Commonwealth Journal


July 18, 2012

‘Hanging trees’ not uncommon in Pulaski


Somerset —

And then there was the flying saucer. This writer, as a young reporter, was actually dispatched to a community (we won’t pinpoint the location) in southern Pulaski County where a flying saucer reportedly had landed. The little green men had gone when we got there, but a bare space in an open field may have been where the ship from outer space had landed. That’s the truth if I ever told it. It’s also true the then-editor of this newspaper sneered that the reporter should have boarded the saucer and flew away with the other little green men.
During the mid-1970s there was the out-of-state truck driver who drove his rig through the Fishing Creek cut on the recently opened Cumberland Parkway. A ghostly light flared, giving the protruding rocks a shimmering of green as he crossed the bridge.
The driver, pale as a ghost, rushed in at the former Cherokee Restaurant north of town, where a group of early rising local businessmen always gathered for coffee. With trembling voice he told about the happening, vowing never to come that way again.
The truck driver’s scare was detailed in the Commonwealth Journal that very day. The following morning, before daylight, a dear lady in the eastern part of the county called in to report a flying saucer hovered directly over her car all the way into town. You think I’m kidding. I’ve told some tall tales in my time, but I wouldn’t make up a story like that.
Oh, we almost forgot about the ghost in the Commonwealth Journal building. Sadly, he’s not with us anymore. When they tore down the original part of the newspaper building last year it did away with the catacombs that were ghostly haunts.
Many times, working late at night, this writer heard sounds; footsteps on the upper floor; doors slamming shut; occasionally a whispery voice.
I would continue working, pounding the typewriter. I didn’t go look; you can’t see a ghost. I  knew that.
 Distant steps, slowly walking, were easily ignored. It was the heavy breathing that gave me pause. Often, hair on the back of my neck would stand.

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