Letter #1:

January 10, 1967

Dear Mr. Roger Patterson:

I'm writing to you about a true story of what happened in Wildwood Park, in the wooded area of Puyallup, Washington. And was sent to Western State Hospital for it- I'm out now. I gave the Police of Puyallup a taped confession of my horrifying experience, four different times. The first time was at about 2:30 in the morning. I awoke without hearing a noise, knew something evil was outside my tent. I could sense it. As I reached for my rifle and flashlight, the ground shook as it ran away, very fast. I left my Honda bike, pack, tent, and moved next to a roadside.

My second time was at a large clearing, when at just before dusk a very small man-like creature ran around me in a large semi-circle, going into the woods just before a car came into view.
He or it ran bent over, with his arms almost straight down, having extra long arms. He or it was a dirty gray in color. Its run was very fast, and it was light on its feet.

The third time was the time I was just about ready to go to sleep in my sleeping bag, rifle loaded, at my side. The brush cracking, and something moving very close in my direction. It was after dark, and I could see nothing because of the darkness. I moved out into the same open field, a little over a · hundred feet, the same open field where I watched the small human-like creature.
The fourth time, and perhaps the closest call I had, was without my rifle, in the camping area of the park, about 3:15 in the morning. I was awakened by a growl that sounded like a large dog; the growl wasn't very long, but scared me plenty. I moved into a shelter a few feet away, and stayed on my guard the rest of the early morning till daylight. I then slept, a short distance towards some houses, and was not bothered, except for the rain, and a few days later I gave a taped confession to the Puyallup Police Dept. The woman working at the police station was a witness.
I worked for the fair city of Puyallup on the Sanitation Dept, part-time for close to two years, before all this happened. As I worked I built myself up after I read a new book by Mr. Ivan Sanderson.
My meeting of these incidents may have been no accident, for I have lived out in the open much of my life. I've learned to be very sneaky, if I wish to be. I've enjoyed camping, and living out of doors, more than living inside. It's my nature, A born woodsman, I've read your interesting new book, "Do Abominable Snowmen of America Really Exist?" and I enjoyed reading it very much. I like the location of St. Helen's Mountain area for the possible area of contact with the Sub-Humans, and perhaps motion pictures. I hope to find out if these creatures are safe or the possible "Destroyers" which the "Bible" says there are in Genesis, Chapter 26. If they came to me once, I am sure they'll come to me again. In the daylight, I hope, so I can get used to their appearance, and study their nature at some distance. It's only a guess, but St. Helen's mountain area may be of a hostile ~, because of past events, etc. It may be that the closer to civilization their area of roaming is the safer ours may be. It's only a guess. But what happens if they become too brave? Because of a possible rifle shot, (to scare) in self-defense, I'm hoping to go into the St. Helen's mountain area, sometime this summer, alone, if I have to. Because of my Christian family, and training, I feel I may be able to live through any ordeal with these Sub-Humans. I don't care to hurt them, or cause alarm to the public, or them. This is the main reason, why I waited for about three years, before contacting people who know what I'm talking about. Thank you for your book.

Sincerely,
Raymond L. Horn
P.S. I thought you may be interested in my true letter.
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Letter #2
December 20, 1966

Dear Roger Patterson Sir:
In regard to a story in the Tribune about an investigation in the matter of the Big Foot stories: I possibly may be of some small help in locating one of these primitive species of humans. The place where I had a peculiar and frightening experience occurred between Happy Camp and Orleans, California, on a detour one night in 1952. I will give you definite directions on how to find this detour, but would first like to tell the story of what happened. I even sent this story to "True" magazine, but although they said it had considerable merit they couldn't publish it, (probably because they thought I was nuts), naturally.

The story in short form that I sent them went like this:

I had been reading a story written by Ivan T. Sanderson about a Bigfoot monster that people had seen in Northern California. As I was reading the story I suddenly had the eerie realization that I, too, had had a similar experience. As the story came snaking its way out of my subconscious, I began to remember more and more of what happened. I had me a bad case of the jitters as the memory uncoiled.

The first part of the story took me back to 1952, when I had gone down to Orleans to start preliminary work on a logging operation with two men by the names of Lee Vlery and Josh Russel.
One evening Josh told me Lee had gone up to Happy Camp, but not having transportation back, wanted me to take the Mercury and go up and get him. I had driven the extremely crooked and dangerous road up there, but not being able to find him started back alone to Orleans.

It had been raining very heavily and after going back a few miles I found there had been a slide across the road. There was a man with a flashlight there who told me I could still get back to Orleans by way of a detour across the river. He said it was a dirt road that went through Bear Valley and would come out at the mouth of Bluff Creek a few miles below Orleans.

I had been driving slowly down this road for about twenty miles I guess, sort of daydreaming, when I saw it... dimly in the headlights and the rain was the shaggy orangutan-like apparition of a human. For an instant I had the impression the shaggy hair of the creature was a hoary blue grey in the headlights. An ogre! I remember thinking, but the thing swiftly back-pedaled off the road and behind a tree. I automatically passed it off as imagination and drove on by the spot.

