When Purdy wired me, early in May of '49, I had half forgotten the
disks. It had been months since any important sightings had been
reported. But his message quickly revived my curiosity. If he thought
the subject was hot, I knew he must have reasons. When I walked into
his office at 67 West 44th, Purdy stubbed out his cigarette and shook
hands. He looked at me through his glasses for a moment. Then he said
abruptly:

"You know anything about the disks?"

"If you mean what they are--no."

He motioned for me to sit down. Then he swiveled his chair around, his
shoulders hunched forward, and frowned out the window.

"Have you seen the Post this week?"

I told him no.

"There's something damned queer going on. For fifteen months, Project
'Saucer' is buttoned up tight. Top secret. Then suddenly, Forrestal
gets the Saturday Evening Post

{p. 19}

to run two articles, brushing the whole thing off. The first piece
hits the stands--and then what happens?"

Purdy swung around, jabbed his finger at a document on. his desk.