"Twentieth Century Times" had been conceived as a monthly publication but lack of interest resulted with the first issue being the only one published by Angelucci. The previous blog article presented an excerpt from "Twentieth Century Times" that described Angelucci's first contact experience, which had occurred during the early morning hours of May 24, 1952. What follows is how the second contact experience was described in the same source.
As an introductory note, the reader should understand that Angelucci's wife was manager of the snack bar at the Los Feliz Drive-In Theatre and he regularly assisted her there. Her brother owned the drive-in and had also built nearby the residential complex where the Angelucci family lived. Curiously, Angelucci commented that in July: "Now, for the first time, he felt he could write spontaneously, from pure memory, unlimited revelations in a manner nearly professional." Furthermore: "The month of July turned its half-way mark, and from that point is history written with us forever. The skies seemed to open with a barrage of continuous aerial displays, and many people became convinced of interplanetary visitations, excitedly expecting a landing or some contact. Others attributed the phenomena to fulfillment soon of Spiritual Prophecies, while others to harbingers of woeful events. And there were even those who cared not one way or the other."
On July 23, 1952, Orfeo failed to report for work. He just did not feel up to it. At 8:30 in the evening he walked from his house to the snack bar of the drive-in theater. He felt relieved in company. The young women attendants were speaking of flying saucers, and how their husbands would like to see even one.
Orfeo joined in the conversation, which eventually turned to a humorous and lampooning slant. There was laughter. Laughter which for him would soon come to an abrupt end. Yet, for a short while he had joined the multitudes, normal people, and saw things in their light. Then he finished a cup of coffee and started back for home, to retire for the night.
This theater has two screens, facing opposite ways, and the walk took him through the empty side facing southeast. At the other end is a lonely spot, where the Glendale Boulevard and Hyperion Avenue bridge spans overhead.
Half-way through the lot Orfeo felt his upper chest and throat well-up and relax rather pleasantly, and seemingly in control by someone else, something. But there was not the slightest sense of pain nor impending doom. At once a voice, coming from his own vocal cords, reprimanded, citing shame on him, vet in a musical aria, said, "O-Hee-O." It was loud, smooth, gentle, and suggested a latent talent.
He smiled it off to himself; nevertheless his thoughts went immediately to the recent events, the superior beings, and eternity.
At the end of the lot he opened the corrugated metal gate and closed it again behind him. He was now alone, with the overhead concrete bridge ahead. Beyond that, so close, yet soon to be so far, the eleven unit apartments, where he resided. Here he would soon be asleep.
There seemed to be a hazy, misty obstruction between him and the arch of the bridge just ahead. It was barely visible. It was like a reproduction of a ghostly Eskimo igloo, but so transparent it hardly seemed real, so like a half-bubble of soap, with the bottom curving outward, much like a turtle.
Almost at once a section seemed to become dark and spread out, as an inverted cone. The interior, now translucent and more real was revealed. As if in a trance, Orfeo walked to the aperture, hesitated a split second, and knew there was no alternative but to enter.
There was no sign of life, nor sound. All the recent events became realities in his consciousness again. Once more this was the only world that actually existed. Come in, be at home with people he knew but saw not.
A pearly, comfort chair on the far side cozily suggested he sit here; come home. It was a pearly interior, all pearl, shimmering and tending to recede from view constantly; this dome-like, utterly empty room.
He sat down, feeling very secure and comfortable, as though he had done this before. But what would happen now? Was it perhaps to meet someone "well known" to him? How could he be so self-confident in such a situation; developing so smoothly in less time than it takes to tell it?
As he sat there the wall itself seemed noiselessly to expand and close the aperture where he had just entered, closing toward the left.
Orfeo felt completely cut off from his family and friends. Yet he felt secure, and in the hands of friends who could overcome any situation for him, and who had purposes to all that they undertook.
All sound was now shut off. The pearly interior allowed a trickle of light here and there, giving the inside a twilight, satisfying glow. He felt engulfed by a pure and esthetic environment superb.
A low vibrant hum, more felt than heard, took on a crescendo and he felt gently "pushed" against the comfortable chair; pushed by every inch of his body, as though his body were pushing backward beyond any control on his part.
The interior became dark, as though some great shadow engulfed the entire dome. The floor seemed as solid as if it were the ground itself, vibrating deep, hidden currents of the earth, in a gentle, constant flow. The sensation of push against the chair by his body did not increase. But neither did it cease.
Reason began to take form, and a grip of fear was beginning to overpower him, when an orchestration, of one of his favorite songs gradually arose. It was "Fools Rush In" where angels fear to tread; an exact transcription of the Voices of Walter Schuman. The strains had an orienting effect on Orfeo, for it lent a thread of association. Memories returned to him in a conglomerate sensibility.
Soon the interior lighted up softly again. Orfeo noticed how his soiled work clothes, which he was wearing, stood in bold and ugly relief in this exquisiteness. He felt that his entire body and soul were equally unfit to be privileged such divine, visual, realistic a dream.