Suddenly, without warning, the car went into a violent and unreasonable skid. I brought the car back under control, but for some reason glanced into the rear view mirror. In the dim light of the taillights and license-display bulb, I thought I could see a savage looking face looking through the rear glass. I continued on, and when I looked again there was no face, so again concluded it was imagination.

I had gone another quarter mile I guess, when across the road was a small six-inch sapling- I stopped the car. and got out, intending to drag it aside if possible. Suddenly I heard the swift thud of flying feet of something coming down the road. Reality was upon me and I remember cursing myself for not paying attention to what I had previously seen. It was the shaggy human-like monster I had seen in the headlights.

It at once started circling around me, snarling and acting very menacing. It kept this circling up for some time and once came up quite close, and I could see its face reflected by the headlights much better. The eyes were round, and rather luminous, the hair on top of its rather low and rounded head pretty short. Its eye teeth were far longer than a human's, also the chest and upper part of its torso was rather bare of hair, and also leathery looking. It wasn't too tall- not much more than my own 5 feet 9 inches, although it had a stooped, long armed posture.

Then it suddenly changed tactics- it would stalk off down the road but would come charging back, like a bat out of hell, when I started toward the car. The hour was late, the thing was becoming more and more menacing, and I was almost paralyzed by this time, paralyzed by fear.

Suddenly a plan of escape, born out of desperation, popped into my mind. Since the monster seemed to think I couldn't get away, why not, when it went down the road again, playing cat and mouse, try and get in the car and smash through the sapling. This I did, and sprang for the door of the car a dozen feet away. No sooner was I inside when there it was, trying to claw through the window. I jerked the car into gear, floored the accelerator, and can vividly remember the wet sapling glistening whitely in the headlights as the car slashed it aside.

I remember then the scream of rage and frustration it then gave. It was a curious trumpeting sound like the scream of a stallion and the roar of a mad grizzly. (I can imitate this scream myself pretty good, as I often practice it when off alone in the woods.) The car then felt as though it were being held back by something half riding and attempting to stop it, but the powerful Mercury proved too much for it, and after a couple of hundred yards I felt no more resistance.

To top this unbelievable experience off, believe it or not, I promptly forgot the whole experience. Then and there it went out of mind. Not even the next day when Lee asked me if I had seen anything unusual on that road last night did I remember. (He had come later from Happy Camp with another man he hired to take him to Orleans.)

A few days later an incident happened that should have brought the experience back but didn't, Lee noticed a big dent in the grill of the car and asked me how it got there. I told him I didn't know. Incidentally, Lee told me that something had tried to push them off the road, when they came through on the detour. He said there's something strange going on around here and let the matter drop.

Not until I was reading Sanderson's article in 1959 in "True" did I start remembering, oddly enough.
Was this a trick played on me by a man in a monkey suit? I don't think so. Anyway I went back down there in 1959 looking for it.

Walk that detour alone, at night, equipped with a .44 magnum, a flashlight, and a camera and you might have an experience. I've been thinking of it.

Sincerely yours,
J. C. Orr
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Letter #3:

September 1, 1966
Dear Sirs:
I am responding to your advertisement in the current issue of "Popular Science" and am enclosing a check for two of your books.

My first encounter with physical evidence that aroused my interest in this matter occurred some ten years ago in the rough and ~-note valley of the North Fork of the White River above Lake Wenatchee. Found these huge tracks on a sand bar unlike anything I had ever seen before; about 16 inches long with the second toe imprint longer than that of the first (or big toe). I started through the library searching for an answer then, and have continued my research ever since. The best source is without doubt written by Ivan Sanderson on "Abominable Snowmen" with which I'm sure you are familiar and may even be the source of information for your own publication.

However I would like to personally correspond with you regarding any personal information that you may not have included in your book and as to where I might find other sources of information that I may not have previously known about. It is indeed a fascinating subject.

For your further information my uncle (a former timber cruiser) and his college-aged son just last summer ran across Sasquatch tracks in the Cascades just north of Stevens Pass that still had water filling them as it crossed the mud near a creek. (These were about 18 inches in length; he has the exact measurements at his home in Wenatchee.) It was going the same way on the trail as they were and he quite frankly admitted that they proceeded with cautious steps around comers from that point on.

Also heard of a sheep herder on the Olympic Peninsula encountering one last summer and of course the news services made great sport of that as is usual. Have no knowledge of the name of the man as I got the story second- or third-hand.

Am enclosing a news item you may not have seen from the "Spokesman Review," August 16, 1966, which should be of interest to you.

Regards,
Zarol R. Johnson

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Letters & photo are copyrighed the late Roger Patterson found folded in one of Krantz's library books obtained from a bookstore in Port Townsend, Washington shortly after Grover passed away on 14 February, 2002. ...Bobbie Short

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