Before Disclosure: The UFO Cases That Brought Us to This Moment

For most of the last 75 years, admitting you were interested in UFOs was a good way to get an eye roll.

Today, they’re discussed in congressional hearings.

Military personnel have testified about unexplained encounters. Government offices use the decidedly less colorful term Unidentified Anomalous Phenomena — UAP. Previously classified documents continue to emerge. Lawmakers have pressed federal agencies for additional records. And in 2026, the government has continued releasing historical UAP material while establishing new avenues intended to allow certain personnel to share information through authorized channels.

Whatever you believe is behind the phenomenon, something remarkable has already happened:

The UFO question moved from the supermarket tabloid rack to Washington, D.C.

But it didn’t happen overnight.

Long before today’s hearings, whistleblowers, military videos and arguments over government transparency, there were cases that refused to disappear.

And those cases created the UFO culture we’re still living in today.

Before UAPs, There Were Flying Saucers

Go back to the late 1940s and the terminology was very different.

Americans talked about “flying saucers.”

Newspapers printed fantastic eyewitness accounts. Pilots reported strange objects. Military officials investigated sightings. Some cases were explained. Others remained disputed or unresolved.

Then came the incidents that became permanent pieces of American folklore.

Roswell.

Kenneth Arnold.

The Washington, D.C. UFO sightings of 1952.

Later generations would add cases like Rendlesham Forest, the Phoenix Lights and the USS Nimitz encounters.

Some have possible conventional explanations.

Some remain controversial.

Some have accumulated decades of competing testimony, documents and theories.

But taken together, they accomplished something bigger than any single sighting:

They kept the question alive.

The Government Was Watching, Too

One of the most fascinating parts of UFO history isn’t simply that people reported strange things in the sky.

It’s that the United States government investigated them.

Projects SIGN, GRUDGE and BLUE BOOK examined UFO reports during the early decades of the phenomenon. Project Blue Book alone became permanently intertwined with UFO history.

That fact matters today.

Because one of the recurring themes of the modern disclosure debate is remarkably similar to the questions people asked generations ago:

What does the government know?

What has been investigated?

Which sightings were explained?

Which weren’t?

And what information should the public be allowed to see?

The vocabulary has changed.

The questions haven’t changed nearly as much.

The Cases That Built UFO Culture

That’s one reason revisiting the classic cases is so fascinating right now.

They’re more than spooky stories.

They’re the historical foundation beneath today’s UAP debate.

When someone watches congressional testimony about unidentified objects, they’re participating in a conversation that stretches back generations.

When previously classified UFO records are released, they join an archive researchers have been digging through for decades.

And when a witness today describes something moving through the sky in a way they cannot explain, their story enters a tradition populated by pilots, military personnel, police officers and ordinary people stretching back to the earliest years of the modern UFO era.

You don’t have to believe every UFO story to find that history fascinating.

In fact, you probably shouldn’t.

Some famous cases have become tangled in mythology. Memories change. Documents get interpreted differently. Eyewitnesses disagree. New evidence occasionally changes old conclusions.

That’s part of what makes the subject so compelling.

The mystery isn’t just what happened in the sky. It’s what happened afterward.

Today’s “Disclosure” Moment Didn’t Begin Today

The current UFO disclosure conversation can sometimes feel as though it suddenly appeared.

It didn’t.

Today’s hearings, document releases, government investigations and transparency debates sit at the end of a very long trail.

That trail runs through Cold War anxiety.

Military investigations.

Radar encounters.

Newspaper headlines.

Declassified documents.

Civilian investigators.

Pilots.

Government programs.

And decades of people insisting that certain cases deserved another look.

Today’s term may be UAP.

But the historical DNA is unmistakably UFO.

And understanding those earlier cases makes today’s headlines far more interesting.

Go Back Into the Case Files

That’s exactly the territory explored in THE UFO CASE FILES Word Search from Radical Lines Press.

Rather than treating UFO history as one giant question with one predetermined answer, the book takes readers back through the sightings, locations, personalities and legendary incidents that helped build the modern UFO phenomenon.

