Who really was Ignatius Boulton, the tabloid-tainted tin can tycoon?
While Hopewell Bay is still recovering from the aftermath of the torrent of tin cans with tormenting tales and a hefty rainfall—Boulton Bugle’s office has turned into a two-person waterpark—we’ve heard one particular name mentioned more than usual.
What’s all the chatter about Ignatius Boulton, the forefather of the local bigwigs, the Boulton family dynasty?
Not too much is known about this old sport, whose impact on the local social scene goes beyond his years on this earth. But we went through some historical archives in the Hopewell Bay library to dig through the dirt—oh, I mean, discoveries—and this is what we found.
Ignatius began his entrepreneurial career as a traveling salesman, selling his family’s products across the Midwest. Then, he went off the radar for several years—we couldn’t find much information about these years but we did come across a photo of his passport, stamped in nearly a hundred countries. Whatever he was doing, it seemed that he was going places!
Besides all the international travel, he seems to have moonlighted as a jazz singer with his band, Ignatius and the Fire Embers, performing in places as far-flung as Tokyo and Helsinki. After this global escapade, records show that he moved to Hopewell Bay to be with his newfound sweetheart, Agatha, the daughter of a local farmer.
One hot summer day, Ignatius—according to his own words from a newspaper interview he gave to the Boulton Bugle decades ago—had a stroke of genius and invented the tin can.
Just like that!
Securing the wealth of the future Boulton lineage and ensuring that Beaumont Hall reigns supreme as the grandest manor in all of Hopewell Bay, Ignatius lived a quiet life afterward—and was mostly known for his frequent quarrels with the city council, who claim that the land used to build Beaumont Hall actually belongs to the city and was illegally purchased.
We’ve also heard that the old Boulton didn’t exactly follow the building instructions, and that the mansion allegedly hosts several illegal passages, tunnels, and chambers that the city council has never been able to safety check. Something none of this gossip – oh, we mean, carefully gathered intel – sheds light on, is… what happened in the tin can factory? Why were those cans—at least some of them—filled with unflattering hearsay about the residents of Hopewell Bay? What was this secretive side hustle that seems to have continued long after old Ignatius kicked the tin bucket?
“Please, darling, do toodaloo away from my property!” Grandma Ursula said when we reached out for a comment about the aforementioned claims.
As we say in the Boulton Bugle, the search for the truth continues.