CHAPTER 41

  WHITE SANDS, NEW MEXICO

  The bus I was on arrived in White Sands some four days after we left Iowa. As I exited the bus, a hot desert wind hit me full in the face. The air was dry and hot, and the sun intense and blinding. This was not Iowa. I looked around for a pay phone to call Mimi. I wanted to tell her I had arrived safely, but I did not see a phone at the bus station.

  “Jack, come on. The foreman said he would pick us up in the parking lot,” Fitch shouted to me as he made his way to the empty parking lot. I followed him. There was not going to be enough time for me to make the call just yet.

  As we came around the corner of the bus station to the parking lot, there was a flatbed truck parked alone in the empty lot. In front of it, a man was holding a sign that read, “White Sands Lang Project Team.” In the back of the truck were a couple of men with their coats over their heads to shield them from the intense heat of the sun. A couple of men from our bus made their way to the truck just ahead of us.

  As we approached, a younger man next to the man with the sign was checking everyone in on a clipboard he had. He wasn't what you'd expect of a foreman; clean-cut, smooth-handed, clearly academic. He looked to be in his twenties and rather thin. His hands were smooth and well-manicured. I pegged him immediately as a grad student. I had seen his type many times before.

  Fitch spoke up first and checked us both in. The man looked up at each of us and gave us a quick scan to see if we looked able-bodied. He looked over his list once more and had a puzzled look crossed his face.

  “Fitch? I have no Fitch on my list,” he said. “I don’t see either of you on my list.” He flipped through some of the pages he had on his clipboard. “Wait, are you? Wait a minute.” He looked up at me. “You are the anthropologist, aren’t you?” His face showed a slight smile. I was unsure if it was a smile for a laugh.

  “Yes,” I answered, watching to see his reaction. He smiled and placed his clipboard under his arm to shake my hand. “Doctor, we have been expecting you. We are very glad you could make it. Dr. Peterson will be glad that you made it safely. How was the trip?”

  By this time, every man in the truck bed was watching me.

  “My trip was fine, thank you,” I answered.

  “Please, sir, ride in the front with me. There will be lots to discuss. Let me get the rest of the crew checked in, and we will be on our way.”

  “Alrighty then, we are all set,” Fitch interrupted. Fitch started walking to the truck. The foreman didn’t know what to make of this.

  “Fitch, I do not show you on my list. Are you sure you should be here?” he asked and looked at me for clarification. The foreman obviously assumed that he must have been with me. I just looked back, a little stunned. I had no idea who Fitch was.

  “Sir, with all due respect,” Fitch said. “I have traveled a great distance to be a part of this project. It has been a long four days on the bus, and Jack here can attest that I have been with him the entire time. There must be some mistake. I am sure we can work this out once we arrive at the lodging facility.”

  The young man looked at me and then again at Fitch. Fitch smiled and just stared right back at him.

  “Alright, hop in back with the rest of the guys.”

  The young man then wrote Fitch’s name down on the list and finished checking in the rest of the guys. I had not said a single word. I actually had no idea what to say. Fitch was not the companion I would have chosen for four days on a bus. However, I had on several occasions enjoyed his company. He wasn’t afraid to talk to anyone. He quickly made friends out of people he would not likely see again. He often convinced people along the route to make changes to things they had no intention of changing.

  A woman from the bus complained to a coffee shop waitress that the coffee was old. She wanted the waitress to make a new pot, but the waitress told her it was as good as it was going to get. However, when Fitch asked about a new pot of coffee, and he suggested he make it to help her, she was touched by his offer and made him a new pot.

  Being down on my luck and sad to be so far away from Mimi, I appreciated his high spirits. I wondered how Mimi was doing. I had tried to phone her a couple of times during the bus trip and was never able to reach her.

  The truck ride over to the site was a hot one, since the truck had no air conditioning. “I’m James”, the young man said. “I’m Dr. Peterson’s research assistant. I am an archeology student at the Lang Institute. Let me know if there is anything I can do to make your stay here in White Sands more enjoyable. We are glad you could make it. We were initially stunned that you were interested in the position at all. And that you accepted. This is not the type of project we’d expect to get someone like you, doctor.”

  “Please call me Jack. No need for formalities,” I replied a little sheepishly.

  I hadn't considered how it might look for an anthropologist like me to be interested in such a project. I had just figured that they needed to hire one for a dig that included ancient burial grounds of the indigenous people of the region. I never gave it a second thought that they would be impressed with my credentials.