It’s part puzzle book, part trip through UFO history — and a fun way to rediscover the cases that kept people looking toward the sky long before “UAP disclosure” became part of the national conversation.

Because whether today’s disclosure movement eventually produces extraordinary answers, ordinary explanations, or something somewhere in between, one thing is already clear:

We didn’t arrive at this moment by accident.

There is a trail behind us.

Roswell.

Blue Book.

Radar screens.

Military encounters.

Witness testimony.

Government files.

Decades of unanswered questions.

Maybe the most interesting way to understand where the UFO story is going next…

is to start with the cases that got us here.

Explore THE UFO CASE FILES Word Search

Revisit the legendary sightings, mysteries and moments that helped shape more than seven decades of UFO history.

Available now on Amazon.

Meet Me At the Mall: When Saturday Afternoon Was an Entire Lifestyle

Before Amazon. Before smartphones. Before your parents could track your location with military precision. There was the mall.

There was a time when three words could constitute an entire weekend plan:

“Go to the mall.”

That’s it.

Nobody asked what you were going to do there.

What kind of ridiculous question was that?

You were going to the mall.

Maybe you’d buy something.

Probably you wouldn’t.

You might spend 45 minutes flipping through cassettes you couldn’t afford, drink something vaguely orange, wander through Spencer Gifts pretending you weren’t looking at that section, dump $6 worth of quarters into an arcade machine and spend another hour trying to determine whether the person you liked had deliberately walked past you three times.

This was called:

Saturday.

And if you came of age in the 1980s, the American shopping mall wasn’t merely a collection of stores.

It was civilization.

WELCOME TO THE MOST BEAUTIFUL BUILDING EVER CONSTRUCTED

Try explaining an ’80s mall to someone born after 2000.

You walk through enormous glass doors.

Immediately, there’s a fountain.

Why?

Because we’re fancy.

There are ficus trees.

Inside.

Why?

Don’t ask questions.

Brass railings.

Mirrored walls.

Skylights.

A glass elevator traveling majestically upward as though it’s transporting dignitaries to the United Nations rather than somebody’s mother to Casual Corner.

Escalators crisscrossing a giant atrium.

And everywhere you look:

NEON.

Modern architecture spends millions of dollars trying to be tasteful.

The 1980s mall said:

PUT A FOUNTAIN NEXT TO THE ORANGE DRINK PLACE AND THROW A PALM TREE IN THERE.

Perfect.

Contemporary accounts and later histories capture just how central these spaces became: malls were not simply retail centers but social spaces where teenagers, families, retirees and workers mixed together. Photographer Stephen DiRado spent 1984–86 documenting precisely that strange ecosystem at Worcester Center Galleria.

Which brings us to the most important inhabitants.

Us.

YOUR PARENTS JUST… LEFT YOU THERE

This may be the single hardest aspect of 1980s mall culture to explain to younger generations.

Your mother would pull up to an entrance.

You’d get out of the car.

She would say something like:

“I’ll meet you here at five.”

And then…

SHE LEFT.

No phone.

No Find My Friends.

No texts.

No AirTag sewn into your Members Only jacket.

You could theoretically be anywhere inside a 1.2-million-square-foot commercial complex.

Your parents’ sophisticated tracking technology consisted of:

“Check the arcade.”

And amazingly?

They usually found you.

Because where else would you be?

FIRST STOP: THE RECORD STORE

There was once an entire store dedicated to buying music.

Stay with me, kids.

You couldn’t simply hear a song and immediately play it.

You heard something on the radio.

Then you had to figure out who sang it.

Then you went to Sam Goody, Musicland, Camelot Music or your local record store.

Then you physically searched for it.

With your hands.

Like an archaeologist.

Mall music stores were central to the era’s culture: browsing racks of records and cassettes wasn’t just shopping; it was a primary way people discovered artists and decided what music was worth spending their money on.

And music was expensive.

You’d pick up an album.

Turn it over.

Study the song list.

Put it back.

Pick it up again.

You had $12.

THIS WAS A MAJOR FINANCIAL DECISION.

Today Spotify gives you roughly every song recorded since the invention of sound for the price of two coffees.

In 1987, you bought one cassette because the single was good and then discovered eight songs apparently recorded while the band was waiting for lunch.

