Initiation
I am modifying this chapter on July 4th, 2020, after having a conversation with my father. I miss- remembered details. I am taking it back two years, as My father was based in Maryland, where the Sartoga was based, not Florida. We were in Florida 1976- to 78. That makes more sense, as I clearly remember base housing had these water heaters that melted a number crayons over. If you have an older version, this explains the difference.
The significant bulk of my encounters happened between the years 1974 to 1976. My father was Navy. We moved a lot. Mostly, Texas was home, but I remember living in Tennessee, Maryland, Michigan, Florida. I remember loving living on the base in Maryland- mostly. The neighbor had a pit-bull that I got to love on, until it set asthma off. My father was assigned to the USS Saratoga. I remember walking on the deck of the carrier. I remember on one occasion that family members were offered a three-day tour out and back to base. I remembered being crushed that I couldn’t go, as the Captain denied me due to the severity of my asthma. I remember arguing with him and my dad, telling them they had a medic on board, they have epinephrine on board, but worst case scenario, they could launch me off the carrier in a jet and get me back to the base and then to the military hospital. They also have helicopters- take me straight there. Consider it training. Everything would be alright. I don’t remember the Captain being amused. Father was embarrassed. I was special. And, no was no.
There is a joke my family that my first words were “eppy, point three.” When I say my asthma was severe, I am not exaggerating. While living on base, there was a six month span where I went to the military hospital’s Emergency Room to be treated for asthma. Everyday, six months, almost precisely at 19:00 hours, I would have an asthma attack. Invariably, there was an intern on staff, but most the staff knew me by name. I would tell the intern, eppy point three. Some laughed, some didn’t like it. I typically received three shots of eppy. I never completely stop wheezing, but some the interns were insistent on auditory artifacts and fourth eppy shot would be recommended and I would protest and ask for the susparin and to go home, and at this point, mom or dad, whoever brought me would start to intervene, and intern would be like, he’s either getting another eppy or being admitted, and if my dad was there, he would instruct him to call the chief pediatrics, supplied the personal number, and that officer took over my care remotely. The chief of pediatrics attended the same Church of Christ that we attended, and so he and my dad, thanks to my frequency of hospital visits, had become friends.
I so was regular I was known by name, and one the Corpsman gave me access to a computers. IBM. More specifically, he hooked me up with a star trek game. It was text. You gave out simple commands to move your ship, get a map of the terrain, asterisks for stars… The goal was to map out the grid and kill Klingon ships. This was my first introduction to computers.
You now have the option of boxing everything else I tell you as nothing more than being the imaginations or dreams of a kid pumped full of adrenalin. I also admit to a bias. I watched television. I watched more television than probably my peers, due to health issues keeping me in doors. I had a pretty serious, elaborate imagination. I watched Star Trek-TOS in syndication. I watch Ultraman and Godzilla movies. I left the ER exhausted, but unable to sleep. My heart racing. I was really good at getting shots, but I hate susparin because it hurt worse than eppy. I usually cried and protested, even though I knew I needed it. I got relatively good with giving blood. I never got good with surrendering blood gases. It took a number of corpsmen to hold me down. On one occasion, they wanted to clean my ears, and not only was I secured to a papoose, it still took seven corpsmen to hold me down to perform the procedure. With the exception of eppy, which I didn’t like, I fiercely resisted medical procedures. Even for a kid, eppy or not breathing- eppy wins. My mom and dad were frequently asked to leave the room because of their emotional response which exaggerated my response.
Maybe this is enough to explain everything. I know about medical procedures. Even by this age, I had spent weeks in hospitals, IVs, breathing treatments, sleeping under oxygen tents, receiving.
Part of the stay on base was me sharing a room with my brother. His bed was on the far wall from the door, mine was on the wall with the door, and there was a window between us. Navy base housing was basically a duplex, and the house had two bedrooms, the bathroom, the living and kitchen room. My brother is five years younger than I, and for whatever reason, I was moved out of the room to the living room. My parents got me a ‘Captain’s bed,” which a monstrosity of thing to a boy, cubby holes, drawers, having to run and jump to climb up, and this came to rest in the living room wall opposite to the front door. There was an attic. I don’t know why we were up there, but I do remember my father falling through the ceiling, two legs emerging on either side of a beam, directly over the Captain’s bed. I remember the neighbor and his wife. They had a bull dog, which I would love on until I got sick, but I tortured that dog. Also, she would play records for me. I remember listening to, and perhaps requesting “Love Will Keep us Together” every time I was there. There was a bulldog on that album. Saying that couple was Captain and Tennille, now that would just be nuts, right? Not saying that. That would be funny.
