Travel
The New Mex Files
Did a flying saucer and its cosmic crew crash-land near Roswell fifty years ago? This month, terrestrial tourists can entertain that alien notion.
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Half of the museum’s visitors move slowly through the displays, savoring every word; others snicker and roll their eyes. One wall enumerates the myriad explanations given then and now for the Roswell sighting: practical joke, optical illusion, meteorological or electrical phenomenon, fireworks, gossamer spiderwebs reflecting the sunlight, enemy spy mission, top-secret high-tech aircraft from one of the many nearby military installations. In the 1994 Showtime movie Roswell—for sale at the museum, along with numerous other videos (many of which are regularly screened)—the sheriff theorizes that the incident is merely “some sort of cowboy humor.”
The New Mex Files subhead: Did a flying saucer and its cosmic crew crash-land near Roswell fifty years ago? This month, terrestrial tourists can entertain that alien notion. summary: The New Mex Files Did a flying saucer really crash-land in a field outside Roswell fifty years ago this month? The truth is out there; find out for yourself. by Anne Dingus
Humor—cowboy or not—is universal here. A favorite photo op for visitors is posing with the silver-painted wooden sculpture of a cute little alien (named RALF—for “Roswell Alien Life Form”—by a local third grader). Adding to the el cheapo surrealism is a plethora of posters from popular sci-fi hits—Star Wars, E.T.: The Extraterrestrial, 2001: A Space Odyssey, Independence Day. (The museum’s sense of humor is shared by the rest of the town. Alien heads top the mannequins in dress shops along Main Street. A mural in the window of the Ginsberg Music Company features the Pleiadians, an alien rock band. Alongside handicapped parking spaces at the Roswell Inn are signs for “Alien Parking Only”—which are frequently abducted by souvenir hunters. Locals’ return addresses often close with “Earth, Milky Way Galaxy.”) And the gift shop is a white-trash wonderland, purveying mementos such as alien-head golf club covers; refrigerator magnets of Kokopelli, the flute player of Native American lore, with huge black alien eyes; and a stunning assortment of extraterrestrial earrings, from dangly versions combining coyotes, saguaros, and spaceships to futuristic studs created of “burnt-out shards found at an undisclosed UFO crash site.” But by far the preferred souvenirs—some 50,000 sold, at $3 a pop—are replicas of the Roswell Daily Record’s front pages for July 8 and 9, 1947: RAAF Captures Flying Saucer on Ranch in Roswell Region and General Ramey Empties Roswell Saucer.
The museum includes not only a library of ufology texts but also a resident field investigator from the Mutual UFO Network (MUFON), the best-known group of its kind. Dennis Balthaser, a former highway engineer for the Texas Department of Transportation, gave up a lucrative consulting business to work full-time as a combined tour guide, alien scholar, and weirdo magnet. He is fervent in his belief that life exists beyond Earth and that a UFO crashed in Roswell. “I can’t tell you for certain what happened here, and I won’t lie to you,” he says. “But we do know that something happened in Roswell in 1947 that the government is still trying to cover up.”
Balthaser’s favorite exhibit is a tableau of props from the movie Roswell, in which a faux alien lies dying on a military hospital gurney. (In fact, the now-standard depiction of extraterrestrials with exaggerated skulls and attenuated limbs sprang from the alleged Roswell prototype.) A chuckling Balthaser makes sure visitors don’t miss the adjacent display: a page from the September 1996 issue of Penthouse. The magazine paid a five-figure sum for several pictures of the cinematic spaceling, thinking they were proof of an actual E.B.E. (“extraterrestrial biological entity,” as any buff worth his moon dust knows).
Another tourist destination is the rugged piece of ranchland pinpointed by ufologists Kevin D. Randle and Donald R. Schmitt as the actual crash site. The property in question is on the Corn Ranch, a 15,000-acre spread owned by spouses Hub and Sheila Corn. When the Corn family acquired the land in 1976, they had heard of no sensational tales attached to its history. In the wake of Randle and Schmitt’s research, however, UFO enthusiasts and academics began pestering the Corns to let them visit. The couple cheerfully obliged until the trickle became a flood, at which point they began charging for the privilege—an astronomical $15 a head (to book a tour call 623-4043). For that sum they take groups down dirt roads and through locked gates to the rocky ridge where the craft supposedly smashed.
Sheila Corn seems an unlikely guide. The petite, pretty brunette is a far cry from the hippiesque star child one might expect. Loading up a quartet of visitors in her dust-covered Suburban (license plate: I BELIVE), she confesses that at first she balked at “UFO-ing,” as she terms it: “I didn’t want to be part of some scam.” But after a little checking, she and her husband deemed the claim solid enough (and they are careful to credit the two researchers by name). The site itself is unremarkable. Orange flags mark the spots where the craft and bodies were supposedly found. Aromatic creosote dots the canyon, vultures wheel overhead, and a few curious deer peek over the ridge, then skitter away. Nevertheless, a steady stream of the faithful reserve tours. This month the couple are renting buses to transport the daily crush of visitors and, for the first time, they are offering close-encounter seekers the chance to camp overnight at the crash site ($98 per couple, includes tents and cots; reservations required through Ticketmaster, 884-8810).
If overnight camping holds no appeal, visitors can still experience New Mexico’s awe-inspiring night sky at the Robert H. Goddard Planetarium (Eleventh and Main, 624-6744, $2 and $5). And even UFO phobes can have fun next door, where the ambitious art museum (free) also offers a pleasant reprieve from the summer sun. Permanent exhibits range from a vast collection of beaded Indian artifacts to the adept floral studies of Henriette Wyeth, who died in April; she and her late husband, Peter Hurd, worked in a San Patricio studio some fifty miles away.
Travelers, take note: The town’s many motels have long been booked solid for the week of the anniversary bash, but plenty of lodging is available for the rest of the summer. Good bets are the stately Sallyport Inn (2000 N. Main, 622-6430), adjacent to the handsome redbrick campus of the New Mexico Military Institute, and the Holiday Inn Express (2300 N. Main, 627-9900), a brand-new hotel with an ersatz adobe exterior. For general information and assistance, call Roswell UFO Encounter ’97 (800-295-7611) or the chamber of commerce (624-6860). As for dining, the fare runs largely to fast food and New Mex—Mex. A local favorite is Peppers Grill and Bar (500 N. Main, 623-1700), where the extensive menu showcases a variety of regional flavors, from Indian fried bread and tequila-lime chicken to pasta and burgers incorporating the state’s beloved (and potent) green chile. Another steady draw is Mario’s (200 E. Second, 623-1740), which offers standard American fare and bright menus bedecked with UFO art by schoolchildren. Be warned that, although nonsmoking areas are available, most Roswell businesses permit tobacco use indoors. A final bit of advice: During the day, use sunscreen—the rays are surprisingly fierce. At night, of course, the only light is that of the moon, the stars, and—according to locals—a persistent, flickering red-and-green glow.
And the government would have you think it’s only traffic lights.
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