Millennial Hospitality V: The Greys

© 2013 by Charles James Hall. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

Although names of people and places have been disguised, everything in this book

is a true account of the personal experiences of Charles James Hall while serving as an enlisted airman in the U.S. Air Force during the mid 1960s.

Published by AuthorHouse 12/14/2012

ISBN: 978-1-4772-9787-2 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4772-9786-5 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-4772-9789-6 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2012923259

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Contents

The Greys

Foreword

Remembering Martha

It’s A Small World, After All

Lackland Rain Storm

Out Of The Frying Pan

The Southern Border

One, Two, Three

The Watchers

The Wind Coming Up The Road

In The Desert

Superstition

Suspicion

Embers

Every Form Of Refuge . . .

Into The Fire

Where To Lay His Head

Moments To Remember

Point Man

The Smart Hunter . . . Never Pursues

Postscript

Book Two

Disaster At Roswell

Introduction

July 1947

Grey Aliens

Grey Alien Bases

Grey Children’s Play Areas

Grey Children’S Equipment

Major Limitations Of Alien Children’s Scout Craft

Alien Children Go Out To Play

Project Mogul Balloons

First Alien Scout Craft Crash Roswell, 1947

Alien Parent’s Desperate Search

Unprotected, Double Craft, Wide Area Search Pattern

P-80 Jet Fighter

Top Cover Protected Search Pattern

Fatal Radio Communication

Panic And Disaster

Credible Updates

Appendix A

A Technical Discussion Of The Double-Hulled Alien Scout Craft Design And The Many Coils Of Optical Fibers

Appendix B Ml-307B Rawin Radar Reflector

Bibliography

About The Author

Dedicated to the greater glory of God

Who created All, Extraterrestrials included.

Foreword

When Charles began telling me of his two separate TDYs among the Grays, I reminded him, I’d heard him say, the Grays were not at Indian Springs, and he never wanted to meet them. My question, and that of readers who heard him as well, would be: Why the contradiction? Why write about them now?

While Charles had an up close and personal relationship with the Tall Whites, he was never as close to the Grays. The place he was sent for these TDYs, is even more closely guarded by the military than Indian Springs. Nervous as Charles was, when writing about the Tall Whites, he was even more cautious, as he considered writing about his experiences among the Grays.

The time is drawing very near, when all will know, extraterrestrials are real, and, are here. There remains no compelling reason, not to write about Charles’ terrifying and unique experiences, while serving our country in the mid-sixties. Therefore, it is with great pleasure that we present Millennial Hospitality V, The Grays. Seeking Truth in all things, is a worthy life-long quest. In the meantime, there are many people who are being bothered by the Grays. We believe, they in particular, may find comfort in reading this book.

In late 2005, Charles & I were able to pursue our dream of traveling to Italy. While in Rome, we left a presentation of Millennial Hospitality series for Pope Benedict, along with a letter, explaining, disclaimers aside, everything in the books was true, and happened to Charles. To our pleasure and surprise, we received a letter from the Vatican, dated February 16, 2006, from the Secretary of the Vatican state, as directed by His Holiness Pope Benedict XVI, acknowledging the letter and the books, as well as his appreciation for the sentiments expressed in the letter. It is interesting to note, there was an article in L’OSSERVATORE ROMANO, in 2008, stating, it was perfectly all right for people to believe in extraterrestrials.

As always, our books are dedicated to the greater honor and glory of God, who created all, extraterrestrials included.

Marie Therese Hall

Veterans Day, 2012

Remembering Martha

Then the wolf

shall be a guest of the lamb,

and the leopard

shall lie down with the kid

The cow and the bear

shall be neighbors,

. . . Isaiah 11:6,7

It was early afternoon in the summer of 1950. The well kept fields of fully grown hay, ripening corn, recently harvested oats, densely forested woods and hills and pastures that comprised my grandfather’s two dairy farms, lay serene, majestic, and idyllic in the warm Wisconsin summer sun. The 430 acres or so of my grandfather’s two farms, along with the neighboring 200 or so additional acres he sometimes rented, on the edge of the little town of Fitchburg Corners south of Madison, seemed like a little Garden of Eden, lost in time. To me, my father and his father before him—to all of us, it was home—a near perfect Wisconsin paradise. None of us realized that one day the State of Wisconsin would declare our little town of Fitchburg Corners to be a State Heritage Site and seek to preserve it—to keep it looking forever just the way it was on that beautiful summer day.