  “Dr. Peterson is familiar with your work. In fact, I know that when we posted the position, we hoped someone like you or Dr. Bayne would be willing to come. And here you are. I know she has something she is really excited to discuss with you.” James said.

  I was still a little puzzled. I was unaware of any Dr. Peterson myself. I assured James I was glad to be here. As we drove, I stared out the side window at the desert landscape going by. Being in White Sands was like being on another planet. The creamy white dunes looked like the landscape of nowhere I had ever seen before. It had been a difficult year, and this was the last place I wanted to be at this moment. In my opinion, there was nothing for me in White Sands, New Mexico.

  The wind was strong as we pulled up to the Desert Rose Inn, which was our accommodations for the project. Dust blew sharply across the windshield. It seemed like a tremendous force. As we parked, I had to force the door open from the intense pressure of the wind on the truck door. I could only imagine what it was like to have been riding in the back of the flatbed truck. The dust and sand were so intense that I could barely keep my eyes open as I got out. The sound of the wind deafened my ears. James yelled at me from across the hood.

  The motel had two rows of rooms with parking and a swimming pool down the middle. It was the typical roadside motel meant for weary travelers, and I was definitely a weary traveler by the time we arrived.

  “We have a nice room for you, Jack. Dr. Peterson made sure you had a single. Most of the other crew members were two or four to a room. This place may not look like much, but the rooms are clean. Plus, there is a coffee shop where the food is decent. Nothing fancy, but what would you expect to find in White Sands, right? Go into the office and check in. Your room is already paid for. I will go and get Dr. Peterson. She wants to talk to you as soon as you arrive.”

  I grabbed my bags from the cab of the truck and walked over to the small office. All of the guys in the back of the truck had made a mad dash for the office to get out of the wind and dust. A line for the front desk was forming. Fitch was waiting for me at the door. I was hoping he did not expect to stay with me until they could get it all worked out. I wasn’t feeling too hospitable.

  Fitch held the door open, and we stood at the back of the line. The desk clerk was an older man. He was taking the names of each person and giving them their room assignments. It was a fairly robotic process.

  “Mr. Dyer, you will be in room 105. There are no phones in the room. There are pay phones at the end of the units along with vending machines for cola and cigarettes. Maid service is only once a week, but you’ll be receiving enough towels to last you. The office closes at 10 pm each night and doesn’t open again until 8 the next morning.”

  As Fitch approached, he didn’t give his name; instead, he asked the clerk if he had a single available. He said he would pay for it himself. The clerk looked at Fitch and said, “For how long?”

  “I guess for as long as everyone else.”

  “You’ll need to pay for the entire month in advance. It’s $100 a week plus a $100 cleaning deposit that you can get back at the end of your stay. This is to cover any damage you may cause to the room.”

  Fitch did not hesitate, “No problem.” And he pulled out his wallet. It was a thin wallet. I was curious as to what kind of cash he carried. It didn’t look like the wallet was very full. But he managed to pull out exactly $500.

  “Can I please get a receipt?” he asked.

  The man took the money and wrote him a receipt. He told him he was in room 113 at the end. “It’s rather on the small side. I have to keep a couple of rooms open for weekends for travelers. You’re lucky I had this one left.”

  I checked in and was in room 103. My room was on the same side as the office. As I walked by, a woman was coming out of room 101. She was a fair-skinned woman whose time in the sun had aged her well beyond her likely years. She was wearing a wide-brimmed canvas hat. She was taller than most women and very plain-looking.

  She smiled and approached. “Glad to finally meet you.” She reached out her hand as a gesture of introduction. I guess I did not disguise my surprise that she was a woman. “Surprised, I take it,” she said.

  I stumbled over my words. “I guess I am.”

  “I hope that doesn’t change anything for you. This is an important project for my institute and our benefactors. What we really needed was an anthropology specialist like you. I am fully competent in archeology and in the studies of indigenous cultures of the southwest. With what we have uncovered, someone with your experience became more of a necessity.”

  I was feeling a little apologetic. “I understand. I am at your service and glad to be here.”

  James approached us to ask Dr. Peterson a question. She filled the following silence. “Well, I am sure you would like to rest and clean up. You have had a long journey, I know.”

