by John A. Quinn

The response from county personnel was a masterpiece of fuzzy meaningless mush that said nothing at all.  They tried repeatedly to deflect our questioning about the ownership of the building, etc., saying that was confidential information.  They stated that they do receive payment for water usage at the location, but would neither indicate from whom, nor how any such bill can be paid if the amount owed cannot be determined.  I believe that county personnel deliberately obfuscated the truth about this matter.

My wife and I looked up the names we got off the intercom at the Montauk Tower, but could only find several of them listed.  Also, most of these had no address listed, only P.O. boxes.  We called the numbers we found and got an answer at just one.  The woman who answered said that she was the manager of the building, and mentioned that her husband ran a restaurant in Montauk village.  We said that I had just moved back to the area with my family and were looking for a residence to buy.  We inquired whether any of the units were for sale, as we liked the downtown location.  The woman gave us the name of one of the residents who was selling their condo on the third floor, as they had moved to another dwelling.

Later, checking the local real estate listings, we did find a two other condos listed for sale, the first one by the owner, the other by a real estate agency in Montauk.  As it turned out the privately advertised condo was being handled by the same agency as the other listed unit, so we had an agent at that office show us the two units.  One was on the first floor and one was on the sixth floor.  There was a “so called” penthouse unit above the sixth floor, which, we were repeatedly told, had recently been purchased by an elderly woman.  This was where Preston Nichols was taken to meet with numerous Air Force officials in August 1995.  No elderly woman was part of that event.

The first floor apartment was basically a long, rather narrow unit with only one large window facing south. There were no other windows, and the overall effect of the apartment was quite claustrophobia-inducing.  Why this agent would state that it was just right for us, with a two-year old child, is beyond me.

She then took us up to the sixth floor unit.  Here’s where things really got odd.  Both my wife and I (and maybe our little boy too!) were thoroughly disoriented upon exiting the elevator on the sixth floor.  The entire layout was completely different than the first floor; the walls and hallways were at very odd angles to the elevator entrance; everything seemed out of kilter.  The apartment, though not as confining as the other, was laid out in a very strange way.  One of the “bedrooms” was little more than a closet and part of it was cut off by an angled, sloping wall, which severely restricted the space.  The real estate agent told us it was because of some stairway which led to the penthouse, although there was no indication of any such stairway outside the apartment.

The agent kept telling us how good either unit would be for us, an obvious absurdity.  When leaving this apartment we were again very puzzled by the layout of the sixth floor and couldn’t really figure out what was where in relation to the main (external) structure of the building.  It definitely seemed as though there was a substantial amount of space unaccounted for on this floor.  We made a point to ask the real estate agent what was in the basement of building and whether it was accessible to the occupants.  We received no clear reply.

We then contacted the party who was selling the third floor apartment and made an appointment to see it.  Although the layout of the third floor was different than that of the other two floors we had seen it was not bizarre or disorienting.  The fellow was quite friendly and seemed, as did the real estate agent, quite sure that the place was just right for us and that we would really like to live there.  We asked him about the basement, about what was down there and so forth and once again received no clear answer.

Several days later, while videotaping the outside of the tower building, my wife and I both saw a face appear in a window adjacent to the sixth floor hallway in front of the elevator, which should have been the small bedroom we had just recently seen, yet there was no such window in the bedroom!  We could easily figure this out by counting the number of windows visible from the outside and comparing it to the windows in the apartment!  There is no doubt of this fact, and this proves that there is “hidden space” in this building.

There is another thing worth mentioning about this building.  A year later in April 1996 I decided to rustle through the building’s garbage dumpster to see what might turn up.  There was virtually no typical household refuse.  The dumpster was mostly filled with cardboard boxes and other shipping and packing materials, and the remnants of a number of takeout meals.  Of particular interest was a good sized shipping carton addressed to a Ceil Roth, which is the name of the Air Force colonel who met with Preston Nichols in the penthouse unit during August 1995.  This box was sent from an underwater construction corporation based in San Diego California.

A final note -- the roof of this building is literally a good-sized antenna farm, bristling with an astonishing number of antennae of all shapes and sizes, and I’m not talking about TV antennae or ordinary satellite dishes.

It’s also worthy of mention that upon my return to my California residence after the 1995 trip, and continuing to this day, I began receiving numerous bizarre phone calls, sometimes several a day, in which there is nothing but “dead air” on the other end.  This went on even after we had our number changed to an unlisted number.

There is one other peculiar incident in my past I can call to mind concerning this location.

My father worked in NYC journalism for many years, and during most of the 1970s was feature editor for The New York Daily News.  Some time in the mid-1970s before I moved to California, my family went to East Hampton for the weekend.

