. The Saucerologist therefore finds it necessary to apologize for the increased time between the varied Parts of our present examination of the alleged crash of a flying saucer north of Roswell, New Mexico. The Saucerologist apologizes for the sometimes inconsistent and untimely character of our publishing timetable. We are genuinely working towards a more palatable and consistent solution and hope to reduce our present consumption of minutes in the day. Please remember as well that ...

Part Three will be published right here in a bit of time measured out by clockwatchers in steps of quality found primarily at the end of grace! And always remember:

This is a Saucer Press International Publication

Wednesday, January 18, 2017

New Revelations Add to the Collection of Mysteries in Roswell, 1947


Wherein We Meet Patient-X and an Angry Little Man 
"Flying Saucers Piss Me Off!"

For the sake of other patients' privacy, the "Santa Fe long term care facility" once responsible for housing the man we call Patient-X has expressed its desire to remain unidentified throughout the course of this narrative. For the sake of the same privacy accorded to other patients, they have also requested that Patient-X's real name not be released. Given that the very few surviving members of his family have also proven hostile to the idea of publicizing their familial connection to this individual, The Saucerologist has agreed to maintain a state of anonymity in return for access to records and memories that were previously impossible to examine. For those attempting to track Patient-X down by the use of clever hints and context delivered in part by The Saucerologist, who some people seem to think is a complete idiot who doesn't understand the background and the presumably overlooked application of location! Location! LOCATION!, the long term care facility discussed in this series of articles is also anonymous in relation to its natural place in the universe (so live with it dear, vocabulary pickers). As understood by all three editors of The Saucerologist, there is not now, nor has there ever been, such a medical facility as that described in these few pages anywhere near the city of Santa Fe, New Mexico. To give this series of articles the necessary conditions of locality demanded of such narratives, we have determined to maintain this illusory quality throughout. Obviously, such a facility does exist within the United States, and it was, at one time, responsible for housing the comatose individual we have elected to call "Patient-X". While our readers are certainly welcome to look for it, The Saucerologist is confident, given the current desires of both the facility and the family, that no such attempt will reach a successful conclusion until the above conditions no longer exist.

The conversations as presented in the article below have been recreated from the recollections of Ardajio Jonas, video files recorded on a cell phone owned by Ardajio Jonas, archived recordings currently maintained at a long term care facility outside of Santa Fe, New Mexico, private documents held by Patient-X's few remaining family members, and the contents of private emails that were accidentally stored on a non-affiliated server, thereby allowing independent contractors to examine their contents, most of which were trivial, with the remainder serving primarily as a means to confirm a number of claims originally addressed by other sources.

SPI SANTA FE NM -- For 46 years a quiet secret was watched and fretted over by three generations of care givers at a coma ward hospital outside of Santa Fe, standing isolated and sun-bleached amongst the barren hills and the brutalized landscape of northern New Mexico. The identity of this secret was originally discussed -- if discussed at all -- as "Patient-X", and up until the summer of 1993, Patient-X had been comatose and cared for longer than any other human being in recorded history.

Ardajio Jonas, a Veteran's Administration representative who was attached in an "informal" capacity to the Santa Fe facility in 1993, became interested in the case and conducted his own investigation, primarily to satisfy his own curiosity. "I didn't have much to do anyway; it's not like all of those people needed advice or had any questions that needed some urgent answering." He was able to eventually gain access to the original documentation in regard to the man's commitment, and was surprised to learn that he had originally been treated at a small clinic on the old army base at Roswell, New Mexico. Those documents went a long way to explaining exactly how he wound up at the facility in Santa Fe.

According to Jonas, his medical history as a comatose individual started out as a death watch. When Patient-X "failed to stabilize those first six weeks at the clinic on the old army base at Roswell, New Mexico, nobody at all expected him to live longer than a few weeks at best. In those days, and we're talking about the summer of 1947, there really wasn't much social pressure involved in the decision as to whether or not someone should be removed from life supporting systems. Wasn't at all like today. There just wasn't much to it, and those systems in use were so primitive compared to what we've got now, that social pressure, whatever your belief, just didn't happen. There simply wasn't anything to argue about, because there was no substantive issue involved. You either died or you lived, period. Things are a whole lot different now ..." Remarkably, Patient-X was still alive 46 years later, and nobody from Roswell to Santa Fe would have ever guessed at such a resolution.

"That old boy must have had God on his side that summer, 'cause he was one of the very few who lived. And, of course, he continued to do so, even though it took him a bit of time to settle into it. It's unsurprising, really, that it also took a little time to pull out of that coma. It must have been a Hell of a thing to witness his awakening, once it got started and all, but that's one of those little miracles they'd never let an admin frog like me hang around for. Only doctors and nursing staff got in, which was pretty damn ironic, really, given that his condition became so precarious so immediately once he started showing signs that there was something new going on in his head.

"For a good two weeks in February of 1993, he started having these awful seizures -- long and drawn out, like a slow leak in a swimming pool; you don't even notice the water level dropping until you realize the chlorine level is starting to burn your eyes a little more than usual. They just weren't ordinary seizures, y'know? Most folks have a seizure longer than 40, 50-seconds, and it's an alarm goin' off, 'cause that's a long, long time. But he was havin' these seizures that lasted a half hour or more! Even worse, the doctors couldn't figure out what was goin' on. This was truly a bad, bad time, and everybody was pretty certain that he was fixin' to die. When you're talkin' about a person's health, the only odds that doctors can go on is based on history. How long do most people in such circumstances go on? What happens to the brain when you start seizing up like that when you're in a coma?

