Uncle Mamp

As I mentioned in my last post, I come from a family whose ties, both musically and spiritually, are in the Roswell/Corona area. The uncle that I immediately took a “shine” to when we first met was my uncle Mamp.

Uncle Mamp moved from the area in the ‘20’s to San Antonio, TX. He would come back for the family gatherings/reunions as one of the Ol’ Timers. I remember him as being very youthful, not being “bent” by life.

Our first meeting was quite interesting. My family had just pulled into the small clearing at the base of the Pinos Wells Mountain. We had no sooner gotten out of the car than here was a tall gentleman, balding, holding a mandolin. He walked straight over to me and started a conversation with me (I was 10 years old). The conversation dealt with UFOs and their reality in our reality.

We walked off continuing this discussion. Mamp introduced himself to me, and said he had been waiting for me to arrive at the reunion; a kindred spirit is what he referred to me as being, and began to tell me about his experiences with UFOs. Keep in mind that this was the very first time I had met this man.

We ended up walking, picking up arrowheads, and discussing our views on the possibility of life on other planets. He told me that when I got older that this “talk” with him would mean more to me and make more sense. He got my mailing address and promised that he would keep in touch. Which he did, he mailed clippings from Texas newspapers, articles that he would find and my first UFO book “UFOs: Serious Business!” by Frank Edwards.

We must have covered a lot of ground on our walk, as when we headed back to the gathering everybody there was out scouring the area for me. It was a forested area and my folks were worried that I had wandered off and had gotten lost. Apparently no one noticed Mamp and I walking away from camp.

Mamp passed back in 1978. I still have some of our correspondences and that book. In that book is the small blurb on Roswell, which at that time was still being accepted as a balloon. On a small piece of paper, marking that page, Mamp had scribbled, “Not what happened.”