Rather, it's about the aftermath--the lifetime impact Roswell has had on the families who were forced to live with the truth while accepting the government's account of the incident, then forced to face years of suppression and fear of reprisal from a government sworn to protect them.
Despite the government's best efforts to explain it away, after nearly 70 years, Roswell is a story that just won't disappear. Parents who were present during or immediately after the incident may have passed on, but their children know what happened‚ and have paid dearly for their knowledge. These are their stories. You will finally learn the truth about:
These are stories worth reading that force you to think about why the government would go to such lengths to keep these families quiet.
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About the Author
Thomas J. Carey has devoted significant portions of the last 16 years to proactively investigating the Roswell Incident, and has authored or coauthored more than 30 published articles on the subject. Carey has appeared on Larry King Live, Coast to-Coast AM with George Noory, and numerous other programs. He lives in Huntingdon Valley, Pennsylvania. Both authors were consultants for the Sci-Fi Channel--s documentary, The Roswell Crash.
Donald R. Schmitt is coauthor of two best-selling books on Roswell, one of which became the TV movie Roswell. He has appeared frequently on many TV programs including Oprah, CBS 48 Hours, and the Today Show as well as many radio shows. He resides in Hubertus, Wisconsin.
Read an Excerpt
"This Is Where Mack Found Something Else"
If we are to continue to believe the present scenario maintained by the U.S. Air Force, 48-year-old ranch foreman Mack Brazel, accompanied by his 8-year-old son, Vernon, discovered wreckage of a downed Mogul balloon train on Saturday, June 14, 1947. Far from impressed with the remnants of something quite prosaic in nature, he rode on and continued his routine chores. He would describe the debris as "large area of bright wreckage made up of rubber strips, tinfoil, a rather tough paper and sticks." Brazel, his wife, Margaret, Vernon, and his daughter, Bessie, would return to collect the material three weeks later on Friday, the Fourth of July. This sole account of events is based on a July 9, 1947, Roswell Daily Record front-page newspaper story and subsequent Project Mogul report from 1994. So we continue to be misled....
From all eyewitness accounts, this is precisely what chronologically happened. Based on newly discovered historical weather records from Stallion Army Air Field, New Mexico, a severe thunderstorm roared through the Corona, New Mexico, region late on the evening of Wednesday, July 2, 1947. Residents through the area reported the sound of an explosion between the thunder claps. The very next morning, Mack Brazel, inspecting the J.B. Foster ranch, came upon an expansive debris field about 8 miles south of the ranch house. Stepping down from his horse, he immediately observed that the scattering material was highly unusual and covered such a vast area that he also became concerned as to who was responsible to dispose of it. Over the next three days, Brazel alerted everyone he could to the unusual event and sought their advice as what to do about it. A few of his neighbors informed him about the recent flying saucer sightings and, according to everyone who handled samples from the debris field, this seemed like an outside possibility. And as the weathered rancher hopped into the old, run-down pickup truck to inform the authorities in Roswell, we're sure good-old Mack had little notion of how his entire life was about to change — as well as the lives of all those around him, especially a young boy they called "Dee," for it wasn't Vernon, Mack's son, who rode up with him onto that pasture with all of that strange wreckage, as was originally falsely reported by the press. In reality, it was 7-year-old Timothy "Dee" Proctor, the third son of his nearest neighbors, Floyd and Loretta Proctor.
Young Dee was no stranger to tending sheep and cattle. As many old- timers described early in our investigation, ranchers' sons are put in a saddle as soon as they are able to walk. Dee was no exception, and numerous neighbors confirmed that he spent summers and weekends riding the range with Brazel. At times, much to the consternation of the adults, his over-enthusiasm was often fearless, as he would ride out ahead on his own with nary a care of a rattlesnake or sinkhole down the trail. During the summer of 1947, there were no ranch hands hired to assist Brazel, but the little Proctor boy eagerly worked for a mere 25 cents per day.