"The thing is, there ain't much history to go on when you've been in storage for almost fifty years -- there's just no precedent for it, and nobody really knows what 50-years of unconsciousness is going to do to a man's brain, his nervous system -- Hell, even his lower functions, all that automated stuff like breathing or getting rid of the waste and poisons that a man can absorb over the years without even knowing it. It was uncharted territory, so you couldn't really tell what was going on upstairs. You couldn't plan for it either. But I'll tell you, when those eyes of his started fluttering and then snapped open like somebody had pegged a switch, those doctors had to have been shocked. After 46-years or so of darkness, not a single one of them was thinkin' about recovery. Every doctor and a good ninety-percent of the nursing staff expected him to die in the shadows without ever waking up. It was just gonna be lights out, and he had been in that lights out state since 1947 when he was still being treated at the little clinic they used to have at the Army Air Field in Roswell. In those days, they still had a little bit of hope that he might regain his wits a little. Yeah... that hope didn't last too long at all.

"He was moved outta Roswell years and years ago and put in cold storage right here in Santa Fe. They were nowhere near properly equipped enough to keep him just lyin' about there in that little clinic they had. They moved him up here and locked him away. And then, for no apparent reason at all, he started to get a little more ... a little more ... active. The seizures came and the seizures went, and that's about when his chances of living through that waking up stage started to get particularly bad. He started cramping up at times, and archived records show that over the course of eleven days, his heart stopped eighteen times. He did a lot of drifting in and out of this organic fugue state, but it was all internal. You couldn't really tell what was going on from the outside. Every once in a while someone might see a muscle flutter that could have been the wind, had he been takin' a nap out in the grass. It was all just drifting. For the most part, folks just assumed that he was gonna drift on out, that his body was gonna catch up with the rest of him that was already dead and gone. Hell, it was long, long gone."


Patient-X was eventually moved from
Roswell to a coma ward in Santa Fe
Doctors insist that it was Patient-X's age that made his continued survival so extremely doubtful. The odds of his remaining alive dropped away to almost nothing as soon as he started to regain consciousness, and that process alone took over 6-weeks. "You can imagine how stoked up everyone was. They kept a real close eye on him, 'cause when you get to that point, presence alone can fix blame. I truly hate saying this, but just about every lawsuit those coma docs are forced to deal with comes about 'cause of somethin' they did during the awakening. Now I'm sure they spent so much time and effort helping that old boy 'cause they genuinely wanted to help him and do whatever they could for him, but they also put a lot of attention on the line 'cause that's where you screw up most and that's how you end up in court. In a way, it was good for me, too, 'cause it meant that every little thing was recorded and set down as history. An' not being a doctor, it was the human story that interested me the most, y'know?"

Once that awakening process stabilized somewhat, and Patient-X could be described at least half the time as "conscious", he dropped right down into something the doctors described as "a continuously failing state" for about five-and-a-half months, and nobody at the hospital expected him to hang on much longer than that. Most of the staff shared the opinion that his lifespan was something of a miracle that became more alarming with each day of consciousness.

"It was all very sad," Ardajio Jonas admitted. "Most of his life, he was in a coma, and when he finally wasn't, the whole awakening process was most likely gonna kill him. Eventually, of course, that's what happened. The awakening killed him. Well, more specifically, his advanced age combined with the horrifying physical condition that 46 years in a comatose state had left behind killed him. His death sentence became a fact of life as soon as consciousness slipped in." It was a cruel judgment that Jonas described, but it couldn't be helped. "Mercy is one of those aspects of human life that has no real place in a long term care facility. It's a luxury no one can afford, because the job is to wake the inmates up, not euthanize them once they start sensing that the world around them actually exists.

The patient's condition was the primary reason that his eventual care and treatment was so different to that accorded to most coma patients. From day one, he couldn't participate in any except the most basic physical therapy exercises that require the very least measure of effort. It was believed with some authority that the standard physical effort required for successful therapy would kill him very quickly. None of it was kept secret from him, of course. That would have been so unethical that most of the staff would have refused to participate in such a strategic retreat from human dignity. All the same, it wasn't a subject anyone cared to dwell on, and that included Patient-X.

While some remarkable advances in medical care came about as a result of World War Two and its influx of badly wounded soldiers requiring treatment, not enough had been learned about keeping a human body alive after it has dropped off the scope of human consciousness. All they could really do at the time was watch it, keep it clean, prevent or treat the bed sores that tend to develop, and make sure enough nutrients were being absorbed to prevent infection. As for the vegetative states that encompass most modern discussions of comatose individuals, the medical communities worldwide didn't even understand how best to define the issue. They couldn't measure the whole spectrum electrical activity in the brain, and they lacked the knowledge to define its importance. If the body could breathe on its own, the assumption was that it could recover on its own. The primary medical duty was to prevent infection and starvation, and a lot of the time all they had to go on was muscle cramps and body fluids.

Patient-X was a medical disaster when he was discovered in June 1947 just outside the perimeter of the Army base at Roswell, New Mexico. A single, anonymous phone call had alerted the military about his presence. One side of his skull had been crushed, his pelvis was shattered like it was glass in more than a couple of places, and both of his legs were hideously mangled, one of which was very nearly snapped off at the knee like a twig of dry kindling. He was already comatose when security personnel attached to the Army base discovered his body, but his wounds had also been cleaned and dressed. Although the effort was obviously substantial, it was far from being the treatment he would have received at a hospital, or even for that matter, from someone properly trained to administer first aid. As a result, infection had already set within his broken leg, and it later required amputation.


