Boomtown by Nowen N. Particular Page B

on May 18, 1878.
    â€œThe town adopted the motto ‘Change Is for the Better’ and the chicken as its official mascot. That’s why you’ll find a chicken on the egg-shaped town seal, encircled by the motto and holding two crossed sticks of dynamite in its claws. And in spite of his objections, you’ll also find a statue of Chang erected in the middle of Town Square. It’s out in front of the courthouse, with two chickens in his lap and one at his feet. And right there on the monument, you’ll find these words carved in stone: ‘Chang, Founding Father of Change, Washington. September 8, 1830 – April 12, 1892.’”
    Mr. Beedle fell silent and leaned back in his rocking chair and sipped his coffee. He noticed the look of confusion on my face. He was just waiting for me to ask the question he knew I was going to ask.
    â€œThis isn’t Change, Washington. It’s Boomtown . And it isn’t on a hill. It’s mostly flat. It doesn’t fit your story.”
    Paul smiled and said, “Well, young feller, that’s a mystery, of course, since the only one who really knows what happened is Chang himself. He died on the same day the town of Change changed forever, so of course we can’t ask him . You could ask Olaf Stevenson or maybe Klaus Kanderhoffen if you get the chance. They lived here back in those days.”
    Sarah persisted. “But what happened? Why’d they change the name of the town?”
    â€œWell, young lady, there’s a couple of theories floating around, but here’s what I think. It was way too dangerous to be storing the gunpowder and dynamite and fireworks and Hen Grenades and everything else Chang was making right out in the open. All you needed was a spark, and this whole town’d go up like a tinderbox!
    â€œSo Chang started stockpiling the inventory down in the caves and tunnels that were dug all over the place, like holes in Swiss cheese. It was a pretty good idea, seeing that there were miles and miles of tunnels down there, what with the mining for gold and then the digging for sulfur. Besides, it was as dry as a cigar box down under the ground.”
    â€œThat was a good idea!” Sarah said.
    â€œMaybe so, maybe not. Some think another one of Chang’s chickens got loose and went down into the tunnels. It got into a stockpile of POPcorn, and you remember what happened the first time! Chang went chasing after it as it flew from one cave into the next. The story goes that the chicken flew up onto a shelf and it started to cluck like crazy. When the bird got finished, there was a fresh new Hen Grenade. ’Course, it was round , so it started to roll down the shelf—Chang dove in there and almost caught it.
    And then . . .”
    â€œWhat? What happened?”
    â€œNothin’. The egg was a dud. It just bounced.”
    â€œIt didn’t blow up?”
    â€œNope. But that’s not the end of the story. Chang was so happy that he started jumping up and down and cheering. Scared the chicken half to death, and it laid another egg—BOOM! Up went the chicken. Up went the gunpowder. No more Chang.”
    I looked out over the fields in front of us, as flat as the eye could see with hills rising up in the distance. “But you said this town was on top of a hill . We’re in a valley.”
    â€œThat’s what I said. It used to be on a hill, until that egg went kablooey. It set off a chain reaction. First the Hen Grenade, then the fireworks, then the dynamite, then the black powder, and all the sulfur and so on and so on—you get the picture. With all the explosives stored in the mining caves, it pretty much turned the hill inside out. Went up like a Roman candle— whoosh! Musta really been something to see.”
    â€œYou’re pulling my leg, right?”
    â€œScouts’ honor, Reverend! It was a real mess. Fortunately, no one else died in the blast, but it took more’n