I gave my report about being in the future in 1983, seeing Dr. John von Neumann, and [according to] the public record, he died of cancer in 1957. He did not die of cancer: he was very much alive in 1983 and was very much alive for many years after that. As far as I know, he’s still alive to this moment (2000). Because I visited with him about two years ago upstate New York, where his current home is.
But there we had a situation. The Navy couldn’t understand what happened; nobody really understood fully what happened. Dr. John von Neumann had a good grasp of it. Going over the reports, and I went down, a file was generated. They decided, of course, the Eldridge should be re-outfitted. As to what happened to myself and Duncan. Duncan was never seen again in the Navy yard; he was never seen again in that time-frame. As we found out much later—
Duncan loses his time-lock and becomes a “walk-in” to a child born to his father in 1951
Research by myself as Al Bielek in the late 1980s turned up the fact that Duncan had returned, after jumping over—off the ship, to the Montauk Project some time in the 1980s—that is, the early 1980s, and was a part of the project there. And after an accident, of which very little is known precisely what happened, he started to— it was recorded he lost his time-lock and he started to age at a very rapid rate—about one year per hour. This led to another phenomenon; they didn’t know how to stop it. And there are some things in biology and body functions which even today, a few years after that, they’re still not fully understood. They couldn’t reverse his ageing and stop it.
So, again, Montauk to the rescue, if I may put it that way. They sent back someone to Father in the 1950s, actually the late 1940s, and said, “Get busy and make another son; Duncan’s dying and we can’t allow this.” Why they can’t allow it I will get into in a little bit; it has to do with this whole time-loop problem. So, father remarried—it was his fifth wife—and first his sister was born—Duncan’s current sister—and later on, Duncan was born, June 28, 1951. That is the Duncan we know today. And he has a slight resemblance to old Duncan, but his characteristics are essentially the same.
And he grew up, went through school, and he went to college, joined the Air Force, and he was in Vietnam. And eventually he was injured and was mustered out of the Air Force and wound up as part of the Montauk Project again as the current Duncan—Duncan number-two, if I may call him that. And that’s another part of the history, which we’ll get into later, namely, the entire Montauk Project that’s recorded and what that means.
Working with John von Neumann on the Manhattan Project
But going back to the time-frame I was referring to, which is the aftermath of the Philadelphia Experiment, when Duncan disappeared. I, of course, was with the Navy in all of that period of 1943, and the Navy decided to shut down the project completely. They scrapped it, as I had already mentioned. But I was there footloose. They didn’t know what to do with me, because they knew I knew too much about what had happened, and they didn’t want me talking to everybody, so they kept me somewhat isolated. But then Dr. John von Neumann to my rescue. He had been assigned to the atomic bomb project at Los Alamos, New Mexico, which was in the process of being built, between July of 1943, and October 1943—an ongoing thing after that, of course. In October 1943, John von Neumann first showed up at Los Alamos for the purpose of helping in the development of the atomic bomb. The staff, of course, as the head of the project Dr. Oppenheimer; others on staff were Dr. Edward Teller, and quite a large number of people; Hans Bethe, etc., etc., John von Neumann as a consultant, who was in and out.
Along in the spring of 1944, John decided that he would like to have me up there to help him and assist in the project. So, he suggested to the Navy that maybe they would like to send me up to Los Alamos; and the Navy was delighted with the idea, because it would put me into the most secret facility in the United States at that time, and get me out of the mainstream of the Navy and out of the mainstream of everything. So, I was sent up there in July of 1944, with family. I might add, of course, that in October of 1943 I married my fiancee, and a son came along in February of 1944—let us say that I was a bit busy prior to the marriage. And a son was born, and all of us moved up to Los Alamos. We were there from 1944 to 1947—that is, July 4th, 1947. I worked on the project in terms of writing reports, assisting John in any way I could. And I was sort of a loose wheel, but at the same time, I was making contributions. The Navy was most interested in having me write reports—of course, classified—of the history of the development of the atomic bomb.
