I AM NOT a dreamer, as I have had only a very few dreams in my whole life. In the month of September, 1925, I had my first vivid dream. As was my custom, when through with my day’s work, I would go down to the Eagle Gate, on south Temple and State streets in Salt Lake City. I used to stand there for half an hour, before going home, to watch the lights on State street on the road to Murray, a small town about ten miles distant.

On this particular night I had been there about three-quarters of an hour watching the twinkling lights. Then, after going home and to bed, I had this dream:

I was standing at the Eagle Gate, when along came a man in what looked to me like a gondola. He stopped in front of me and asked me if I would like to take a ride with him. “It is such a beautiful night, I will be glad to go,” I answered.

I got into the boat and we glided noiselessly along, near the ground, or high as the house tops, just as he pilot wished. The first towns we passed through were Pueblo, Colorado Springs and Denver, and then on to the East; in fact we passed through every large city in the United States. All were in ruins. Men and women were silently going about cleaning up the debris. I saw men hanging from lamp-posts, door ways, and trees by the thousands, with placards tied to them, reading, “Crooked lawyer,” “Crooked politician,” “This man robbed people of their life savings,” “Grafter,” etc.

I asked my guide what caused all this destruction, and his answer was, “Oppression of the people and robbery.” I said to him, “I can’t understand this; such things can’t happen in our country, because we have laws here that would prevent anything like this.”

His answer was, “Yes, you have laws, much too many; but no justice.”

Then I asked him if anything could be done to prevent such a horrible catastrophe.