  “Yes. Thank you.” I turned back toward my door, and James started in with his question for her. I then turned back around, “I hope you and I did not get off on the wrong…”

  She interrupted, “No worries. I will see you in the morning. We begin at 5 am. We try to get a jump on the heat.”

  “I will be ready and waiting.”

  She turned away from me, and the two of them went walking over to the coffee shop. I asked myself, “Why am I even here?” when I heard, “Jack, want to get a cup of coffee?” It was Fitch. I rolled my eyes. I felt like there was not going to be any escaping this guy. “I’ll buy,” he added.

  I answered, “Actually, I need a shower and to call my wife. I haven’t had a chance to call her in days.”

  Stolen story; please report.

  “That’s right. You’re married. I understand. Anyway, I am in room 113. If you want to get something to eat later or talk, just knock.” He turned and walked away. I went into my room, and as I did, I could hear him mumble something to himself. I couldn’t make it out, but I was sure he was talking to himself.

  I went in and immediately locked the door behind me. I rested my forehead on the coolness of the painted door and wanted nothing more than to get out of here. I felt like I was so far away from everything. I needed to provide for my family. Here I was in New Mexico alone, but these people all seemed happy to see me. But I had no idea what I was doing here.

  I decided to take a shower to feel refreshed before I called Mimi. After my shower, I walked to the pay phone at the end of the row of rooms in the building I was staying in. I dialed the number to May’s house. I was nervous to actually be calling her. I was unsure what I would say, and unsure what she would say back. It had been four days since I left for New Mexico.

  The phone rang.

  “Hello?” It was May.

  “May, it's Jack.”

  “Oh, hello, Jack. Are you alright?”

  “Yes. I made it to New Mexico. Can I talk to Mimi?”

  “Actually, Jack, she is already in bed. She worked earlier today and came home and was dead tired. She went straight to bed. I am so sorry.”

  I was heartbroken. Both by the fact that I would not get to talk to her and that she was having a baby, and was working so hard.

  “Oh, I understand. Please tell her I called and that I made it here all right. I will try calling her tomorrow to talk to her.”

  “Alright then,” May said. “Jack, don’t you worry. I am taking good care of her. She is doing well.”

  “Thanks, May.” I knew she was. May was a good sister.

  I hung up the phone. I looked around to make sure the coast was clear. I did not want to run into Fitch. I just wanted to go back to my room for some peace before starting work tomorrow.

  I stepped out of the phone booth and quickly walked back down the corridor to my room. When I heard a voice call out to me, I cringed. It wasn’t a man’s voice; it was a woman's. It was Dr. Peterson. I turned to see her coming out of the coffee shop to catch me. I stopped and waited for her approach.

  “Doctor, I wonder if you and I might have some time to discuss something this evening.” She said. “I know you are probably wanting nothing more than to get some rest after a long bus ride, but I just want you to know why we needed you to come out here. You understand, right?”

  “Why, yes,” I answered.

  “Good. I want to fill you in on the scope of the project. Because of your late acceptance of the position, there was no way for me to personally discuss it with you before now.”

  I didn’t know what to say. I had figured the project was pretty well defined.

  “If you will,” she said. “I would like to discuss this with you in private.” She then pulled out the key to her room and motioned for me to follow her. I was hesitant but followed. I followed her into the room, where she then closed the door and locked it behind me. I was curious as to her secrecy. I looked around her room. The room was well-lived in. It looked like she had been living out of the room for quite some time. She had a makeshift kitchen area with a hot plate, a large table she was using as a desk and workstation, and near the window, there was a small table with two chairs. She sat down at the table and motioned for me to take a seat.

  “Well, Dr. Peterson, you definitely have my attention,” I said.

  “I am sorry for being so mysterious. There is ample reason for it. When we contacted you for your application for this project, you were one of two candidates we were interested in.

  You see, I was well aware of the work you were doing in Greece. Before you say anything, let me explain the situation here in White Sands. Several years ago, there was a discovery here by a trapper. Are you aware of it?”

  I admitted that I had no idea what she was referring to.

  “A trapper had discovered some tracks in some gypsum rock here in White Sands.”

  “I assume you wanted an anthropologist to place some history in the tribe’s people who had made the tracks,” I said.

  “The interesting thing about these tracks is that they were 22 inches long and roughly ten inches wide.” She looked at me and waited for my response. I said nothing.

  She continued, “Unfortunately, at that time, the National Parks administration took over the investigation, and those prints disappeared. The claim by the trapper was never confirmed or denied, and the entire story seemed to vanish.