When the bomb was developed and they had dropped it on Japan, and, of course, the war was over, and at that point they didn’t know whether the Los Alamos Laboratories would be kept going or whether they would be closed down. There was discussion in both directions. Oppenheimer stayed on; he didn’t know what would happen. Of course, history records that it was kept alive and, of course, has been long since greatly expanded.
Of course, history records that Los Alamos was kept alive and, of course, has been long since greatly expanded.
Edward Teller and the Majestic Twelve have Edward Cameron arrested for espionage
But in that time period, while I was there from 1944 to 1947, I got into quite a few discussions with Ed Teller, who had rather a acid attitude at times. And he was, of course, snuck out of Europe to become part of the bomb project by whatever group: [UI] or whoever. This was no longer my father’s domain. And he became part of the bomb project, and, of course, the bomb was developed, and when it was over, he, as a physicist, wanted to go ahead and develop what he called the next phase—the hydrogen bomb. Instead of an explosion bomb, he wanted an equivalent of an implosion bomb—fusion, of course, was the key word. Oppenheimer was against it, I was against it, and, of course, I had many arguments with Dr. Teller. I told Teller his math was not complete, it wasn’t right—not fully correct, that is. I didn’t accuse him of being outright wrong—it wasn’t. But he became very upset with my comments and said, “We’ve got to build the bomb now. We don’t know what new enemies we’re going to have. We must have it in reserve,” and so forth.
He got nowhere with anyone. And he remained at the laboratory. Eventually he got so upset with me that without any clout on his own—he had a few friends and contacted a few—and next thing I know, I’m being considered for removal from the labs. On July 3rd a meeting was held with three people. I will not go into all of who they were, but Dr. Teller, of course, was number-one, and he wanted me removed, and there were two others, one of whom is now deceased, Dr. Vannevar Bush, but he was not one who voted against me. He voted to drop the issue and not to remove me. The third party I shall not name publicly—not at this time—was the one who cast the deciding vote for my removal.
On July 4th—this vote was cast on July 3rd of 1947. On July 4th, a holiday, the family and I, we were at a picnic. MPs (military police), or I should say appropriately SPs—shore patrol, they used to call them—drove up in a bus, identified me formally, arrested me, charging me with espionage, and took me away from the picnic, never to see the family again until in the 1950s. And on a bus to a train to Washington D.C., and I expected a full court martial. We got down there, they said, “No, the charges are dropped.” And thinking about it since then, it was a ploy just to get me out of there. The Navy didn’t want me really court martialed because I hadn’t done anything wrong, but the political pressure was such that they had to get me out and they had to have an excuse. So they charged me with espionage and then dropped the charges.
This vote was cast on July 3rd of 1947. On July 4th, a holiday, the family and I, we were at a picnic. MPs (military police)—or I should say appropriately SPs, shore patrol, they used to call them—drove up in a bus, identified me formally, arrested me charging me with espionage, and took me away from the picnic, never to see the family again.
So, I was stationed at the Pentagon at that point, and they told me, “We have a new assignment for you.” “Okay, fine. But where’s my family?” “Well, you can’t see the family.” So I was sent to Muroc Dry Lake Base, is what it was called then, now called Edwards Air Force Base, in July of 1947 to be an official observer for the Mach-1 Project.
The Mach-1 Project, for those that may not know what it is, because it did happen quite a few years ago, was the attempt to break the sound barrier. Bell Aircraft Company built a rocket-plane called the X-1, and there were follow-on models XS-1, etc. And this project took place at Edwards—now Edwards, then Muroc Dry Lake Base. And the whole purpose was to see if you could get a plane to fly faster than sound. The military took the view that, “Let’s try it.” The mathematicians and the scientists, pardon the expression, didn’t think it was possible—they were really convinced it was impossible. You can’t fly faster than the speed of sound. Well, needless to say, we’ve been doing it for decades. But that was the first attempt and it was successful.
