a prospector. But he noticed the man's long, shoulder-length, sandy-colored hair, his dark skin, his Oriental features and his ski-pant type trousers. He was puzzled.
Then it came into his mind like a flash, he was looking at a person from some other world!
Through mental pictures, sign language, and a few words of English, Adamski found out the man was from Venus, he was friendly, and that they (the Venusians) were worried about radiation from our atomic bombs.
They talked. George pointed to his camera but the man from Venus politely refused to be photographed. Adamski pleaded to go into the "ship" to see how it operated but the Venusian refused this, too.
They talked some more--of spaceships and of solar systems--before Adamski walked with his new found friend to the saucer and saw the Venusian off into space.
At this point Adamski recalled how he had glanced up in the sky to see the air full of military aircraft.
Needless to say, the rest of Adamski's party, who had supposedly seen the "contact" from a mile away, were excited. They rushed up to him and it was then that they noticed the footprints.
Plainly imprinted in the desert sand were curious markings made by ridges on the soles of the Venusian's shoes.
At the urging of the crowd in the restaurant Adamski took an old shoe box out from under the counter. One of his party, that day, had just happened to have some plaster of paris and the shoe box contained plaster casts of shoe prints with strange, hieroglyphic- like symbols on the soles. No one in the restaurant asked how the weight of a mere man could make such sharp imprints in the dry, coarse desert sand.
Next he showed the sworn statements of the witnesses and the crowd moved in around him for a better look.
As I left he was graciously filling people in on more details and the cash register was merrily ringing up saucer picture sales.
I didn't write the trip off as a complete loss, the weather in California was beautiful.
Adamski held the UFO spotlight for some time.
The Venusians paid him another visit, this time at the restaurant, and he photographed their "ship." This, whether by Venusian fate or design, increased the flow of traffic to the restaurant at the base of Mt. Palomar.
It also had its side effects.
An astronomer from the observatory that houses the world famous 200- inch telescope on top of Mt. Palomar told me: "I hate to admit it but the number of week end visitors has picked up here. People drive down to hear George and decide that since they're down here they might as well come up and see our establishment."
But George Adamski didn't hold the front center of the stage for long. In rapid succession others stepped forward and hesitantly admitted that they too had been contacted.
Truman Bethurum, a journeyman mechanic of Redondo Beach, California, was next up.
Actually, he admitted, he had been the first earthman to talk to a person from another world. Back on the night of July 26, 1952, four months before Adamski, a group of eight or ten, short, olive-skinned men with black wavy hair, had awakened him while he was asleep in a truck in the desert near Mormon Flats, Nevada.
These little men, unlike Adamski's, spoke any language.
"You name it," they'd quipped to Bethurum, "we speak it."
In a newspaper article that was voted "Best Read of 1953," Bethurum told how the little men he met had been more cooperative and had actually taken him into their saucer, a huge job 300 feet in diameter and 16 feet high.
Once inside, Bethurum had met the captain of the "scow"--a true leader of men. Aura Rhanes was her name and she was a Venus de Milo with arms and warm blood. "When she spoke her words rhymed." They chatted and Bethurum learned that he was on the "Admiral's scow" the command ship of Clarion's fleet of saucers.
All in all, Bethurum made eleven visits to Aura's scow. Each time they'd sit and talk. Bethurum told her about the earth and she told of the idyllic, Shangri-La type planet of Clarion--a yet undiscovered planet which is always opposite the moon.
But before too long, both Truman Bethurum and George Adamski had to move over. Daniel Fry, an engineer, stepped in.
At a press conference to kick off the International Saucer Convention in Los Angeles, Fry told how he had not only contacted the spacemen two years before Adamski and Bethurum, he had actually ridden in a flying saucer.
It had all started on the night of July 4, 1950, when engineer Fry was temporarily employed at White Sands Proving Ground in New Mexico.
It was a hot night, and with nothing else to do, Fry decided to take a walk across the desert. He hadn't traveled far when he saw a bluish light hovering over