My father worked the smaller of the two farms and helped his father and his two younger brothers work the larger, along with the additional rented farmland. That day my father was helping his father and his brothers bring in the harvest of newly baled hay. He, my Grandfather, and I were alone together, down in the large hay field by the marsh on the big farm. We were waiting for one of my uncles to return with more empty wagons. I was five years old that summer. I would be starting first grade down at Maple Corners school in the fall.

Pa, you should see how smart my son Jim is, my father said proudly to his father. He’s already taught himself how to read. I taught him a little. I got him started. He just seemed to set his mind to it and then he did it, all by himself!"

My Grandfather didn’t appear to be particularly impressed. Jim? Is that what you’re calling him these days? he gruffly responded.

Yes, said my father proudly. Because his name is Charles just like mine, we decided to use his middle name as a nickname, so everyone could keep us straight.

That will just confuse him, replied my Grandfather sternly. After a while, he will forget his name is Charles. You should have named him Jess, after me, like I told you. Hell, the way you’re raising him, soon he won’t even know what his name is.

But you should see him and how quickly he learns, replied my father proudly. I wanted him named after me because he is so intelligent.

My Grandfather eyed me slowly for a bit.

He don’t look that bright to me, stated my Grandfather with a final, impatient tone in his voice. Then patting me on the top of my head, he stated forcefully, Jimmy boy, you better get in the habit of learning from others. Watch the other men around you and see how they do things. Then do just like they do. Don’t go getting any big ideas of your own. You ain’t that bright. Every day of your life, you better get up in the morning, look around, and say to yourself, ‘Today I need to learn something from others.’ Then my Grandfather stomped away up the field towards my uncle, the oncoming tractor, and the returning empty hay wagons.

A few days later, I was over at the big farm standing outside the screen door on the front porch. It was another lazy summer day. I had decided it would still be a few hours before the usual afternoon thunderstorms developed, so I had walked barefoot over from the little farm by myself. I wanted to play with my older sister, Martha. She was alone inside my grandmother’s kitchen, cleaning up after the noon meal. Martha, I spoke to her quietly. I thought I would come and play with you. We could play with your dolls on the back porch, or under the apple trees in the orchard the way you like.

I would love to, Jimmy, she answered quietly. But I have a lot of work to do. I have to finish doing the dishes and cleaning these aluminum cooking pans. Then I have to clean up the floor and everything else in the kitchen.

I’ll help you, I responded. Quietly, I opened the screen door and went inside. Together Martha and I finished washing the dishes. Then we cleaned the cooking pans, and cleaned the top of the wood burning cook stove that my Grandmother used for all of her cooking. The two of us were laughing together as we washed off the top of the kitchen table. I began mopping the floor while she began cleaning the kitchen cupboards. Suddenly, without warning, one of our aunts came into the room. She was one of my father’s younger sisters. She was very angry with us. Jimmy! she exclaimed. What are you doing here? These are Martha’s chores. And Martha! What are you doing letting Jimmy help you clean the kitchen? He should be back up at the little farm helping his father. Jimmy is already turning into a sissy. You’re just making him worse!

Then my aunt sternly ordered me outside, slamming the inner door behind me. As she was doing so, Martha was saying, Come back when I finish my chores, Jimmy, we can play together then.

I waited outside in the fields and pastures for the rest of the afternoon, but Martha never came out. Her chores never seemed to end. Later, as I was walking back home in the late afternoon rain, I noticed that through it all, my aunt had seemed afraid of me. Through it all, she had never once laid a hand on me.

