Incidentally, on the air I quickly reminded Orfeo that I thought we had run up against a minor semantic difficulty because, as I often say, it’s a family show. And I suggested to Orfeo that the robe was possibly translucent, rather than transparent.
Her whole body pulsated, faster and faster into a frenzy of excitement and passion. The music grew wilder and madder. A collision of cymbals! A crush of drums! And the tiny creature dropped to her knees, exhausted. In moments she began to fade. In a minute she was gone—completely.
Then Adam began his fantastic tale.
One evening, as he was walking in the desert, he reports, he became aware of a yellow-orange light circling overhead. Music floated down from it. As he stared, the light dimmed and disappeared; but simultaneously a voice from nowhere spoke:
“Adam, may I speak with you?”
He was astonished, but that was nothing to what he felt as he saw a mist began to form in front of him. Soon he realized that it was taking the shape of a shimmering silver dome-designed spacecraft. It was solid and real, and so was the inescapable “beautiful woman” who stepped out.
I should mention immediately, for the benefit of the prophets out there, that the gal was not Orfeo’s friend of other worlds, Lyra, and she was not a large economy-size version of the five-inch blonde. But, nevertheless, when she invited Adam for a trip into “a new estate,” he accepted gratefully, and they entered the spaceship.
As the flight got under way, she told him her name was Vega. Prattling on, as women will, about the great mysteries of the universe (and she had the answers to many of them), she remarked that they were traveling at ten million miles an hour. You have to admit that’s fast. But, I understand, it’s rough on gas.
As they sped from one solar system to another, during which time Vega was more than a little friendly, she admitted that neither her people, nor her “peers,” had achieved the speed of light. (Naturally, you have to expect pseudo-science once in a while, even from space people.) After a while he discovered that Vega was from Alpha Centauri, where they’re—wouldn’t you know it—many centuries ahead of our world.
During these intimate hours with Vega, she assured Adam that, although they were playing around “an outpost of love,” soon they wouldn’t even remember each other. However, she did guarantee him that before long he’d run into another woman of her race, and that she’d be the greatest. His anticipation was a little dampened when, she also told him that the new girl, who’d be named “Launie,” would be considered somewhat “retarded” among her own kind. Vega, in a flash of amazing modesty, added, however, that compared to “Launie,” even she was nothing.
Finally, after passing from one experience to another, Adam’s saucer was ushered into an enormous “mother ship.” This mechanical monstrosity was shaped like two facing saucers, and was some ten miles in diameter. It housed half a million persons.
In this fantastic craft, or floating city, which he called “Andromeda,” the physician from Earth encountered an endless series of amazing things, places and people. One of the most important of these was a girl named “Lily,” with whom he became pretty involved. All of which was somewhat confusing, since he was on the lookout for this chick named “Launie,” who had been strongly touted to him. Later, it turned out that “Lily” was “Launie,” “Launie” was “Lily”—and, like I said before, I don’t dig that any more than you do. He also got to know some of the top men around the action, meeting Orfeo’s friend “Neptune” and other such people.
Then came the last of the out-of-this-world females Adam was to meet. Her name was “Aleva,” but that ended up, unfortunately and obviously, as “Eve.”
These two entered upon the adventure to end all adventures. This was the most. Adam and his gal took a space ship, and traveling at 50,000,000 (that’s fifty million) miles an hour, plummeted into the center of the sun! That’s the way Orfeo tells it. Adam and his fair-faced friend zoomed into the sun and out again. And let’s face it, neighbors, that’s a pretty wild stunt.
Eventually, Adam got back to Earth and, I suppose, died. Orfeo wrote the story, which made for his second successful book.
Today, Angelucci still lives on the West Coast. He writes and lectures, and tells his extraordinary tales. Once in a while he gets to New York, and we have lunch and chat. And every time I’m more impressed than before. He’s one of a kind in a life made up of one-of-a-kinds. But what else can I tell you about the amazing and charming guy named—Orfeo Angelucci.
*****
“I am George Adamski, philosopher, student, teacher, saucer researcher.” That’s the way George introduces himself in one of his early books, and who’s going to disagree? He lives near the famous astronomical observatory at Mount Palomar, California, conducting his investigations of ships from outer space with two telescopes of his own—a 15” housed one and a 6” portable job.
In his version it all began on October 9th, 1946, during a shower of meteors over San Diego. As the atmospheric disturbance came to a close, he and his party suddenly (remember, it almost always happens “suddenly”) noticed a gigantic dirigible overhead—but it disappeared almost at once.
Less than a year passed George had his second sighting. On this occasion he witnessed 184 “bright objects” wheeling about the sky, reversing in mid-flight, and speeding off in the opposite direction. He later ascertained that there were really 204 of the “things.”