Braceros were "shamefully neglected"
Over the course of the next three weeks, some great efforts were made to establish his identity. This eventually resulted in the successful identification of the young man by his employer, who supplied contract labor to farming interests in New Mexico, Utah, and Arizona. Patient-X had been hired to pick up and transport across the border 10 Mexican Braceros, or common laborers, who had been contracted at 30-cents an hour -- a wage guaranteed through the Mexican Farm Labor Agreement of 1942. The agreement between the U.S. and Mexico was intended to fill the holes in a number of labor intensive professions, primarily harvesting crops or working associated jobs such as cleaning and packing. Braceros were necessary to fill labor needs still recovering from the massive labor shortage that numerous industries suffered as a result of World War Two. Patient-X was employed to drive a produce truck to the U.S. border with Mexico where he was supposed to pick up ten already contracted Braceros and drive them to Albuquerque, New Mexico. Once there, they would be met by drivers from one of three farm interests already prepared to provide employment, bed, and two meals a day until the end of October. Due to the markets' "straddling" of western states, most of these Braceros were likely to be picked up for labor contracts in other industries, or at another of the privatized farm interests and would not be sent back to Mexico until January or so, if at all. Many would simply stay in communal camp areas, where they could be expected to pick up additional contracts in the Spring. Unsurprisingly, some of the Braceros were fated to die. Only this last eventuality would be ignored by both the U.S. government and the farming interests who profited from this ready-made labor force. Death, for the most part, was hardly noticed throughout the turning of a day.

In 1956, labor organizer Ernesto Galarza’s book Stranger in Our Fields was published, drawing attention for the first time to the conditions experienced by Braceros. The book begins with this statement from one of the Mexican laborers: “In this camp, we have no names. we are called only by numbers.” Galarza concluded that the Braceros were lied to, cheated and “shamefully neglected." The U.S. Department of Labor officer in charge of the program, Lee G. Williams, described it as a system of “legalized slavery,” proving that the issue of Mexican laborers in America is far more complex than most Americans are wont to believe and suffers from roots far deeper than those recognized in America today.

American icon Woodie Guthrie's take on the issue, reprinted below, has been judged by history as a far more striking and effective measure of the malignancy that has since developed within our two cultures. Too many Americans seem to have forgotten the invitations that one nation extended to another, thereby fostering a migratory system that to at least some extent still exists and oppresses to this day.

The crops are all in and the peaches are rott'ning,
The oranges piled in their creosote dumps;
They're flying 'em back to the Mexican border
To pay all their money to wade back again

Goodbye to my Juan, goodbye, Rosalita,
Adios mis amigos, Jesus y Maria;
You won't have your names when you ride the big airplane,
All they will call you will be "deportees"

My father's own father, he waded that river,
They took all the money he made in his life;
My brothers and sisters come working the fruit trees,
And they rode the truck till they took down and died.

Some of us are illegal, and some are not wanted,
Our work contract's out and we have to move on;
Six hundred miles to that Mexican border,
They chase us like outlaws, like rustlers, like thieves.

We died in your hills, we died in your deserts,
We died in your valleys and died on your plains.
We died 'neath your trees and we died in your bushes,
Both sides of the river, we died just the same.

The sky plane caught fire over Los Gatos Canyon,
A fireball of lightning, and shook all our hills,
Who are all these friends, all scattered like dry leaves?
The radio says, "They are just deportees"

Is this the best way we can grow our big orchards?
Is this the best way we can grow our good fruit?
To fall like dry leaves to rot on my topsoil
And be called by no name except "deportees"?


Many Braceros never made it home 
The above text represents what was intended to be an exorcism of American labor that has always thrived on Mexican sweat and Washington plutocracy. Written by Woody Guthrie, Deportee (Plane Wreck at Los Gatos), commemorates the horrific loss of 28 Braceros who were being repatriated to Mexico in January 1948. Numbers equally high died during similar transportive incidents using buses, trucks, cars, and, in at least one case recorded in southern Texas, a hot air balloon that was recklessly packed with 14 Braceros. These incidents, of course, record only those entirely legal attempts to deport inexpensive labor from those inexpensive labor camps where the contracts these men had bargained for were inevitably shredded by American overseers who demanded that new contracts be drafted. The arguments in favor of the rewritten contract rule was a hard one to refuse: "well, you boys can either bargain out a new contract, or you can be arrested as illegal migrant workers and sent home." That cute phrase "bargain out" actually meant "boy, you shut the Hell up and put your X right there" when it was translated into American-pidgin-Spanish.

Today, millions of Mexican-Americans can trace their families' initial arrival into the United States to their fathers' or grandfathers' employment as Braceros. This program -- the largest foreign worker program in U.S. history -- would eventually invite and employ men and women from every state across the nation of Mexico until 1964, when it was finally discontinued by the Democrats in an American Congress that had previously danced to a Republican chorus more concerned with cheap labor than a secure border. For 22-years, business concerns throughout the country had contracted for and utilized the labor the Braceros were more than willing to supply, given the economical climate forced upon the nation of Mexico by an American business doctrine that had assumed ownership of everything in the western hemisphere, including its population. This was an attitude that would eventually result in some terrible abuses to American security, Mexican sovereignity, an economical system that applauded and rewarded labor practices and an ever evolving protocol that represented and retained the closest thing to slavery that either nation had been subjected to since the Reconstruction era, and the contemptible and irrepresable shame that was part and parcel to the unjustifiable burden of racial prejudice, hatred, and blame suffered by latinos ever since.