Among the people who were there on staff there as part of the actual test-group was, of course Chuck Yeager, who was the principal pilot—he was not in NASA; there was no NASA yet—and his principal aeronautical engineer consultant, Jack Ridley. I was there as observer along with eleven others. There were ten from the U.S., two from foreign sources—one was Italian, the other was German. I do not know why they were there. I know why the American ones were there, of course. The Navy was very interested in the outcome because if it was successful, they wanted to go into a project of their own. [Edwards was the Air Force]
The tests were successful on 28 October 1947, and with that, of course, the Navy decided they wanted to build a project of their own. The project was not terminated: we went into a new phase and continued on the research. But in the process of being there I met, of course, Jack Ridley; Yeager I knew casually. But Ridley and I had something in common: we both had physics degrees. He had a bachellor’s degree from the University of Oklahoma, after which he joined the Army. He was transferred to the Army Air Corps, and at some point after that, for whatever reasons, the Army transferred him to Cal-Tech so he could get a master’s degree in aeronautical engineering, and then eventually he was assigned to the Edwards operation.
Edward Cameron and Jack Ridley invent the ion-propulsion jet engine
I met him, I talked with him at length, and we both discussed this. “Well, rocket-planes are fine, they put out plenty of power, but it doesn’t last very long.” But if you get to space exploration at a later date, which we both were quite sure would happen, what’ll we use for propulsion power? Well, we kicked this around between us for quite awhile. And we were quite close about this, and we used to have a lot of meetings over beer, and a lot of meetings otherwise. Neither of us— well, I was married, but I never did get to see the family. He was not married at that point. And he came up with an idea, a new one, and [UI] had an ion-propulsion engine. We both knew physics and we felt it could be done.
So, we went back to our principals—I to the Navy and he to the Air Force, which had come into being in the meantime—and they liked the idea. And they both said, “If you want to get together, we’ll finance a facility. Go find a place and build a facility where you can do your work and perhaps build an ion-propulsion engine.” They were very interested in this. So, we found a location; it was in Malibu Beach, California. And we had a small facility built there. And we moved in, along with the staff, about 1949. A very small staff, small operation.
And we did a lot of research, and a lot of testing, and this went on until 1953, when in January of 1953, we had our first successful test. There were a lot of failures, make no mistake about it. It was a difficult project to get an engine to do what we wanted it to do. The test goal was 1,000 pounds thrust for at least ten minutes. We exceeded that—we put out 1,200 pounds thrust for 20 minutes, at which point an ion feed failed and we shut it down. I was ready to let it run all day if the system would work.
It was a completely classified project, but I can tell you the word got out like wildfire through the aircraft industry. Douglas Air Craft in Long Beach was ecstatic; they wanted to work with us; they had something in mind. Martin Air Craft in Baltimore, Maryland, was quite gruff about it with no comment. Boeing hit the roof, and they were very upset about it, which to me said at the time that they had a system of their own in the works and we beat them to the draw.
Shortly after this test, my natural father, Alexander Duncan Cameron Sr., shows up, and he says, “I’ve heard about your work. I am ready to fund you in unlimited funds so we can get this thing off the ground.” And he says, “You can get it rolling.” And he says. “It will be a major industry.” That was his statement.
And I said, “Fine.” So we filed corporate papers, incorporated. We started to file patents, and then in March of 1953, Jack went out on a business trip for a week, and during that period of time I was there essentially alone, holding down the fort along with a small staff. What happened from that point on was very interesting. One day during the middle of that week, a team of black-ops personnel, very similar to Delta Force and some of the other special groups, but those who know the military know there is a black-ops operation. A team of black-ops people, seven of them, came in, grabbed me out from under the nose of everybody else, took me out, and we went on a plane to Washington D.C. And then we went to McLean, Virginia, where there’s a joint NSA-CIA facility, and from that point on, things got very interesting.
Interrogation by the NSA and CIA, which suspect Bielek of being another Val Thor
Once in this facility, I was interrogated by a very strange and interesting group of people, who, believe it or not, interrogated me for over three days. And I could not understand what it was all about or why at first. They wanted to know practically my life-history, and I though that was strange, because, after all, it was essentially an open book with the Navy. The Navy personnel knew what I had done, where I’d been. Nevertheless, I had all these questions thrown at me—what I had done in the Navy, done under the Philadelphia Experiment and all of this, in some detail—they were very interested in that. But then, “How did you get involved in this project?” I said, “I met Jack Ridley, and we decided that the thing to do was build an ion propulsion engine.” And he says, “Yes, we know about that, that you had a successful test. But where does it go from here?” I said, “Well, that’s what I want to know. We expect to go into production with this thing after we iron out some wrinkles. We’ve already been promised all kinds of money and we’ve incorporated. Now, what’s the problem?”
