The story centers around Janos “Juan” Moricz, an aristocratic Argentinian-Hungarian entrepreneur who claimed that he had discovered a series of tunnels in Ecuador that contained a “Metal Library.” In a signed affidavit dated July 8, 1969, he spoke about his meeting with the Ecuadorian president, where he received a concession that allowed him total control over this discovery—provided he could produce photographic evidence and an independent witness that corroborated the discovery of the underground network. Moricz, it seemed, felt that von Däniken was the best witness he could have.
In 1972, Moricz met with von Däniken and took him to what Moricz claimed was a secret side-entrance, through which they could enter into a large hall within the underground complex. Apparently von Däniken never got to see the library itself, just the tunnel system. Von Däniken included the visit in his book The Gold of the Gods: “The passages all form perfect right angles. Sometimes they are narrow, sometimes wide. The walls are smooth and often seem to be polished. The ceilings are flat and at times look as if they were covered with a kind of glaze.... My doubts about the existence of the underground tunnels vanished as if by magic and I felt tremendously happy. Moricz said that passages like those through which we were going extended for hundreds of miles under the soil of Ecuador and Peru.”
Then, one of the world’s biggest potential discoveries soon turned sour. Journalists from the German publications Der Spiegel and Stern interviewed Moricz, who now denied ever having been in the cave with von Däniken. This undermined von Däniken’s credibility (though skeptics will argue he had none to begin with), and, for many, the incident was proof that von Däniken was a fabricator of lies. But no one pointed out that if von Däniken had been lying, he would not have left such an easy trail to Moricz. He could have claimed that he could not reveal the name of his source, and Der Spiegel and Stern would have been none the wiser. Instead, it seemed that something was amiss with Moricz, who had landed von Däniken in an international controversy from which his career never really recovered.
There are in fact several oddities with this story. First, Moricz merely denied having taken von Däniken there; the existence of the network itself he did not deny. In Der Spiegel, March 19, 1973, we can read:
Der Spiegel: “How did you discover the [metal] library?” Moricz: “Somebody took me there.”
Der Spiegel: “Who was this guide?”
Moricz: “I can’t tell you.”
Moricz further stated that the library was guarded by a tribe. So, in short, Moricz claimed to von Däniken that he had discovered caves, and he showed these to him. Now Moricz claimed to have seen the caves, having been led there by a guide whom he could not identify, but denied having taken von Däniken there. The logical conclusion seems to be that Moricz had shown something to von Däniken, was now caught by the fact that everyone seemed to know he had done so, and had to make sure that whoever had shown him did not bear any grudges against him, no doubt because Moricz himself would most likely have been asked not to show anyone else the site.
By 1975, the story of the Metal Library had killed the career of a notorious author, so who would dare to tread in his footsteps? The answer: Neil Armstrong, the first man on the moon. And before him, Stan Hall, a Scotsman who wanted to change the status quo of the controversy.
Stanley “Stan” Hall read von Däniken’s book and subsequently befriended Moricz, who confirmed that he had met von Däniken in 1972 and had taken the Swiss author from Guayaquil to Cuenca, where they met Padre Carlos Crespi and saw his collection of enigmatic artifacts. The Crespi Collection, now largely discarded after the padre’s death, was an enigmatic collection of metal plates and other objects suggesting that South America’s past was vastly different from what the official history tells us. The Crespi Collection is often labeled a hoax, because there is no archaeological evidence to suggest that the civilizations of South America could have created the items in it.
After this visit, Moricz claimed, there was insufficient time to take von Däniken to the “true location,” so instead he decided to show him a small cave some 30 minutes from Cuenca, claiming it connected to the network. This seemed to clear up the von Däniken–Moricz controversy, but not the enigma of the Metal Library itself. Where was it? Moricz’s 1969 expedition had ventured into the Cueva de los Tayos, which Moricz identified as the cave that led into the Metal Library. But in 1969, no Metal Library had been uncovered during an expedition led by Moricz. So Hall decided to organize an Ecuadorian-British expedition that would explore the Cueva de los Tayos; it would be a purely scientific expedition.