Life in the Corona area was rough and dusty, and friends were separated by 10 miles and more. Ranch work was principally done on horseback, and the desert sun was unrelenting as it pounded a daily drumbeat on horse and rider. Most ranches had no electricity, no telephone service, and no running water. Still, the young "cowboys" were anxious for summer break from school so they could live out the adventures of the Old West they read about. But the tale of southwestern cow "boys" finding a flying saucer, that was a book yet to be written.
Brazel gathered a few pieces of the unknown metal and stuffed them in his saddlebag. He had promised the Proctors to have Dee home for the weekend holiday festivities, so the two of them headed to the neighboring ranch. Mack stepped down from his horse and handed his neighbors a small piece of the material. It was about 4 inches long, round, and as light as balsa wood. Loretta Proctor told us she "didn't know what the stuff was." It resembled plastic, "but it wasn't plastic." She described how her husband tried to whittle on it with his pocketknife and couldn't make a mark on it. Brazel himself held a match up to it to show that it wouldn't even turn black. As much as Brazel encouraged them to check out the site themselves, they declined. In 1989, Loretta told us, "We should have gone, but gas and tires were expensive then. We had our chores and it would have been 20 miles round trip." But their son had other plans.
All of that funny-looking metal was just out in the middle of nowhere for the taking. Brazel wanted someone to clear it up; he wouldn't miss a piece or two. And who would know if some obliging friends came along — something to do? After all, the annual rodeo down in Capitan wasn't until the next day.
Over the course of the next few days, while Brazel was hitting his head against the wall searching for answers, neighboring ranchers one-by-one made their way to the newest local attraction. Souvenirs were taken and hidden with the realization this was something special — out of the ordinary. Nevertheless, daily chores needed to be completed, even over a holiday weekend. Dee stopped by to help, but this time he had company. Their surnames were Wright, Edington, and Pierce; all were about the same age as Dee. Mack's son, Vernon, was also there when he made the ultimate discovery: a small craft of unknown origin, which had deposited a great amount of wreckage over that open arroyo, had a crew! Brazel would call them "poor unfortunate creatures." This was too much for any of them to comprehend. For the Proctor boy and his posse of young riders, the rope was about to tighten and pull them back down to earth.
Whatever Dee and the others saw back in July 1947, according to his mother, Loretta, "He was white as a ghost. He would never talk about it again." And then she added something that both the Air Force and earlier investigators got wrong. It wasn't Brazel's son, Vernon, who was with him when he first discovered the debris field. And Mack wasn't alone. "My son Dee was with old Mack when he found that thing. He was 7 back then," confessed Loretta. When first we had the opportunity to meet and ask Dee about the incident, he sounded quite agitated and remarked, "I wasn't even born back then!" which was quite a surprise to his mother. It immediately became evident that then-40-year-old Dee Proctor would be joining the ranks of our other reluctant witnesses. And he was willing to go so far as to make his own mother out to be a liar.
But Loretta was telling us the truth, and we can assure readers that we immediately realized that we had a potential witness who could answer all of the relevant questions about the entire affair — most importantly, were there indeed bodies? — an admission that would render any weather balloon explanation by the Air Force as totally irrelevant. Yet, the very same unknown powers who left a trail of fear and intimidation in the likes of Dee Proctor, later served as the same obstacle to us. Such was the lifetime of obfuscation imposed on Dee that he refused to speak with any members of his own family as well — including his mother and father. Whenever we sought help from his own siblings, they, too, lamented the same reaction they observed each and every time the subject came up: Dee would immediately change the subject or flee their very presence. We would meet with his brother Norris, not to mention his sisters Loretta and Alma. Traveling all the way to Great Falls, Montana, we even spoke with his uncle Robert Porter. None of them could share any information about Dee. He would have no part of any line of questioning from any of them about what happened back in 1947.
