I’ve told this odd story to people on occasion and naturally it seems too unbelievable to be believable.
At my age, as a senior citizen, I have a lot of time on my hands and telling family and friends about those memories is a good pastime on the front porch. My house has been paid for thirty years and my social security and pension make me secure and just dandy.
It was in 1973, in New Orleans in the French Quarter that I, as a much younger man, was trying to find a crowd that was consistent with my conscious tendency to adventure, conversation, and interest in science fiction and the occult. At the time, mysticism was quite popular in Louisiana where you had everything from HooDoo to young Star Trek fans. In addition to this, my command of Cajun French was near fluent so it attracted broads from France who liked my accent. So, being young and reckless I was most active with love and conversation.
I was in a bar in the French Quarter drinking a Hurricane when a fellow sat next to me and ordered a martini. My first thought was only squares drink that drink, the type of person who rubs his butt against a desk all day and plays the board game of office politics as an executive. I thought I’d engage him in conversation, being only slightly arrogant and noting that I considered myself a freethinker while this ace was establishment. The conversation did not turn out the way I thought it would, of course.
(Me) Watta say there, ace? Out to paint the town red and find some chicks?
(square) (he smiles) I’ve been living under a rock. So you’ll have to tell me where the chicks are.
(Me) I’ve got it going on, kiddo. I’m surrounded by the beat, man. Watta ya do?
(square) I’m here to introduce a form of spacecraft that will advance everything by three hundred years or more.
(Me) Are you some kind of scientist or something?
(square) No, I’m an opportunist scavenger and a researcher. One man’s junk is another man’s treasure.
(Noted that this square didn’t look like a junk dealer. He was wearing upper middle class garment and drinking a martini. He really made me curious.)
(Me) So you’re going to sell this spacecraft to big shots for big bucks?
(square) Possibly. But as soon as that is over with I’m going back under the rock where I was born. You must understand that I am the researcher.
After having said that he pulled out a green transistor radio, or what looked like one, turned a knob and vanished before my very eyes.
I know this all seems a made up story but I was there and I insist that it occurred. Whoever he was he had access to a technology that we don’t even have today. I know that the radio that looked like a transistor radio was an advanced teleport device.
I think back on it and wonder if all our technology comes from this square who has been giving us all sorts of inventions since the seventies. If only I knew the truth about that guy.