Braceros were routinely humiliated
The Bracero Program, of course, did not become an immediate process of ruination and despair. For the most part, national desperation is difficult to achieve between equal parties. Prostration -- even if it's merely symbolic -- requires submission, and the political climate capable of cooling later conversations had not yet reached that point of severe imbalance necessary to enable criminal acts under the guise of perceived dominance to thrive so readily. Horror needs to be worked into a story over the space of time and activity, especially on an international level. In a field of nations, a certain measure of control is always necessary to avoid war once the gravy chain of malevolence starts to gather speed. Without the prostration described by one nation's submission to another, the complete control necessary to prevent the suffering of strangers from sounding too much like the agony of friends has no place to take root. In 1947, the submission required simply didn't exist. Mexico, you see, was still in a position to make demands that the United States was openly forced to both recognize and to satisfy. Mexico's feud with the State of Texas belongs in this category of international negotiation.

When the sovereign nation of Mexico very publically refused to accept any contracting of its citizens by businesses and individuals located in the State of Texas, they were responding, for the most part, to a plethora of racially motivated insults that were common in America. It was believed throughout Mexico, for what are sound and convincing reasons, that those American citizens who lived in Texas, and indeed, the State of Texas itself, was typically prejudicial and abusive in its treatment of Mexicans and had been for the past century. Given the extent of farming interests within Texas during World War Two, this refusal to contract with businesses associated with or based within the State of Texas tended to be responsible for some very real economic damage within the United States, most explicitly within the State of Texas itself. The governor was forced to adopt a very active role in the efforts to convince Mexico that its citizenry would be safe in Texas, and would be treated with the care and respect they deserved as hard-working guests of the United States. Having been lied to repeatedly, Mexico was understandably doubtful and openly questioned both the motivation and the sincerity of these "promises to be good and worthy neighbors" that Texans were now so openly affirming. These insistent pleas for friendship were bracketed by the sincerity and the urgency expressed by federal interests in Washington, DC, without which Mexican Braceros would have very likely ignored the steadily increasing desparation behind the pleas and promises of interests within the State of Texas. It was apparent that 1947 was expected to be a watershed year for international relations.

The fact that the whole Bracero Program was originally intended to end when the war ended seemed to have been forgotten by both nations when World War Two actually ended. There were some very good reasons for this, just as there were some very bad reasons that nobody really wanted to discuss at the time, a characteristic of international diplomacy that still exists today, primarily within the consistent refusal of the United States Congress to even debate the issue, while simultaneously insisting that something has to be done. It's an unfailing sign of the hypocrisy of political demand that has been well and truly employed for decades in Washington, DC.

Repeatedly since 1942, the Immigration and Naturalization Service very publicly extended the time limits allowable for Mexican Braceros to remain in America under the same agreements and treaties already negotiated with our great neighbor to the south. This was considered necessary, it was agreed, to proactively control the border regions in the southwest. They wanted to take advantage of this federally-sanctioned, labor-based program as the best means to control both Mexican immigration and possible border incursion. The Bracero Program had become something of a cause celebre amongst those seeking a more robust immigration policy and system of border control. Unfortunately, the Bracero Program also enabled American contractors to skirt the issue of immigration entirely by simply refusing to honor the contracts that had already been established.

The Mexicans were still paid, of course, but oftentimes only a fraction of the wages they had been promised, and that the United States had previously guaranteed. You would think that during the state of such a tense and irrefutable war footing, American pride and patriotism would have counted for something, some expression of honesty to an economic and spiritual ally of the United States. Sweet dreams, right? Yeah ... but not so much where money is concerned. The large farming interests that provided much of that pay were not idiots. The wages they offered were all too often retained until the contracts were fulfilled. And that's when "mistakes" can happen. Those "mistakes" sometimes forced Braceros to remain in the United States, moving from farm to farm or migrating to the larger cities for more lucrative employment. Those who did leave would often return the following season to earn the same deflated wages.

This pattern was maintained throughout the war, and had three very closely associated consequences: (1) American farmers got into the habit of paying for seasonal, Mexican labor at a rate that was far lower than anything they could possibly negotiate with American farm workers returning from Europe and the Far East; (2) U.S. government officials were persuaded by those hiring the Braceros to maintain that status quo throughout the war; and (3), because of the first two consequences, Mexican government officials found themselves continuously in conflict with American Immigration and Naturalization Service personnel, angrily lobbying for America to honor its treaty commitments and international obligations to pay the Mexican laborers the wages they were promised, to give them proper housing and food, to provide them with protection from the American criminal classes, and to ensure that the Braceros were treated no differently than any other workers in the United States. This last meant they were not to be forcibly segregated or treated as if they were somehow less deserving of human respect than any citizen of the United States. These agreements were an American promise that the Braceros were to be treated as equals in law by those who employed them. Mexico, however, refused to recognize that these conditions could be achieved within the State of Texas. Its refusal to allow Mexican citizens to bind themselves with contracts that were to be satisfied within the State of Texas was unconditional.

