By the Toledo Tribune
That Pyramid discovery got me to thinking. Now, I have lived long enough to know that there are two kinds of truths in this world. There’s the kind you find in books, written by men with spectacles too large for their noses, and then there’s the kind that gets passed along from folks who were actually there to see it. The trouble with history is that the men with spectacles tend to write it, and they leave out all the best parts—especially the parts that don’t fit their fine little theories.
Take giants, for instance.
A Curious Matter of Large Bones
Some years back, in a more honest time, folks were digging up giant skeletons all across this fine land. Now, you might think that would cause a great stir, and it did. You might think men of science would rush to these sites and exclaim, “Well, here is a mighty discovery! A race of colossal men walked this country before us!”
But you would be wrong.
Because the moment folks started putting two and two together, the men in spectacles got nervous, started sweating under their collars, and decided that perhaps it was best if those skeletons simply disappeared.
And disappear they did.
Now, why would that be?
The Nephilim and the Problem of an Inconvenient Past
If you have ever spent time with the Good Book—and I don’t mean flipping through it absentmindedly while waiting for supper—you might recall a most peculiar passage about giants.
It goes like this:
“There were giants in the earth in those days, and also after that, when the sons of God came in unto the daughters of men, and they bare children to them…”
That’s from Genesis 6:4, which—if you ask me—is about as plain as a frog on a lily pad. The Book says there were giants, and that they weren’t just any giants, but the offspring of angels who had no business consorting with mortal women.
And then later, along comes Joshua, stomping into the Promised Land, and what does he find? More giants. The spies who went in first came back white as ghosts and said, “We were like grasshoppers in their sight.”
Now, I am no mathematician, but if a grown man looks up at another fellow and reckons himself a grasshopper, that fellow must be large indeed.
And here’s the funny part.
All those mounds and earthworks scattered across the United States—the ones archaeologists swear up and down were built by Native Americans—well, when you ask the Native Americans about it, they shake their heads and say no, sir, those were already here.
That’s mighty peculiar, don’t you think?
The Great Smithsonian Vanishing Act
Now, back in the 1800s, there were hundreds of newspaper reports—from the New York Times to the San Diego Union—telling of giant bones found in the ground. Whole towns would gather round, scratching their heads at these enormous skulls and twelve-foot-tall femurs, wondering just who in the devil had been buried there.
And then the Smithsonian Institute got involved.
They sent their men out—men in fine suits, no doubt, with the usual academic air of superiority—and collected the bones.
And do you know what happened next?
They put them in crates, carted them away to Washington, and never spoke of them again.
Some folks asked about them later, only to be met with blank stares and bureaucratic nonsense. “What bones?” they were told. “We don’t have any bones.”
Now, if I didn’t know better, I’d think a dog had come into the henhouse and tried to convince me that all those feathers scattered around were just a natural phenomenon.
The Awkward Timing of Darwinism
You see, about the same time that these giant bones were being quietly shuffled out of history, a fellow named Charles Darwin was making quite a stir with his theory of evolution.
And it was a mighty fine theory, if you were the kind of man who preferred the world to be neat and tidy—who liked the idea that mankind started out as something small and dumb and got a little better over time.
But the problem with that was, if you dug up a ten-foot-tall skeleton with six fingers and a skull the size of a washtub, well… that didn’t quite fit into the story, did it?
It would be a real shame if people started connecting those bones to the Nephilim of the Bible, because then suddenly all those “myths” about giants and demigods and great wars of old might turn out to be true.
And that wouldn’t do at all.
So, the bones vanished. And history got rewritten.
What We Forgot… And What Remains
Now, I am not saying that every tall tale is true, nor that every man who ever claimed to see a giant was being entirely honest. But there were bones. There were records. There were firsthand accounts.
And I’ll tell you something else. The mounds are still here.
The Serpent Mound in Ohio—aligned perfectly with the stars, built with a mathematical precision that shouldn’t have been possible for “primitive” people.
The giant Mounds found in West Virginia, Kentucky, and the Midwest—some of which contained six-fingered skeletons, just like the Bible describes Goliath’s kin.
The stories passed down by Native American tribes, who spoke of a race of cannibalistic giants that sacrificed humans. The same they had to band together to defeat.
You can try to sweep history under the rug, but history has a way of creeping back out when you least expect it.
So maybe one day, the Smithsonian will hold a press conference and say:
“Folks, we have to admit something. Turns out, we did have some giant skeletons in the closet. Our mistake. We seem to have lost them. Maybe they’re in the same place as all those missing socks from the laundry.”
But until then, it’s up to us to remember what was buried.
Because history, my friends, is written by men with spectacles.
But the truth?
The truth leaves footprints.
And some of those footprints are mighty big.
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Now, you can take this story and do with it what you like. Believe it, don’t believe it—it’s no skin off my nose. But if you ever find yourself digging up an old burial mound and come across a skull that won’t fit in your wheelbarrow, maybe you’ll pause for a moment.
And maybe—just maybe—you’ll tip your hat to the giants who walked here before us.
Because, Lord help us… they were here.
And they were real, and they weren’t friendly.
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