A translucent disc, about 20 feet across, was observed by seven witnesses, one of them an experienced observor, and photographed, in a desert for several hours (George Adamski). One humanoid, wearing a brown coverall, was seen.

Ruppelt's account:

At 12:30P.M. on Thursday, November 20, 1952, history was made.

At least, so says George Adamski, lecturer on philosophy and student of technical matters and astronomy.

At 12:30P.M. on Thursday, November 20, 1952, George Adamski was the first man on earth to talk to a Venusian.

At least, so says George Adamski.

I was chief of Project Blue Book at the time and the name "Professor Adamski"--he had a title then--wasn't new to me. He, or some of his followers had been showering the Air Force with photos of flying saucers. Letters by the gross were coming in demanding recognition of the great professor and an analysis of his photos.

We obliged and the photos were examined by the experts at Wright- Patterson Photo Reconnaissance Labs. The verdict came back: "They could be genuine, of course, but they also could have been easily faked by a ten year old with a Brownie camera."

For a few weeks we forgot George Adamski. But then the press began to clamor at our gates. The news was leaking out of Southern California. George Adamski had talked to a Venusian! We held out for a long time but the pressure mounted and I headed for California to find out what it was all about.

As far as George Adamski was concerned I was just another thirsty sight-seer from the famous observatory on Mt. Palomar when I walked into the little restaurant at the foot of this famous mountain one day in 1953.

The four stool restaurant, with a few tables, where Adamski worked as a handyman, was crowded when I arrived and he was circulating around serving beer and picking up empty bottles. There was no doubt as to who he was because his fame had spread. To the dozen almost reverently spoken queries, "Are you Adamski?" he modestly nodded his head.

Small questions about the flying saucer photos for sale from convenient racks led to more questions and before long the good "professor" had taken a position in the middle of the room and was off and running.

In his slightly broken English he told how he was the son of poor, Polish immigrants with hardly any formal education.

To look at the man and to listen to his story you had an immediate urge to believe him. Maybe it was his appearance. He was dressed in well worn, but neat, overalls. He had slightly graying hair and the most honest pair of eyes I've ever seen.

Or maybe it was the way he told his story. He spoke softly and naively, almost pathetically, giving the impression that "most people think I'm crazy, but honestly, I'm really not."

Adamski started his story by telling how he had spent many long and cold nights at his telescope "at the request of the government" trying to photograph one of the flying saucers everyone had been talking about. He'd been successful, as the full photograph racks on the wall showed, and he thought the next step would be to actually try to contact a saucer.

For some reason, Adamski didn't know exactly why, on November 19th he'd decided to go out into the Mojave Desert. He'd called some friends and told them to meet him there.

By noon the next day the party, which consisted of Adamski and six others, had met and were eating lunch near the town of Desert Center on the California-Arizona border.

They looked for saucers, but except for an occasional airplane, the cloudless blue sky was empty. They were about ready to give it up as a bad day when another airplane came over. Again they looked up, but this time, in addition to seeing the airplane, they saw a silvery, cigar-shaped "flying saucer."

For some reason, again he didn't know why, the group of people moved down the road where Adamski left them and took off into the desert alone.

By this time the "space ship" had disappeared and once again Adamski was about to give up.

Then, a flash of light caught his eye and a smaller saucer (he later learned it was a "scout ship") came drifting down and landed about a half mile from him. He swung his camera into action and started to take pictures. Unfortunately, the one picture Adamski had to show was so out of focus the scout ship looked like a desert rock.

He took a few more pictures, he told his audience, and had stopped to admire the little scout ship when he suddenly noticed a man standing nearby.

Now, even those in the crowded restaurant who had been smirking when he started his story had put down their beers and were listening. This is what they had come to hear.

You could actually have heard the proverbial pin drop.

Adamski told what went through his mind when he first saw the man-- maybe a prospector. But he noticed the man's long, shoulder-length, sandy-colored hair, his dark skin, his Oriental features and his ski- pant type trousers. He was puzzled.

Then it came into his mind like a flash, he was looking at a person from some other world!

Through mental pictures, sign language, and a few words of English, Adamski found out the man was from Venus, he was friendly, and that they (the Venusians) were worried about radiation from our atomic bombs.

They talked. George pointed to his camera but the man from Venus politely refused to be photographed. Adamski pleaded to go into the "ship" to see how it operated but the Venusian refused this, too.

They talked some more--of spaceships and of solar systems--before Adamski walked with his new found friend to the saucer and saw the Venusian off into space.

At this point Adamski recalled how he had glanced up in the sky to see the air full of military aircraft.

Needless to say, the rest of Adamski's party, who had supposedly seen the "contact" from a mile away, were excited. They rushed up to him and it was then that they noticed the footprints.

Plainly imprinted in the desert sand were curious markings made by ridges on the soles of the Venusian's shoes.

At the urging of the crowd in the restaurant Adamski took an old shoe box out from under the counter. One of his party, that day, had just happened to have some plaster of paris and the shoe box contained plaster casts of shoe prints with strange, hieroglyphic- like symbols on the soles. No one in the restaurant asked how the weight of a mere man could make such sharp imprints in the dry, coarse desert sand.

Next he showed the sworn statements of the witnesses and the crowd moved in around him for a better look.

As I left he was graciously filling people in on more details and the cash register was merrily ringing up saucer picture sales.

I didn't write the trip off as a complete loss, the weather in California was beautiful.

Adamski held the UFO spotlight for some time.

The Venusians paid him another visit, this time at the restaurant, and he photographed their "ship." This, whether by Venusian fate or design, increased the flow of traffic to the restaurant at the base of Mt. Palomar.

It also had its side effects.

An astronomer from the observatory that houses the world famous 200- inch telescope on top of Mt. Palomar told me: "I hate to admit it but the number of week end visitors has picked up here. People drive down to hear George and decide that since they're down here they might as well come up and see our establishment."

Even though the field is becoming crowded, through thick and thin, Martian and Venusian, the old Maestro, George Adamski, is still head and shoulders above the rest. The hamburger stand is boarded up and he lives in a big ranch house. He vacations in Mexico and has his own clerical staff. His two books Flying Saucers Have Landed and Inside the Space Ships have sold something in the order of 200,000 copies and have been translated into nearly every language except Russian. To date, he's had eleven visits from people from Mars, Venus and Saturn. Evidently Truman Bethurum's Aura Rhanes put out the word about earthmen because two beautiful spacewomen have now entered Adamski's life: an "incredibly lovely" blonde named Kalna, and the equally beautiful Illmuth.

Only a few months ago, while on one of his numerous nationwide lecture tours, a saucer unexpectedly picked Adamski up in Kansas City and took him on a galactic cruise before depositing him at Ft. Madison, Iowa, where he had a lecture date. He "wowed" the packed auditorium with his "proof"--an unused Kansas City to Ft. Madison train ticket.

Last week, in the Netherlands (Adamski's nationwide tours have expanded to world-wide tours), he repeated his exploits to Queen Juliana.

But at Buckingham Palace, Mr. Barnum, all he saw was the changing of the guard.

Google map of this location.