I spent the next few days playing by myself on the smaller of my Grandfather’s two farms. I was playing along the western line fence, next to the road that passed by the front of the farm. The road was known as Adam’s road. After passing by our farm, the road continued west. past the 200 acres of land owned by two unmarried sisters. It also passed by the large 250 acre gentleman’s farm owned by the Adams, for whom the road was named. Adam’s farm was located diagonally across the road to the northwest of our farm. The sister’s land was on the same side of the road as our farm. My grandfather usually rented more than 400 acres of land from those two neighbors. He would have bought either one or both of the farms, if either had been willing to sell. The sisters had inherited their land, and the Will had forbidden them to ever sell it. As for the Adams farm, my grandfather told me there was little point in asking. My grandfather said he could still remember the cold snowy January night when their only child, a son, had died. The Adams were both wonderful people. Their many riches only allowed them to turn the huge wooded area just over the hills in the back, where my grandfather said their son had played, into a secluded, park-like place. They now spent many warm summer evenings walking alone—sometimes singing quietly to the Lord with tears in their eyes—sometimes walking silently in prayer. Their wealth couldn’t bring back their son. I enjoyed playing in the park-like place, and the Adams seemed to enjoy seeing me playing where their son used to play.

The sister’s land was just across the line fence from where I was playing on this day. The sister’s owned perhaps a thousand acres scattered over a wide area. Their land next to ours contained only a few corn cribs for buildings. Consequently, no-one actually lived on their land next to us. Their line fences were usually in poor condition.

For many years Adam’s road had been a narrow tree-lined gravel road that passed through an unusually large grove of huge, impressively beautiful, ancient oak trees. The road had just recently been widened and paved. In order to widen the road, against my father’s wishes, the highway department had chopped down most of the large oak trees and hauled them to the dump to be burned. Only a dozen or so oak trees remained, along with a large number of ancient stumps. The stumps sat open and exposed along the western line fence, and along the new fence which ran alongside the newly paved road. I was teaching myself to count to one thousand by counting the tree rings on the exposed tree stumps. Although most oak trees live only 400 years or so, these trees appeared even older. Cutting them down seemed a terrible waste, and my parents were particularly disappointed when they disposed of the wood. We could have used it in our wood stove for many years.

A day or so later, my father and I were finishing the noon meal at my Grandparent’s house on the big farm. One of my uncles was with us. The four of us were otherwise alone in my Grandmother’s kitchen. Pa, began my father forcefully, I want to talk to you and Ma about my daughter Martha.

My Grandmother appeared to become very nervous. Should we do it in front of Jimmy, here? she asked. Then she turned to my uncle and said, Take Jimmy outside and feed the goats. He spends so much time playing alone in the woods and fields, he needs to start doing things with others. Charlie never puts him to work. I’ve even seen him playing out in the fields and woods alone at night, hours after his bedtime. He doesn’t seem to be afraid of anything, even the darkness. He’s getting older now. It’s time he started doing more work around the farms.

Yes, Ma, replied my uncle. He got up from the table and headed towards the front door. Come with me, Jimmy. We’ll feed the goats. We just got them last week. Have you ever fed a billy goat?

No, I answered, as I got up from the table and followed my uncle outside.

We crossed the wide northern side of the large loop made by the gravel driveway. Then we headed slightly downhill across the grass in the center, towards the pump house where the small flock of goats were grazing. The goats were running loose and were not fenced in. You need to get some goat pellets from the feed bag just inside the machine shed over there. stated my uncle. There’s a pail next to the bag. Go get a large pail full of goat feed.

Yes, I answered. I continued walking on across the narrower southern part of the driveway. Reaching the end of the first long machine shed, I entered its darkened interior through the already open doors. Several large bags of goat pellets were sitting inside, and one of them was open. I took the pail that was sitting next to one of the bags and filled it, probably three quarters full. That made it about as heavy as I could carry. Then, with pail in hand, I headed back across the driveway to where my uncle was waiting.

Good job, Jimmy, laughed my uncle. Now go feed it to the goats. Start with the Billy goat. Just take a handful, walk right up to him from the front so he doesn’t kick you, and feed it to him.

Leaving the pail with my uncle, I took a big handful of goat pellets. Holding the handful out in front of me, I slowly approached the Billy goat. I stopped when I was still perhaps 20 feet from him. He continued grazing and didn’t appear to notice me.

