I had just walked outside, on January 15, 1949, when it happened. Or, rather, when it didn't happen--because it didn't. It wasn't possible. At six o'clock in the evening, it was already quite dark. The air was still, no wind.
       A strange rotating, glowing disk flew through the sky right towards me. I stared at it for several moments, disbelieving.
       I glanced around the observatory grounds, but no one was out and about besides me. The bare trees and bushes, the brown grass, were not any help.
       I looked back at the machine just as it touched down on the ground. A door whooshed open. A little gray man emerged from the craft.
       "Donald," it said in a strange mechanical voice. "If you do not do as I suggest, you will regret it. If you do as I suggest, you will be a successful man. You will be the director of Harvard Observatory."
       I stared, dumbfounded.
       "Donald!" the creature said.
       "What are you? How do you know my name?" I finally asked.
       "We know you, Dr. Donald Howard Menzel."
       It was as if I was under some kind of spell. I couldn't quite wrap my mind around what was happening, and yet I couldn't protest. "What do you want me to do?"
       "The Central Radio Propagation Laboratory is forming a site team," it said. "Later this year the site finalists will be Palo Alto, Charlottesville, and Boulder Colorado."
       In the future? "How do you know what'll happen later this year?" I asked.
       "That is immaterial," it said. "You need to make sure the winner is Boulder."
       "Why?" I asked. I was familiar with Boulder because I'd worked with my former student, Walter Orr Roberts, to set up a solar telescope ten years ago in nearby Climax, Colorado. Since '47 the headquarters of the now-named High Altitude Observatory was actually in Boulder.
       "That is immaterial," it said.
       When it didn't add anything else, I said, "How am I supposed to do that?"
       "You are intelligent; you will figure it out." Then it turned abruptly and walked back inside its craft. The door whooshed closed, and the craft flew away like magic.
       I stared at the spot where it had been for a long while.
       "Dr. Menzel?" a young man standing next to me asked. "You okay?" A waft of cigarette smoke came my way.
       I glanced down at his earnest face. "Of course, young man. Good evening."
       I walked home in a daze.
       By the time I reached home, I was convinced I'd had some kind of hallucination.
       "What's wrong, Don?" my wife Florence asked when I came in the door. "You look like you've seen a ghost."
       "I'm fine." I smelled chicken and rosemary. I saw my front entryway. It all seemed normal.
       In her apron, she took my overcoat and hung it up in the coat closet. "You're a little late. Dinner is waiting."
       Dinner. Could it be my lunch, a leftover meatloaf sandwich, caused a hallucination? Yes, that must be it. I smoothed my tie as I walked into the dining room.
       The girls, Suzanne and Elizabeth, already sat there with glasses of milk in front of them. They smiled at me. "Hi, Dad," Suzanne said.
       "Hi, Dad," Elizabeth said.
       They looked so sweet. And normal. "Hi, girls," I said, as I sat down.
       Florence walked in, carrying a platter with an aromatic roast chicken, surrounded by potatoes and carrots. She placed the platter in front of me. "Would you like to carve, honey?"
       Carve. I imagined that strange gray creature dissecting a person to see what we were made of, and shuddered. I needed to put the whole sorry, impossible incident behind me.
       "Don?" Florence asked.
       I reached for the carving knife. "Yes, I can carve," I said. "Smells delicious, honey."
       It tasted delicious, as well.
       And that's just what I did. I put the incident behind me.
       When Walt invited me out to Boulder later in the year, I figured it would be business as usual. And it was.
       Until it wasn't.

       Out in Boulder, I had a nice day with Walt. He was an exceptionally busy man, including being head of the new Department of Astro-Geophysics in the graduate school at the University of Colorado. He told me about the Institute of Solar-Terrestrial Relations study of the effects of the sun on weather. He said they were hopeful the work would result in improvements in weather and climate forecasting. I wished him good luck with that.
