The first machine landed right near my folks’ house. Just a couple miles away. I was watching and knew the area they were talking about. Then I realized the flying wing was dropping the bomb on the hills maybe a mile from our house. I recognized them. I could look out the sliding glass door and see the same outline as I could on the TV. That was the early seventies and as cool a late night television experience as I’ve ever had, matched only by the realization a couple decades ago that giant ants were nesting in the Los Angeles River a couple hundred yards behind my back. I swore I could smell the formic acid, but it was only the weed.

War of the Worlds, 1953. Martians are incinerating Carbon Canyon. No word on the fate of the nudists just up the road at Glen Ivy Hot Springs.

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