Boomtown (29 page)

The Stickville Slugs marching band followed right behind, playing the school fight song. Next came Ruth and her court standing on the Slug Queen float. The float was flanked by two huge slugs covered in ivy and flowers and featured a slug “grotto” where Ruth sat on her throne. Her king, Waldo, stood on the front, holding a football, commemorating the historic win over the Giants. The three princesses in their slime-green silk dresses blew kisses and waved to potential boyfriends in the crowd. The entire Slug football team, wearing muddy uniforms, marched in their shadow.

Folks from all around—Stickville, Ainogold, East Wallop, and as far away as Wahalawamawampa and Updown—lined the sidewalks ten deep on both sides. They waved American flags and shot off toy cap guns and party favors. They cheered when the Slug Queen and Slug King rolled by and chanted Waldo's name.

They cheered even louder at the appearance of the Hopontop trick riders, decked out in feathers and face paint and doing handstands and backflips on the backs of their horses. Archers and drum players and dancers followed nearby. Chief Knife Thrower was there, juggling four spinning knives, accompanied by the acrobats and tumblers, each wearing colorful masks and spinning around like dervishes. Eye of the Eagle shot clay pigeons and Hen Grenades as they were tossed into the air. Children from the tribe threw lit firecrackers under the feet of the dancers as they danced.

Next came Sheriff Burton Ernie waving from the front seat of his cruiser, honking his horn and sounding his siren. He preceded the proud and solemn faces of the war veterans dressed in their respective uniforms and marching in front of their VFW float. Everyone clapped and cried as the color guard of the navy, army, air force, and marines marched past. They said a silent prayer of gratitude in honor of their fallen heroes and remembered again how grateful they were to live in such a wonderful country.

I was able to look down the long procession to see the approach of the Boomtown Museum Float—always a crowd favorite. The steam-powered float was piloted by the grand-son of Dr. Losotu, who took great pleasure in yanking on the steam whistle and blowing huge gouts of steam into the air. Hovering overhead were three Sky Campers. I could see Samora and her sister and brother in each of them throwing bubble gum and penny candy down to the kids in the crowd. Some of the children from the museum's music classes rode on the float, blowing trumpets and whistles and beating on tin-can drums and otherwise creating quite a racket.

Next came the Farmers' Float, pulled by Fred Cotton and his tractor, stacked fifteen feet high with alfalfa hay. A banner hung on each side that said BOOMTOWN FARMERS and HAPPY 4TH OF JULY in large, bright red letters. Some of the farmers hoisted children up into the wagon where they took turns waving to the crowd through windows cut in the hay bales.

Clown cars and clowns from the Bonitelli Brothers' Traveling Carnival whizzed around in circles just behind the farm wagon, followed by the fire engine driven by the fire chief and his crew. The marching band from East Wallop High marched by playing “God Bless America” and “The Star-Spangled Banner,” followed by their cheerleading squad and baton twirlers. The bell choir from First Presbyterian chimed their way down the street. Right behind them was the Hog Callers Club, calling
SooooWHEE! SoooWHEE!
They had ten sows on tethers—each was decorated with red, white, and blue ribbons.

Reverend Platz, Reverend Tinker, and I took turns announcing each float and performing group as they came near. When it was my turn, I said into the microphone, “Please turn your attention to our next float, sponsored by the Ladies Rotary Club, inspired by the famous painting by Emanuel Gottlieb Leutze,
Washington Crossing the Delaware.
”

The float was actually a rowboat borrowed from Dusty Winslow and outfitted with wheels. Dusty himself stood proudly in the middle of the boat dressed as George Washington—powder wig and all—while his fellow passengers shot bottle rockets and exploding helicopters into the air. The helicopters were a stiff, cardboard propeller on a stick attached to a spinning firecracker that lifted the helicopter into the air until it exploded. I had no idea what bottle rockets and helicopters had to do with George Washington and the Battle of Trenton, but the crowd seemed to appreciate it nonetheless.

The Miners' Float came next, a tribute to Chang and the miners who had helped build Boomtown. The current president of Chang's Black Powder Plant, Lin Chow, was dressed up as Chang. Some of his employees were dressed as miners. They walked behind the float handing out bright red, cinnamon-flavored candy to the crowd. The candy looked like small sticks of dynamite with a black licorice “fuse” coming out of the top.

Next came the Root Beer Float. The members of St. Bernard's Lutheran Church served ice cream and soda to the crowd as fast as they could scoop and pour. It was followed by the Back Float, sponsored by Carlson's Chiropractic; the Goat Float, by Fannie's Fleece and Feathers; the Coat Float, by Kellogg's Clothiers; and the Note Float, by Boomtown Music.

The noise of the crowd was soon overwhelmed by the banging, clonking, clinking, bonking sound of the Bangonbuckets Band, led by Gus Odegaard, owner of Gus's Gas-N-Go. His “band” was open to anyone who wanted an excuse to march in the parade, regardless of musical ability. All a “musician” was required to do was bring a bucket or a frying pan or a tin can and something to hit it with. I could see Gus marching proudly at the front of his band, beating on his collection of metal containers with a huge ladle.

If that weren't loud enough, along came the folks from Chang's Famous Fireworks Factory. Strings of firecrackers burst underneath the feet of the lion dancers in their brightly feathered costumes. The women were dressed in traditional silk robes. Some wore masks or had their faces painted white or were costumed as ancient Chinese deities. They rang chimes and bells and waved to the appreciative crowd. Their children ran back and forth shouting, “
Gung
hay fat choy!
” which meant “Wishing you prosperity.” They threw sample packs of fireworks to the spectators and small bags of candy wrapped in silver and pink ribbon.

