ENCOUNTERS IN KANSAS, 1960'S . "The Grey Men"- Author's Personal Account. Marilyn A. Hudson

 THE AUTHOR’S ENCOUNTERS

ENCOUNTER: THE GREY MEN, 1960-62

[412 E. 4th Street, Wellington, Kansas; 1958-1959 (Prekindergarten), 1960-1961 (Kindergarten), Madison School; 1961-1962, 1st Grade, Madison School]

As fond as my memories of dawdling journey’s home with stops at friends’ houses or long ways home to avoid going home as long as possible and extending visiting and play time, there is one memory of coming home, however, has always been…different.

This memory has remained throughout my life as a strange image set apart from similar events of childhood. The separateness has always been a mystery. ‘Something’ about the memory has always had a feel of truth rather than fiction. Reality rather than a dream. A lucidity that is rare among other memories or events.

It is the twilight time of what seems to be a fall afternoon, the sun is lowering but it is not yet dark. The sky is overcast with a bright dove hued tone to the heavens. The scent of moist leaves and recent showers lingers in the cooling air.

I am wearing my favorite of two red sweaters. The buttons are small and I had trouble aligning them all the time. I had a keen love of the color red: red rubber boots before Kindergarten, red jumper dresses in Kindergarten, red wooden chair, and the red sweaters.

I also have a pair of red corduroy slacks because I am sometimes called a ‘tomboy.’ Tomboys are girls who climb trees and run. Girls play with dolls and wear fancy dresses. Since I do both of those I am a ‘tomboy.’

That is what I am doing that afternoon. Usually I am hurrying down that short street from the rail yards. I remember the feeling of running as fast as I could, skidding around the corner, and then hurrying home. I have done it a hundred times. 

As I turn that corner, this time, something is different. I am not running, not an all-out and joyous spurt, but I am hurrying very quickly. I am moving in slow motion but I am trying to get farther away from the things behind me.

It is as if I do not want to attract their attention. So I hurry but I do not run. I feel my heart beating very fast. I look up, drawn somehow, to the strange sky. I feel as if I am in a gray, silent, and very large box placed over the world. No sounds fill my ears but my own small gasp of breath.

I sense again the feeling of being in a case – a fish bowl – or snow globe. As if the sky has folded its wings down and all the inhabitants are the strange creatures moving so oddly and silently. I sense I am not alone. Someone is beside me, also hurrying, seeking home and safety. I do not know who though…

“They” are gray, pale, and “light” or near transparent because they give a sense of small size but also small density or mass. Their features, build and body detail are indistinct – the longer you look the harder it seems to be to see them or gain any details. There is merely a sense of dark eyes that see everything.  I try to look at them, but it is like my own eyes cannot find a purchase in those dark orbs or in that misty space.

So, I hurry on without running, a grotesque slow motion race.  As I move away, I swivel my head to check where they are, fearful of drawing more attention. I cannot stop myself and I keep looking over my shoulder.  They are back there, fluid movements that carry them toward me, until I reach the midway point of the block and almost make it to the familiar brown house…

There is nothing more. The memory halts there as firmly as an encounter with a brick wall. There is neither beginning or ending to this strange and hauntingly vivid memory of sixty years. All the decades this memory has had a place on my mental shelf that says with no words, “this is important – do not forget it.”

As I began the task of remembering and finally beginning to build a timeline and a chronology of my life I made several startling realizations.  One was that when I put events together a startling sense began to emerge.  Gaps I had unrecognized, blanks for which I had no answers, rose to the surface and had me frowning with puzzlement about how I could have not realized their lack all these years?

I believe that sometime around 1959 - 1961 something happened that resulted in the lingering memory of being chased by some very odd and strange creatures. I lived at 412 E. 4^th Street from pre-Kindergarten to end of school second grade matching those dates and the context of the memory/dream. During those dates at least three unidentified flying object events occurred in the region and some very close to where I lived.