The Tayos Cave was wrongly identified as the site of the famous Metal Library, one of the greatest treasure troves waiting to be discovered. But when the Tayos Cave was explored in 1976, there was nevertheless a series of important discoveries, with some hints that sections of the complex were manmade.
I met Stan Hall a few times throughout the course of a decade, without knowing that the person I was speaking to was Stan Hall. He was a member of the audience at the Scottish Saunière Society conferences. He blended into the background and was unlikely, if not unwilling, to stand out. It was by pure accident that I found out I knew Stan Hall—the Stan Hall, who furthermore lived near where I lived at the time. This gave me the opportunity to get a personal perspective on the story, and resulted in a friendship that lasted until his untimely death in 2008.
From Hall I learned that, though originally set up to take place in 1977, the 1976 expedition occurred at a time when von Däniken’s public profile had been damaged by Moricz—and Hall was apparently about to endorse Moricz’s claim. This left von Däniken feeling wary about Hall for more than 20 years, until both men realized they were kindred spirits rather than mortal enemies.
Why did Hall do it? He wanted to create a framework: If there was indeed a Metal Library, the first step would be to map the site. That was the main and only goal of the expedition; there was no treasure-seeking. Hall used his professional expertise as a project manager to create a three-week exploration of this famous cave: a joint venture of the British and Ecuadorian armies, supported by a team of geologists, botanists, and other specialists.
So how did Neil Armstrong get involved? “The expedition needed an honorary figurehead,” Hall said. “The name of Prince Charles, who had recently received a degree in archaeology, was proposed, but I knew Neil Armstrong had Scottish connections. My mother was an Armstrong and via another Armstrong in Langholm, where Neil had been made an honorary citizen, I made contact. Months later, I got a reply that Neil Armstrong was more than willing to join us on this mission. It’s when the expedition suddenly became a life’s challenge.”
On August 3, 1976, when the expedition was winding down, Armstrong entered the tunnel system of the Tayos Cave. The team was officially not looking for a metal library, and in fact did not stumble upon one. Had they done so, the discovery would have altered humankind’s perspective on our history and origins. For Amstrong, it could have been his second great contribution to humankind’s exploration, but it was not to be. However, the team did catalogue 400 new plant species as well as a burial chamber inside the cave, in which a seated body was found. The chamber was later dated to 1500 BC, and it was believed that at the time of the summer solstice the sun illuminated this tomb. Both the date and the alignment show that the history of Ecuador is far older and more intricate than what is officially believed.
Stan Hall (left) and Neil Armstrong at the Tayos Cave basecamp, after Armstrong had entered the cave. If the Tayos Cave had been the location of the Metal Library, Armstrong would not only have been the first man on the moon, but also among the first to find evidence of one of the greatest enigmas on this planet.
When the expedition was finished, Stan Hall returned to his day job. Until 1991, the year Moricz died, the Metal Library continued to elude him. Had it not been for Hall, the story of the Metal Library would probably have died there. He knew that Moricz was not the originator of the story, as von
Däniken noted on page 53 of his book. In the 1973 interview with Der Spiegel, Moricz confirmed that an unnamed person had shown him the cave. But who was this person? Hall decided to track down this third man, who had seemingly disappeared into the shadows. Hall had a name—Petronio Jaramillo—but nothing more.
“Moricz died in February 1991,” said Hall. “I had a name and a telephone directory. But there were an awful lot of Jaramillos in Quito. Finally, I found him—or, rather, his mother. It was September 1991 when she gave me the phone number of her son. I phoned him. He told me that it had taken 16 years before our paths crossed. He was willing to meet me, and stated that he needed three days to fill me in.”
When they met, Jaramillo confirmed that when Moricz arrived in Guayaquil in 1964, he teamed up with lawyer Dr. Gerardo Peña Matheus. Through acquaintances, Andres Fernandez-Salvador Zaldumbide and Alfredo Moebius, Moricz met Jaramillo in Moebius’s house, and from there Moricz ran with Jaramillo’s story. Hall was annoyed with himself when he realized that various people had tried to direct him toward Jaramillo as early as 1975, but it took until 1991 for the two to finally meet.