The parade group consisted of about sixty Chinese men, women, and children, about half of the Chinese Americans who lived in Boomtown. From the platform I caught a glimpse of Fie-tann, manager of the fireworks factory. He and Lin Chow sat on the town council and were among those who continued to maintain Chang's companies following his untimely death.

They had built a tightly knit Chinese community around the factories. They always put on a great show during the annual parade, and they sold herbs and teas and rice and fireworks at the Saturday Farmers' Market. Everyone applauded as they passed by, knowing that these families were a lasting part of Chang's legacy and essential to the success of the town.

As the parade drew to a close, the noise level grew louder and louder because everyone anticipated the grand finale, the destruction of the Founders' Float. Just in front of it were the floats built by the students from Boomtown School, another highlight of the parade. Jonny had been the prime instigator of the design of the school's float.

“How about a fire-breathing dragon with fire coming out of its mouth and everything?” he had suggested.

“Yeah, that'd be swell!”

“It could have smoke come out of its nose—and we could drop firecrackers out of its rear end.”

“And sparklers burning on its back and tail!”

“And we could make it roar—just like a real dragon!”

Busy and Rocky had the solution for that: “We could borrow the sound system from the school and hook up speakers and make it really, really loud.”

Jonny suggested, “What about wings? How about huge wings and a tail that moves and a mouth that opens and closes?”

“The boys could dress up like knights and have swords and shields and try to slay the dragon.”

“And the girls can dress up like princesses. They could run down the street crying because dragons like to
eat
princesses.”

So that's what the kids had done. The crowd was so impressed by their float that they started to follow along behind the dragon's tail as it went by. The Founders' Float crawled down the street just behind the crowd so that every-thing and everyone began to converge on Town Square in a rolling sea of people and floats and animals and children and noise and confusion—with me standing smack-dab in the middle of it all. I tried to get everyone to stand back and make room, but the noise was too loud.

The Founders' Float stopped about ten yards in front of our stage, where Burton Ernie stood directing the crowd. He waved for people to spread around in a circle to make room.

“Stand back!” he shouted. “Farther back! At least fifty feet.
Back up!
”

While he directed traffic away from the float, the crew manning the rig prepared to destroy it. Three men scram-bled around the truck that held the display and began to string fuses. Two others checked the blast packs positioned underneath the deck.

I nudged Reverend Platz and asked, “Do they have to park that thing so close to us?”

He studied the situation and answered, “It's about the same as last year. You have to watch out for that one fellow, though. You see the gangly gentleman under the truck there? Tends to overdo it on the gunpowder.”

Before I could object, the men scrambled for cover. Sparks raced along the length of the fuses. I caught a glimpse of Sarah and Jonny standing on the edge of the circle. I waved but they didn't see me. Too late to have them stand back. The noise of the crowd swelled. Loud shouting and cheers. Hands on ears.
Kaboooooom!

The plaster mountain and the tiny village disappeared in a cloud of smoke and flying debris to the delighted cheers of the spectators. Bits and pieces flew in every direction. I think I saw the model of the Boomtown Museum head toward Farmers' Park. The miniature Boomtown Library landed on the roof of Top's Soda Shop. The mini town hall shot straight up in the air and kept on going. The entire
floor
of the truck shot straight down and punched a crater in the street.

Reverend Platz said, “Exactly what I was talking about. Too much gunpowder.”

The hole under the truck opened up a crack in the street. It was small at first, but got bigger as it went along. It raced across the asphalt and quickly reached our platform. Along with it came the sound of splintering, ripping, and cracking cement as the road began to give way. The crack split left and right. We watched it disappear around the far side of Chang's statue.

Reverend Platz was the first to feel the ground shift. Reverend Tinker felt it second. As the crack raced around the perimeter of the curb surrounding the statue, they both jumped. The short, round preacher rolled to the left. The tall, thin preacher jumped to the right. His flailing arm knocked me backward into the statue of Chang, where my shirtsleeve snagged on the beak of one of the bronze chickens.

I heard a roar and a loud cracking noise. I felt the whole world tip upside down. I saw the bright blue sky overhead. I seem to remember someone shouting my name. After that, I don't remember much. It was all a blur.

Later that day, after I regained consciousness and was lifted up out of the hole, my family was there to explain what had happened.

“Where am I?” I asked groggily.

“You're in Dr. Goldberg's office, dear,” Janice answered.

“How'd I get here?”

Jonny piped in. “Sheriff Ernie carried you down—after they dragged you up out of the hole. Don't you remember? All the people in Town Square. You remember that?”

“Um, I think so.” My memory was pretty fuzzy.

“The crowd kept getting bigger and bigger. Musta been more than a million people!”

“It was more like two thousand,” Janice corrected him.

“Sure, maybe. Sheriff Ernie thinks the vibrations from all the marching and the weight of all those people with all the floats and then the Founders' Float blowing up, that's what did it.”

“I can't really remember what happened,” I admitted. “What did I miss?”

“You got caught on one of Chang's chickens. Grabbed you with its beak, that's what it did! And then
crash!
Down you went!
Whomp!
”

In bits and pieces, I finally managed to get the whole story. Basically, I'd been sucked down into a gaping sink-hole. Panic ensued. Children wept. Women prayed. Men called for ropes and shovels. Burton Ernie blew his whistle. Dr. Goldberg grabbed his bag. The fire chief brought a lad-der. The search committee from Boomtown Church checked their calendars. Janice and the kids just stood next to the hole waiting for the dust to settle.

When it finally did, there I was twenty feet down in a hole sitting right in the middle of Chang's bronze lap, covered in dirt and debris, bruised and battered, with a sprained wrist and chunks of cement in my lap. Otherwise, I was all right, thanks to Waldo's football helmet and the most over-worked guardian angel in human history.