Chapter 1: The Origins and Early Initiatives

In the tranquil community of Montauk, Long Island, there lies a significant historical relic: a simple radar dish that symbolizes one of humanity's remarkable feats—the collaboration between scientific advancement and military expenditure. This inconspicuous structure was once tasked with monitoring the expansive skies of the Midwest, scanning for potential threats. However, it was retired in 1954 as the area's growth threatened its image as a quiet fishing locale. Thus, the dish remained, a lonely reminder of extravagant military spending in the heartland.

By 1961, the dust had settled from the Philadelphia Experiment, allowing for a renewed interest in more whimsical scientific endeavors. Martin Kane, an unconventional scientist, proposed a bold initiative to Congress. This facility aimed to assemble top-tier scientific minds to delve into time travel, meta-human studies, subliminal messaging, experimental aircraft, teleportation, bioengineering, and a curious blend of country music with rock ’n’ roll. Running out of space on the proposal form, Kane labeled it "General Scientific Boobery." Although funding was initially denied due to its staggering costs, it received covert support from a mysterious government think tank, with conspiracy theorists suggesting it was linked to hidden Nazi gold. The subsequent elimination of the eight-man team that discovered this treasure was as thrilling as it was tragic, but those tales are best left untold for now.

The ambitious project required a larger venue than the cramped three-bedroom apartment used for the Philadelphia Experiment. In a twist of fate, the Montauk radar dish was chosen as its new home. To mask the true purpose of the operation, contractor Jerry Cole was commissioned to create an underground facility beneath the radar.

Cole's contributions were as intricate as his later musical endeavor, the solo album Bad by Myself, which critics once dismissed as self-indulgent but has since gained a cult following among underground engineers. The facility comprised twelve underground levels dedicated to unconventional scientific exploration, with ten levels designated for serious research and two reserved for side projects, casual gatherings, and, notably, some legendary chili cookoffs.

While many locals pondered why it took an extensive crew and equipment seven months just to apply a few coats of white paint to the radar dish, most were simply relieved to see progress on what had long been a blight on their property values. Unbeknownst to them, groundbreaking scientific advancements were occurring right under their noses. Martin Kane aptly named the facility "Camp Hero" after his favorite sandwich, officially opening its doors in 1961.

When the government eventually agreed to fund the operation, Kane vowed to recruit the best minds from various fields. However, his inclination to hire "bad boy scientists" with a taste for the extravagant proved to be a significant oversight. These unconventional thinkers, often with dubious credentials, contributed to the unraveling of the carefully crafted cover story. Residents near the base frequently grumbled about the litter of cigarette butts and the inappropriate conversations drifting over their fences as scientists took breaks outside.

One of Kane's more contentious ideas was the initiation of "Prank Wars" soon after Camp Hero's establishment. The boisterous Meta-Human Division took pleasure in teasing the more reserved Artificial Intelligence Department, even sending a drunken, partially invisible individual—an unfortunate byproduct of a failed experiment—to disrupt the AI team's prized collection of adult material. The AI team, however, had the upper hand, deploying self-aware defense turrets to thwart their invisible adversary. In a twist of fate, the remnants of the invisible man were scattered throughout the Meta-Human floor, necessitating the expertise of high-level government janitors equipped with advanced thermal goggles to manage the unpleasant aftermath. Although the Meta-Human Division promised retribution, the AI Division emerged victorious in this comedic rivalry, retaining both their dignity and their admirers.

Amidst this lighthearted chaos, genuine scientific progress was achieved at Camp Hero, particularly in the realm of extrasensory perception (ESP). Many individuals from the town's homeless population volunteered for the research, attracted by the promise of food, shelter, and an abundance of cigarette butts. By bombarding these volunteers with electromagnetic radiation, scientists discovered they could enhance their psychic abilities, allowing some to materialize objects seemingly from thin air. Unfortunately, the items produced were often mundane—paperweights and books about paperweights were common results. To their credit, the scientists never specified their requests, and one of the more talented volunteers managed to conjure high-quality speaker wire, much to the delight of the Jazz Division.

One subject, designated A-45, had several unsuccessful attempts to create a festive Mexican dinner for Camp Hero’s holiday celebration, ultimately producing only a pile of white powder. While the observing scientist noted the powder did not resemble traditional Mexican cuisine, he did find the effects of sampling it rather enjoyable. Following a noticeable decline in productivity and several scientists in the ESP Division flaunting newfound wealth, A-45 was dismissed, leading to the implementation of random drug testing at Camp Hero.

The extraterrestrial research department located on the eighth subfloor saw little advancement during its operation. By 1966, the lab housed several alien entities, which was not an unprecedented occurrence, given the extensive studies following the infamous Roswell incident. In brief, a UFO filled with attractive extraterrestrials crashed on Earth while seeking a liquor store in Chaves County, New Mexico. Howard Hughes, who happened upon the wreckage, enticed the aliens into his 1939 Electric Duesenberg with the promise of rewarding employment.

Similar to Hughes, the alien visitors displayed a complete disregard for established norms, routinely littering and flouting cafeteria rules. The most significant takeaway from Camp Hero’s research was the confirmation that alien culture mirrored our own in its rudeness—a fact deemed advantageous, as they shared a disdain for one another.

The tale of Camp Hero will continue in Breakthroughs Under Your Feet: Black Holes and Jazz Records.

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