The 1960s were an age of rebellion and change—marked by free love, bold fashion trends, and television shows where performers well past their teenage years pretended to dance to groovy Hammond organ beats.
For many Americans, the spirit of peace and love came to a brutal halt with the Kent State shootings in May 1970, when the Ohio National Guard opened fire on students. But for several police officers in the same region, the dream ended four years earlier—on the morning of April 17, 1966.
It began just before dawn, around 4 a.m., when Police Chief Gerald Buchert rushed home to grab his wife and camera after receiving multiple phone calls from citizens of Mantua, Ohio. They were terrified by something strange in the sky.
Buchert managed to take a photograph of the object—an image that would later complicate government explanations. But the most dramatic events were still to come an hour later.
At 5:07 a.m., Deputies Dale Spaur and Wilber “Barney” Neff were driving toward a local hospital near Randolph, Ohio, when they noticed an abandoned car. Stopping to investigate, Spaur discovered that the vehicle was packed with old radios and strange electronic devices.
Even more disturbing was a symbol painted on the car: a triangle enclosing a lightning bolt, with the words “Seven Steps to Hell” scrawled above it. By the time Spaur processed the ominous message, something even stranger demanded his attention.
From the trees to the south, a blinding blue-white light began to rise. As it lifted above the treeline, Spaur and Neff saw an enormous oval-shaped object glowing brightly as it moved silently toward their patrol car. The only sound was later described as a “whisper behind a humming.”
The deputies felt frozen at first, as though paralyzed by fear. But when the craft positioned itself directly above them, they snapped out of their trance, scrambled into the cruiser, and radioed headquarters to report the sighting.
Deputy Robert Wilson received the call and suggested they open fire on the UFO. Spaur refused, saying that staring at the craft was like “looking straight into the middle of hell.” Wilson instead told them to stay put while he dispatched a photographer. But before anyone could arrive, the mysterious craft moved off down the highway.
That was all Spaur needed. A former stock car driver, he threw the cruiser into gear and launched into pursuit, racing after what he called “a flying machine from another world.”
The chase stretched for 86 miles, crossing into Pennsylvania. Officer Wayne Huston joined the pursuit in East Palestine, and later Officer Frank Panzanella picked up the trail in Freedom, Pennsylvania. As they coordinated, Spaur requested fighter jets be scrambled to intercept.
But just as the Air Force confirmed jets were on the way, the UFO reacted—as though it had been listening in. With breathtaking speed, it shot vertically into the night sky, disappearing into the stars.
The stunned officers could hardly believe what they had just witnessed. Descriptions varied: one said it resembled a smashed ice cream cone, another a split football, and another described it as a satin-like dome with an antenna. Whatever it was, they were not alone—hundreds of citizens across Ohio, Michigan, and Pennsylvania reported similar sightings that night.
Spielberg Connection and Government Dismissal
If this all sounds familiar, it should. Steven Spielberg drew heavy inspiration from the Portage County incident when writing Close Encounters of the Third Kind. Unlike the movie, however, the officers’ experience didn’t end with harmonious music—it ended with ridicule.
When Spaur and Neff returned to Ravenna, they were swarmed by reporters. Soon after, General Hector Quintanilla, head of Project Blue Book, rushed from Wright-Patterson Air Force Base to confront them.
Quintanilla’s mission was clear: to discredit. His very first words to Spaur were dismissive: “Tell me about this mirage you saw.”
His official explanation? That the officers had confused the planet Venus and the Moon for an alien craft—and foolishly chased the eastern sky all the way into Pennsylvania. Pentagon officials reportedly told Quintanilla he was “in error,” but he refused to back down from his ruling.
The government’s dismissal devastated the men involved.
The Human Cost
- Chief Buchert, who captured the photo, lost 20 pounds in just three days and later insisted the event should be “forgotten and left alone.”
- Deputy Neff went into shock and swore never to speak about flying saucers again—even if one landed in his yard.
- Officer Panzanella removed his phone line and avoided all discussion.
- Officer Huston resigned from the force, changed his name, and moved to Seattle to drive buses.
But the worst fate befell Deputy Dale Spaur.
Haunted by the chase, he began disappearing for days, suffered violent outbursts—including an assault on his wife that ended his marriage and his career—and drifted into poverty. Just six months later, he was living in a rundown motel on a painter’s wage, plagued by nightmares that woke him every few minutes.
Later, while living in West Virginia as a taxi driver, Spaur suffered a near-fatal accident when he fell into an abandoned mine shaft. In critical condition, he slipped into a coma.
One nurse caring for him reportedly fled his room in terror, refusing ever to return. She told colleagues she believed he was “possessed by something not of this world.” Despite this, Spaur eventually recovered, moved back to Ohio, and managed a bar until his death in 1983.
A Legacy of UFO Sightings
The Portage County UFO chase remains one of the most compelling and tragic UFO encounters in American history. It not only destroyed the lives of the men involved but also inspired Hollywood’s most famous UFO film.
Ohio has continued to report thousands of UFO sightings over the past seven decades. One of the most notable occurred in nearby Trumbull County in 1994, where multiple police officers once again witnessed strange lights in the night sky.
The question remains: what exactly did Dale Spaur and his fellow officers chase into the Pennsylvania darkness that morning in 1966?
About the author:
Jabba is an explorer of the unknown, an investigative journalist at heart, and a hunter of the truth that official history prefers to keep silent about. With over 10 years of experience writing alternative analyses and in-depth investigations.