Jaramillo and Hall realized that had it not been for Moricz, who focused attention on the Cueva de los Tayos, the 1976 expedition could have resulted in the discovery of the century—and what a track record for Armstrong it would have been! And yet also, had it not been for Moricz, the story would never have come out the way it did. Hall also remembered how he had shown Moricz a manuscript about the 1976 expedition, which Moricz then point-blank refused to return. The incident actually ended their friendship, but Hall never understood why Moricz did it—until 1991, when he realized that the manuscript mentioned Jaramillo. It was a name Moricz did not want to see published, as he had confirmed in the 1973 German newspaper interview.
Jaramillo and Hall became friends, though both agreed Jaramillo would not reveal the location of the site. Still, he was willing to talk in detail about its contents and any other aspect of it Hall wanted to discuss. From Jaramillo, Hall was able to learn the true story of the Tayos library—which was not in the Cueva de los Tayos at all! Jaramillo stated that he had entered the library in 1946, when he was 17 years old. He was shown it by an uncle, whose name has gone unrecorded but who was known as “Blanquito Pelado” (a loving description of the man’s appearance). He was apparently on friendly terms with the local Shuar population, who invited him to see a secret in gratitude for the kindness and goodness he had shown toward the tribe. The story, of course, brings back memories of what likely happened with Mitchell-Hedges and the Mayan descendents who showed him the cave that contained crystal skulls.
Jaramillo entered the system at least once after that. On that occasion, he saw a library consisting of thousands of large, metal books stacked on shelves, each with an average weight of about 45 pounds, each page impressed from one side with ideographs, geometric designs, and written inscriptions. There was a second library, consisting of small, hard, smooth, translucent—what seemed to be crystal—tablets, grooved with parallel channels, stacked on sloping shelves of trestled units covered in gold leaf. There were zoomorphic and human statues (some on heavy column plinths), metal bars of different shapes, and sealed “doors”—possibly tombs—covered in mixtures of colored, semiprecious stones. There was a large sarcophagus, sculpted from a hard, translucent material, containing the gold-leafed skeleton of a large human being. In short, an incredible treasure.
On one occasion, Jaramillo took down seven books from the shelves to study them, but their weight prevented him from replacing them. This also meant that they were too heavy to remove from the library and reveal to the world. Jaramillo never produced any physical evidence for his claims, which may explain why he wanted to live in the shadows of this story. He had seen it with his own eyes, but would anyone else believe it?
Hall did ask him why he never took photographs: “He said that it would not prove anything,” Hall told me. Still, Jaramillo stated that he had left his initials in these seven books so that, if the library were ever discovered, it could be proved that it was he who had entered it.
Jaramillo and Hall wanted to combine forces to see whether the Metal Library could be opened: One knew the location, and the other had a proven track record of organizing proper expeditions. First, contact with various ambassadors and politicians was established; then the scientific community was brought in. The plan was for Jaramillo to lead the team to the site, where they would remain for a period of three to four months (during the dry season), cataloguing the contents of the site and guaranteeing that nothing went missing. Everything would remain in situ. A report with recommendations would be the only outcome of this expedition, which would involve UNESCO.
Then, in 1995, Peruvian jets bombed an Ecuadorian military base and the project had its first setback.
In 1997, Hall used a major anthropology conference to promote the idea of his expedition. Six anthropologists came to meet him, interested in what he was trying to accomplish. But that same year, Ecuador’s political regime changed (in Hall’s opinion, for the worse); Hall felt that his family could not live in the new political reality, so he moved back to Scotland with them. Nevertheless, planning for the expedition continued. But in 1998, the expedition had a major setback: Hall received by telephone the sad news from the mother of Petronio Jaramillo that he had been assassinated. Was he murdered because of the plans that were in motion? Life in South America is cheap, as anyone who has visited or lived there knows, and that day Jaramillo was carrying a large amount of money on him. He was killed in a street robbery, close to his home. Random violence stopped one of the world’s biggest discoveries dead in its tracks.