The Majestic Twelve give Bielek and Ridley’s company to Cristaldi Research Group
Well, I was told at that point that there was a group, which I’d heard rumors about already, called the Cristaldi Research Group, who were very interested in this project, and quite interested, probably, in taking it over. Now, we were running, by the way, under the name of JRC Enterprises, which, JR stood for Jack Ridley, C for Cameron, and E for Edward. JRC Enterprises, if one wants to check and has the capability of finding the right location on the Internet, still exists as a wholly owned subsidiary of Cristaldi Research Group. At that point I didn’t ask very much about Cristaldi. I knew they were interested, and it was made apparent to me that Cristaldi was going to take over the operation. They did not say that in so many words in this meeting, but they made that quite apparent. It was obvious that I was to be frozen out, and I was. They told me I would not be returning to the facility.
I was returned to the Pentagon, at which point I was rather upset, and rather hopping-mad, and wanted to know from my superiors what was going on here. Why can’t I go back? They wouldn’t give me an answer at first; they wouldn’t give me any answers. And I remained stationed there on payroll, and weeks went by, and months went by, and I kept asking questions. I wasn’t doing anything useful; I was a bump on a log, sitting in an office, passing the time of day, trying to find out what the history was going to be. In the meantime, Jack Ridley came back from his business trip and found I was missing, and he couldn’t understand what it was all about, and the people there could not give him an adequate explanation, and so he tried to carry on on his own. I don’t know at this point whether he though I walked out, or whether I was kidnapped, or what. But the report should have been that I was literally kidnapped.
I remained at the Pentagon; I was not even able to call him. And as time went by and I kept asking questions, went further and further up the line, finally to the Joint Chiefs. “What is going on here?” I said. “I want to get back and do some work in the Navy,” and, “I’m basically a career man. I’d like to see my family,” and so forth. They all demurred. I finally went to the chairman of the Joint Chiefs, and I asked him. I said, “What is going on?” gave my same story, and so forth. And he looked at me rather strangely, and he says, “There is nothing I can do. It is out of my hands.” I knew then there was something very, very strange going on. And with him saying it was out of their hands, meaning out of the hands of the military, I had no idea what was really afoot.
I finally went to the chairman of the Joint Chiefs, and I asked him. I said, “What is going on?” gave my same story, and so forth. And he looked at me rather strangely, and he says, “There is nothing I can do. It is out of my hands.”
Back to the future–1983
Late July (1953), I got word that a decision had been made, and that in August I was going to be sent back to Montauk. And I said, “Montauk?” “Montauk Point.” Well, there was such a place; I didn’t know much about it. There was a Fort Hero and a military base there, which at that point was Montauk Air Force Station. They were doing radar research; that I knew about. It was the beginning phases of it. So, I was sent there and told to stand in a certain location in the traffic circle; and next thing I know, I’m back at Montauk underground in 1983. What specific date in 1983 I don’t know—I wasn’t there very long. But I was met by a number of people at this location underground, Dr. John von Neumann being the principal.
Edward Cameron is age-regressed from 37 years old to nine months old
And here we were, in the middle of Montauk underground in New York State actually on the very eastern tip of Long Island, and John tells me, he said, “I don’t like what they’re going to do to you.” He said, “I have no control over this anymore.” He said, “I’m now only a consultant on the base.” [UI] this was some time in 1983, and I don’t know exactly when. He says, “What they’re going to do is strip you completely of your memories with the special equipment we have here.” He made some passing comment that it was something they captured after the war from the Germans. “So, they’re going to age-regress you down to a young kid, and they’re going to put you in another family in the past and hope you never remember anything.” I says, “They’re going to do what?” And he says, “This is what they’re going to do.”
“So, they’re going to age-regress you down to a young kid, and they’re going to put you in another family in the past and hope you never remember anything.”
