Aboard a Flying Saucer the Adventures of Two 'Kidnapped' Humans

Read from the scan by GLM-OCR; expect the odd misread word.

Approved For Release 2001/04/02 : CIA-RDP81R00560R000100010003-8

# ABOARD A FLYING SAUCER

# The adventures of two "kidnapped" humans

Nightmares and crippling anxiety drove Betty and Barney Hill to the office of Dr. Benjamin Simon, the distinguished Boston psychiatrist and neurologist. During World War II, Dr. Simon was Chief of Neuropsychiatry and Executive Officer at Mason General Hospital, the Army's chief psychiatric center. He had extensive experience and remarkable success with hypnosis in the treatment of many psychiatric disorders among military personnel.

The Hills were deeply disturbed by the haunting memory of an incident that occurred several years before, outside the village of Lancaster, N.H. They were plagued by a nagging feeling that "something more" they could not recall had occurred. Fearing ridicule and scorn, they had kept their experience relatively secret until the strain began to affect them physically and emotionally.

Dr. Simon accepted them as patients. During the months that followed, the Hills began—under individual psychotherapy, including periods of time regression under hypnosis—to relive their "adventure," which proved more terrifying than either of them consciously recalled. Their words were recorded on tape, and their words are transcribed here, with some of Dr. Simon's analysis and comment.

A Boston newspaper, in a series of articles, had disclosed Dr. Simon's participation in the Hills' case. The doctor says, "I never saw the reporter, refused to be interviewed by him, or to discuss the case with him, which he acknowledged in the articles. Nevertheless, I felt that mentioning me in these articles could cause me to become identified with certain statements and conclusions by the reporter about the Hills' experiences, with which I strongly disagree." The Hills, who had also refused to be interviewed, were "considerably distressed by the articles" and asked Dr. Simon to release the tapes to John G. Fuller so that an authentic version of their story might be told.

"I decided," says Dr. Simon, "that the emotional health of the Hills would best be served by releasing the tapes, provided I would have complete approval of their use and of any medical data: an insurance that the records would be used accurately and not detrimentally to my patients."

Some readers will find the Hills' account incredible. Others will find the story vivid and persuasive. Neither Dr. Simon nor Mr. and Mrs. Hill will state that their "adventure" cannot be

challenged; but neither has Dr. Simon an incontrovertible assessment to discredit the Hills' alleged "abduction."

After seven months of psychotherapy and hypnosis, Dr. Simon, who began by doubting the possibility of their claims, now comments:

"Some aspects of the experience are unanswered, and, perhaps, unanswerable at this time. Nothing is finally settled. Nothing is absolutely proved to me regarding the alleged 'abduction.'" He also points out that "neither patient is psychotic, and both consciously and under hypnosis told what they believed to be absolute truth. The charisma of hypnosis has tended to foster the belief that it is the magical road to Truth. In one sense, this is so, but it must be understood that hypnosis is a pathway to the truth as it is felt and understood by the patient. The truth is what he believes to be the truth, and this may not be consonant with the ultimate and nonpersonal truth. Most frequently it is."

On the following pages, LOOK presents a condensation of John G. Fuller's forthcoming book The Interrupted Journey, an extraordinary human document.

THE EDITORS

## BY JOHN G. FULLER

ON SEPTEMBER 19, 1961, Barney Hill and his wife Betty began a night drive from the Canadian border down U.S. 3, through the White Mountains, on their way home to Portsmouth, N.H., after a short vacation.

Just after ten, their car was winding along the flat ground of the upper Connecticut River Valley. Betty enjoyed watching the brilliance of the moon reflecting on the valley and the mountains in the distance. To the left of the moon, and slightly below it, she noticed a particularly bright star. Perhaps it was a planet, she thought, because of its steady glow. Just south of Lancaster, she became intrigued by another star or planet, a bigger one, which had suddenly risen above the other. As she watched, the new celestial glow appeared to be getting bigger.

For a while, she said nothing to her husband. Finally, when the strange light grew brighter, she nudged Barney, who slowed the car and looked out the right-hand side of the windshield.

"When I looked at it first," Barney Hill later said, "it didn't seem anything particularly unusual, except that we were fortunate enough to see a satellite. It had no doubt gone off its course, and it seemed to be going along the curvature of the earth. It was quite a distance out . . . it looked like a star, in motion."

They drove on, glancing at the bright object frequently, finding it difficult to tell if the light itself were moving, or if the movement of the car were making it seem to move. It would disappear behind trees, or a mountaintop, then reappear as it cleared the obstruction.

Delsey, the Hills' dachshund, became restless, and Betty suggested they should walk her. At the same time, they could get a better look at the bright object. Barney pulled the car to the side of the road, where there was reasonably unobstructed visibility.

Betty walked Delsey along the side of the road. She was now sure that the star, or the light, or whatever it was, was definitely moving. When Barney joined her, she handed Delsey's leash to him, went back to the car and returned with a pair of binoculars. Barney was still convinced that they were observing a straying satellite.

After a few minutes, they resumed their