He continued to notice various of these phenomena through his telescopes and photographed many of them—more than 500, he claims,—although he does admit that not more than a dozen of the pictures offer “proof that these craft were different from recognized Earth craft.” During these years Adamski wrote many articles and gave many lectures on flying saucers, interplanetary travel and the possibility of life on other planets. As a matter of fact, it must have become obvious to the saucer people, or anyway to the professional saucer sighters, that things were getting a little monotonous. After all, how many sightings is the public going to read about before it gets bored with the whole deal? True, Dan Fry had created a little stir with his bit in 1950, but that hadn’t turned into action. Then things began to move. First the original Orfeo Angelucci tales, then Adamski’s “man from Venus” report.
It was noon, Thursday, November 20th, 1952, and George was cruising out on the desert near Parker, Arizona, with some friends. George Hunt Williamson, who has built a reputation in the saucer and occult fields, was there along with four or five others taking scenic photographs. Unexpectedly (which is almost the same as suddenly), an enormous, cigar-shaped, silver ship appeared above them, and hung motionlessly. In a few moments Adamski “got the feeling” he should go “down the road” to meet some space people. Leaving the group, he ventured along the sand. Before long he saw a circular “scout ship,” obviously from no local airline, and standing nearby was a man from another world. The stranger was small in stature, light in weight, slightly oriental in appearance, long-haired, and as pretty as a picture—a picture of “an unusually beautiful woman,” that is.
Exchanging some fast sign language, Adamski discovered he was from Venus, that his saucer came from a huge “mother ship,” and other fascinating “facts.” After a while they got tired of talking and the spaceman took off, leaving behind, silhouetted against the golden desert, the strong silent figure of George Adamski—friend to men from other worlds.
But that was only the beginning. The world was to hear much more about space ships, space men, and life on other planets. And from whom? George Adamski, of course.
On February 18th, 1953, he was picked up at his Los Angeles hotel by Firkon, a Martian, and Ramu, a Saturnian. They took him to meet their friend, and his, Orthon—the man from Venus.
Soon George was being treated to a tour of inspection of a space craft which was not too different from the one Dan Fry rode in. And like that fortunate gentleman, Adamski found himself suddenly airborne. A huge chart flashed and flickered, a huge panel of buttons were pres
sed and punched, and it was wild. About eight miles up they approached a 2,000 foot long, 150 foot thick, cigar-shaped “mother ship.” Naturally, they flew right inside and landed.
He finally ended up in a Radio City type lobby with a Bardot-built blonde Venusian chick. Her eyes were “gentle and merry.” The second was even greater, and was a brunette whose eyes, according to George, promised anything but mere gentleness and merriment. Her name was Ilmuth—which, let’s face it, sort of killed the whole thing right there. She was strictly from Marsville. Far out, that is.
But then came the big moment. George Adamski met a portrait. A “symbol of Ageless Life.” Which he tells us left a far deeper and more profound impression on him than the super-sexy set of space gals. And although he devotes three pages to them and only a half page to it, I certainly don’t doubt it.
Most of the time on the “mother ship” was spent asking questions. He discovered, along with other contactees, the following: All other planets have superior architecture, science, engineering and medicine to that of the earth; people of this planet were the only ones in the Universe capable of “evil,” war, crime, emotional imbalance, and everyone else is just about perfect. Furthermore, he found out that the ship he was on was at that time 50.000 miles above the Earth. Given an opportunity to visit the immensities of space, George thought it looked like “billions upon billions of fireflies…flickering everywhere, moving in all directions as fireflies do.”
As they started back to George’s personal planet, he was introduced to a great sage, a universal wise man, who was almost 1.000 years old. It was from him that Adamski received the real message. It went about like this.
In space there are innumerable planets, pretty much like the Earth. Each moves around a sun, pretty much like our sun. In each case there are twelve planets in a system. Twelve such systems are whirling around a sort of super-sun, creating what our scientists call an island universe. Twelve island universes spin about something else, and twelve of these swing around…and so on, without end.
Many planets are populated, but most are so advanced that we Earthians couldn’t possibly understand them. Fortunately, however, and so maybe we’ll get to visit the rich relatives yet. Another very encouraging thing to know is that we’re not the stupidest people in the universe—just in this solar system.
After assuring George Adamski that the space people were only coming to Earth to help us—which is, I believe, what every conqueror in history has told the victims—they brought him home.
A couple of months later he ran into Firkon, on the street as it were, and they stopped in a small cafe to chat. Frankly, when I heard the Martian’s order, it broke me up. Peanut butter on whole wheat bread, apple pie and black coffee. How American can a foreign planet spy disguise himself?
Finishing their snack, they hopped out to another and much larger model of flying saucer. But the quick spin up to the mother ship was pretty conservative from a contactee point of view.
These neighborly visits continued until August 23, 1954, when Firkon admitted to Adamski that the visit of the moment was to be the last.
During his adventures, Adamski “took many photographs” of the craft, which is pretty exciting—until you see the pictures, and then you pays your money and you takes your choice.
