"Fake news" may seem like a modern concern, but people have been printing tall tales since the early days of newspapers. On April 17, 1897, Wise County resident S. E. Haydon reported in The Dallas Morning News that an airship had crashed in the small town of Aurora, a full six years before the Wright brothers' first flight at Kitty Hawk.

The story was fake, of course, but as Haydon told it, an unknown man was killed when his "airship" collided with Judge Proctor's windmill. The windmill, as well as the judge's flower garden, were reportedly destroyed. The resulting "fake news" made the pages of the paper:

The pilot was supposedly buried in the Aurora Cemetery, though all that remains to remember him is a historical marker commemorating the "legend."

Many believed fervently in the story of the martian, however. Why would S.E. Haydon risk his own reputation as a frequent contributor to local papers by telling such a tall tale?

Many believe his story was a last-ditch effort to revive a town decimated by an outbreak of "spotted fever," which not only took lives but triggered an exodus of Aurora's healthy citizens. One story in The Dallas Morning News described a town so plagued by illness, people were afraid to patronize its businesses.

Haydon himself lost his wife and two of his sons to the epidemic. Another son was blinded. The illness devastated the town - along with soil problems, fires and the bankruptcy of the much-anticipated railroad. Haydon, many suspect, wove the tale in an attempt to drum up interest in tiny Aurora and save his town. This theory is backed up by the work of Etta Pegues, town historian, who was 10 years old in 1897.

Aurora Cemetery, where the space visitor is said to be buried. (Kent Biffle / Dallas Morning News)

To Haydon's credit, the story did help put Aurora on the map - it just didn't happen as quickly as he may have hoped. By the late 1960s and throughout the 1970s, film crews and UFO enthusiasts from across the world flocked to Aurora to find the ship and the remains of the martian pilot. One particular incident involved a piece of rare metal, which excited UFO fans and others until it was determined that the specific alloy was used in the 1920s for cooking pot lids.

The attention was a mixed bag. While some shrewd townspeople sold tourists "rusted cans and other aged alloys," others found themselves the target of unwanted visitors of the decidedly human variety. Older residents, many of whom lived in retirement communities, were hounded for statements by reporters and authors.

"Everyone in the world's come by," said one disgruntled resident. "We've had calls from California, Europe and Illinois about the little green man. Well, he ain't here."