Dee had been married and divorced by the time we first were introduced to him at the original Proctor homestead in 1989. This was the same ranch house to which Mack Brazel returned the then-7-year-old boy back in 1947. As often as we would call, we were always told he wasn't there. On one occasion, we stopped by at Loretta Proctor's invitation in an attempt to get her son to talk. No sooner than we were invited into the front room, we heard the rear door slam. Within moments we observed Dee race his pickup down the driveway away from the house. "I guess he doesn't want to talk to you," his mother dejectedly said. One more time we stopped by, totally unannounced. Loretta was a bit uneasy and wasn't sure if her son was home or not. We couldn't help but notice Dee's truck parked out front. Just as the conversation couldn't have gotten any more awkward, who should walk into the room, still in a bathrobe for a late-morning breakfast, but our evasive fugitive, one Timothy Dee Proctor? Unfortunately for us, the moment he made eye contact with us, he reacted like a wanted criminal, quickly spun and hurriedly fled the room without muttering a word. "Now I know he doesn't want to talk to you," his mother smugly remarked. Failing again, we had to try other measures. He was too important to solving the case.
For months, we met with anyone around the Corona region we could find who knew anything about the crash. They all knew Dee. Although we learned more and more about the general atmosphere of what transpired in the summer of 1947, one overriding theme crept back to torment our efforts time and time again: Dee refused to talk about his involvement to anyone. We could find no exceptions. Oh yes, he was there with Mack Brazel. Oh yes, "he saw everything" as longtime neighbor Mary Ann Strickland commented, and "He won't ever talk to you," said everybody else. It was as though they all had given up on that notion themselves. What about his closest friends? It was becoming our experience that, in an attempt to protect their families, witnesses in sensitive situations often confide to outside individuals.
We enlisted Lincoln County Deputy Sheriff Lerry D. Bond and Magistrate Judge Gary McDaniel of Farmington, New Mexico. As close as they were to Dee, they remained totally in the dark. But each one tried repeatedly to pry the slightest tidbit from their friend. And just as we had, they finally concluded that he possessed a secret so dark, and so deep, that his fears of retaliation exceeded any fame or fortune. But we were patient and hoped at best for a slow trickle of the truth — a truth that only Dee kept locked away.
After his father, Floyd, had passed away in 1967, the rest of the family kept an eye on Dee. Through the years the demons took their toll as he took to the bottle more and more, and alcohol became his daily crutch. Dee ate to excess until his weight became a total hindrance to performing any ranch duties; he wouldn't enjoy riding a horse again for most of his adult life. His marriage was tumultuous and left him devoid of self-esteem. He would move in back home with Loretta and became more and more of a recluse. The carefree, adventurous little boy, who was forced to face a reality one only reads about in works of fiction, had long ago died. And what had robbed him back in 1947 of his innocent spirit was not anything from outer space. It had a very earthly origin.
Just imagine a scenario where there is a major breech of security: The military is forced to take immediate action against civilians, which in itself is a constitutional felony. Now, what if children are also involved? What type of a cold-hearted individual does one have to be to threaten innocent children with the possibility of never seeing their families again? Certainly, if the concern was just over exotic pieces of metal from a crashed aircraft, a firm, simple reminder that the "stuff's top secret, and it's your patriotic duty to keep your mouth shut," would suffice. What else did Dee Proctor, Mack Brazel, and the others see that required the most extreme measures to ensure their cooperation? What could a 7-year-old see that would force the government that is sworn to protect him to threaten him in the most boorish way for seeing something the government decided we shouldn't have seen then and still have yet to see today? What type of fear does one instill in a child, a child no different than one's own, and then walk away — no counseling, no gentle persuasion, no lifting of a lifetime of intimidation and fear? Remaining is a lasting image destroyed by grownups, who today commit the ultimate crime against the children of Roswell by still insisting that it was all over a weather balloon.
It would take a life-threatening situation involving Dee's mother, Loretta, to instigate a brief revelation. In 1994, a blood clot was discovered in Loretta's carotid artery inside her neck. As her doctor monitored her condition, the entire family was informed of the severity of the situation. Within a few days, Dee returned home. No sooner than he walked in the door, Dee announced to Loretta, "Mom, I need to take you someplace. I need to show you something." Maybe Dee felt it might be his last and only chance, but after coaxing Loretta a little longer, she finally agreed to get into his truck and see what he was so anxious for her to see.
