March
20, 2020: The more I remember, and
the more the events come into focus, the luckier I feel to be alive today.
Maybe my first lifespan on earth has only ten years or so to go, but knowing
that I’ll be coming back to life in a thousand or so years after that gives me a
warm glow inside. Traveling in the past is exciting and informative in its own
way, but the future is beginning to look limitless. But we’ve got a “ways to go”
before we get there.
The
red star threw me for a loop. In the context of the year 1962, I knew what it
meant.
I
asked Ethan how he’d been sleeping lately.
He
said, “Funny you should ask that. Between seeing the flashing lights formation
in the sky and getting sick, I’ve been having trouble falling asleep.”
“Sorry
to hear that.” I saw that Ethan had a am/fm radio on the small table beside the
couch. “Maybe listening to music might help.”
Ethan
replied, “No, but it has given me some company while staying up to 3 AM. I
discovered this radio program called 'The Thayer Harcus Show'. It comes on at midnight
and stays on for three hours.”
My
ears perked up, “What’s the show about?”
Ethan
said, “Thayer usually has a special guest he talks to the first hour then for
the next two hours listeners call in to the talk to the guest, ask questions,
and sometimes relay a story of their own.”
“What
do they talk about?”
“Space
aliens, UFOs, secret government activities, conspiracies of all kinds, etc. I
don’t believe a word of it, but it is entertaining and even sometimes
fascinating. Especially when you have insomnia.”
“Do
you know where the program originates?”
Ethan
replied, “I do but it’s not because Thayer announces it. He pretends he’s in
some secret location because if the government knew where he was, they would,
according to him, shut him down. I know where he is because it was an article
about his show in the newspaper.”
“Where
is his studio?”
“The
Okefenokee Swamp.”
I
wished Ethan a speedy recovery and started walking westward.
I
had time to think about the FTLs as I was traveling along. If I was a miniature
sun, and my core elements included hydrogen and helium, and if I had to assume
the onerous task of appearing like a human being for all day and part of the
night, where would I go to find a little relaxation?
Only
one answer came to mind. A nuclear reactor. I could envision several of the
FTLs sitting around in the reactor cores, drinking martinis, smoking cigars and
telling bad jokes. A nuclear reactor to them would be like a hot tub to us. A
really, really hot tub.
It
just so happened several reactors were only a couple of hundred miles away from
my present location. The Savannah River Site, located along the western border
of South Carolina, was a government facility, that was primarily utilized for
producing tritium, a key ingredient in atomic bombs.
The
site was heavily guarded. I could get on easily enough if I wanted to, but I
ran the risk of being caught while doing so, and explaining myself would be a
very complicated business. The best thing for me to do was to camp near the perimeter
fence in a wooded area, well away from an entrance. There was a chance an FTL
would not change from humanoid form to light beam until it reached the fence.
It wasn’t much of a chance, but it was worth a try. I needed to know why some
of them had entered earth’s atmosphere in the shape of a star instead of a
cross.
Meanwhile,
I needed to talk to a lawyer. Two days out from the fishing village, I stopped
at a small town about fifteen miles from the Savannah River Site. The lawyer’s
name was John Alonzo Smith. He had been a practicing attorney for over thirty
years.
I
can’t give the exact reasons why I needed the services of a lawyer. Let’s just
say it dawned on me that all my time hopping could be used against me when I
got back to 2020. Legal protection was a good idea in case something like that
happen. Now supposedly, regular humans would have no memory of ever meeting me.
But there were always exceptions to the rule, and since I wasn’t fully versed
with the rules of time travel, I thought it best err on the side of caution.
This
was one time when hindsight was literally 2020.
Total
perfection is not possible. But perfection as a goal is inspirational. That’s
why we believe God is perfect.
I
spent a full week reconnoitering the perimeter of the “bomb plant” (as it was
called by the residents living in the area). I spent the nights wide awake
making my camps at different locations each night. I spent the days wandering
around the countryside, occasionally meeting and talking with local people. I
felt safe doing so because I knew the FTLs wouldn’t be entering the plant in
the daytime because that’s when they were normally to be found in humanoid form
I
spent most of one day with a shade tree mechanic named Josh, helping him with
his car. He was overhauling the engine, and I noticed (while walking by his
house) he and what turned out to be his girlfriend, struggling in their efforts
to get the engine out of the car. I immediately offered my services. We were
able to successfully disengage the engine from the car.
They
thanked me and the girl friend asked me if I would like a glass of lemonade. I
said most certainly.
We
sat in lawn chairs under an oak tree, enjoying the fresh air and sunshine.
Josh’s
girlfriend’s name wad Rebecca. I complimented her on the taste of the lemonade.