Well, they physically grabbed me, put me on a gurney, gave me a shot of some kind, and then put me in a very strange machine, if you will. I was on a standard-sized medical gurney, typically about that wide, but I was shoved in the tube, which was like glass— it’s transparent—approximately this wide with the inner wall, and then there was an outer wall like this. And in-between, there were four coils, flat-ribbon coils of wire—truly ribbon, not wire—with connections to each end of them to all four coils. I observed the fact that the connecting cables went over to some piece of equipment lined up on the wall, which covered all of one wall. I looked at it; it was black panels that had very strange ancient-looking markings on it, with little marking tabs above it in English saying what these controls were for. And the glowing behind the panel, which, the side panel was removed so I could see it, was some modern-type transmitting tubes—basically of the type that are on the Apollo or something very similar to that, 10 or 20 kW each, of that genre.
Well, I had that shot, then I had another one and I passed out, slowly fading out in a reverie, if you will, and the next thing I remembered, I was at my current legal mother’s [home], the Bielek family, having a Christmas party at Christmas, 1927.
And there I was—that I very clearly remember, and It’s the only serious memory I have. It’s the only one I have of that particular period. I have no memory of being in a baby carriage; I have no memory of doing this sort of thing like this current— I mean, I did have a crib. But at this Christmas party, there was a small Christmas tree on the top of Mother’s grand piano, a mahogany thing, about this high, and I was a little shorter than this, as would be expected of a nine-month-old baby. So, I was watching all of this and listening to what was going on with all of the people, whom I later identified as the regular relatives associated with the Bielek family, understanding virtually everything they said.
Understand what I’m saying. I understood the English and everything they were saying, and I was less than one year old. What one-year-old baby understands the English language, particularly of adults talking a normal conversation? I did. Major discrepancy number-one, which, of course, I could not resolve for many years. And a few phrases dropped out; I did not understand what was being said, but virtually everything, 80 percent or better, was understandable.
Childhood as Al Bielek
Well, from that point on, I grew up as Al Bielek, not knowing any different, not knowing any better. I went through my childhood years. I went to grade-school. My parents moved. They were at that point living in Jamaica, Long Island. They moved from there to Patterson, New Jersey. From Patterson, New Jersey, they moved to Long Island. They ran a business on Long Island for a period of time, which failed, and from there they moved in with my grandparents—that is, my legal mother’s father and his wife, on Foster Avenue in Brooklyn. I was there from 1933 to 1938, when we moved to New Jersey.
So, I grew up, not knowing anything else. All of the usual childhood things. Another discrepancy: at the age of twelve I was six-foot-one, and totally out of proportion—I was all legs. At that point my shoulders, shoulder-width, was no wider than my hips, which is more than a little bit unusual. But that was the case. Since I left the Bielek family and was out on my own, many of the physical discrepancies have changed. My eyesight was bad from the age of about six-and-a-half on; I had to wear glasses, rather heavy, to go through school.
A year in the Navy
I finished my high school. I was drafted into the Navy: that was in July 1945. I wound up as an electronic technician; I thought that was rather strange and ironic in looking at it later. I went through the Navy for a year, and then the war was over, and they sort of twisted our arm into standing on in the Navy for at least another year. I refused to do it. We were not under compulsion to do it and we were not under compulsion to join the reserves at that time. Approximately a year-and-a-half later it was mandatory to become a reservist, which, of course, pulled a few friends of mine back in in the time period of the Korean War.
I kept growing up. I went through school and I went to try a business of my own for a number of years, between the period of early 1947 and 1951. That didn’t go well. This was in New Jersey. I went to college and then [UI] electrical engineering in Newark, New Jersey, and then in 1953 I got the notion: I’m fed up with this, living in New Jersey with my folks; I’m going to California. That was after I had a job for a year and a half of rather interesting company on the East Coast. There was a field engineer for an electronics firm that supplied flight simulators for the Air Force and other organizations, both commercial and military.
Move to California
I went to California, continued there, continued my schooling. Eventually I wound up as a consulting electronic engineer at the start of 1958, and went on for thirty years, until 1988, when I retired from the engineering profession. Not absolute and total, but that was the way it worked. So it wasn’t that I wanted to, but that was the way it happened.
