I’m Not Saying It was Aliens, but It was Aliens

Roswell, New Mexico. 4 July 1947 – On the anniversary of America’s Independence from whoever we’re independent from, random ranchers, who were sitting on their porches drinking from Mason jars, reported seeing something strange in the sky. William Woody, standing outside with his father on that fateful evening, said he saw a ‘brilliant object’ plunge to the ground. On July fourth, if you can imagine.

Which is proof, in case you needed any, that an alien flying saucer from outer space crashed in the desert that night. And Roswell has never been the same since. Honestly, I’m not sure it was the same before.

Several years ago, when our three boys were all still living at home and spending their time either punching each other, playing video games, or eating everything in the house like a plague of locusts, my wife and I decided to take them on a family camping trip. It was supposed to be a relaxing, leisurely jaunt out to far West Texas, where we would camp at some disgusting private campground, the name of which I’ve mercifully forgotten. We planned to do some hiking in Guadalupe Mountains National Park, which we had heard was pretty thick with scenic rocks and such.

We also had a German Shepherd at the time named Diva who was far better at doing what she was told than the kids were. The problem was that, when we got to the park, we found out that dogs are not allowed on the hiking trails, which is perfectly understandable. People go out there, and hike long distances into the desert so they can look at animals and such. It would defeat the whole purpose if they took animals with them.

So, the hiking didn’t go all that well, and we decided to abandon the campground, lovely as it was with commodes that didn’t flush and showers that didn’t have hot water. But once you’re way out there in West Texas, you’re pretty limited on stuff to do, unless you like looking at dirt and rocks. From Sonora to El Paso, there ain’t nothin’, but there’s an awful lot of it.

We loaded up and headed north to the only real attraction anywhere in the area: Carlsbad Caverns. I have no idea why they named it Carlsbad Caverns, but, by a strange coincidence, there’s a town near the cave also named Carlsbad. What are the odds?

We bought tickets and rode an elevator 238 miles straight down, and emerged at the deepest food court known to man. There’s also a souvenir shop down there, as a public service, to fill your urgent underground cap and T-shirt needs. But the cave was nice and cool, and we walked all through it, somehow managing to keep from breaking off any of those hanging down or sticking up things. They frown on that.

It doesn’t take long to tour the cave, and since we were already in New Mexico by that time, we decided to head on up to Ruidoso. The problem is that, to get to Ruidoso from Carlsbad, you have to go through Roswell. And Roswell is full of aliens.

Ever since that night in July 1947, when a ‘brilliant object’ was seen in the sky, Roswell has been Alien Central. The whole town is nuts about aliens. They have alien gift shops where you can buy actual, genuine alien dolls and alien masks, and of course, alien T-shirts. The cafes all offer alien food, artfully disguised as hamburgers, hot dogs, and French fries. You can’t sling a cat without hitting an alien in Roswell. They even have an alien museum.

We know, of course, that an alien ship crash landed NW of Roswell in 1947. No doubt about that. The military checked it out, and said, “Nope, no alien crash here! Move along!” So there’s no doubt the alien ship crashed.

Plus, there was some mysterious crash debris found, consisting of some strange metal. One of the investigators was Major Jesse Marcel, who was the intelligence officer for the 509^th Bomb Group, at Roswell Army Air Field. Marcel picked up one of the pieces of metal, got out his Zippo, and tried to light the metal. It wouldn’t burn, so, obviously, it was alien metal.

Anyway, the museum is very impressive, with lots of genuine reproduction alien flying saucers, and genuine imitation aliens. There also used to be a big flying saucer hanging out front, but they took it down recently while renovating, and put it out back.

Unfortunately, while it was behind the museum, three teenagers loaded it up in the back of a pickup and hauled it off. It turned up beside the highway outside of town, all busted up. Which is a real shame, if you ask me. It was a nice flying saucer, as flying saucers go.

The museum plans to replace the ship, but they have no idea when that will happen. In the meantime, if you find yourself near Roswell, you should visit the museum anyway. And grab an alien burger at one of the cafes there.

Just don’t use the restroom. That’s where all the abductions happen . . .

Kendal Hemphill is an outdoor humor columnist and public speaker who once shot a flying saucer down with a BB gun. Write to him at [email protected]