       He also showed me some of his latest coronagraphs. We both found solar corona fascinating. We even had a fun time debating the structure of the solar atmosphere.
       At the end of the day, he invited me over for dinner, and I was happy to accept.
       At his home, his lovely wife Janet met us at the door. "Hi, Walt. Welcome, Don." She took our coats. "And how's Florence doing, Don?"
       I nodded. "Well. Thanks for asking. She sends her regards."
       "And back to her," Janet smiled. "Alan's already here." She pointed toward the sofa.
       I followed Walt into his living room. "You know Alan Shapley, don't you?" he said.
       Alan stood up, and we shook hands. "Hello, sir," he said.
       "Sure, sure. Hi, Alan." I nodded. I knew Alan from way back at HCO. I even got him a job at the Carnegie Institute of Science, which jumpstarted his Washington career.
       We settled in on the worn, but comfortable couch while Janet finished preparing dinner.
       "So, what are you up to these days, Alan?" I asked.
       "I'm on the Central Radio Propagation Lab site selection committee," Alan said.
       "Oh?" I leaned towards him. "What are the potential sites?"
       "Palo Alto, Charlottesville, and here in Boulder," Alan said.
       My blood ran cold. This was precisely what that hallucination had said. In the meantime, I'd heard rumors to the contrary. "Not Mississippi? Delaware?"
       He shook his head. "Nope."
       Suddenly, I broke out into a sweat.
       "You okay, Don?" Walt asked.
       "Uh, if I might have some water?" I asked, mind whirring.
       It couldn't be true. I couldn't have seen a UFO and an alien. I couldn't.
       Walt got up to get me some water.
       "So, ah, what are Boulder's chances?" I asked as Walt gave me a glass of water. I took a sip.
       Alan shrugged.
       I wiped my brow with a tissue. I couldn't believe this was happening. Could I have actually seen some kind of flying saucer? An alien? No.
       I took another sip of water, considering.
       Just in case the highly improbable was true, what would it hurt to promote Boulder? I finally said, "I think it should be Boulder."
       "Well, I like Boulder. Obviously," Walt said. "But funding could be an issue. You wouldn't believe all the trouble I've been going through to get donations for the HAO."
       Janet walked in with a plate of crudités, mostly carrots, and celery sticks, and placed them on the coffee table in front of us. "That nice airline man, Ralph Damon, gave you some money, didn't he, dear?"
       Walt nodded. "I've gotten money, but it's like pulling teeth."
       "I don't think private funding is the way to go with this," Alan said.
       My mind was racing. "What if Boulder donated land for the site to the government?"
       "Whoo!" Alan said. "That would be something."
       "What made you think of that?" Walt asked.
       Necessity is the muse of invention. I tapped my forehead. "I'm smart. You could get the citizens of Boulder to contribute, maybe get the Chamber of Commerce to take the lead in a fund drive."
       "That's brilliant," Walt said.
       "Do you think it would work?" Alan asked, wrinkling his brow.
       "Yes," I said. "You could sell it as Boulder Prosperity Insurance."
       "Wow!" Walt said, chuckling. "I wish I'd thought of that."
       "I'm not sure…" Alan said.
       "You owe me, Alan." I basically gave him his career, and he knew it. I stared at him.
       He stared back at me for a few moments. "All right, Don," he said. "We'll try it."
       "Dinner is served," Janet said, popping her head in from the dining room.
       We all went into dinner.

       Amazingly, the fund drive worked. Hundreds of Boulder businesses and citizens donated over eighty thousand dollars.
       Could some of them have had strange, but convincing, visitors? Nah.
       At any rate, Boulder offered the U.S. government land, and the CRPL committee chose Boulder as the winning site in December of that year.
       I was appointed acting director of Harvard Observatory in 1952.
       But it wasn't because of any alien in any flying saucer.
       Definitely, not.
       I had half a mind to write a book saying so.
       Still, a part of me wonders what scientific advancements are in store for Boulder, in the future.
       And who, or what, will cause them…