I would have been about 20-22 years old. We lived at that time mainly in Queens, but spent much time on eastern Long Island.  My father had mentioned to me before we arrived in East Hampton that he really wanted me to accompany him and a colleague, Pat O’Haire, the next morning (Saturday) to visit some fellow living in Ditch Plains (a neighborhood roughly halfway between Montauk village and Camp Hero on the Atlantic shore), whom they were apparently going to interview, I guess for The Daily News.  I was never totally clear on the reason they were visiting him, let alone why it was so imperative that I go along!

My dad seemed to think this was a really interesting and fascinating person with some very newsworthy information to impart.  He stressed several times that he really wanted me to go with them.  The next morning my father again reiterated how much he wanted me to accompany him and Pat O’Haire (who lived (lives) in Montauk), and after a call from my dad, Ms. O’Haire drove from Montauk to pick us up and bring us to this man’s place in Ditch Plains.  It was a rather wintery and gloomy day I recall.

Upon arriving at this man’s “house” I was immediately struck by its uncharacteristically (for Montauk and East Hampton Township) drab and plain appearance, and its somewhat unusual cement construction.  As best I can recall this man had a Germanic name.  Inside, this rather elderly (maybe 55 - 60 years old), ex-military seeming man quickly engaged my father and Pat in a fairly animated conversation in which he basically pilloried the federal income tax system and the IRS.  Now it doesn’t take a genius to figure that is a subject on which you are going to get a definite and strong response from virtually anybody -- there aren’t too many people, especially among the middle class, who wouldn’t get on board that train pretty quickly (the anti-IRS express).  I was half-listening, but not too involved.  I picked up something about this man I didn’t like, I couldn’t figure out yet why it was so important for me to go along, and I was feeling a bit bored and uncomfortable.

They went into a little study or office and I started looking around this fellow’s living room, whereupon I saw at least a few publications of radical (and racist) right wing groups, indicating this man’s politics were diametrically opposed certainly to mine and pretty much to my father’s also.

The whole point of us -- especially me--being there escaped me, and I found the literature in the living room very upsetting, disturbing and distasteful.  There was something very weird about the house too.  It just didn’t feel like a house.  Most home construction in that area is wood frame, with certain exceptions -- especially in newer construction.  This was definitely not new, yet obviously not very old as it was cement and cinder block.  It was also pretty small, one story and basically very square, with the interior divided into a living room, the study, a kitchen and bedroom in the rear which I never saw, and what looked like a small closet.

After milling around outside for few minutes, where I was, again, struck by the rather peculiar architectural style of the building, in a part of the country where such things are often commented on and talked about (sometimes to a very tedious degree), I went back in and started making major eye signals at my dad to get the hell out of there.  I was really feeling bent out of shape, had nothing in common with this person, couldn’t imagine why anyone wanted me to come there, found his politics very disturbing, and I wanted to GO!

My dad responded to me and the three of them came out of the study into the living room, at which point, out of politeness, I made some brief small talk with the man we were visiting.  Mainly, I was very curious about his house and said so.  I said I thought it was rather unusual, I couldn’t place the period or style of construction, that it didn’t really feel or look like a house built for a family, etc.  I can’t recall exactly how he responded, but he pointed out the other rooms toward the rear.

At that point I either asked him about the small rectangular protrusion right next to me which seemed to be a closet, or else he poited it out.  I recall him opening the door, and saying that it actually was a stairway that went to the basement.

At this point something strange happened but I can’t completely remember what.  I’m certain he said something about the basement that was very strange, very unusual, that just seemed really odd -- but my memory fails me here.  Now what could be strange about a basement?  Well, it must be different in some way from what one would expect:  either more or less somehow than what a basement would normally be.  My strong feeling is that he said the basement was in fact connected to or part of a tunnel system.  I can’t find in my mind any clear and solid memory of what occurred immediately after he pointed out the stairway.

The rest of my memories of this event are nil. Later in the day we got driven back to East Hampton and it was quite late.  I was also feeling pretty low and depressed.

It seems that we definitely arrived back home later than one would expect, as we went out to Ditch Plains certainly before noon, and I remember quite well how I couldn’t handle being there at all.  I think it was at most about forty-five minutes to an hour until I started signaling my dad to leave.

I’ve looked for this location more than a few times in recent years, and just couldn’t find it.  I am certain that we went to the Ditch Plains area, but I found nothing there that looked similar.  Finally, when I was visiting my family again in April of 1996, I had a breakthrough.  There was an article in the local paper about a tract of land in Montauk known as Shadmoor, which was being bought by the federal government from the owner/developer who had been refused permission to develop the land for at least ten years.