Ivan T. Sanderson and Pentagon’s acceptance of extraterrestrials on Earth
In that period of time, of course, I met a number of interesting people, like Ivan T. Sanderson, and I picked up a few magazines dealing with the Philadelphia Experiment and Einstein’s connection with it. And I had an absolute fascination with the subject during this period. And the fascination became— had become virtually a compulsion before long to find any information I could whatsoever about the subject.
I became acquainted with Ivan T. Sanderson, who was a British naturalist who moved to New York just prior to the end of World War II. I met him in 1951. And I dropped association in 1953 because of my travels with the company as a flight simuator specialist. And in 1963 I re-contacted him while I was in Pennsylvania, and we became re-acquainted, and then I was on the staff. He also had a great interest in the Philadelphia Experiment. And since he had been in intelligence—British intelligence—he was sort of a special guest, if you will, in the Pentagon almost any time he wanted to go down there and talk with the intelligence people and other officers in the Navy. And he tossed around a lot of subjects. UFOs was common gossip at that time, well recognized and accepted by the military, but not for the outside public’s consumption—totally internal. And he couldn’t find anything out about the Philadelphia Experiment. He was certain that something had happened. The only thing the Navy would admit to him was the DE-173 and others; they wouldn’t say more than that. Of course it was in the records that there was a DE-173, commissioned on 27 August 1943, served in the war, and everything else that I’ve said about it since; when it went to the Greeks, but, of course, at that point, nothing about it coming back. He couldn’t find out a thing. I couldn’t find anything out. But my interest remained.
John von Neumann is the source for two Montauk books (1978-1979)
A series of books were written after that, starting in 1978. The first one was entitlted Thin Air, by two authors whom I do not know [Simpson and Burger]. It was a fiction story, basically, but the background information they gave regarding the Philadelphia Experiment was quite accurate, speaking in retrospect. They mentioned the man, who was a scientist, who gave them all the information to write the book, a man they called Dr. Reno, R-e-n-o. No connection with Janet Reno. And described the house, and the fact that he had cats, and the place was a total dismayed wreck, all of which was absolutely correct, fact. And then, of course, came the next book, the next year, 1979—The Philadelphia Experiment: Project Invisibility, by Berlitz and Moore.
And Moore never got his facts straight, but there’s one or two things there which did hang together and, again, the mention of Dr. Reno, describing the same location, that this is the source of much of their information. Except, obviously, he didn’t get enough correct information from Dr. Reno, who turns out to be Dr. John von Neumann. That, of course, took quite a bit of detective work and quite some time to find out.
Bielek “meets” Preston Nichols and his half-brother, Duncan, through the United States Psychotronics Association (1983)
Well, I went on my merry way. I was a member, since this is of importance, of the USPA, United States Psychotronics Association. Originally, in its founding year, in 1975, called the U.S. Radionics Association, but they changed it the next year because of the connotation of radionics, and the somewhat bad taste it had in the mouth of scientists and some other people. They renamed it the Psychotronics Association; I was a founding member. And, of course, the thing is not defunct—it’s in limbo today. It’s not what it was, but they still have meetings. Through that organization and its annual meetings, I met Preston Nichols. And Preston Nichols at that time—this was 1981—was involved in the Montauk Project, of which I had no recall at the point in time that I’m referring to. And some time later—it was actually 1983 I met him, not ’81.
And in 1985, he was at another conference and meeting for the USPA, to which he brought an assistant called Duncan Cameron. I knew nothing about Duncan at that point, because I was still, shall I say, heavily under the weather, or a very heavy brainwashing—both for the Philadelphia Experiment and my involvement in the Montauk Project. And, I might add, for many other projects.
Well I saw Preston there; he gave a paper in 1985, and Duncan was part of that presentation, and I saw a person I consider a sensitive, a psychic sensitive, and I had a strong feeling of kinship to him, and I cornered him one day in the cafeteria at this facility where they were holding the meeting, which was in Dayton, Ohio. And we talked for about two-and-a-half hours. About half-way through this, I got this strange feeling in the pit of my stomach I knew this guy from someplace. So, finally I asked him. I says, “Duncan, do you have any feeling, any idea that possibly you know me from somewhere?” He said, “Yes. I do.” I says, “From where?” He says, “I have no idea.” I said, “I have the same feeling. I also have no idea where it’s from.”
