I came to Roswell in search of aliens. If I was the head of tourism in Roswell, I would be inclined to promote the connection. This of course is where the little green men were taken after their flying saucer crashed in 1947. But to my surprise, Roswell instead prides itself on being the Dairy Capital of the Southwest.
I went to the local Starbucks to find out where the little green men were, and met Leah instead:
Leah works at the Electric Coop which supplies the power needed to keep the little green men refrigerated until the authorities can figure out what to do with them. Instead of Roswell, she encouraged me to go to Artesia instead. “They have statues all over the downtown, plus a great craft brewery.” I asked her where to find it and she replied “it’s half way between the aliens and Carlsbad Caverns.”
I asked her if people around here are getting tired of being known only for the UFO/alien connection. She said “kind of, but there are a lot of big companies that are leaving the area and we’re trying to focus on tourism to bring people in.” I told her they could sure do a better job of it, and told her about the decrepit sign coming into town that says “Welcome to Roswell – Dairy Capital of the Southwest.”
Instead of going to Artesia, I went to the Farmer’s Country Market (motto: “Better Meats And Produce Than Any Whole Foods”) where I met Richard. Playing guitar in front of the store is what he does; he especially likes it when kids come by and watch, and listen. He has schizophrenia, but he’s OK because of the meds he takes. I told him never stop taking them; I have heard too many horror stories from friends and clients about loved ones who did quit. He said he lives on his disability payments, and does this for beer and cigarette money. He agreed to let me take his photo and I gave him some money. “This is for beer not cigarettes” I told him.
By mid-morning my search for aliens was unsuccessful, but I had worked up an appetite. At the Cowboy Cafe, they pride themselves on comfort food. My breakfast consisted of a bowl of gravy, a bowl of grits, scrambled eggs, a biscuit, chicken fried steak and – their specialty – chicken fried bacon. I am not kidding. Fry up some thick-sliced bacon, then dip it in batter, then deep fry it again. It’s in the upper right of the photo below.
I did finally find aliens – at the UFO Museum in downtown Roswell.
Proof positive that aliens exist:
Proof positive that aliens visited ancient cultures and made doors for the inhabitants:
Proof positive that aliens prefer Coke:
The museum actually contains a substantial number of fascinating exhibits, artifacts, and lore. They take no position on the existence or non-existence of extra-terrestrials, but present a lot of evidence that gave pause to my skeptical predisposition.
So, despite the wonderful resources in the museum, and my own personal search, which consisted of looking around the RV park, I never did find an actual extra-terrestrial in Roswell.
But I did find one back home in Oregon, where in McMinnville they host an annual UFO Festival (motto: “Second Only to the Roswell UFO Festival”). Judy, below, had recently adopted this baby alien, and everyone in the coffee shop took turns holding it. The next festival is May 14-16, 2020.