The Roswell Files
I always tell people my family landed in Roswell, just to get a laugh. I think the whole subject of families is hysterical. LIke they say, it’s nice you can pick your friends. If I had to pick my family, I’m afraid my dad and I would have changed our name.
My grandfather left Gol Norway, headed for his family in Canada. They were there, I just don’t know when they left or how they got there. I’m assuming because they have some sort of “thing” going, that they left on Viking ships with Eric the Red. My dad doesn’t have a birth certificate and I checked, there are no records that I can find.
I went way back to Norway and found a few tag-a-longs. My half brother went to Norway looking for something, but never found it. So when I say they eventually landed in Roswell, I mean it. They really did show up in Roswell around 1900.
They were building the railroads south from Denver, and needed some big Viking types to foreman the project. My grandfather took his young family down to Denver, and then to Las Vegas NM. His sister apparently came along for the ride. She married a rancher and moved to Roswell. Then my grandfather was in a railroad accident and died, and my father went to live with his aunt in Roswell. She made him sleep in the barn with the horses, and that stuck for the rest of his life. He took me to Roswell one time when I was in high school.
They had a huge house, all the relatives showed up, I didn’t know one of them. They had some interest in a military base – and typical like my family, everything is hush hush. My father was anxious to leave.
So if my family buried a flying saucer out there somewhere, I certainly don’t know where it is. You would have to ask them. I know my half brother certainly spent a lot of time flying in and out of the place. He was the superintendent of schools for a while.
My other half brother in Witchita wasn’t talking either. He passed away at 70. Let’s put it like this, if my half brother walked up to you in Roswell, you would want a photo. I will tell you something however, don’t worry. If there were any little green men in New Mexico, I would have seen them by now. I spent enough time criss-crossing New Mexico, going to Las Vegas, Santa Fe, and along Route 66 – not one little green man.
They have a spaceport on the I-25. You figure it out. I know my dad had a strict rule about not driving the deserts at night. When people asked him, he would say, “you’ll hit a cow stupid.”
Who knows where we are from? We just tell everybody we’re from Norway.