He felt so well and comfortable that he gave but scant thought to the possibility of the air diminishing, or becoming toxic. He gave little thought to anything, but the developing of things at hand. The soothing music played on ethereally as his body seemed to push back on the chair perpetually. His thoughts were not of the past, nor of his wife, sons, or other relatives, but of the immediate present - and minutes ahead.
The musical rendition neared its end. What then? Was he to spend an eternity in this pearly igloo? The body now seemed to gradually relax its backward push against the seat, until it ceased.
At the same time the music came to an end. The smooth vibration of the floor also slackened some, but this did not stop completely. It was surely evident that some motive power was housed somewhere in the floor. Orfeo thought of the incident on Forest Lawn Drive, and that perhaps he was carried there again, to continue the "dream" to a more tangible comprehension. There was complete quiet, and fear was impossible under the circumstances.
"Then something turned smoothly, [two words unreadable] chair or the craft, and came to rest when his position was about a quarter circle from his previous position.
Again an inverted cone aperture spread until it was approximately six feet wide at the base. This had spread from left to right. The sight revealed was one of awe. A tremendous, brilliant rainbow haloed around a huge mass of darkness.
Again the crystal craft or the seat turned to the left, and a new aperture appeared, slightly to the right of the first, adding about three more feet to the base of the previous opening.
His head and eyes became tense. There was a return of the now familiar symptoms, and the dark mass became lighter, a beautiful twilight of blue intensity. The full circle of rainbow was now in view, except a bit at the bottom, which was obstructed by the floor line. A sight defying description this was: the whole earth stood before him. The whole mass seemed to shimmer, in spite of the dark hue. And the Western Hemisphere of the globe was discernible. Indeed, the radiant rainbow was the scope of our atmosphere.
For a moment Orfeo suspected that he was dying; that all this was the final upheaval and billowing away of life. Yet it was constant and sustained, a phenomenon that would not be to an ebbing life.
THE TRANSFORMATION
Furthermore, there were none but normal physical sensations, except the faint but familiar symptoms, and memories of associated events of recent days vividly conscious.
In all this a voice arose-the voice superb.
"Beloved Friend, see your home, Earth. Is it not a bosom of peace and beauty? You would not be concerned from here. What occurs there is the concern of them only-and you."
For many years Orfeo had been unable to come to tears. But at this point they came from an overwhelming swell of emotion that seemed to purify and cleanse; transforming him from a hardened reasoner into a more feeling individual.
"Weep, Orfeo, for we join you at this moment."
There was a slow turning to the right, until the earth was removed from the scene. At the aperture there was now a teeming mass of stars-seemingly so close that they might be but a few feet distant. Large and small, single and clustered, red and amber, and many hues. It seemed that at any moment one would suffocate in this closeness; this fairyland luminescence.
Eyes still wet, Orfeo thought Expert hands were behind all this, and would see him safe even beyond and above their own safety. Meteors were nowhere seen or evident. In all this setting his immutable awareness of the Supreme God dawned to comfort him. Could God at this moment be conscious of these incomprehensible events? Would God for even a fleeting moment center attention on so insignificant a living being? After all, Orfeo had learned that even every hair of everyone were counted and pre-ordained, and each atom and molecule was registered and pre-destined. God seemed so close and so active here, yet concerned with all else but him. He felt secure.
"Just then, a huge ship, like a dirigible came emerging from the right. It ignored the stars and bodies "in its path" and proceeded forward. It seemed that the stars and bodies gave way without moving to its progress. It was indeed as a large dirigible, but flattened at the bottom.
It is difficult to conclude as to the actual material of its structure. It appeared to be metallic, yet could very likely be of a crystal-metal-plastic composition. Its light control properties definitely suggested perfect crystal alloyed throughout. To all appearances the size of the craft was not less than 900 feet long, and at least 90 feet high.
As he pondered this "close-in" universe, and the elegant ship, the voice spoke again. It was now accompanied by music that could have originated from all space, from every remote recess of space. In full view was this half-ethereal ship, and it suggested that all sound and action emanated from its interior.
"Brother of a man. Ask no longer why we have chosen you. Each is divinely created. But a child shall lead, and the meek are strong; dirt is clean, and sickness as but a gem. Atheism is a frigid end; hypocrisy an unseen venom. All is one; bad, good; evil, holy; past, future. You are on one side or the other, always. We know where you stand. Why, Beloved Friend, are you apathetic and Inactive? You, a chosen one. Who is so mildly cosmic; you, so expendable. Is your life a flash away as nothing?"
"No! Please, no. I am not such a one who cares not. My very life is yours. I beg to see you, Neptune, or Orion. Give me health, and there is nothing I cannot accomplish for you. Do this. Let me forever feel as I feel now. Ask the Almighty this in my behalf."
But the ship began to move leftward, and upward. One porthole after another opened in rapid flash successions as it ascended, until three complete flights, as decks, became radiant from indirect lighting, with only pearly bits of an interior showing. Nothing more.
