ELDRIDGEVILLE GAZETTE: SUMMER 1952

     

 In this week’s “Looking Back” column, we travel to the summer of 1952, when the quiet town of Eldridgeville became a beacon for visitors far and near. This is the story of...

“Small Town, Bright Lights”

The skies over Old Man Ledbetter’s abandoned farm drew the attention of several neighbours on the night of July 8 1952. Blinking lights and a high-pitched “whining sound” caused such concern that Mildred Chesterfield, who was operating the town switchboard, had to shut down the system. She reported that four calls were received within a short period of time just after ten o’clock. Police Chief Newberry and Mayor Dooley were informed of the mysterious event and the next morning, after visiting the site, declared an investigation was underway. But Newberry was confident that the Mischief Maker Chicory twins were likely behind the incident.

“Not so quick,” was the response from Mr. Wilbur Chicory. His boys had been the town’s go-to scapegoats for every little accident or explosion that had occurred since they were toddlers. In most cases he couldn’t deny their guilt, but he assured Chief Newberry that his twenty two year old twins could not be blamed for this one. Both boys were visiting relatives in the city and had been away for several days. With complete confidence, Mr. Chicory declared, “My boys don’t know anything”.

Mayor Dooley reassured the townsfolk that there was nothing to worry about and promised, “Doggone it, you’ve got my word—we won’t stop till we’ve uncovered the truth.”
Privately he pressed Newberry, “Do whatever it takes. Put an end to this tomfoolery before it gets out of hand.” 

 

With no further incidents reported, public interest began to wane—until July 18, when Mildred Chesterfield was once again overwhelmed at the switchboard. Witnesses reported suspicious lights over the Eldridgeville Drive-In Theatre—coincidentally screening Red Planet Mars at the time. One onlooker compared the lights to “a first of July fireworks display,” while another, claiming her cows’ milk production had sharply declined since the first sighting, feared this latest event would stop the flow altogether. By the time Newberry reached the drive-in, the lights had vanished.

Days later, with public curiosity still running high, Chief Newberry and Mayor Dooley issued a joint statement assuring residents that no new sightings had been reported. “The hoaxers appear to have lost interest,” Newberry announced. He also confirmed that the Mischief Maker twins had returned from their city visit and, after extensive questioning, had been cleared of any involvement. Trying unsuccessfully to hide a grin, he added, “It’s true. They really don’t know anything.”

Then, after nearly a month of peaceful nights, the skies over Rockcliff Road lit up like a Christmas tree in the early hours of August 14. Norman Butterbun was heading home from an evening of darts at Wally’s Watering Hole and struggling to pedal his bicycle up the infamous incline near Lover’s Leap when he was startled by what he later described as a “flying saucer”—a glowing, spinning object that appeared out of nowhere, blinked violently, and “wailed like a rabid cat”. In his shock, Butterbun veered toward the edge of the cliff, ran into the guardrail and was thrown into a clump of shrubbery when the front wheel flew off his bicycle and rolled over the edge of Lover’s Leap.

(Years later, he would admit that on that night, he might have been suffering the effects of Wally’s libations.)

At that same moment, coming from the opposite direction, Mayor Dooley heard the frightening sound and glimpsed the blinking lights as they shot across the night sky. Still safely inside his vehicle, he was alarmed when a small, disheveled being flagged him down.

“How was I supposed to know it was you?” he shouted, as Butterbun flailed his arms and accused him of nearly running him over. 

“Did you see it? The spaceship?” cried Butterbun.


“I saw something,” Dooley replied as he loosened his tie. “And it wasn’t from this world. I’m sure of that."

Still shaken, the two men loaded what was now a unicycle into Dooley’s truck and headed straight for Chief Newberry’s house. 

 

By morning, a restless crowd had gathered outside the police station, demanding that the RCMP be called in for a “real” investigation. Chief Newberry, who freely admitted he hadn’t been trained for anything like this, was beginning to realize he might be in way over his head. Mayor Dooley—sweating through his shirt and looking like he hadn’t slept a wink—declared that he wouldn’t rest until the town had answers. Judging by the bags under his eyes, he meant it.

The crowd quickly disbanded when volunteers were requested for sky-watching duty.

Chief Newberry contacted the RCMP who advised him to report the issue to the Department of National Defence who in turn told him to speak to Dr. Johnson at the Shirley Bay Observatory near Ottawa. It would seem the government had been quietly studying reports of UFO sightings for some time. Chief Newberry handed Mildred Chesterfield the task of locating a telephone number for the observatory.

Several days passed when Mildred reported that she had been unable to contact the observatory directly, but had found a telephone number for the Holiday Rest Cabins at Shirley Bay. She telephoned the manager there, who generously offered to drive to the observatory with a message for Dr. Johnson. Four days later, Johnson returned the call and after hearing the details surrounding the strange events he offered to visit the town with his UFO detecting equipment. His arrival was warmly welcomed, though many of the farmers, untrained as they were in UFO research, couldn’t help notice his equipment seemed to be nothing more than rakes and shovels and a metal detector. Johnson visited the various sites in question, taking notes and creating charts. An ever-growing group of curious observers followed him, amazed that he could hold up a rake like an antennae to pick up what he called magnetic air waves. With his research completed he announced that the town was definitely sitting on an area of highly magnetic activity conducive to his theory that aliens have magnetic personalities and are drawn to such locations.

Meanwhile, news of the UFO sightings had spread to far-reaching communities, giving a much needed boost to Eldridgeville’s tourist industry. Local businesses were reaping the benefits when the visitors began questioning if they weren’t just wasting their time, since none of the out-of-towners had witnessed anything unworldly. The business owners assured them there was bound to be another event—very soon.

As luck would have it, that very night, residents and tourists witnessed the most spectacular event to date. Lights flashed across the sky above Main Street, hovered briefly over the Eldridgeville Motel, then zipped along to Bob’s Big Burger and the Eldridgeville General Store. The final stop was The Town Bakery, where Mr. Colleridge—coincidentally open far later than usual—was selling specially made UFO donuts.

Chief Newberry, fully confident now he had cracked the case, summoned the Local Business Owners Organization for a meeting first thing the next morning. After considerable pressure, the group confessed: they had staged the entire spectacle to stir up business in the sleepy town. And yes, they had consulted with the Mischief Maker twins—though the boys had provided no useful tips.

Now, Newberry was in a bind. Should he charge the business owners with creating a public nuisance? Or quietly let the mystery fade without pointing fingers?

In the end, with a promise from the group to cease any future “productions,” Newberry convinced Dr. Johnson to present his findings—charts and all—at a town meeting. The presentation was so mind-numbingly dull that the crowd quickly lost interest. The subject was avoided thereafter, for fear Dr. Johnson might return.

Though Eldridgeville was never again visited by anything resembling a UFO, the Local Business Owners Organization still found a way to cash in. Since 1953, July has been officially designated UFO Month, drawing curious visitors every summer—even now, more than seventy years later. And yes, the Town Bakery still sells its specially made UFO donuts.