All of the dirt roads they traveled brought back a lifetime of memories and, given her condition, the thought that it might be the last time momentarily crossed Loretta's mind. It appeared they were headed to the old Foster ranch, and as her son turned onto the old Hines Draw Road, just 3 miles from "ground zero" of the 1947 incident, Loretta seriously wondered if Dee would finally tell her — show her — the truth. But then a strange thing happened: Dee didn't make the turn onto the two-track horse trail to where the old windmill stood watch over that historic site. They kept going. They missed the turn as Loretta silently mused to herself, "Where is my boy taking me?"
Hines Draw Road is a graded, gravel county road serving all the surrounding ranches in the area. It twists and turns before coming to a fork. To the left leads to the old Foster ranch house. To the right is what is still called the "twin mills," where two windmills pump what little water there is hundreds of feet below the desert surface. Dee headed toward the sheep pen, stepped from the truck, unwrapped the chain securing the gate, and gasped for breath as he climbed back behind the steering wheel. After proceeding on seldom-used trails almost too faint to see, and 10 minutes more bouncing up and down on the stony trail, they came to another gate. From there they drove into the next pasture and past the first of two bluffs, before swinging around and up and over before coming to a stop above the second bluff. By that time Loretta was more confused than ever, yet she still hoped that Dee was about to make up for all those years of silence. Dee struggled as he helped Loretta down from the seat and stepped ahead of the vehicle. As they glanced out over the edge of the large rocky bluff, the wind picked up as they stood in the early spring sun. Dee then took her by the hand, looked her in the eyes, and said, "Mom, this is where Mack found something else." Not another word was said. Loretta had a dozen other questions. Nonetheless she cherished the all-too-cryptic confession. She knew exactly what her son meant. This was where he also found something else. And some of the weight he carried all those years had been lifted. It wasn't any weather balloon, she knew that to be true, and Dee just assured her of that fact. Peering off to the west along the horizon, they both could see the single windmill on the eastern edge of the debris field, a couple of miles away.
Some months later, after surgery had cleared up Loretta's condition and she was recovering, she directed us to the same location she and Dee had visited. Little did she know that we had been to the precise spot many times, beginning five years earlier. Juanita Sultemeier had described Army trucks with large spotlights driving down the "twin mills" trail at the time of the incident. Other ranchers had described going through the two gates and how, within that separate pasture, Mack Brazel, in the company of a group of young boys, had discovered some remains from the crash. Two local researchers in Roswell had also encouraged us to explore the talk about a secondary site a couple of miles from the wreckage field. Still, the one source that brought it all together and had taken us to precisely Dee's location was the then–ranch supervisor, Jeff Wells. Wells was of tremendous assistance to us during the first five years of our independent Roswell investigation. Not only did he know every rancher within the county, he also knew what roles they played among the other cast of characters. And from all that he could gather about 1947 in private discussions with those folks, he was able to take us to that same location — the secondary body site that, since that time, we have always respectfully referred to as the "Dee Proctor Site."(Continues…)
Excerpted from "The Children of Roswell"
Copyright © 2016 Thomas J. Carey and Donald R. Schmitt.
Excerpted by permission of Red Wheel/Weiser, LLC.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.
Table of Contents
Foreword Cheryll Jones 19
Introduction: Roswell in Perspective: The Human Response to an Extraordinary Event 27
Chapter 1 "This Is Where Mack Found Something Else" 47
Chapter 2 "I Never Saw My Father So Scared" 59
Chapter 3 "It Was Horrifying for My Family" 71
Chapter 4 "Take You Out Into the Desert, and They'll Never Find You" 85
Chapter 5 The Families Remember-The Ghosts Remain Silent 97
Chapter 6 An Officer and a Gentleman: Jesse Marcel, Jr. 113
Chapter 7 Nightmare in the Emergency Room 125
Chapter 8 Richards's Cave 133
Chapter 9 The Little Houdini Who Made a Flying Saucer Disappear 147
Chapter 10 Somebody's Watching You 157
Chapter 11 As the Air Force's Wooden Nose Grows 167
Chapter 12 A Roswell Favorite Son Makes Good, But Also Remembers 177
Chapter 13 "They Sure Weren't From Texas" 185
Chapter 14 The Disappearance of Vernon Brazel: The True Story 205
Chapter Notes 217
About the Authors 253