  As I listened, I was trying to piece the puzzle together in my head. Of course, when I heard footprints of size, I immediately thought of giants but said nothing. As I listened, I tried to put it out of my head. It was no secret that many Native American people wrote eyewitness accounts of giants. Claims of these giants were very common in Native American stories and culture. Mostly, they were deemed myths. Then, in the last century, more and more accounts of finding such evidence were coming up and then disappearing. There always seemed to be a dead end to the stories.

  I began to feel like I had been tricked into coming here. I had already ruined my reputation with the incident in Emmett County. What I needed now was to put all this behind me and start fresh. This trip to New Mexico was supposed to be that. I needed this project to reestablish my legitimacy, not add it to a legacy. Now, I was finding out that this project was all about giant footprints and a tall tale. As interested as I was in it, I was fighting the urge to care.

  I stood up from the table. “Dr. Peterson, there has been some mistake then. Had I known this was what you had in mind, I would not have come all this way.”

  “I know,” she said, “Please hear me out and then decide. You do not really have all the information just yet. I think that if you hear me out, you may, I hope, change your mind.”

  I sat back down to listen. I figured I owed her that.

  “Thank you,” she said. “Here is the thing: we wanted you for this project based on your expertise. There have been recent events that I am confident you are not aware of. Events that clearly show a bias against the proof you sought in Greece and even in Iowa. I am sure you are aware that your old partner, Dr. Bayne, is now working with the Smithsonian as an expert for them?”

  I answered, “I am aware.” I was surprised to hear that she knew anything about what had happened in Iowa.

  “Were you aware that it was the Smithsonian that paid for his trip to Rome in the first place?”

  I admitted I did not know that, but was not surprised.

  “So, I doubt you were aware that the Smithsonian paid for the trip to conceal such a discovery?”

  “I don’t follow you,” I said. “Why would they pay for the trip only to make sure nothing was found?”

  “That is not exactly what I said. If anything was found, and I am not sure if it was, I am confident that the Smithsonian would not have released any such information.” She pulled out an article that she had in a manila envelope. I looked at the envelope. It was addressed to Dr. Peterson and had come from San Francisco. It read:

  “FAMED GIANTOLOGIST, BAYNE; LIKELY NO PROOF GIANTS EXIST”

  The article went on to discuss the fact that Dr. Bayne had come to the conclusion that any proof of the existence of a species of human giants would not be likely. It reported that any claims made were investigated and found to be either hoaxes or animal bones mistaken for human bones. He continued that his work at the Smithsonian has been conclusive of this fact. He also said that he would personally investigate all claims of such proof himself. The article ended with this quote from Bayne: “The Smithsonian Institute is an honorable institution with the largest collection of museums of its kind. It is our goal to preserve history as fact and nothing more.”

  As I read the article, my feelings of betrayal came back. I felt I had been hoaxed by Bayne when he claimed to believe in the same things I did. The truth was, he did not truly believe any of it. I became certain that his motives had been to find success and fame, not truth.

  Dr. Peterson continued, “We believe that discoveries uncovered across the continent, and specifically this one here in New Mexico nearly twenty-five years ago, were investigated and then covered up.”

  “But why?” I asked. “The Smithsonian’s own anthropology department holds thousands of relics from the past, including human skulls and over thirty-thousand human species from around the world.”

  “That much is true. James Henry Hungerford, who established the Institute with his uncle, James Smithson’s vast wealth, wrote that the government should use the money to establish an institute ‘for the increase and diffusion of knowledge.’ While the collections of the museums have steadily grown over the last century, knowledge about the Native American people and other indigenous people has remained pretty much the same for the last century.”

  I was finding all this hard to digest. I must have had a puzzled look on my face at this point because Dr. Peterson continued, “I know this might sound odd. But I insist that it is the truth. There is proof of such claims, I assure you. In fact, I have reason to believe your troubles in Emmett County were stirred up by your old partner, Bayne.

  I was surprised to hear her say such a thing. I was sure that she had not heard about what had happened there; I would not be here now.

  “What do you mean?” I said.

  “We have information that it was Bayne who set you up.”

  “Why?” I asked. I was beginning to think she was paranoid.

  “Why do you think? Do you think maybe you were close to something? Was it possible you were close to finding something in Rome? Was it possible that the bone you found in Greece was actually that of a human?”