There were other problems with the Bracero Program that would eventually lead to abusive policies that guaranteed a future of tension between peoples, just as they signaled the eventual corruption between nations that would soon evolve into the irresponsible and unfair contempt adopted by American stakeholders who were possessed of only one goal, one abiding desire: to force Mexico to give up its labor force without those conditions required for the pursuit of human dignity that Mexico insisted upon. The tactics of government made this goal necessary, whether intended or not. The United States had unfairly placed the burden of border incursion control on the Mexican government, a tactic that allowed the U.S. to ignore the illegal conditions imposed by those corporations that benefited the most from the imposition of abuses that had already incensed the government of Mexico. By simply complaining that the contracts were improperly applied, Americans could declare that those crossing the border to the north in support of those contracts were doing so illegally, crossing a line in the sand that was "supposed" to be controlled by Mexico. The primary stakeholders -- a group that included the nation’s largest growers, farm lobbying groups, and the congressional farm bloc -- had determined for themselves how best to take advantage of the Bracero Program. More importantly, insofar as the conduct of America's agricultural gentry was concerned, those same stakeholders had already determined that continued abuses of the Bracero Program also increased their profits.

Responsibiliy for those abuses rested to some extent with the American Immigration and Naturalization Service, which interpreted the Bracero Program in terms appropriate to its own interests. In other words, the most significant response to border incursion recognized by the Immigration and Naturalization Service represented an American immigration policy that required no interference with a status quo that was typified by abuse. As such, it provided for accurate records of migrant workers under contract through the Bracero Program while tending to ignore everything else. While this practice encouraged illegal border crossings, it was hardly the most injurious aspect of this policy. The worst problem was a result of America's insistence that Mexico police the border alone without American consideration. This ensured that the "accurate records of migrant workers under contract through the Bracero Program" mentioned above was accurate only when American-Mexican borders were crossed from Mexico into the United States. All of that emphasis that was being placed on Mexico as the controlling "partner" in this fraudulent excuse for an international relationship meant that nobody north of the border cared much about those Braceros who chose to accept additional work, thereby allowing them to remain in the United States working contract to contract, or who simply remained in America after their contracts were fulfilled. They certainly didn't care enough to count them, such a small task, one would think. By ignoring that small task, however, those with the responsibility to do otherwise ensured that the number of migrant workers crossing the border from the United States into Mexico was woefully underestimated and ensured that the Immigration and Naturalization Service could not possibly respond in any dutiful way to the mandate that its very existence demanded: that policy must sensibly meet the challenges imposed upon it by America's refusal to give necessary attention to its own system of national borders.

Over 4-million Mexicans were ultimately allowed into the United States by the time the Bracero Program was shut down. By adopting an immigration policy that commanded the legal and unfettered access of contracted Braceros into the United States, the Immigration and Naturalization Service was symbolically and objectively ignoring the need for a secure border. It should be noted that this was accomplished with a significant measure of irony, given that the migrant workers under contract had nothing whatsoever to do with immigration or naturalization.


The Bracero Program ultimately fostered
the admittance of over 4-million laborers
What the United States had managed to accomplish was technically well beyond the obese bravado these activities ultimately came to represent. Mexico had been forced to assume most of the responsibility for the the management of migrant workers, even those who crossed the border illegally, while American immigration and border policy consisted primarily of negotiating contracts with Braceros seeking what was intended to be temporary employment in America, a practice followed almost immediately by the nation's endemic willingness to ignore those contracts. Insofar as this interpretation of an immigration policy developed on the fly goes, any measurable benefits ultimately came to rest within the United States alone. It sure as Hell wasn't doing anybody else any good.

Unfortunately, life tends to be far more complex than the simple black and white character of an isolated policy normally suggests. In this case, the Immigration and Naturalization Service had instituted a policy that tended to ignore the much wider view framed within the context of American labor policy, a conclusive mistake not applied by other interest-groups and stakeholders such as the nation’s largest growers and farm lobbying groups, the congressional farm bloc, various government officials, and organized labor. For them, the Bracero Program very clearly represented labor policy, not immigration policy. And in the context of labor policy, there were some very definite problems.

The 1947 Taft-Hartley Act specifically excluded agricultural workers from the bargaining advantage that U.S. labor enjoyed and employed everywhere else. The intent was to maintain a status quo favorable to U.S. interests; and U.S. interests clearly insisted on cheap labor, even at the cost of employing illegal migrant workers. This was not much of an effort in the long run. The American Immigration and Naturalization Service simply redefined the issues. Whenever uncontracted and therefore undocumented migrant workers were discovered, they were immediately placed under arrest, processed under a legal system that provided the documentation necessary to negotiate a contract, and then paroled to growers who trucked them to cotton and beet fields in New Mexico and elsewhere where those same contracts were promptly ignored. Again. The process was called “drying out the wetbacks,” and its frequent use in the late 1940s and early 1950s ensured that the available stock of Bracero labor was capable of being expanded by the number of illegal workers apprehended on the United States' side of the border. Illegal migrant workers were essentially dropped into an environment that required cheap labor and allowed to stay as long as they continued to work for the slave wages they were ultimately forced to accept. The United States Congress -- with both chambers controlled by Republicans for the first time since 1931 -- had legislatively created a system that would have been illegal had it been applied against American workers.