Leaving the house, and turning left went towards the playground. I had one friend, his Name was David Lee Burns. I clearly remember he and I had a grievance and we were going to fight. He got off at his bus stop, I got off at mine, we met at the playground as agreed upon, circled each other, and that was it. We became friends. We remained friends until I moved off base. I had star trek walkie-talkies, and he and I used them. Also, I ruined every one of my mom’s microphones that went to her tape recorder. I would cut the cord off and I would go to the top of the slide, stand up, hold my mic up and would endeavor to become Ultraman. I was insane. I wanted to be Spock. I got beat up at school wanting to be Spock. Maybe that’s all this is…
After a trip to the ER, unable to sleep, I would get up stare at the window and track lights.
Planes were not uncommon. Hell, Navy base, right?! On one occasion, there were bright lights orbiting a central light. The outer lights were not connected. They would leave formation and come back. At one point, a red light emitted from the center light, and bridged one of the orbiting lights, maintain the light connection like a spoke in a wheel. I didn’t have the language at the time for laser, but in hindsight, a sustained laser like connection between two lights became the explanation for this. I think my first experience with ‘lasers’ was a Memorial Day celebration; they shot lasers the Washington Monument. Johnny Cash was there. Like a million people were there, bussed in by city buses, that shut down like at ten, leaving us all stranded at the Monument. I think that was a big deal.
I had serious nightmares when I slept. My mom and I were abducted by Japanese people. She was treated as if she were at a salon. We had a hair dryer at that time where you wore a hat and air was pumped into the hat. She wore something similar to that. They would have her on a lounge chair, ‘drying’ her hair and doing her hands and nails and other things, legs in stirrups. Remember, I am knowledgeable about medical procedures- I was prodded enough, but I not remembering seeing medical procedures, I am seeing salon stuff. I would try to get to her and was blocked. This dream was recurring. It was not static. There were variations in procedures. I was always there but blocked from going closer.
I had dreams of being abducted by a witch and flown on a broom stick to the moon. I was always afraid of falling. I was compelled to hold on. I was a fan of bewitched and so maybe the moon and the broom and the witch was related to that. I watched Bewitched even though the Church of Christ Sunday school teacher told us not to. She also didn’t want us watching Star Trek. Though I didn’t have the courage or foresight to say ‘this’ at that age, if it came between choosing Trek or Christ, Trek would win. Yes, this is more evidence for bias. In my experiences, or my interpretation of experiences, I never used spiritual terms like ‘evil’ or dark beings, or demons. I had that language to me, too. Well, with the exception of witch. She was not Samantha, and she did compel me to fly with her on more than one occasion, but she was not ‘evil.’ Compelling is the correct word. I did not go willingly. I complied. No, precisely, my body complied, I protested.
In the first type of dream, the worst part was being separated from my mother. I didn’t want them hurting her. I had no evidence that she was being harmed, except that she was not happy, and likely more concerned for me than herself. Maybe this was a form of projection, or role reversal, I get treatment, she gets treatment. The witch didn’t strike me as bad, but I was so afraid of falling that there was no enthusiasm and I tried to stay in the house, but I would be dragged up and airborne. To be precise, resistance was futile. I was going whether I wanted to or not.
More scary than falling were the mud monsters. Mom taken was primary reccurring experience, followed by ‘witch’ coming to collect me, and then this third thing, the mud monsters- and this bothered me the most. I called them mud monsters. I would not have another term for them until the 80’s on discovering Whitley Strieber’s book, “Communion.” I encountered that book while shopping at Windsor Park Mall. I saw the cover, I ran out of the mall. My first car was a 72 Pinto. I had it started and in gear ready to leave the mall before I consciously interrupted myself. “What the hell is this?” It took a great deal of strength to go back in there, even more determination to buy that book, and I was beyond ill reading most of it. I bet I used up an inhaler getting through that.
