My first experience with extraterrestrials occurred one boring summer in the mid-1960s with my friend Tommy Hamilton. We were 12 or 13 and had built ourselves a cabin of sorts, deep within the Pine Barrens of central New Jersey.
And I mean deep. No beaten trails for us. Each trip meant forging a swamp, crossing a small stream or two, and pushing through a thick tangle of annoying undergrowth, all the while swatting at ufo-size mosquitoes. One day we planned our first overnight camp-out. And that’s when it happened.
Sometime during that moonless night, after we’d both fallen into a junk-food-satiated sleep, we were awakened by a harsh, blazing white light that filled our little room. The ensuing conversation went something like this:
Tommy, you jerk, turn off your flashlight!
That’s not my flashlight, you idiot. Turn off the lantern.