Congress, of course, justified its legalization of slave rental by declaring a labor emergency brought about by America's post-war foreign policy. That policy essentially made the United States the primary stakeholder responsible for rebuilding Europe after World War Two. It's difficult to believe that any other nation could have possibly achieved what America had resolved to accomplish within the relatively short amount of time that a new and stable world economy required. That status, however, is hardly relevant to those opposing the new policy, especially that one aspect many Americans considered too great a sacrifice to accomplish: the feeding of those millions who had survived the devastation brought to Europe by the single most destructive war in world history. The better interests of migrant farm workers from Mexico was a price that few people gave any thought to. It was particularly unfortunate that the leadership of the Republican majority that would later convince President Harry Truman to dub the 1948 U.S. Legislature the "Do Nothing Congress" simply didn't believe Mexican citizens were important enough to worry about. More to the point, Republicans were far more concerned with using America's foreign policy to get rich, not to solve problems with border control and labor policy, and employing the cheapest labor possible is a tried and true means of doing exactly that. If America was going to feed all of Europe, it's agricultural interests would necessarily become the center of attention for the entire world. If a Republican-led Congress could prevent the unions from organizing the labor force and its potential within the agricultural industry, a great deal of money could be made by those funneling the resulting profits into their own bank accounts. Any examination of America's health care, insurance, and pharmaceutical industries today proves that the G.O.P. has changed very little over the decades. They still want to increase their own worth, and they still don't give a damn how many lives they destroy in the process.

As for the Braceros that had been picked up at the border by Patient-X, they have become something of a mystery. It's known that they were picked up at the border by Patient-X, because border police watched it happen, and in 1947, everything was logged down, including this pick-up of 10 common laborers on the U.S. side of the border. Unfortunately, between the border and Roswell Army Base where Patient-X was later found, horribly injured and comatose, is a space of time that has become little more than a question mark, a blank spot in history, part of that haunting Dead Zone occupied by Patient-X alone. That blank spot was there well before anybody else in the world had even an inkling of the revelations he would eventually reveal. Before such revelations, even the guessing game sometimes played at amongst historians and the frenetically curious was still just a game. The only thing the rest of the world had that they could bounce off of for inspiration was a sad couple of negatives: no one ever reported seeing those Braceros in America ever again, and not a single one of them ever returned south to their families. It would take another 46 years before some new information could be applied to those insanely cold cases, and that new information would be a stunning reminder of both human cruelty and human incompetence.

It was a full month-and-a-half after Patient-X started to regain consciousness that he was able to talk well enough to be understood, but even then, his words tended to slur and he often forgot where he wanted to take his sentences, or how best to carry a thought from the back of his head to that pause of breath that his lips sometimes failed to recognize. He was all too often forced to drift among the scattered vowels and consonants populating his loss until he could start over again with a little more clarity. Because of this handicap, and it was a horrifying one nobody really wanted to recognize or witness, conversations could be difficult at times even when they were as short as a request for a little water.

Ardajio Jonas, the Veteran's Administration representative attached to the Santa Fe facility where Patient-X was trying to recover spent a lot of time with this once healthy young man who fell into unconsciousness and awakened an old and dying man of 73 years. Their very short friendship started as a show of sympathy, but Ardajio very soon came to admire the character and honesty of this odd and forgotten old man, this Rip Van Winkle of the modern age. "There was just something about him -- something that was serious and kind and without an ounce of sadness; he was thankful for simply being conscious and possessing the humble ability to communicate. How many people can you say that about? He was completely disarming; it was all very unexpected, and more than a little sad. He was well aware that his time was running out, and that is a curse many men would have held inside, letting it fester and turn into the worst kind of unreasonable anger. But that just wasn't in him. He had a smile for every thought in the day. And I've never met a man who was so genuinely thankful to God for granting him one more day to fill up with conversation. If truth be told, that was my only real reason for spending so much time with him. I didn't have to be there. Hell, I was VA and he weren't no veteran. He could make you feel good for breathin' though. Thankful. An' that's a truly rare gift."

Jonas spent some weeks discussing the past 46 years with Patient-X, but the entire time the VA rep could not help but notice that there was sometimes an odd disinterest evident in the patient's broad demeanor the closer the subject of those discussions came to the present day. It was as evident a structure of the man's personality as that terrifying coma once was. It seemed to Jonas that the further back in time these discussions eventually came to center on, the more attentive Patient-X was, and the more urgent his expressions became. There was something missing in his history, something that was making it difficult for him to recenter himself into his newly awakened state. These were strange suppositions for a man like Jonas to face down. After all, he was an administrator at best; he simply wasn't equipped to analyze the environment and the weathering of another man's mind. On the other hand, the fact that he was unable to define in any convincing way the mysteries he was now facing didn't make them any less possessive of his thoughts when he was ultimately left to his own memories and conditions and human flaws. More importantly, Jonas wasn't the only person to notice this apparently historical defect to the newly awakened soul, nor the hollow inattentiveness that normally billowed like gentle yet aggressive furnitures crumbling with near disinterest on the far side of the older man's memory. "Hell, I'm not exactly the brightest spoon in the drawer, so I'm pretty sure I wasn't the first one in that hospital to notice what was going on. I don't know exactly who saw it first, but I'm pretty certain they had nothin' to do with me."