Don’t be afraid, exclaimed my uncle. Just walk right up to him and feed him.

He’ll see me in a few minutes, I responded. He’ll smell the food and start looking around. Then he’ll see me here and come over to where I am. It’s a lot safer for me if I feed him that way.

Oh, dam-mit! exclaimed my uncle. You’ll never get anything done! Sometimes, you drive me right up a wall! You can’t waste your life waiting on animals! Just go right out there and take charge of him. Be the boss for a change! How’s he going to eat if you don’t feed him?

But Billy Goats are smart animals, I stammered. He knows how to eat and how to protect himself. He’ll come over and eat out of my hand when he gets hungry. It wouldn’t be safe for me to surprise him.

Swearing more oaths, my uncle exclaimed forcefully, I see what ma says. Your father isn’t raising you right. You’re about as worthless as teats on a boar hog! He grabbed the pail, stood up straight, and stomped over to where I stood. He forcefully took the goat pellets from my outstretched hand. Then he shouted, You’re so bull headed, you can’t even be disciplined, can you?! You can’t even be shouted at or sworn at! Calling you names is just a waste of my time, isn’t it?! I haven’t even hurt your feelings, have I?! You’re not even crying or a damn thing, are you?! Shouting like this, I’ll bet I would have all of your cousins crying by now! You’re just going to monkey around and do things your way even if it was to kill you, aren’t you?! And if I was ever to lay a hand on you or spank you the way you deserve, your father would kill me, wouldn’t he?!

Before I could answer, he continued shouting, Just go play alone, out in the damn woods where all the other kids are afraid to play. Go play out there, the way you always want to. It’s all you’re good for! The apples are starting to ripen on those two trees you like to play in, back behind the hills in the corner of the big pasture. I’ll finish feeding the goats myself!

Without saying anything more, I stepped away from my uncle and, skipping as I left, I took off to play in the apple trees.

A few weeks passed. It was morning, just after breakfast, and the beginning of another glorious Wisconsin summer day. My father had just finished washing down the milk house on the smaller of my grandfather’s farms where we lived. The 38 dairy cows had already been turned out to pasture. My father seemed unusually lost in thought. Over breakfast he told me intently to stay close by him. He needed me for something, he said. After he finished, he strode down into the basement of the barn where the stanchions for the cows stood. Going up to a hiding place between the stone foundation and the heavy wooden beams supporting the barn, with a practiced hand he took out his 22 caliber rifle and probably 35 shells. He carefully unwrapped the well-kept rifle, checked it, and then carefully loaded it with live ammunition. He put the rest of the shells in his pockets. Turning to me, he said coolly, Come with me, Jimmy my boy. Today we are going to get your sister Martha.

Yes, Dad. I responded.

Together he and I set out walking out of the barn, down the driveway, and down Adams road, towards my grandfather’s big farm, a mile and a half distant, to the north and east of us.

You see, my older sister Martha, didn’t live with us. She lived on the big farm with my father’s parents. They had taken her from my parent’s care when she was barely two years old and had steadfastly refused to give her back. I had not been told the details at the time.

My father and I walked in almost total silence. My father was lost in deep thought. In a short while, we reached the beginning of the big farmland that my grandfather owned. We turned off the country road and began walking north, through the back lane, the pastures and the woods, towards the barn on the big farm. We would be approaching the barn unseen from the back, from its western side. All my father would say to me was, No matter what happens, Jimmy, take your sister Martha by the hand and take her home. Always stay beside her and help her. Promise me you’ll do that for the rest of your life, no matter what happens.

Yes, Dad. I promise. I will always stand by Martha. I solemnly responded.

My grandfather was alone in the empty barn when my father and I, unannounced, walked in on him. The cows had been turned out to pasture and he was sweeping the floor with a large barn broom. Looking up at the two of us, my grandfather said, Hello, Charlie. I see you brought Jimmy with you. What are you doing carrying a rifle? Is the gun loaded?

Yes, Pa, answered my father sternly. It’s loaded. I’ve come to take my little girl Martha back home with me.

Then my aunt, one of my father’s sisters, came out of the attached milk house and into the barn. What’s going on? she asked surprised.

