In 2006 we again returned to Roswell for the Fourth of July to test the waters and see if the time had come for Jess's book to be written. Jess had been encouraged throughout the years by so many people to write a book, and it felt as though the time had finally come for him to put pen to paper (so to speak). In 2004, Jess had been called back to active duty as a flight surgeon for the U.S. Army, and spent 13 months in Iraq. It was while he was stationed there that he began his effort in earnest. The atmosphere at Roswell in 2006, coupled with the strengthened resolve-and heightened sense of mortality-gained during his recent experience in Iraq, convinced him once and for all that he really needed to go full speed ahead with the book. Although Jess's concept of "full speed ahead" might not be completely consistent with some people's, his efforts throughout the last couple of years have been significant, and the result will, I hope, give the public a broader perspective on not just the events themselves, but also the people involved.
From the U.S. Press Corps, to television documentaries, talk shows, radio shows and lectures in Brazil, Japan, Italy, France, and many U.S. cities, so many people had told their parts of the story, and Jess and his father had shared bits and pieces of theirs. But nowhere has the story been put into book form, by the one living person who possesses firsthand knowledge. I am truly glad that Jess has chosen this time to share his legacy with the world, for it is intimately tied to the Roswell story. Roswell has been a mixed blessing for our family, but as far I am concerned, Jess's love and admiration for his father-and his allegiance to truth in a culture that seems to thrive on deceptiontrump everything else in this story. I think his dad would be proud of his efforts. I know that I am.
— Linda Marcel
Chapter 9
The Domino Effect
Many books have been written about the Roswell Incident, along with a seemingly endless stream of documentaries, movies, and editorial pieces, but none of them looked beyond the dates, times, and names surrounding that event, to examine what kind of effect Roswell has had upon the lives of those who actually lived it. And I can state with no hesitation whatsoever that the effect-at least upon me and those closest to me-has been significant. Linda's contributions in her chapter really brought that to light for me, and showed me that if readers are to have a clear picture of what Roswell meant and means, they need to be given an opportunity to read the story, as seen by those who actually lived it.
The best place to start any story is, of course, at the beginning, and the beginning of this story goes beyond the crash 60 years ago. It begins with the person at the center-my father, Jesse Marcel, Sr. He was so much more than just a footnote in history or an opinion to be accepted or refuted. And although I have already gone into his life story in a previous chapter, I believe that, in order to give you a clearer idea of how Roswell affected my life and my children's lives, it is worthwhile to dig a little deeper into my father's life, as well as his personality as it evolved throughout the years. That said, let's go back again for a moment.
Jesse Marcel, Sr., was an officer, a husband, a father, and a generous friend-a regular guy who got caught up in events bigger than himself, and handled those events and their repercussions pretty much as anyone who knew him would have expected. And to those who have painted a picture of him as anything else, well, they obviously didn't know him. And that is their loss.
As a kid, I can remember my dad being a pretty easygoing guy, albeit with strong opinions and deep passions. There was no doubt that he was a military man through and through, but that didn't mean he tried to run his home like a boot camp. Unlike the stereotypical career military man, he was perfectly willing to let others have their say without condemning them. And, as I've learned to appreciate since I became an adult, he was adept at being firm with the unbounded and unbridled energy of children, yet not so rigid as to stifle that energy. Was he perfect? Of course not. But, as I came to understand as I matured, the things that frustrate us the most are just the products of the same qualities we love the most about someone. I'll get into that a hit more later on.
As I noted early on in the book, from the time he was a kid, my father was fascinated with radio technology. Actually, fascinated might just be too Mild a term. You may recall that he spent hard-earned money on parts to build his own radio, even knowing that he would get in trouble for doing so. It wasn't that he was rebellious. As a matter of fact, knowing him, I have wondered whether childhood rebellion had even been invented when he was growing up. No, he was a dutiful son-typical back then, but a rarity nowadays. The only thing that ran deeper than his respect for his parents was his hunger for knowledge. And he did his best to feed that hunger, not just as a kid, but all his life. That he was willing to go-albeit gently-against his mother's guidance in order to learn more about technology was but an early indicator of a pattern he would follow all his life, and that would ultimately be the source of his greatest sorrow, as well as his deepest joy.
By the time I came into the picture, Dad had really immersed himself in his life as an Army Air Corps officer. Some might say that in that life, he had the best of both worlds: the authority figures he could look up to and respect, as well as the opportunity to learn the details of how this new-fangled electronics technology worked. I can remember times when he would come home, excitedly telling my mother and I how he was learning so much about things that we couldn't even imagine, yet always reminding us that he couldn't say much about these things because it was his duty to keep the secrets to himself. Although he rarely talked much about what he was learning, I was always caught up in his palpable excitement, and I think it rubbed off on me somewhat. Because of his obvious passion, I developed a passion for learning myself.
He was also plainly fascinated with flying, and his many tales of flying with his buddies or the amazing capabilities of the airships of the day probably played a major role in my own fascination with airplanes. I came to understand that fathers can play a big part in forming their sons' interests-bigger, perhaps, than any of us fathers (or sons) would like to admit. And one area in which he had an enormous effect upon me was his love for the military.
To say that the military becomes one's parents, profession, and passion is actually not a big stretch at all. Even as a little kid, I knew that my father ate, drank, slept, and bled Army. He was very proud of what he did, and felt that he was fulfilling an important role in his country's well-being. I was proud of him for that, and he was truly the model from whom I would learn the definition of the word honor. It was only in later years that I began to understand how that code of honor could be diminished by the very people charged with keeping it alive.
When my father came home late that night in July of 1947, his excitement was obvious, and, frankly, contagious. Something big had happened, and we were all a part of it. Just how big, we had no idea. Yet in the months and years that followed, I saw my father change. Although there were still things that brought out a boyish excitement in him, I began seeing the edge of his passion blunted. He couldn't conceive of the reasons people he had trusted were acting differently toward him, or why people who were well aware of his capabilities and expertise had begun to question those capabilities and deny that expertise. And, as one would expect, the change in the institutions and people he had respected for so long began to take its toll on him.