It was the doctors, of course. Once they recognized the possibilities inherent to the near daily conversations between Jonas and Patient-X, they realized that this might represent their best means of keeping their patient alive. The self-assessment effect has long been recognized as a possible tool for the treatment of long-term coma patients who have spent years in the minimally conscious state so many fail to recover from. The self-assessment doctrine tends to force those applying it to maintain the newly awakened concentration on their own mentality and its effect on any physical changes such concentration may in fact be responsible for. On the other hand, the existence of any newly awakened consciousness, particularly one that has been quiet and unused for such a long period of time is extremely rare, so doctors are forced to rely on a whole lot of theory surrounded by a tissue's worth of conversation. In addition, self-assessment is a difficult task to apply when the condition of the patient's memory is largely unknown. It is even more pronounced when the patient's musculature and internal organs have been largely unused to any significant extent. Nonetheless, the rarity of the phenomenon is still the greatest handicap to work through, especially when consciousness has been given free reign over the subtle monsters of man's lazy incontinence. The rarity of the issues ensures that we can never have enough data to properly predict with any real confidence how one particular individual is going to react to whatever changes to his environment that we determine to introduce for whatever medical reasons we're trying to work through. Without that knowledge-based confidence to rely on, we're forced to contend with a lot of guesswork. If your patient is so close to death that even the slightest change in treatment can toss him back into a coma, or even kill him outright, guesswork can be murder for medical personnel to work through; sometimes, depending upon one's point of view, that can be the literal truth.

In the case of Patient-X, self-assessment was difficult to confirm, primarily because nobody knew the point where an accurate memory might give way to fantasy. Some doctors were convinced that forcing the patient to experience events that could not be confirmed as actual history might not only force the patient to rely on false memories as emotive portals into a possibly inaccurate or conditional field of remembrance, it could even promote a firm suspicion of internal doubt so great as to suspend the patient's belief. And belief is a powerful thing, particularly so in such an uncertain arena as the mind of a man in his 70's with the neuron tracks of a man in his 20's.

Post-comatic mentality is rarely strong enough to overcome the stress normally expected to accompany even the partial erasure of one's temporal foundation, and when that happens in a patient whose mind has already failed at least once to recover from a happenstance that would very likely kill any other man in the entire world -- and, yes, statistically that is exactly the horror that has already become an ingrained and sculpted facet of such a man's defined humanity -- the very real threat of almost certain rejection of self is every bit as threatening to the newly awakened after the expense of such time as a bullet to the head. In any case, that was the fear. There has simply never been a sample group large enough to inspire confidence in our medical expectations.

The doctors had noticed that most of the conversations between their patient and Ardajio Jonas were primarily one-sided narratives meant to address the patient's ignorance of his many years of silence passed but not experienced. These discussions lacked the experiential factors that recovery patients needed the most. In the same method of unconscious recovery from illness used by patients under conditions imposed by the placebo effect, the unconscious affirmations of one's own history can often -- relative, of course, to the significantly small dataset researchers are forced to contend with -- provide the foundation of one's identity necessary for the maintenance of a secure and healthy mentality. As we often see when the placebo effect comes into play, a healthy body can be the unexpected bounty of conditions imposed upon the mind. Unfortunately, in the case of recovering coma patients, the opposite can sometimes prove detrimental to that recovery, and that was something Patient-X's doctors sincerely wanted to avoid.

The staff eventually broached the subject with Jonas, explaining that any interest the patient showed in the events surrounding the accident that had brought him to this evident impasse in his life could possibly be a great benefit to the healing process. Of course, they recognized as well that any detailed examination of the subject would probably have to be initiated by the patient himself. "This was just in case," as they put it. His constitution, being so weak, might not breathe the still air favorably if his attentions were to be forced into a laser beam of well-focused confrontation his mind had no desire to wander upon. A man's memories leave a kind of red hot branding on his personality that all too often can't be predicted. Often, men simply refuse to examine themselves at the depths necessary for the catalyst of a psychological breakthrough to occur, and when that man can only discuss 26 years and a few months out of his 73-year lifespan, there's very little that can be predicted. He was, after all, dying and had been for 46-years. It would be cruel to force him to relive anything, let alone the accident of his life that took those 46-years away. It's a fickle fate, however, that measures the benefits that are possible when those affirmations are confronted. And as we've already noted, when you're addressing issues involving those recovering from a long term comatic state, it's impossible not to guess a lot.

The parallel indices that we use to define our place in time are not often so completely isolated as those that fate spun and braided for Patient-X. Whereas one man's lifeline would naturally break and bend as it applied recognizably common interactions with the lives of other men, the lone character of one man's 46-years of silent communion within a universe he was to all outward assurances unaware of might very well appear to us as part of our environment, like a forest or the blasted torrid furnace of a desert, something to encounter without any expectations of communal response. It was already apparent that Patient-X had been violently uprooted and tossed like a sauce-pot by an otherwise unaware God into a quiet world of imposed nonexistence for 46 barely endurable years. To suggest that this had been accomplished merely to allow the present to catch up with the future until another man's story might first develop of its own accord before being granted leave to cross paths with the secret void represented in the heart of the comatose man would seem intemperate even to the least aware amongst us. After all, Patient-X was clearly a man composed of little more than beginnings and endings, a man lacking almost entirely both the substance and the superficial of a normal man's livelier years.

For a much younger man named Roger Craggett, the story was entirely different ...