  “No way! My own people inspected the bone before Bayne took it. It was that of a mastodon.” I was becoming agitated.

  “I know this may be hard to hear. It is our theory that your conviction in this area made you a target. Perhaps you were close to discovering something in Rome. For now, we do not know. The fact is that the incident you had in Emmett County was to discredit you and ensure you did not continue with your work. Whether you want to believe it or not, that is what happened. Bayne knew you and made sure you would fall into a trap that would end your career.”

  I became angry and insulted. “Then why am I here? What do you want with me? And what is this talk of we; who exactly are you talking about? I thought I was working on a project for a university.”

  “You are. It is a private university for which we are funded. I am a field researcher for the Lang Institute, a private university that focuses on what some people call unusual research.”

  “So why am I here? If you knew of my poor reputation, why ask me to come?”

  She continued, “Honestly, Jack? Because you seek the truth. We know that you were identified because of your conviction in this area of anthropology. We need to have someone on our team who has such conviction.”

  “Then why all the secrecy? Why not just tell me the truth?”

  “Because we did not want to risk you refusing to come. We are working in secret and using rural manual labor to keep it all secret. I am sure you found it puzzling that we would be busing in such a remedial labor force as we have. Like I was telling you earlier, there was a discovery here in White Sands some twenty-five years ago that went nowhere. Now, I am sure we have found similar evidence, and since we are working outside the National Parks, we wanted to make sure we documented our claims before going public. The truth is that if the Smithsonian were to find out about our project, we would likely be put through the same scrutiny you went through in Iowa.”

  “Well, then, bringing me here only puts you in danger of the same thing happening. Doesn’t it? Won’t I only discredit your claim?”

  “Perhaps, but we need your help to validate our finds here in New Mexico. And in truth, your expertise outweighs the consequences. That is why you are here.”

  I didn’t know what to make of any of this. Here I was trying to walk away from this quest only to be pulled right back into it. There seemed to be no way around it. Sometimes in life, the journey chooses us. As much as we try to push things aside, they somehow resurface in our lives, getting us back on the path that we are meant to be on. This was one of those occasions.

  I was scared of what Mimi would think if she were to find out about this. I was sure she would be disappointed. At that moment, I did not really think I had any choice. This was the only job opportunity I had. It would provide the money I would need to support her until the baby was born. I had to do what I could to provide for my family.

  I asked Dr. Peterson, “So, why is it that the Smithsonian wants to keep all this under wraps? What is it that they have against giants?”

  She answered, “The Smithsonian has painted itself into a corner. Back in the 1800s, when the institute was started, and as it began to grow, it chose a path in developing history that portrayed the Native American people who lived here as savages and void of any true culture. American history itself insists that the European influences were good for the natives. The Smithsonian developed and stood behind an isolationist theory of the native people of America. That the native people were so backwards that they only benefited from the Europeans who now occupy the land. The Smithsonian has gone so far as to support the claim that the Europeans developed the continent from a vast wasteland. Anything that has gone against this telling of continental history has been hidden away. This would include proof that the Native Americans had established trade relations with other tribes, including people rumored to be of massive height; people that may have been present before the arrival of the Pilgrims at Plymouth Rock.”

  Dr. Peterson was making the connections in history that I had tried to prove for so long. She seemed to be drawing the same conclusion that giants could have quite possibly made their way over to America long before European colonists arrived. I asked, “But why would they want to conceal this? What is it that the Smithsonian has to lose from such a revelation?”

  “It’s not just the Smithsonian, but it’s the beliefs of scientists everywhere. The idea that Asians came over on an icy bridge completely contradicts Darwin’s theory of evolution. If humans evolved, they would not have crossed any ice bridge. Darwin himself argued against the existence of any giants, especially biblical ones.”

  I understood why such a biblically based species threatened the scientific world. I knew that Bayne probably easily dismissed such theories based on his scientific oath to evolution.

  Dr. Peterson could see that I was struggling with this news. “The world is such a complicated place, but what it all really boils down to is what you believe and how convinced you are of your own beliefs to stand behind them.”

  I knew exactly what she meant. I knew what this all meant to me and what it obviously meant to her.

  She continued, “The proof is out there. We need you to authenticate the finds here. We just need to be the ones who find it before they do. The Smithsonian will destroy it as they have in the past. We need to preserve it for the sake of truth itself.”