And you listened to them anyway.

BECAUSE YOU PAID $9.99 FOR THIS THING.

NEXT STOP: SPENCER GIFTS

Spencer Gifts was the mall’s international waters.

Normal laws didn’t apply.

You’d enter beneath a vaguely sinister black sign and immediately encounter:

lava lamps,

black-light posters,

rock-band merchandise,

novelty gifts,

things your mother definitely wouldn’t buy you,

and approximately seven products you didn’t understand but somehow knew you shouldn’t ask about.

You were 13.

You’d walk around acting casual.

“Interesting. A Led Zeppelin poster.”

Meanwhile every teenager in the store was silently thinking:

DON’T LET MY PARENTS WALK IN.

Spencer’s wasn’t a store.

It was a developmental milestone.

KAY-BEE TOYS: THE STORE DESIGNED TO DESTROY PARENTS

Every mall had one store capable of stopping a child in mid-stride.

KB Toys.

The entrance was basically a trap.

Toys spilled toward the doorway.

There were electronic noises.

Things moved.

Boxes were stacked approximately 14 feet high.

Some robot was flashing.

A remote-control car was smashing repeatedly into a display.

And standing in the middle of it all was a nine-year-old negotiating with his father like Jimmy Hoffa.

“BUT I HAVE FIVE DOLLARS AT HOME.”

Dad:

“It’s $29.99.”

Child:

“I’LL PAY YOU BACK.”

Dad:

“With what income?”

Child:

“…birthday?”

Negotiations continue.

WALDENBOOKS: WHERE WE WENT BEFORE BOOKS ARRIVED IN CARDBOARD BOXES

Then came Waldenbooks.

Or B. Dalton.

Sometimes both.

In 1989, the Los Angeles Times reported that Waldenbooks had roughly 1,200 stores and about 85% were in malls, while all 750 B. Dalton locations were mall stores.

Think about that.

The mall bookstore was once so normal that nobody thought twice about it.

You’d wander in.

Pick up Stephen King.

Look at Guinness World Records.

Find some bizarre paperback about UFOs.

Browse magazines.

Read three chapters of something while standing there.

Then put it back.

Sorry, Waldenbooks.

We may have contributed to the problem.

AND THEN YOU HEARD IT

From somewhere down the corridor:

BLIP.

BLOOP.

WAKA-WAKA-WAKA.

The arcade.

Ohhhhhhhhhh, the arcade.

Aladdin’s Castle.

Time-Out.

Space Port.

Tilt.

Or some locally named cavern of adolescent financial ruin.

Arcades weren’t merely another tenant. For plenty of teenagers they were the destination, filled with Pac-Man, Donkey Kong, Galaga, Centipede, Defender, Dragon’s Lair and whatever machine currently had a crowd standing three people deep behind it.

You entered with five dollars.

That was twenty quarters.

Twenty quarters felt like generational wealth.

Then twelve minutes later:

BROKE.

You’d stand behind someone else and watch.

Which was somehow also entertainment.

There was always one kid who was unbelievably good at everything.

His name was probably Jason.

Jason had apparently been training professionally for Galaga since birth.

You hated Jason.

THE FOOD COURT: AMERICA’S REAL TOWN SQUARE

Eventually somebody said:

“I’m hungry.”

Now we’re talking.

The food court.

Histories of the American mall point to the 1980s as the decade when food courts became standard mall features, helping turn shopping centers into places where people could linger for entire afternoons rather than simply buy something and leave.

And what a magnificent culinary institution it was.

Pizza.

Pretzels.

Cookies the approximate diameter of a Buick tire.

Chinese food served on Styrofoam.

Hot dogs.

French fries.

And, of course…

ORANGE JULIUS.

What exactly was an Orange Julius?

Orange juice?

Milk?

Sugar?

Foam?

Industrial chemicals?

The tears of a Florida citrus farmer?

Nobody knew.

Nobody cared.

You drank it.

The frothy drink became so closely associated with malls that it remains a nostalgia trigger decades later; the brand survived, although many people remember the old standalone mall counters rather than its later Dairy Queen association.