My grandfather turned to his daughter and said forcefully, Get up to the house and get Martha. Have her pack some of her things in a bag and get her down here as fast as you can. Charlie has come to take her home. Hurry, dam-mit! We don’t have all day!!

My aunt, seeing that my father was carrying a gun, turned immediately and left the barn. Through the open barn doors she could be seen hurrying up towards the big house. My grandfather, speaking slowly and calmly to my father, said, Let’s walk out to the driveway. We’ll get some fresh air, while we’re waiting for your sister to bring Martha.

Then, as the three of us were walking outside to the large circular driveway, he said to my father, You know none of this was ever my idea. I have always told your mother that Martha belongs back home with you.

My father, for his part, didn’t say anything. He seemed unimpressed. Instead he took up a strategic position across the driveway on its southern side, 50 feet away or so, where he had a clear field of fire. He motioned for me to fall back to his right and down the driveway a ways, next to one of the machine sheds that also bordered the southern side of the driveway.

In a very short time, my grandmother came out of the house holding Martha by the hand. My aunt came with her. My grandmother and my aunt hurried across the gravel driveway with Martha in hand, until all three of them were standing next to my grandfather. They all stood facing us across the driveway. What’s this all about, Jess? my grandmother asked my grandfather, anxiously.

Charlie has come for Martha. answered my grandfather slowly. Do you have some of her clothes and things with you? We can bring the rest later.

My grandmother immediately became very agitated. Charlie? What are you doing with that gun? It isn’t loaded, isn’t it? You’re not going to take Martha back to that drafty old house of yours are you? she began earnestly.

She’s my daughter! responded my father in anger and bitterness. She belongs with me and her brother Jim here.

But she’ll die up there when winter comes, my grandmother continued, the emotion showing in her voice. She can’t take the cold like you and Jimmy can. She’ll get pneumonia or a cold again. Here she has her own room. It’s upstairs and warm. It’s heated by a coal furnace. Your drafty old house is only heated by a wood stove! It’s never warm!

Martha is my daughter! screamed my father in rage. She should be up with us, playing with Jim. They’re brother and sister. They should be sharing their childhood together. It’s not right that she is growing up over here with you.

She was dying when we brought her over here. shouted my grandmother. We didn’t take her from you! She was only two and she was dying from the whooping cough. You didn’t know what to do. You had given up on her. That was 8 years ago. Don’t you remember? Have you forgotten already? You wouldn’t even have her if it wasn’t for us! We’re the ones keeping her alive!

My father hesitated for a minute. Then tears of love and anger began to form in his eyes.

My grandmother continued shouting at him, What will she do for an education up where you are? Here she’s doing so well in school now. She’s getting all A’s. Why ruin that? Here with us she’ll get to go to college when she grows up. You’re poor. You don’t have any money. If she’s up there with you, what are you going to be able to do for her?

My father began trying to choke back his tears and his rage.

My grandmother continued, now in a softer tone. If you leave her here with us, we promise to send her out to play with Jimmy whenever he comes over. We won’t make her keep working like we did the other day, when Jimmy was over. We’ll let the two children play together as much as they want. We’ll even let Jimmy help her with her chores if he wants. We promise to send her to college when she finishes high school. We promise to make you very proud of her!

My father, now starting to shed tears openly, asked Martha, Are you happy here, honey? Are they treating you right? Do you want to come home with me?

No, father, replied Martha shyly. I’m happy here. I have a nice room and everyone is treating me all right. I just want more time to play with Jimmy.

My father now broke down completely. I love you, Martha. he choked out. Then he turned to his left and, shedding tears and crying openly, he stumbled sadly back towards the woods and pastures behind the barn. The rest of us just stood, frozen in silence. After a time had passed, I could see my father as he disappeared in the distance into the neighbor’s woods and fields and pastures. He was crying openly in grief and despair. He obviously wanted to be alone.

My grandfather, grandmother, aunt, and Martha, all remained standing across the driveway, directly facing me while I alone, remained standing, facing them. After a while, still facing me, my grandfather spoke sternly to my grandmother and my aunt, "Be certain you always keep Martha happy. Be certain you always keep your promise