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〃I think they were trying to prove something to me； Mary；〃 I answered slowly。 〃I'm sure they didn't mean you any harm。〃
As I replaced the receiver I thought to myself： they're doing it； they're turning this old boy into a raving paranoiac。
The phone rang again。 I picked it up wearily。
Beep； beep； beep； beep。
17 … Even the Bedouins Hate Their Telephone pany
I。
Every phone call from Ivan Sanderson in New Jersey was an adventure in electronic lunacy。 Weird whistles； static； beeps； and loud clicks like an extension being slammed down； haunted his line。 Often we were cut off suddenly in the middle of a conversation。 Sanderson's involvement in UFOs was strictly periphery。 He was primarily a biologist and zoologist and earned a good part of his living writing animal encyclopedias。 A tall； thin； handsome Britisher in his mid…fifties； Ivan was an electrifying personality。 In his younger days he was familiar to television viewers as the animal expert on the old Garry Moore show； and even had his own program on NBC for a number of years。
In 1967； Ivan was under a great strain。 Alma； his wife of thirty years； was terminally ill。 Like all authors； he had constant financial problems。 That summer he was feeling ill。 Once he took to his bed and sweated profusely for forty…eight hours。 And he confided to me that he had suffered a two…day siege with the cosmic clap； （＋） the symptoms disappearing as suddenly and mysteriously as they began。
＇*＇ 〃Everybody hates the telephone pany。 Even the Bedouins hate their telephone pany。〃 Line from the 1967 movie The President's Analyst。
＇＋＇ Male UFO witnesses sometimes develop a temporary set of symptoms resembling gonorrhea。
One day Jane called me with a message for 〃the man with skinny arms who wears dresses。〃 Very few people knew that Ivan lounged around his farm in a skirtlike garment popular in Indonesia。 The message suggested that he should take a certain kind of vitamin supplement。 I passed this on to him and a few days later he called to tell me that he felt 〃100 percent better〃 as soon as he started the vitamin regimen。
That fall a woman connected with the air force and the Colorado University UFO project arranged to spend a weekend on Ivan's farm to go through his UFO flies； which extended all the way back to the 1940s。 She drove up from Washington； D。C。； and when she arrived at his out…of…the…way farm on a narrow back road she was excited and nervous。 While driving up the New Jersey turnpike she became aware of a panel truck following her。 When she turned off the turnpike onto the country roads that would take her to Ivan's； the truck turned off and continued to follow her。
She stopped at a gas station and the truck pulled in behind her。 The driver got out and approached her。 He appeared very normal； she said； but his coveralls were very neatly pressed and his shoes were highly shined。
〃I've been watching your tires；〃 he told her。 〃I think there's a bad lump on one of your rear tires。〃
She looked but could see nothing wrong。 The gas station attendant came out and the man got back into his truck and drove off。 The lady continued her drive； following Ivan's plicated instructions…his farm was not easy to find…until she came to a small restaurant and decided to stop for a snack。 The moment she stepped out of her car the man in coveralls reappeared。
〃I'd really better have a look at that tire；〃 he announced。 Before she could protest； he crawled under the rear of her car。 After fussing underneath the vehicle for two or three minutes he crawled back out。
〃I guess it will be okay；〃 he told her。 〃Where are you going？〃
〃Not far from here；〃 she answered。 Unnerved； she decided to forego the snack； jumped back into her car； and continued on to Ivan's。
As soon as Ivan heard the story he picked up his phone and called me。 I snapped on my tape recorder and suggested that he should go out and look under the woman's car while I talked to her about the incident。 She outlined the story to me； then Ivan came back on the line very excited。
〃Listen； Keel；〃 he began breathlessly。 〃There's some stuff on the bottom of her gas tank。 Three big globs of it； placed in a very neat triangle； all equal distances apart。〃
When he described the 〃globs〃 to me a chill ran down my spine。 He seemed to be describing a material I had handled in basic training when the army was hopelessly trying to turn me into a trained killer。
〃It sounds like plastic explosive to me； Ivan；〃 I declared。 〃Maybe you'd better call the police。〃
Ivan did just that。 The police came out and carried away the substance。 It proved to be an ordinary； harmless； puttylike material。 The woman； who had a phenomenal memory； was able to recall the sign on the side of the truck which named an appliance pany and a nearby town。 But a police check failed to find any such pany in that town。
The strangest part of this episode was my tape recording of our conversation that afternoon。 We had an excellent connection with none of the usual interference。 Ivan's voice on the tape came through loud and clear。 But each time the woman spoke to me on the same phone and same line there was heavy static on the tape drowning out her voice pletely！ Yet we did not hear any static at all while we were talking。
Later Ivan theorized that the putty had been used to hold wires forming the antenna to a small electronic homing device。 The man in the panel truck had gone to elaborate lengths to remove the device； Ivan speculated。
After this incident I began to have more problems with recording phone conversations。 Whenever a contactee or mystery voice would call； the tape would just contain static。 I switched to another； better recorder but the problem persisted。 Even portions of conversations with Mary Hyre were drowned in static when she was discussing some of the more mysterious events in Point Pleasant。 Somebody was not only able to manipulate my phone but also my tape recorder！ （*）
＇*＇ Dr。 Berthold Schwarz； a deputy police officer in Pennsylvania； and several other investigators have had similar problems with their tape recorders。 Even former President Nixon had trouble with his tape recorder。
II
After many freakish phone conversations and exchanges of letters to nonexistent addresses； I had a definite date for the big December 〃EM effect。〃 It was scheduled for December 15。 By this time Mr。 Apol had assumed a definite personality。 He was as real to me as Cold was to Derenberger； although I would never meet him。 I studied his psychology； his quick temper； his mischievous sense of humor。 I argued with him on the phone； sometimes for two or three hours at a stretch。 And I felt sorry for him。 It became apparent that he really did not know who or what he was。 He was a prisoner of our time frame。 He often confused the past with the future。 I gathered that he and all his fellow entities found themselves transported backward and forward in time involuntarily； playing out their little games because they were programed to do so； living…or existing…only so long as they could feed off the energy and minds of mediums and contactees。 I could ask him any kind of obscure…question and receive an instant and accurate answer； perhaps because my own mind was being tapped just like my telephone。 Where was my mother's father born？ Cameron Mills； New York； of course。 Where had I misplaced my stopwatch？ Look in the shoebox in the upper right…hand corner of the bedroom closet （it was there）。
On the weekend of October 7…8； 1967； my phone stopped ringing。 My contactees and their friends did not call。 The sudden silence was unnerving。 But on Monday the ninth； they all began to check in； and they all told me identical stories。 They recalled nothing except brief glimpses of some kind of hospital。 Shirley said she went to sleep Thursday night and did not wake up again until Monday morning。 Her baby was in his crib； happy and well cared for。 Nothing in her house was disturbed。 She mentioned that her feet were sore and her legs ached as if she had done a lot of walking。 All she could remember was visiting a large structure made of red glass。 Jane； too； remembered a red…glass building filled with strange beings in white coats； like doctors； who were examining lines of earth people； all of whom moved like robots apparently in a drugged state。
Beneath all the hallucinatory nonsense I could now perceive the roots of many of the ufological legends。 A surprising number of contactees were orphans and through them the whole 〃hybrid〃 concept was launched。 They were told that their parentage was a cross between terrestrial and extraterrestrial； that slowly more and more earthly women were being impregnated by spacemen and eventually the whole planet would be populated with a hybrid race。 Some of the games I was involved in were obviously designed to convince me of the reality of this crossbreeding experiment。 But I knew it was just an updated version of the