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UFO’S AND THE “TIME OF THE END”

By Charles Wheeling

    I was born one month after Pearl Harbor was bombed. Even though I experienced World War II as a small child, I still retain many vivid memories of that time. I can remember my father complaining that he could not find tires for his business vehicle. Tires were rationed because of the war effort. I can remember my mother borrowing and swapping certain food items with ladies in the neighborhood. Staples like sugar were rationed because of the war effort.

    I was only two years old when my first brother was born, but I vividly recall the morning the ambulance brought my mother and my new brother to our home. I can remember where the ambulance parked in the front yard so my mother would not have to walk a great distance to enter the house. I was only two years old, but I vividly remember stepping barefoot on a metal grate covering the gas floor furnace in our home. The soles of both my feet were solid blisters for almost two weeks, and the pain…

    Two homes away from ours, the stepfather and an 18-year-old son were serving in the Navy, fighting the Japanese in the South Pacific. The father was a Navy Seabee—the son was a gunner’s mate in a large gun turret on a major U.S. battleship. Directly across the street, the father in another home was an infantry machine gunner, fighting the Germans in Sicily and Italy. Two uncles on my mother’s side were marines, island-hopping and fighting Japanese forces across the Pacific.

    One uncle, Johnny, was lying on his cot in a tent on the island of Guadalcanal, reading his Bible out loud to his buddy. Japanese bombers appeared suddenly—their tent, with everything in it, (including the clothes they were wearing) was blown to smithereens. Both men survived—naked—with my uncle still clutching his Bible. His brother, my other Marine uncle, Alfred, 21 years of age, a U.S. Sherman tank commander on Iwo Jima (1945), was killed while crossing the second Japanese airfield. I was just three years of age, but distinctly remember my mother crying and telling my father, “Alfred is dead, I know it; he will never come back!” Weeks would pass before the family would be officially notified.

    World War II was an intense event. It created strong, lasting memories even for a child. A third uncle on my mother’s side was only 15 years of age in 1945. He wanted desperately to enlist in the Marine Corps and “fight.” Of course he was too young, but Jimmy expressed his great interest in the war by constructing gorgeous balsa and tissue models of U.S. warplanes. In 1945, I was only three years of age, but Uncle Jimmy’s model planes held a great fascination for me. I will repeat his words to me as I recall them: “Boy, if you touch my planes, I’ll kill you!”

    In 1947, I was five years of age. Our home was located between Bessemer and Birmingham, Alabama. I remember the year clearly for several reasons. World War II had ended and Army surplus was for sale everywhere. My first brother, Wayne, and I shared a bedroom. Our parents purchased surplus Army bunk beds and green, wool Army blankets for us. The year I remember well was 1947. It must have been in the spring because my second brother, Glenn, would be born in May of that year, and he had not yet arrived. For some reason, probably a nightly bathroom trip, I was awakened during the night. Our bunks were separated in the room. My bed was positioned parallel to an eastern wall and window; my pillow placed to allow me a broad view of the night sky. In 1947, at five years of age, I saw my first UFO—my first Unidentified Flying Object.

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