It may be a strange thing to say (or write, as the case may be) but I was kind of hoping to spend some extra time at the Denver Airport. When I traveled to Denver for a conference last year, I arrived to a workload (attending AAR/SBL as an editor is all work, not play). I had no time to hang around the airport. I knew, however, as a recent New York Times piece states, that the airport has a reputation for the paranormal. While the Times article focuses on Luis Jimenez’s sculpture “Mustang” to start, it quickly moves on to “conspiracy theories.” And the parts of the airport passengers never see. The place has a reputation for being weird. During construction in recent years, the usually anodyne partitions that block construction from the view of passengers, housed images of aliens, bolstering rumors that Denver, and its airport, have some connection with our extraterrestrial neighbors.
The Times story points out alien graffiti in parts of the Denver Airport where travelers can’t go. And it also points out that although the fiery red eyes of “Mustang” are to represent Jimenez’s father’s start in the neon business, they give the giant horse a demonic aspect. The artist died working on the sculpture. A piece fell during construction, severing an artery. But the conspiracy theories began earlier. The southwest has a reputation of being the home of the shapeshifting reptilians that have made it onto mainstream television. Is it any wonder that Trump stands a possibility of getting the nomination while yet more crimes are actively stacked on his record?
Of course, I was in Denver to work. I claimed my bag and got a taxi on a snowy southwestern morning. While there I worked, of course. It was cold, in any case, back in November, so getting out to see the sights didn’t particularly appeal, especially since it was getting dark by the time the book stalls were closing and I was there alone. I always want to be on time, and since I’m an early riser, and since Thanksgiving was just a couple days away, I went to the airport three hours before my flight home. I was thinking I might have some time to do a bit of X-Filing while waiting. Alas, it was not to be. The helpful flight attendant put me on an earlier flight and I ended up with a three-hour layover in Chicago. But I also knew that several “mothman” sightings had taken place at O’Hare over the preceding months. When you’re a traveler, however, they keep you away from the interesting parts of the airport.