“Duncan, do you have any feeling, any idea that possibly you know me from somewhere?” He said, “Yes. I do.” I says, “From where?” He says, “I have no idea.” I said, “I have the same feeling. I also have no idea where it’s from.”
Before the meeting broke up and we left, Preston had invited me to come visit him some time at his lab facility on Long Island. Now, this meeting was held in July of 1985. And I availed myself of his invitation in August of 1985, duncan Cameron saying he would put me up at his house on Long Island, which is fairly close to where Preston lives. I still didn’t figure out where I knew him from, but I had the feeling, “Well, it’s possible it’s from a past life.” Well, that was part of the answer, but it was not the real answer I was interested in. I won’t go into all of the ideas about reincarnation; that’s not part of this story, not part of this presentation of the facts which I’m trying to deal with.
Bielek visits Montauk “for the first time” (1985)
In August of 1985, I went there, I stayed at Duncan’s place, intending to stay a weekend—I wound up staying two weeks. And on one of the visits with Preston, he says, “I want to take you two out to a place on the eastern tip of Long Island. I’m not going to tell you what it’s all about, but I know you two are sensitive, and I’ve been out there many times because I’m a surplus electronics dealer, but I know you guys haven’t been there before. Well, of course, that turned out to be the biggest joke of the century, but at that point we didn’t know it was any different.
And he took us up in his van. He took us to the base, parked in the parking lot outside of the base. The fences were down, it was totally deserted, and we wandered all over the place. I could feel, as Duncan did, some horrendous project had taken place there in recent years, and it was obviously completely shut down; totally abandoned, with wercked equipment everywheres; unwrecked, completely intact electronic equipment in the buildings; the doors were unlocked. There was nobody to patrol the place, nobody looking after it. It was like somebody packed up, walked out, and left this huge base with all this equipment on many, many military buildings behind. Huge power plant, this giant radar towe r, and we couldn’t figure it out. But we had the feeling that something terrible had happened there, and this was the key to what happened later.
Terminated the visit, of course, and then I went back to where I was living at that time, which was Phoenix, Arizona. I continued my employment work and eventually, in 1986, in the second visit, which was in May of 1986, after having talked with some friends in Phoenix, one of whom was an engineering minor at that point at ASU (Arizona State University), but he contacted me because of my interest in Tesla and some of Tesla’s work. And he had a group of friends, the three of them. Together we talked. And I told him about my visit to Montauk Point, and this huge installation. I says, “Totally abandoned. We were walking around it.” I said my guess was that somebody spent an enormous sum of money on this operation. My guess at that time was $50 billion, which wasn’t too far off the mark.
My guess was that somebody spent an enormous sum of money on this operation. My guess at that time was $50 billion, which wasn’t too far off the mark.
Senator Barry Goldwater investigates Montauk
Little did I know at that time that this guy, Lenny, full name Lenny Perlstein, was the nephew of Senator Barry Goldwater. Thereafter the story, of course, went to Goldwater. Goldwater was still a senator at that time. And he was also chairman of the Armed Services Oversight Committee. Well, he started looking through the records of the Congress (House) and the Senate to see if any money was spent on a project out there. He couldn’t find anything; he got very frustrated. Of course, there is a military base: it had been closed. It was closed in 1968 officially, and the State of New York was supposed to take the place over as a park. But little is known about the underground operations, and some of them above-ground, but as our research proved later, this was all run on private money, a private group, and this was going back to 1947. And this is, of course, in the period I’m speaking of, overlapping my life as Al Bielek and Ed Cameron. When Operation Paperclip had been completed and all of the German scientists came into the U.S., they went to work at Brookhaven National Laboratories to continue projects they had been working on in Germany—namely time-travel, and also mind-control.
When Operation Paperclip had been completed and all of the German scientists came into the U.S., they went to work at Brookhaven National Laboratories to continue projects they had been working on in Germany—namely time-travel, and also mind-control.