The mud monsters were unavoidable. Hell, they didn’t even open the door. They just came in. I wouldn’t say they lifted me and carried me as much as they laid hands on me and moved me like cargo on an antigravity skid. I resisted. I flung arms and kicked and screamed. If this was a nightmare, I imagined I would wake up. More than once I have let out a bloodcurdling scream that brought the whole house to me. There were a few times when no one came. I would wake, scared, and run directly to my parent’s bed. Kicking or hitting the mud monsters caused the ‘mud’ to go away. They didn’t go away. They were still there, only now they were invisible. I was still taken.
I remember that being almost always the same. They came, I was moved, I began to protest, they became invisible, my ability to resist was impaired, and I went like a floating meat Popsicle. Solo frozen in carbonite bothered me. This happened every night for six months. Every night, for six months, I went to Navy Hospital and was treated for asthma at precisely seven PM. I was usually at the hospital for upwards of three hours. I imagine, in hindsight, I wanted to be admitted in order to avoid the encounters. I have been admitted plenty of times. More than once my parents were told, in my ear shot, I would not live the night. By morning, I would be fine and wanting to go home. They would keep me a couple more days for observations. This was so routine for me it was the equivalent of going to camp. Dad was at sea, mom worked, she also had to take care of my brother- medical staff became my babysitters.
After six months, I was center piece of medical meeting, as Chief of Pediatric solicited ideas to better help me. I was not a good patient for one. I was put on prednisone and on gaining weight and being picked on and connecting that weight gain was part of prednisone, I refused to take it. You would think I would have lost that battle, but my parents couldn’t keep 7 or more corpsmen around just to force the issues. Elixophyllin was also a remedy. It was liquid, red, and spooned down me. Every single time I took a dose, I immediately vomited. To this date, I still consider that the worst tasting thing in the Universe. Did it work. I have no clue. I would throw it up. My parents administer another dose. I would throw it up. They would sugar to the spoon. Poo with sugar in it is still poo. I would vomit. My father, exasperated, lamented “It can’t be that bad!” He dosed himself. He vomited. I don’t remember taking it after that.
Someone suggested I move off base housing. My parents moved off base. I stopped going to the ER every night. They assumed mold in the navy housing bricks the antagonist. The nightmares of mud monsters decreased. Correlation?
There was an incident where after a nightmare of mud monsters I woke up and was unable to use my right leg. I fell. I crawled to my parents’ room. My mother took me to the doctor. There was no visible artifact, like a bruise. I was sent home. I stayed on the couch for a couple days. I remember seeing the school bus come and go and wanting to go. I got better, the incident was never discussed again. No explanation.
I lived mostly in Texas. Primarily San Antonio during my youth. Maternal grandmother residence is there. We lived with her off and on when my father had his longer tours of duty. His parents lived in El Paso and we lived there once. I would tell you I thought there was a ghost in my paternal grandparents house, as I would hear someone climb the stairs to the room over the garage. More evidence I am nuts? I wasn’t ridiculed for saying ‘ghost’ but if I had said aliens, I likely would have saw a psychiatrist. Paternal grandparents were open to ‘ghosts.’ Paternal grandfather, Papa, was a Baptist Minister, a graduate of Howard Payne University, and a Principle in the El Paso School District. Mama taught kindergarten.
I had frequent episodes, all through childhood and adolescents, but a bulk of those happened in the room above the garage. Sufficiently enough, you would think I wouldn’t sleep up there. I never saw shadows, or beings, at least, not in that room, but I did feel as if I was held by unseen forces, and I was pretty sure the mud monsters were there, simply invisible. I experienced sleep paralysis in Jacksonville, El Paso, San Antonio, and Maryland. These are clear memories of waking up, not able to move. I don’t remember having this in Michigan. We lived in Ann Arbor for a while, after Florida, directly across the street from the Michelin Tire, the Lemon Tree Apartments. Weird things did happen. For example, one day I went to work with my dad, downtown Detroit. He was a Navy recruiter. His version of the story is, I wandered off and got lost. Detroit police were involved in looking for me. I was ‘missing’ for three or four hours. I returned on my own, to find a good number of officers and a worried father, who was extremely unhappy with my response to “where have you been?”
