It was during the worst of this time, in late 1979, that he was approached by a solemn young lawyer from the National Security Council in Washington who sat with his ankle across his knee and plucked nervously at his sock. The lawyer told Norman that he had come to ask his help.

Norman said he would help if he could.

Still plucking at the sock, the lawyer said he wanted to talk to Norman about a “grave matter of national security facing our country today.”

Norman asked what the problem was.

“Simply that this country has absolutely no preparedness in the event of an alien invasion. Absolutely no preparedness whatever.”

Because the lawyer was young, and because he stared down at his sock as he spoke, Norman at first thought he was embarrassed at having been sent on a fool’s errand. But when the young man looked up, Norman saw to his astonishment that he was utterly serious.

“We could really be caught with our pants down on this one,” the lawyer said. “An alien invasion.”

Norman had to bite his lip. “That’s probably true,” he said.

“People in the Administration are worried.”

“Are they?”

“There is the feeling at the highest levels that contingency plans should be drawn.”

“You mean contingency plans in the event of an alien invasion…” Norman somehow managed to keep a straight face.

“Perhaps,” said the lawyer, “perhaps invasion is too strong a word. Let’s soften that to say ‘contact’: alien contact.”

“I see.”

“You’re already involved in civilian crash-site teams, Dr. Johnson. You know how these emergency groups function. We want your input concerning the optimal composition of a crash-site team to confront an alien invader.”

“I see,” Norman said, wondering how he could tactfully get out of this. The idea was clearly ludicrous. He could see it only as displacement: the Administration, faced with immense problems it could not solve, had decided to think about something else.