It tasted like somebody liquefied an orange Creamsicle.

And America said: GIVE ME THE LARGE.

THEN THERE WERE THE CLOTHES

The Limited.

Chess King.

Esprit.

Benetton.

Contempo Casuals.

Gap.

Foot Locker.

And approximately 37 stores selling clothing in colors not normally found in nature.

Teal.

Magenta.

Electric blue.

Neon yellow.

Neon green.

Neon pink.

Sometimes simultaneously.

A typical outfit could include acid-washed jeans, a sweatshirt, white high-top sneakers, enormous glasses and enough hairspray to violate several modern environmental treaties.

And everyone looked fantastic.

At least that’s what the photographs told us.

The photographs are lying.

THE MALL WAS SOCIAL MEDIA BEFORE SOCIAL MEDIA

Here’s the part that’s easy to forget.

You didn’t go there because you needed anything.

You went there because people were there.

That’s what we’ve lost.

Today, we can communicate with everybody without going anywhere.

In 1986, you had to physically appear.

Want to see whether your friends were around?

Mall.

Want to meet somebody?

Mall.

Want to see a movie?

Mall.

Want food?

Mall.

Need jeans?

Mall.

Want music?

Mall.

Want to stand beside a fountain for 40 minutes doing absolutely nothing?

Brother, have I got a building for you.

The mall functioned as a semi-public gathering place—a place for teenagers, families and other groups to socialize as much as shop. That community function is a big reason old mall photography now generates so much nostalgia.

And maybe that’s what we’re actually remembering.

Not the stores.

The freedom.

“I’LL MEET YOU BY THE FOUNTAIN”

That sentence worked.

No GPS coordinates.

No text.

No:

“Where r u?”

“I’m here.”

“Where?”

“By the thing.”

“WHAT THING?”

You simply said:

“Meet me by the fountain at 4.”

And somehow civilization continued.

You’d wander around for hours.

You’d bump into somebody from school.

Then somebody else.

Your group of three became six.

Someone knew someone.

Someone’s older brother appeared.

Nobody had organized any of this.

It just…

happened.

That’s the part an Amazon delivery can’t reproduce.

WE DIDN’T KNOW WE WERE LIVING IN A TIME CAPSULE

Nobody walking through a mall in 1985 thought:

Someday I’m really going to miss this Hickory Farms.

Nobody stood outside Waldenbooks staring wistfully at the sign.

Nobody photographed the food court because someday it might disappear.

It was just there.

Permanent.

Of course the arcade would always be there.

Of course there would always be a record store.

Of course we’d always meet at the mall.

Until we didn’t.

Today many of the names that once made up the standard mall circuit are gone or greatly diminished, while the mall itself occupies a different place in American life. That’s exactly why lists of vanished mall stores—and old photographs of crowded atriums—generate such intense nostalgia now.

We weren’t nostalgic because nothing had disappeared yet.

WHICH IS WHY WE MADE A COLORING BOOK ABOUT IT

At Radical Lines Press, we have a weakness for places that don’t quite exist anymore.

Video stores.

Old roadside America.

Forgotten pop culture.

Cryptids – well, maybe some do exist?

And especially:

THE MALL.

That’s the idea behind Totally ’80s Mall Life.

It’s not merely an ’80s coloring book.

It’s a trip back to a very specific place.

The place where the arcade glowed at the end of the hallway.

Where the record store had the new release you wanted.

Where everybody seemed to know somebody.

Where you could spend an entire afternoon carrying one shopping bag containing absolutely nothing important.

Where your parents dropped you off…

…and somehow weren’t worried that you didn’t possess a satellite tracking device.

ONE LAST LAP BEFORE MOM GETS HERE

It’s 4:42.

Your ride arrives at 5.

You have eighteen minutes.

Quick.

Hit the arcade.

Check the record store one more time.

Walk through Spencer’s.

Someone wants a pretzel.

Someone else needs to call home.

There’s a payphone.

You have a quarter, right?

Of course you don’t.

Jason took all your quarters at the arcade.

It’s getting dark outside.

The mall lights seem brighter now.

You’re carrying a cassette.

Your friend bought something stupid.