“I don’t know.” That is a typical childhood answer; it doesn’t mean that I was abducted and this was missing time. The way I recall it, I simply went for a walk. I was not sure the fuss was about. I am curious, Detroit police were looking for me, and I am just walking around. How hard is it to find a kid walking the sidewalk alone? I was presumed lost, and yet, I walk right through the midst of the police into the Recruiter’s office. My father saw me, relief on his face, officer and the police acknowledge my present? “This is your son?” Go figure. That was sometimes between 78 and 80. Maybe Detroit wasn’t so bad back then and a kid could wander? Or, I was just incredibly lucky. Or, something more extraordinary happened and I just don’t have access to that memory. I can’t tell you anything more than I went to work with dad, was missing for several hours, Detroit was looking for me, and I came back.
I remember loving Michigan. Sixth Grade was Mr. Cook. I definitely loved him. I had a crush on a girl name Susan. That doesn’t mean anything, as there is no end to the number of crushes. I remember having a crush on a girl in third grade, Mr. Adams was the teacher, and her name was Sheila Dumont. In Jacksonville, on the Navy base, there was a crush on a 6th grader on the bus. I don’t remember her name, but I would try to sit by her and she had this aura of magic, and I would blush every time she looked my way, as if I feared she could read my mind. Why I feared that at that age, I don’t know. I was incredibly socially awkward. Looking back, and even now, I suspect I am on the autistic spectrum. Elizabeth Dawn Smith was my first ‘declared’ true love, San Antonio, 89, and she joined the military and that’s the last I saw of her. There was a baby sitter on base in Florida, and we would draw together, and she would draw saucer styled spaceships, turn them into mushrooms, and had the ships populated by mushroom people. (Maybe more people are talking about aliens than we think, and she influenced my dreams?) Or, maybe I was talking about aliens more than I imagine, just not to family.
Anyway, I loved the peers in Mr. Cook’s class, Michigan. I am not a sports fan, but I remember the Detroit Lions winning the first half, losing the second half, and a Queen song “Another one Bites the Dust.” Oh, something about the sports thing. I am the only one in my family that absolutely hates sports. Holidays were about watching sports. I would find any excuse to be away from the television, in a book, and so family did joke that I was the alien. Though I have tried, I have never really connected with family. Mom side of the family, drugs were involved and I shied away from that. Dad’s side of the family, well, they’re good, kind people, we just didn’t connect. Church peers were inconsistent, only friends on church times. I rarely invited school peers home, so school friends stayed at school. I have rationalized my inability to sustain and maintain friendships was due to frequent moves and always being the new, weird kid. New kids is okay. Weird kids okay. But new and weird, well, not the thing people sign up for. I tried really hard to fit in. Hell, embarrassingly, I was so awkward my mom for the longest time was trying to introduce me to girls.
From maybe 1980 to 83 my parents had a home in El Paso, a rent home, and then their own. They never kept a home long enough to call it theirs, and the bank took several. There were several ‘incidents’ in that home. I was alone, it was night, and I came to the window. I drew towards it, perplexed, but nothing particular stood out. The window bowed in, as someone was blowing a bubble towards me. I remember screaming and then being in bed. I woke, remembering the window bowing. I remember thinking it was the end of the world. I went back in the room. The window was not broken.
Less scary, but more interesting, was a UFO sighting in San Antonio. In 89, while delivering pizzas for Dominoes, I came to a light, stopped. It was night. There was ‘blimp’ across the street, above the power lines, tracking north to south. It was not a blimp. It was grey, metallic, cigar shaped, and had portholes. If you had a taken a submarine and put windows down the length of it, that’s what this more resembled. I looked away. I tried to look back at it, but couldn’t. The light turned green, and I could see the green reflected into the car. I couldn’t even raise my eyes to look at the street light because this object would was right there. I thought to myself, just go already, you don’t have to look up. I delivered the pizza, and from that point forward, I tried to rebuild the incident. I tried to find the object I had seen. There was no blimp, and you would think that would still be there, but I was mostly perturbed because I looked at it, I thought blimp, but then said no… and was compelled to look away. I got back from the run and told boss, Bill, ‘I think I saw a UFO.’
“Punch out, go home.” “Seriously?” I asked.
“Yep,” he said. “You’re done for the night.”
I went home. My father was there and he asked why I was home early. I told him. “Are you doing drugs?”
“No!”
“Okay, then,” he said. He went out to smoke.
I journaled this; it’s in one of my notes book. If I troubled to go find it, I could be more precise on the time frame. I remember searching the newspapers for something, anything, other witnesses. Nothing.