Now, Moricz and Jaramillo had both died, and Hall was in his 60s. Would he go it alone and claim the Metal Library for himself? Hall wasn’t a treasure-seeker, but he knew that the region was a veritable El Dorado, with gold everywhere; the roads are quite literally paved with it. It’s possible that the library books are made out of gold—though Jaramillo never spoke of gold but of “metal” (in fact, it seems copper was an ingredient, as Jaramillo had seen a green color on the books)—but in any case there is more gold outside the library than inside. In fact, the reason Moricz was in the region in the first place was because he held extensive gold concessions; his interest in the library was not for its monetary value but for its historic importance.
Though Moricz was not one of them, various treasure hunters did try to open the cave throughout the years. One of them, Count Pino Turolla, made contact with Jaramillo in the 1960s through the same channels that later brought Moricz to him. Turolla was obsessed with Edgar Cayce’s theory of a Hall of Records, which the American prophet claimed resided under the Sphinx at Giza. He claimed there were other such halls, each containing evidence of the existence of Atlantis, elsewhere in the world. For Turolla, the Metal Library would be absolute proof of Cayce’s prophecies. But Turolla’s attitude prevented he and Jaramillo from getting along. Turolla pressed Jaramillo for details that the latter was simply unwilling to offer, so Turolla opted to search around the Cueva de los Tayos and came up empty-handed.
One active Indiana Jones–type today is Stan Grist, who knew Juan Moricz as well as his confidante, Zoltan Czellar, also a good friend of Hall. In 2005, Grist wrote: “As I write these words, I am in negotiations with the native Shuars who live near the Cueva de los Tayos, whose permission is necessary to enter and explore the area of the caves. I plan to mount an expedition in the coming months to search for the secret entrance to the cave from which the alleged metallic library can be accessed. Many people have entered the cave by the well-known, vertical entrance near the top of the mountain. However, I calculate that it is nearly impossible or is impossible to reach the metallic library through this well-known entrance. The secret entrance is only accessed from underwater!”8 When I confronted Hall with Grist’s opinion, he said, “Jaramillo always said that the entrance was under the river. But that river is not near the Tayos Cave. That river i
s the Pastaza River.”
Though Hall never learned the location from Petronio Jaramillo himself, after Jaramillo’s death in May 1998, Hall organized a trip with Mario Petronio, Jaramillo’s son, in which they combined their knowledge about the site. The trip had to be abandoned before “point zero” could be reached. In May 2000, Hall returned. He said, “When we were preparing the expedition in the 1990s, whenever diving equipment was discussed as a necessity Petronio would say that even though [the entrance to the cave] was under the river, it did not mean we would get wet.” Hall showed me aerial maps, pointing out a bend in the river that meets a fault line, which is known to open up into a cave system that runs for several miles. His suggestion is that the fault line opened up the underground network, which someone at some stage in the distant past then discovered and used as a place to install the Metal Library. Hall had visited this location and deduced that it fit Jaramillo’s description perfectly.
So, what happened next? When Hall was 68, he decided that he more than likely would not see this story come to its conclusion. So, on January 17, 2005, Hall informed the Ecuadorian government of the location of a cave that fits Jaramillo’s description, and that he hopes will one day become the focus of an expedition. That location is at 77° 47’ 34” west and 1° 56’ 00” south. GoogleEarth brings you very close and can satisfy any initial curiosity—but knowing the location doesn’t mean it will be easy to find! Hall thinks it will take decades or a paradigm shift before people can work together in a manner that will result in a successful expedition. He argues that the 1976 expedition only succeeded because a military regime was in power; “a democratic bureaucracy will swamp the expedition before it crosses any swampy river,” he said. What is required, Hall felt, is a sense of cooperation and openness. Stan died in September 2008.
The Ancient Alien Question Page 16