Over the years, Adamski has sold many thousands of books, and given hundreds of lectures in the United States and elsewhere. He’s one of the really big men in the flying saucer field. He tells great stories. Too tall to see over, but not too thick to see through. But it’s a pretty good living.
*****
The first contactee I ever met was George Van Tassel, owner and operator of Giant Rock Airport, a private landing strip at Yucca Valley, California.
One night he and his wife were sleeping out in the middle of the desert when he was awakened by an odd man in a ski-type uniform. Having identified himself as “Solganda,” the spaceman, he told George to follow him, which Van Tassel did. In moments they were standing beneath a flying saucer hanging above the earth. Overhead, in the belly of the ship, was a hole, and as he moved forward with Solganda, both were caught up in an anti-gravitation stream and lifted into the craft.
Looking about, George observed that there were a couple of pilots at the controls of the ship, but this small crew was bypassed without a word. With a “snap of the thumb”(!) seats appeared out of the wall, with a second snap a cabinet opened up and displayed expansion-contraction uniforms which adjusted to fit all sizes.
Conducted below the deck, Van Tassel was permitted to see the counter-wheeling rotors, which were the propelling machinery of the ship, functioning.
After this extremely brief visit he was escorted out of the saucer and back to his wife and desert bed. As he left, Solganda assured him that they would be back. But that was in 1953, and at this writing the good contactee was strictly a onetime man in the contact department. But never fear, if he lost out on the physical meeting level, he really started to swing on the telepathic plane. In fact, you get the impression that he operates with an almost “open line” to the etheric spheres.
Regardless, from his telepathic contact with the other planets, George Van Tassel has been able to collect the information which forms the contents of his several books. (Unlike the traditional messiahs, who had disciples to write their teachings for them, the contactees, taking no changes, almost always write them themselves. Usually several volumes at several bucks apiece.)
Actually, it makes little difference which one of Van’s volumes you read, because, for the most part, if you’ve read one you’ve read them all. There are literally hundreds of phrases, sentences, and even paragraphs, that appear word for word in all of his writings. Let me quote the dedication to one of them, “Into This World and Out Again”:
“This book is dedicated to the people from other life levels in space. The 4th density center of the Quadra-Sector, Blaau. The Council of Twelve Lords in our solar system. The Council of Seven Lights on Shanchae. The Space Station Schare (Share-ee) and all its complement of guardians. Also the active participants in the reception of this information at the College of Universal Wisdom.”
I think that it’s only fair to tell you at this point that if you understand the above passages it’ll be a waste of time for you to read further. You already have the message clasped in your hot, damp little kooky hand. However, I must admit that you “ain’t heard nothin’ yet,” because if that dedication ain’t nothin’ I don’t know what isn’t.
One of George Van Tassel’s major activities is the operation of the “Universal College of Wisdom,” and its through this organization and its publication, “Proceeding,” that he’s able to spread the message. And quite a message it is.
To begin with, he’s sort of rewriting the Bible. Particularly the Book of Genesis. Some of that enlightened Van Tassel material instructs that Man was created of the Adamic race. He was a spaceman. Eve was the highest form of animal. Instead of Adam mating with one of his own kind, and Eve mating with one of her animal kind, they mated with each other. This was the original violation. To quote Van Tassel, “not in eating the apple; it was in eating the wrong apple.”
At one point a little later, he comments that “the space people were the first human forms of life to occupy the Earth.” In other words the “humans” were space people. But elsewhere he takes the opposite position when he insists that “the Earth people (not the space people) are called ‘humans’.”
With regard to Jesus Christ, George asserts he was the last space teacher to be introduced to Earth via normal birth, adding however that “Joseph was a foster father to Jesus. There was no blood of Joseph in Jesus.” Which certainly seems to contradict his claim that it was a “normal birth.” On another occasion he claims that “Mary volunteered for the assignment (!!!) of bringing through birth—to the Earth—a true son of our Adamic race (that is, the space people.). Jesus also accepted the assignment knowing beforehand what his earthly birth would entail (reincar
nations carefully woven in later on). Mary became pregnant and was landed on the Earth by one of our ships.”
By this time, I feel pretty sure that it won’t come as any great surprise when I tell you that, according to Van, the Star of Bethlehem was a flying saucer hanging around to keep an eye on everything. It should also be noted that this same craft has been orbiting about the Earth for many thousands of years, and will be the method employed to return Jesus to this planet for the Second Coming.
If, at this point, you feel that he has thrown in everything but the Great Pyramid of Gizeh in Egypt, you’re wrong. He has that, too, describing it as being some 25,816 years old (but of course that was a couple of years ago).
And then there are George’s “little men” who live below the surface of the moon. Or—
“Contrary to the opinions expressed by our scientists, the center of our planet consists of a sun. This sun, as the core, rotates in the opposite direction to the moving crust.” Or—
Space people maintain a space station that has orbited Mars for thousands of years. Ten miles in diameter, it is noted by our astronomers as a Martian moon. Or—
There are many visitors from Venus wandering about the Earth without being recognized. Or—
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