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Updated: July 14, 2025
My seat partner must have noticed that I was reading the story of the meteor because he commented that a friend of his, the man who had brought him to the airport, had seen it. We talked about the meteor. This led to a discussion of other odd happenings and left a perfect opening for him to bring up the Lubbock Lights. He asked me if I'd heard about them.
They had been watching the balloon off and on for about an hour when one of the group saw two tiny specks on the horizon, off to the northwest. He pointed them out to the others because two airplanes were expected into the airport, and he thought that these might be the airplanes.
About midmorning on this date a TWA airliner was coming in to land at the Dayton Municipal Airport. As the pilot circled to get into the traffic pattern, he and his copilot saw a bright light hovering off to the southeast. The pilot called the tower operators at the airport to tell them about the light, but before he could say anything, the tower operators told him they were looking at it too.
There was no indication that he'd surprised a gang of illegal turtle butcherers, smugglers, or bootleggers. There was no indication of marsh gas or swamp fire. The mysterious blue lights in the area turned out to be a farmer arc-welding at night. The other flying saucers were the landing lights of airplanes landing at a nearby airport.
They ran in great leaps. Impossible leaps. Monstrous leaps. A man might run like that on the moon, with a lesser gravity. A creature accustomed to much greater gravity might run like that on Earth. But it would not be human. It got away. There was a waiting car. They got into it. They pulled out from the airport with other cars close before and behind.
The stratoliner made the trip across the Atlantic in a little less than three hours; it took half an hour more by Overshoot from the airport to the heart of London. Somehow, from Cavour's few autobiographical notes, Alan had pictured London as a musty old town, picturesque, reeking of medieval history. He couldn't have been more wrong. Sleek towers of plastic and concrete greeted him.
Feeling like a national martyr because I planned to work all night if necessary, I laid the course of my investigation. I would go to Washington National Airport, Andrews AFB, airlines offices, the weather bureau, and a half dozen other places scattered all over the capital city.
"At least, not an airport ..." He suddenly stopped in his tracks. "SEE! I told you so!" shouted Graham with obvious delight as he ran forward. "Home sweet home, here I come!" "Not so fast!" warned Telly. "Not so fast! It has to be a trick. Maybe the Wicked Witch has created an illusion and ... and it's really her castle...." But Graham was already out of earshot.
"Yes," she said. "But the buses are good. You can get out, go around the island." "I will. I'm going to try and look up family I've never met." "Where do they live?" Oliver had found a listing for Kenso Nakano in a phone book at the airport. "Alewa Heights," he said. She laughed. "Ah LEV Ah . . . That's the real Hawaii." "Look at that!"
On Wednesday, a version of Aloha Oe poured down from invisible airport speakers. Joe placed a pikake and ginger lei around Alison's neck. "I love that song," he said, pulling away. "Even Muzak can't ruin it. Did you know it was written by Queen Liliuokalani? Can you imagine any of our politicians leaving anything as good?" "Joe, will you come see me in Wisconsin? You'd like it.
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