Our County as it will look in 1936

One day recently a man in the sixties came into The Sun office and stopped before the desk. Leaning over it, his kindly face framed with white hair, showed a friendly smile. His gray eyes had a little twinkle in them, yet there was a hint of seriousness which belied the merriment, his voice was gentle as he asked:

“Do you believe in dreams, or do you just think they are all foolishness?”

“No, sometimes they seem too real, to have too much in them, not to take them more or less seriously, but why did you ask, sir?” was the reply. He answered, “I believe in them and I have written down the longest dream I ever had. Would you care to publish it in The Sun?”

It required no length of time upon looking over the manuscript to decide it would interest many of our readers:

I have lived in Rutherford County all my life and am now an old man, but still active, both physically and mentally. I have always worked hard and idleness has no appeal to me. I have farmed, kept store, taught school, and have traveled all over this part of our grand old state. Whenever I had any time to myself, I spent it reading fine books, and in improving my education. I know the Bible well, much of it by heart, and the little that I can do in the way of writing, comes from reading so often the Holy Book, the Book of Books.

There are few people, not newcomers to this country that I do not know. Part of my work in the past put me in constant touch with them. They have splendid qualities, these folks of mine, fine, brave and true. The great majority of them live their religion, not just preach it.

As long as I can remember I have dreamed a great deal, and few nights go by that one or more dreams do not come to me. I always remember them. Not long ago I fell asleep early in the evening, and had such a remarkable dream, that I though it was worth writing down, that very night. Every detail was so vivid, everything seemed so real; things appeared before my eyes, as if I was awake, and going about the County. I heard voices, well remembered voices. I was seeing Rutherford County ten years ahead from now, in 1936. The first vision was of Cliffside. There the Mills had grown four times as large, and the town had kept pace with it, and was really a city. The trees had grown a lot and the yards were prettier than ever.

I saw Charley Haynes come out of his office and step into a flying machine. He gave me a pleasant word, as is always his wont, and said he was just starting on a business trip to New York, and expected to get there in three hours. Zeb Jenkins was going with him.

As they got ready to leave, the pilot handed them a small bundle, which turned out to be a flying suit of a strange thin texture, which completely protected passengers from the cold and rush of air, when going at a speed of 300 miles per hour. There was a curiously devised enclosure of non-breakable glass which protected their faces. As nearly as I could make out there was an ingenious arrangement back of the seat which provided for ventilation. The flying machine itself was much smaller than any I had ever seen before, and it could stop and start right from the road as automobiles can. Off my friends went like a bullet, with none of the noise I used to hear from flying machines.

I dropped in at the drug store and saw Dr. Rudisell there. He looked older, of course, but he was just as polite and obliging as ever. Soon the Owens’ and John Roach came in. I was very curious and even amazed by what I had just seen, and I asked my friend about the flying suits, and what was the strange material they were made of. “Why, haven’t you heard, Kenneth Tanner invented that stuff?” he replied. “Many other manufacturers have tried their best to duplicate it, but unsuccessfully. It makes a much cheaper and better flying suit than any other material. It’s a trade secret. The final process takes place in a comparatively small building, where there are only a very few employees. Each of them is very highly paid and every care is taken to keep the process secret, so far sucessfully. Mr. Tanner has made a great fortune out of this invention, and he deserves it. The mills are busy night and day, all the year around, turning out this material as there is a world wide demand for it. Every one you know has a flying machine nowadays if he can possibly afford it. The machine, ‘Dixie,’ that Mr. Haynes uses, is manufactured at Rutherfordton, and it leads all the others. They ship them all over the United States and the world,” he added.

To be continued in a subsequent issue.

This item was printed in The Sun on September 23, 1926.