Close Encounters of the Intimate Kind - Ellis B. Martin

When you're a six year old boy in Upstate New York during 1961, remarkable  happenings don’t typically get categorized as out of the ordinary. You do the best that  you can to fit them into your the memories of your youth. You simply don’t have the  wherewithal as a child to put a name to a particular experience that by adult standards  could be called outrageous. There are no references for abnormalities in the realm of a  child’s point of view. Things are what they are from that limited perspective. A child  knows only toys. A visit from an alien creature may as well be have been a visit from  Mr. Potato Head. Going to a medical laboratory in the middle of the night for a skin  scraping and/or graft by friendly lab technicians in white smocks or coats certainly  doesn’t mean you were abducted by extraterrestrials. Or does it? A child remembers  these incidents as a normal part of his youth? Right? Little boys are suppose to be  given night enemas as part of some sort of health regimen. Cleanses should begin  around the age of 6.  

A six year old in 1961 has a much smaller inner and outer world than one in the  beginning of the third decade of the 21st century. I had 3 networks of black and white  TV and two independent stations, all out of New York City. It was Dennis the Menace,  Lassie, My Three Sons and if I was up late enough, the Tonight Show with Jack Paar.  There were no sci-fi shows or movies that i recall watching. I had no idea what a UFO  was, or an alien or anything other than my toy laser gun which had a blinking red light,  the leaves I played in outside and a toy peddle car made out of cast iron or metal or  some such heavy substance that I‘d roll around in..I had a fascination with automobiles  as I do now. I recall that we had a 1958 Anglia or what was called an English Ford.  That was traded for a 1959 Ford Fairlane Wagon or a Country Squire…which eventually  became a 1960 Chrysler 300F (a rare car today). I knew cars and filling stations as we  called gas stations at the time. There was not much more to life in the early 1960s for  me or any of us kids. So if anything out of the usual occurred, there was not any  reason necessarily to question why…..you’d just except it as part of the 2 dimensional  world this era was. There was no place to put these occurrences. They would stay  with me for the rest of my life. But I had to break them down into events I could label  coherently. They were poignant but easy to explain in my mind. I eventually grew into  what they may have actually been.  

We lived in a 2 bedroom, two story Victorian style home on Stage Road in Monroe, New  York. We’d been there about 3 years or so at the time..having moved up the river from  Brooklyn, NY. It was a small home and my sister and I shared a bedroom upstairs with  our parents’ room on the other side of the floor past the staircase. One bathroom. Two  bedrooms.  Early September 1961. I recall the time period because it was just as I was entering the  first grade in the Monroe Woodbury School System. The follow up to this first event  happened in school as we were beginning what I guess you would call the fall semester.  It was night and I was face down in my bed when bright lights lit up my everything. I  literally saw nothing but light. I was not moving. I didn’t try to move. Something  metallic slid without being painful high up into my rear end. A liquid sort of flush  occurred. Liquid into me, and an extraction out. The best I can describe it was as if i  was getting an instant enema. That’s how I remembered that event. It existed in the  night. I was not afraid. Whatever had happened, why wouldn’t it be some new normal in  my house. .I awoke the next day and began drawing Mr. Potato Heads in black pencil  on about three pads of paper. One sheet after another, the same figure.  

If you’re not familiar with what a Mr. Potato Head looks like. It’s a vertical elongated  potato shaped head with large eyes. I drew most likely a hundred of them on three  separate pads, bringing them to my new first grade class. I asked the teacher if I could  pass them out, not just to my class, but the other classes as well. Is this a normal  activity for a boy in 1961. While my teacher allowed me to do so, she then contacted  my parents to tell them that I was developmentally handicapped in her opinion. Of  course my parents ignored that remark and this became a non-issue. Except I still  remember it to this day. i remember taking a sharp pencil and drawing these figures  one after another on three pads, sharpening the pencil as I continued to draw. One  right after another, for no apparent reason other than I just had to do it.  

There were other occurrences back in 1961 that seemed perhaps as if they might be  part of a normal child’s experiences. But how could they be?  What child is spirited  away in the middle of the night to be examined in a lab setting by technicians wearing  white coats? This happened, not just once but on several occasions to me. In one  instance my skin was seemingly grafted or sampled. It’s hard to remember exactly  what happened. But it seemed normal and I was not afraid. The “doctor” was pleasant.  But why was skin grafted into my knee? What other tests were performed in the middle  of the night? Where exactly was this friendly lab? It looked spotless, with white shiny  floors, exceedingly clean in appearance. Metal examination tables. I arrived at a  laboratory for an examination. Were my parents with me? It seemed like my father  was. It felt safe, but I can’t remember if they were near. We never discussed any of  this?  Why, it seemed so normal why would I ever bring it up? This was merely part of  any boy’s childhood, right? Until I became an adult and I realized it was not. But what  could it be? What had happened to me? There was no reference in life that provided  an explanation for these events, good or bad.  

It was only as an adult that I would question any of this. What I questioned the most  was the need for me to have “enemas” as a small child. I asked my mother about this  win 2005, when I was 50 and she 77. “Mom, why did I get an enema when I was six?”  “We didn’t give you any enemas. I don’t know what you’re talking about” she replied.  “What about the trips to the lab in the middle of the night?” I asked. “I have no idea  what you’re talking about.”  My mother, of course, had her own out of the ordinary experiences. In my mind they  were so ludicrous when she shared them with me that I chose not to believe them at the  time. Now, I just don’t know.  

In 1987 my mother, living in Albuquerque, New Mexico claimed to have been abducted  through the walls of her apartment every other night for two years to an “alien  spaceship” by the “grays”. She was taken to a ship where there were hybrid embryos.  She claimed they had her DNA in them. For two years this was supposed to have  happened. I didn’t believe any of it. From 1985 until 1987. In 2011 I had arranged for  my mom to be interviewed in Albuquerque by Linda Moulton Howe who was very  interested in learning more about this. Mom declined the interview. It seems she’d only  decided to tell me about it and resented that I had discussed it with anyone.  

I should add that after the two year period of claimed abductions by my mother, she  began painting images on canvas of Nativity and Crucifixion scenes with Jesus in every  painting. There were five of these paintings. She claimed it was directly related to her  experiences in the ship.