There’s a crumpled straw wrapper from Orange Julius in your jacket pocket.

And for reasons you won’t understand for another forty years…

this completely ordinary Saturday afternoon is going to become one of the places you wish you could visit again.

Mom’s pulling up.

Grab your stuff.

Meet you here next Saturday.

COLOR YOUR WAY BACK TO 1986

Totally ’80s Mall Life from Radical Lines Press celebrates the stores, styles, arcades, food courts and wonderfully unnecessary wandering that made the American mall one of the defining places of the 1980s.

No apps.

No online ordering.

No location sharing.

Just neon, quarters and several uninterrupted hours with nowhere else you needed to be.

Get Totally ’80s Mall Life on Amazon

Your ride gets here at five.

You’ve got time for one more lap.

10 Things We Miss About Friday Night at the Video Store

Before Streaming Gave Us Everything, Somehow Picking a Movie Was More Fun

There was a time when choosing a movie required pants.

Think about that.

You couldn’t simply collapse onto the couch, pick up a remote and browse 14 streaming services until you became so exhausted by the possibilities that you watched The Office again.

You had to go somewhere.

The video store.

And if you lived through the 1980s or 1990s, you probably remember the ritual.

Friday night.

Dinner was over.

The weekend had officially begun.

Someone grabbed the car keys.

And four words could instantly improve the evening:

“Let’s go rent a movie.”

That meant something.

Today, nearly every movie ever made seems to be accessible within seconds.

Technologically, it’s incredible.

Emotionally?

We’re not convinced it’s an upgrade.

Because somewhere along the way, we gained unlimited selection…

and lost the adventure of choosing.

So rewind with us.

Here are ten things we miss about Friday night at the video store.

1. The Neon Sign in the Window

You could see it from the parking lot.

VIDEO.

MOVIES.

RENTALS.

Sometimes one letter had burned out, meaning your neighborhood proudly offered:

V DEO RENT LS

Didn’t matter.

That glow meant possibility.

Inside were hundreds—maybe thousands—of movies waiting to be discovered.

The video store wasn’t merely retail.

It was the starting line for Friday night.

2. Walking the New Release Wall

This was sacred territory.

You entered the store and immediately headed toward:

NEW RELEASES

Then you started scanning.

Action.

Comedy.

Drama.

Something with a submarine.

Something starring Arnold Schwarzenegger.

Something your parents absolutely weren’t going to let you rent.

And then you saw it.

THE EMPTY SPACE.

The movie everybody wanted.

Gone.

You stared at the empty shelf where twelve copies should have been.

Then, from three feet away:

“Excuse me, are you returning that?”

You had become a hunter.

3. Judging Movies Entirely by the Box

There were no Rotten Tomatoes scores.

No YouTube reviews.

No Reddit threads.

No recommendation algorithm telling you:

“Because you watched a documentary about World War II, you might enjoy Paddington 2.”

You had a VHS box.

That was it.

And those boxes were magnificent.

Explosions.

Monsters.

Spaceships.

People running from explosions.

People running from monsters.

People running from exploding monsters in spaceships.

You picked it up.

Turned it over.

Read the description.

Looked at three tiny screenshots.

Then made a potentially catastrophic entertainment decision.

We’ll take it.

Sometimes the movie was terrible.

But you watched it anyway.

You had paid $3.49.

You were financially committed.

4. The Horror Section

Every video store had one aisle that seemed slightly more dangerous than the others.

HORROR.

The covers alone were enough to traumatize an eight-year-old.

A skull.

A chainsaw.

A creepy doll.

Some guy in a mask.

A house that absolutely should not have passed inspection.

You weren’t old enough to rent any of them.

You weren’t even old enough to understand most of them.

But you still walked slowly through the aisle studying every cover like you were touring a museum exhibit called:

THINGS THAT WILL KEEP YOU AWAKE UNTIL 2 A.M.

5. The Employee Who Knew Everything

Before algorithms, there was:

Todd.

Todd was 22.

Todd wore a faded movie T-shirt.

Todd had seen approximately 11,000 films.

Todd knew immediately that the movie you were holding was garbage.