Craggett, you see, had been adopted as an infant by a quiet, lonely couple already in their fifties when they decided to enlarge their family. He had been told throughout his childhood that he was born in a small town outside of St. Louis, Missouri before being wrapped up in the ancient love of a couple of well-intentioned and well-doctrinated Episcopalians who eventually grew eager to settle in Albuquerque, New Mexico. Their plans originally required them to move south into Texas. Those plans fell apart, however. They discovered that it was impossible for them to relax is such an environment. They lived there for less than two months, leaving only upon discovering for themselves how uncomfortable the people made them feel. To be fair, they had only spent a couple of weeks in Houston, and a little over a month in El Paso, but they had always maintained that those couple of months were entirely sufficient. Any longer, they insisted, would have been verging on the excessive, and they had always believed that good and fair opinions should be based on as much data as possible, while critical opinions must be based on as little real data as necessary. The Craggetts very firmly believed that the centerpiece of a man's better nature must be so significant as to eviscerate doubt, while a man's faults and the harsh features of his personality must be assumed in order to force those inclined to venerate their leaders to raise the value of their expectations. Roger, of course, had a very difficult childhood, but only before he had finally determined that men could never be trusted. On those rare occasions when trust, appreciation, and sometimes even nobility became apparent, it was best not to discuss such opinions with his parents, convinced as they were that idolatry was at all times a grievous and disappointing character flaw that should be rooted out from the hearts of even the best of men. Young Craggett learned at an unfortunately early age that whenever his thoughts of other men encompassed feverish doctrines such as horror and contempt, such opinions were almost always much easier to discuss and defend.

These quiet yet outspoken qualities he was forced to examine in his youth ensured Craggett's complete and utter ignorance about his own beginnings in life. Insofar as his abilities could be measured and applied, he became entirely skeptical that anything of real use would eventually pop up as he embraced his future as well, a certainty that guaranteed he would know even less about his endings than most men come to expect. After having abandoned himself to his livelier years long ago, it was perhaps appropriate that the connective disorder fate had almost maliciously reserved for these two very unique men would require many years of incubation for each before the possibility that such an intense crosswinding of opposing forces could bear real fruit. For Patient-X, 46-years had been reserved then set aside as useless merely to provide the mental acclimation necessary to create an eventual foil for Craggett's intimate and thereby inconsistent rages, the sources of which lay somewhere in the past, albeit undefined and resistent to all examination. Was fate cruel? Perhaps ... It is far more likely, however, that fate had merely thrown instances of time together without approbation or cause. Any cruelty the universe may have been stoking up between these two personalities had already occurred and the wages of misfortune that may have been earned as a result had already been spent and accounted for.


"Flying Saucers piss me off!"
The primary result of the invasive conditioning that Craggett fell victim to, even when ignorance of the other players in our drama had been carefully implanted by the mute wisdom of time, would have been as clear as glass had anyone been inclined to look for it. Roger Craggett's livelier years had created the impetus, one protected to some extent by the arrogance of personal certainty, to retreat with disgust from all things -- even those elements discovered within the contours of his own life -- that were improperly defined, supported only by conjecture, discussion, or the attentions of curious nature, and offering no revelations or allowing even the simplest of conclusions to be reached by any stillborn application of logic. This overmanaged disgust had a very real psychological effect on the man's character, albeit one that could only be detected as an aspect of conversation refined by opinion. Over the course of decades, he had learned very well the singularity most consistent within a world of mad ambition and resolute science that was populated primarily by the ignorant and the poorly educated. When curiosity and character unexpectedly meet at the crossroads between faith and fantasy, the result, at least for Craggett, was always a fever of grave contempt. It reflects the impatience of a man who questions everything, but demands an explanation that holds up in the midst of both violent conjecture and well-harbored ridicule. It lights up an emotional outburst of arrogance that's often governed by the skepticism of late bloomers surrounded by petty and ignorant paragraph pushers in a field of well-publicized nonsense.

All of which explains why most of central New Mexico knows exactly who you're making fun of when you shake your head violently, hunch your shoulders and say in a cracked and hate-filled voice, "flying saucers piss me off!"

Thus ends our Part One...

This work is the culmination of The Saucerologist's most complex and lengthy investigation to date. As a result, the necessity for travelling throughout the States of New Mexico, Maryland, Georgia, and Utah to conduct interviews and to access numerous archives of personal records has increased significantly the expenses and time required to complete the task. While it's true that we would prefer not to incur such a taxing condition, we would nonetheless be far more dissatisfied were we to ignore such obstacles that fate has placed before us. Now before our constant readers get their little tillies in a willy that oh, bother! pooh bear's gonna ask us for a contribution to keep the meryl streep weepers sweeping, rest assured, nothing of the sort will ever happen at The Saucerologist. The only contribution that was ever provided us was immediately turned over to another website entirely -- one that we have no control over and no honest means to politicize for good or for ungood. That website advocates for the immediate colonization of the moon by crooked gangs of communist engineers on the close side and NAZI Frigidaire repairbots on the dark side. Then you hide a bunch of various weapons such as big sticks with nails protruding out on one side or handguns without any ammunition or pumice stones made of steel wool all over the place, plant a huge pile of wireless video cameras tuned to a single frequency and then wait for the fireworks to blow and the subscriptions to roll in. We think it's the most phantastical money making mirage we've never seen and can't wait to get it out of the boardroom, and onto the pay-per-view. No, we only mention the expense so our constant readers will understand the daily sacrifices we make on their behalf, and grow to appreciate our insincerity just a little bit more than yesterday or the day before. So please, remember and tell your sugar daddies and boogie uncles that ...

Part Two will be published right here in a bit of time measured out by clockwatchers in steps of quality found at the end of grace! And always remember:

This is a Saucer Press International Publication