The article went on to say that this property was originally an extension of Camp Hero, and that the only remaining structures on it were two military buildings, actually machine-gun nests, built to look like private residences.  This area was bought by a developer but the Town of East Hampton (the hamlet of Montauk within East Hampton Township) refused to allow him to build on the property, almost certainly due to pressure from certain federal agencies, and now the Federal government was buying the land outright and designating it a Nature Preserve, forever “safe” from any development or other private use.

This story really piqued my interest, as it was about the only stretch of coastline I hadn’t yet checked in my efforts to ascertain where the house we had visited some 20 years ago actually was.

I went to Shadmoor, which is directly west of the Ditch Plains public bathhouse and parking lot, and found there what very much appeared to be the filled-in and subsequently partly caved-in foundations/basements of three structures, which were no longer standing.  Without doubt, this was the area where the man we had visited lived, but the “houses” were now gone.  Obviously, it was not a real house this man had lived in as I had correctly intuited at the time, but was some kind of military building.  As this entire property was actually part of Camp Hero it’s now known that it was connected to the main base via tunnels.  Given the time frame of our visit, this man was undoubtedly engaged in some kind of activity connected to the “Montauk Project,” which had then recently gotten in full swing.  Apparently, I was part of that activity, that day.

I may never be able to find out too much more as my father died nine years ago, and his former colleague Pat O’Haire has not returned my calls.

I have the racial and genetic background, which has apparently proved desirable to the operators of the “Montauk/Phoenix Project(s)” -- blue-eyed and light haired, with lots of German blood on both sides, and Celtic (Irish) on my father’s side.

As I’m most certainly not a scientist, quantum or particle physicist, radio-electronics genius, ex-military-intelligence operative, or anything remotely like any of those, the question would be -- for what purpose could I possibly have been inducted (or is that abducted?) into the “Montauk Project?”  Given that probably tens of thousands of youngsters of varying ages have been and are being (usually unwittingly) conscripted for “use” in virtually all phases and aspects of this Project and numerous other clandestine projects (I’d think from dishwashers and sanitation workers to particle physicists and everything in between -- the Montauk underground is in fact an underground city), there may be no way to say for certain how I may have been used.  As there is such severe psychological and spiritual manipulation and abuse involved in the programming of conscripted victims, in addition to deliberate memory-tampering and other mind-wiping procedures, there may be no way to say for certain if I was so used at all.

It’s conceivable and I think likely that inductees are scanned and evaluated for any particular abilities, which they possess and are shunted, accordingly, into corresponding functions at the Montauk base.  If that were to be the case, then very likely my talents, skills and abilities would probably be strongest in two fields:  writing and music composition, and perhaps these talents (or others) were taken advantage of and utilized by Project administrators.  I also think I might possess a bit of so-called “psychic” ability -- maybe more than I am aware of.  According to Preston Nichols, popular music has been used extensively by the operators of the “Montauk Project” as a tool for influencing the “collective unconscious” if you will; in particular that of the younger generation.

Nichols states that state-of-the-art recording facilities and psycho-acoustic techniques were utilized to “insert” subliminal programming into popular music which can trigger certain responses and changes in awareness; also that time-travel technology enabled this to be implemented both in the past as well as the present (and presumably the future too).  Music was and is considered a very powerful and effective way to access the deeper emotional and instinctual levels of consciousness, and contemporary popular music has been thoroughly by intelligence agencies, secret societies and (secret) governments to that end.  Such infiltration and subversion of other forms of communication and entertainment including television networks, the motion picture industry and the news media in general has been explored and documented, but I guess it’s a bit of a shock for personal reasons to realize that contemporary music has not escaped such a fate.  Mr. Nichols has further stated as well that, once again, the Mafia has worked and is working hand in glove with intelligence agencies in such operations involving mass communications.

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Index and Direct Hyperlinks to the Other Web Pages on this Website:


  1. The Philadelphia Experiment and the Secrets of Montauk Home Page

  2. Introduction

  3. Life of Al Bielek

  4. Timeline

  5. Aliens, Time Travel, and Wormholes


  1. US Navy Official Record

  2. The Philadelphia Experiment Story

  3. The Philadelphia Experiment

  4. Life of Ed Cameron

  5. Dr. James Corum

  6. Nikola Tesla

  7. Dr. John Von Neumann - Official Record


  1. Camp Hero - Fort Montauk

  2. Montauk Project

  3. Larry James

  4. Preston Nichols

  5. Stewart Swerdlow

  6. Duncan Cameron


Copyright Al Bielek, June 24, 2004.
All rights reserved.  No portion of this document may be
reproduced in any form without written permission of the author.