He Gets High Over UFOs

UFOs over Augustana College in Rock Island, Illinois.

College professors and UFOs. On paper, it sounds like oil and water. Professors wear tweed, scribble in chalk, and bury themselves in dusty books. UFOs are for midnight radio shows and backyard stargazers with binoculars. But then there was Michael Schutz, the anthropology professor at St. Ambrose College, who broke the mold wide open. Jim Arpy summed him up in a single line: “He gets high over UFOs.”

I had the man in 1978 for Intro to Anthropology. Most professors tossed us textbooks thick enough to kill a small animal. Schutz handed us Erich von Däniken’s Chariots of the Gods. Forget bones and burial sites—we were suddenly neck-deep in talk of aliens building pyramids and leaving clues in cave paintings. Imagine a class where your homework assignment could double as late-night conspiracy material. That was Schutz.

The Quad-City Times caught wind of his obsession that same year. In the article, Schutz pointed out that UFOs weren’t just good for conversation—they were good for cash. “The Space Center,” he said, “paid a hundred dollars to anyone who can tell a tall tale with a straight face.” A hundred bucks in ’78 went a long way. You could buy a month’s rent, a clunky eight-track player, and still have money left for gas. I like to think a few desperate undergrads rehearsed abduction stories in the mirror, chasing dollar signs and a shot at immortality.

Of course, Schutz wasn’t blind to the chaos of it all. He shrugged and called the entire field a “mess.” Still, he made one thing clear: if aliens were here to hurt us, they’d have done it by now. “They’ve never stopped to talk,” he said—at least not to anyone official. It was his way of saying: relax, they’re just people-watching. From space.

As for the big government coverup? He didn’t buy it. Too messy, too loud, too many people in on the joke. And even if flying saucers were proven real tomorrow, Schutz didn’t think the world would spin into panic. Life would roll on. Maybe with a few more bumper stickers.

In the end, his verdict on our cosmic visitors was pure Star Trek. He imagined them like the crew of the Enterprise: drifting through galaxies, taking notes, quietly obeying their own version of the Prime Directive. Show up, watch the locals, learn what you can—but don’t interfere. The galaxy’s nosiest neighbors, politely keeping their distance.

You can dig up the entire story in the Quad-City Times, September 10, 1978, page 58. Proof that at least one Midwestern professor wasn’t afraid to toss UFOs into the syllabus, give the establishment a wink, and remind us that sometimes the weirdest ideas make the best stories.