You’d ask:

“Is this any good?”

Todd would stare at the box.

“No.”

“What should I get?”

Todd would disappear into the aisles and return holding a movie you’d never heard of.

“This.”

And somehow Todd was usually right.

Streaming platforms know what you’ve watched.

Todd knew why you liked it.

There is a difference.

6. The Weird Movies You Discovered by Accident

This may be what we miss most.

Today’s entertainment platforms are remarkably good at giving you more of what you already like.

Video stores were remarkably good at showing you things you didn’t know existed.

You’d walk toward comedy and accidentally pass:

SCIENCE FICTION.

What’s that?

Pick it up.

Interesting.

Then you’d see something else.

And something else.

Twenty minutes later, you’re holding a movie about time-traveling robots from 1978.

Nobody recommended it.

An algorithm didn’t select it.

You found it.

That’s an experience we’re slowly losing—not just with movies, but with music, books and culture in general.

Sometimes discovery is better when it’s inefficient.

7. The Arcade Machine in the Corner

The really good video stores had one.

Maybe two.

A battered arcade cabinet stood beside the window while your parents debated whether they’d already seen whatever movie they were holding.

You had three quarters.

This was your moment.

The joystick had survived approximately 400,000 children.

One button worked.

The other required the strength of a hydraulic press.

Didn’t matter.

For six glorious minutes, you were alive.

8. The Snack Counter

Popcorn.

Candy.

Soda.

Maybe those weird tubs of licorice nobody actually purchased.

The video store understood something streaming companies never will:

The movie was only part of movie night.

The rest was ceremony.

You picked the movie.

You picked the snacks.

You drove home.

Somebody made popcorn.

Someone turned off the lights.

The FBI warning appeared.

And everybody settled in.

Movie night was an event.

9. “BE KIND, REWIND”

Kids, gather around.

We need to explain something.

Movies used to arrive on rectangular plastic objects called VHS tapes.

And after you watched one, the movie was physically positioned at the end of the tape.

So before returning it, you were expected to rewind it.

Hence:

BE KIND, REWIND.

Naturally, millions of Americans ignored this request.

Which meant occasionally renting a movie, putting it into the VCR and discovering that the previous renter had left you at:

THE END.

Savages.

Absolute savages.

10. The Feeling That Friday Night Had Actually Started

This is the part that’s difficult to recreate.

The video store wasn’t just where we rented movies.

It created anticipation.

You left your house.

You browsed.

You debated.

You changed your mind.

You wandered through aisles.

You discovered something unexpected.

You finally chose.

Then you carried that movie home.

Today we can access vastly more entertainment with vastly less effort.

And that’s wonderful.

But friction isn’t always bad.

Sometimes the effort involved in getting something is part of what makes it memorable.

Maybe that’s why video stores continue to occupy such a strange little corner of our collective memory.

We don’t really miss late fees.

We don’t miss driving back Sunday morning because somebody forgot to return the tapes.

We definitely don’t miss discovering that the only available copy of the movie we wanted had been destroyed by someone’s VCR.

What we miss is the ritual.

The anticipation.

The discovery.

The physicality.

The feeling that hundreds of possible adventures were sitting on shelves around us.

And most of all…

we miss Friday night.

So We Built a Video Store You Can Visit Again

That’s the idea behind Retro Video Store Vibes Coloring Book from Radical Lines Press.

Not reproducing any particular video chain.

Not recreating famous movies.

Just bringing back the feeling.

The neon storefront.

The endless VHS aisles.

The arcade corner.

The checkout counter.

The CRT televisions.

The snacks.

The fictional movie posters.

The glorious clutter.

Thirty original illustrations turn those memories into pages you can make your own. The book uses bold, clean line art and is designed for both newer and experienced colorists.

Because sometimes nostalgia doesn’t need to be complicated.

Sometimes you just want to grab some colored pencils, put on an ’80s playlist and spend an hour somewhere that doesn’t exist anymore.

No membership card required.

And we promise:

No late fees.

Radical Lines Press creates nostalgia-inspired coloring books, word searches and puzzle books celebrating memorable eras, places, hobbies and pop-culture experiences through original artwork.