At the bottom, two large rotors, one near each end of the great craft, revealed themselves: deep, radiant green color emanating from both rotors. How well Orfeo remembered their identical forms on lonely Forest Lawn Drive. His own craft began a leftward turning. Again the tremendous rainbow came in view, and the earth within it. Puffs of faint light dotted the earth, cities in the night.
Suddenly three "flying saucers" darted from nowhere, and sped forward, coming to rest in fixed positions. At once it was apparent that these positions would be Capernaum, Moscow and Washington. And from the one at Washington flew out two more; one coming to rest over Rio de Janeiro, the other over Los Angeles. The one at Los Angeles gave birth to another, which settled over Tokyo. Six beautiful discs, with green main centers, and amber light halo fringes. The scene was one that mythology would blush to dare contrive up. There came no sound from anywhere. All was quiet as could be.
In this solitude and glory Orfeo formed his own conclusions, his own befogged interpretations, with a power not of his control. All the crystal discs and their placements seemed to indell a message easily decipherable, telling more history than all our compiled data.
Los Angeles. Oddly he felt that he had been there before, not too long ago. That he had left that city a little more than half an hour before was not in his recollection. And at once, by some remote control, all the crystal discs sped away into invisibility; except two: one at the point of Capernaum, the other at Los Angeles. And the grand voice returned:
"The road you have explored for your own satisfaction has opened. Widen it as it will be widened for you. Strain to think. Nature of Infinite Entities must be fully developed. The enemy does not wait. Dream on. But act-act, Orfeo."
"I will."
"A privilege divine has been yours. A power shall be yours."
"Thank you."
"We love your home. Find it interesting, and also love it for what you now know."
The crystal disc at Los Angeles went the course of the others. There was only the one at Capernaum, and the smaller aperture on the right of the craft began to close noiselessly, as the velvet voice resumed.
"Home, beloved, tortured one. Home, Orfeo. And yet one question remains in you; dreamer-doubter. We know. You ask if the Star of Bethlehem was. Now you know. It was-it never extinguished.
The large aperture closed rapidly. Again his body seemed to push delightfully against the back of the seat. And the strains of the Lord's Prayer, as we know it, filled the dome. In this magnificent setting Orfeo felt as a worm of a human being; dirty, unkempt, and sinful in the fullest sense.
Ah, indeed! He was chosen because he was the most expendable; the most useless in the eyes of destiny, not the most loved. Yet these beings spoke as though they loved him deeply. How much must they love the others?
The strains of the Lord's Prayer seemed to wash away these unhappy reflections of the conscience as rapidly as they arose. Through the strains the voice spoke:
"Beloved friend, we baptize you by all the spectral forces we know."
A white beam flashed through the pearly wall of the dome craft and seared Orfeo just above the stomach and below the left breast. There was a flashing pain: then partial oblivion, in which he could only remember the musical ensemble.
The prayer ended, but a new strain of countless violins seemed to envelop all space, while all the past events flashed vividly in his remaining consciousness, in every fiber of the body. This was like Eternity itself. It would be a blessing if he could remain in such a catalepsy forever, he felt.
Gradually the music subsided and equally he seemed to wake from the half-sleep. The push of his body against the back of the seat also eased. Again there was a turning, apparently back to the original position. Then quiet and still, but for the soft vibration of the floor. The wall again opened in the same inverted cone shape. There were the environs of the theater grounds, as though he had never moved from the position when the craft had left.
"Goodnight."
These were the last words from the voice. Orfeo knew he must leave: reluctantly, slowly, from this "home." He walked out and circled to the right of it, and for an instant his glance had left the craft. As he looked for it again it was now in the air, as a faint half-bubble, hardly visible. Suddenly it was not there at all. He looked for even a sign of it; and then a "flying saucer" appeared in the northeast sky, a red disc turning instantly to deep green, and soared off into seeming eternity.
He felt an urge to go to the snack bar just ahead, and talk with someone. But talk of what? How could he make sense? Home was the best place; to sleep, a fitful, restless sleep this night. It did not dawn then that he was never again to know peace and rest from the no man's land between two worlds.
Tormented throughout the night he rolled and tossed in actual pain, and the brain burning with feverish visions. By late next morning these had subsided into but shadow residues of sensations, now centered on the left side of the chest in a localized burn-itch. As he scratched this the baptismal words rang clearly in mind. But this was a new day, alive with a reality now alien to him. Yet the personal experience of only last night were even more alien in a way.
He reflected as he rubbed the sore spot, "Bunk! All Bunk!" But he was already a changed human being, literally transformed, the "flying discs" becoming the only things that he knew of."Angelucci described in "Twentieth Century Times" briefly having met the communicator heard during the first two contact experiences, along with an incident where he heard the voice say, "Farewell, beloved friend." Angelucci explained that on the following day he obtained paper and began to write: "All he wrote, except some details so fantastic and incredible that he decided to keep them to himself, and do not appear herein." Apparently, these occurrences were related in "The Secret of the Saucers". Future blog articles will continue to consider the reports of Angelucci and other 'contactees' whose testimonials present many compelling parallels, including subtle ones such as the 'proverbs.'
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