She
replied, “Thank you. We don’t know how you happened to show up when you did,
but it was certainly a blessing.”
“I
was a glad to be of help. In fact, I’m free the rest of the day. I’ll be glad
to hang around and help install the new engine.”
Josh
said, “Mister, that would be great. I was starting to worry that we might not
be able to lift the engine. It’s one heavy sucker.”
I
helped Josh with the car for the next few hours freeing up Rebecca to do a few
chores in the house. She didn’t live with Josh, but they were planning to get
married in a few months and she was already beginning to get the house of a
bachelor in shape for a married couple.
About
one or so, she hollered to us from the back porch, “I’ve got some sandwiches
ready if you’re interested.”
Josh
hollered back, “We sure are! Can we eat outside? We’re kind of messy and
greasy.”
Josh
had some Go-Jo, a strong hand cleaner. We used it and went back to sit under
the same tree where we had drunk the lemonade. The sandwiches hit the spot.
When
twilight descended, they asked me to stay for supper, but I politely declined.
It had been an enjoyable day.
After
five nights and no FTLs, I realized a new stratagem was necessary. I remembered
talking to Ethan back at the seaside village about the radio program, 'The
Thayer Harcus Show'. Maybe Harcus could be a conduit to the FTLs.
I
swam across the Savannah River and while drying out in the process, walked to a
town a little west of Augusta, Georgia. At a Radio Shack, I bought a transistor
radio. The arrival of midnight found me searching the am dial for Harcus’s
show. Took me a few minutes, and the climbing of a tall tree, to finally pick up
his signal.
Harcus’s
guest that night wasn’t as outlandish as you might think. He was predicting
that one day everyone would have his or her own phone and carry it around on in
their pocket or purse. A few callers enthusiastically agreed while the majority
scoffed at such a wild prediction.
Harcus came off as a decent interviewer. His callers were a mixed bag, at least the
night I listened. Some acted like they were in on the joke, others sounded
sincere.
It
took me two days and one night of steady walking to reach the Okefenokee Swamp
(where Harcus’s studio was reportedly located.
The
Okefenokee is big, over 400,000 acres and much of it is under government
supervision, which is when you think about it, an odd place for a conspiracy
promoter like Harcus to be. But in the conspiracy world, I’m sure it made
perfect sense.
As
it turned out, Harcus was just west of the swamp, almost exactly on the
Georgia-Florida border. He lived in one state and worked in another. Probably
just another way to confuse people who were out to get him.
My
method of finding Harcus was to talk to Okefenokeens. One such individual
hunted alligators for a living. His name was Walter and he lived with his
grandson in a one room frame house just inside the north edge of the swamp.
They had a dog which they used as a birddog. What was unusual about the dog was
that it wasn’t the “correct” breed for a birddog. The dog had wandered into
their yard one day and the grandson had formed an instant bond with it, and
despite the doubts of the grandfather and his friends, the grandson
successfully transitioned the dog into a bird tracker par excellence.
Beside
selling alligator skins and hides, Walter also sold “gator” meat. Seems our Mr.
Harcus was as aficionado of “gator white tail” meat, which Walter described as
tasting like high-quality veal, tender and succulent. In selling alligator remains, Walter and his
grandson and dog traveled widely around the northern and western portions of
the Okefenokee in his 1950 Ford pickup. Harcus was one of Walter’s regulars.
Harcus wasn’t in the habit of revealing where he lived, so Walter delivered the
alligator meat to Harcus’s studio. In other words, thanks to Walker and
Harcus’s penchant for exotic meat, I now knew how to find the broadcasting
location of 'The Thayer Harcus Show'.
Before
leaving, I did accompany Walter and his grandson one afternoon when they went
bird hunting. Not to shoot a bird but watch to dog in action. That was
obviously one valuable dog, and not just for his birddogging ability. I
wondered if the dog’s owner was even now looking high and low for him.
It
was still 1962, but it was now autumn, early October according to Walter. There
was something about October 1962 that kept nagging at me. But I couldn’t quite
place it. Whatever it was probably the reason I was where I was and why I was
doing what I was doing. Oh, well, the only thing to do was for me to keep on
putting one foot in front of the other. As Montaigne said, we must endure what
we can’t avoid.
Sometimes
relevance is overemphasized – what is irrelevant can be more intriguing - and
so we pass time without meaning but we are still somehow content.
The
only way to explain small things is by believing in bigger things.
Think
of time as a river and a time traveler as a pebble. Throw a pebble in the river
and the water will be slightly disrupted but the flow of the current will not
change. So, in dealing with time travel, chances are nothing or no one will be
affected.
But
sometimes a change is needed. What happens then? Nobody knows. Until perhaps
now, that is.