Well, we must be lucky in Nebraska.
I recall an old story in the Reader's Digest, maybe circa 1950, about a church in Beatrice, Nebraska, at the southern edge of the state.
There was one night the choir was to practice at the church.
There were several members of this choir, lots and lots of people.
And of course the maintenance man was to be there, to unlock and lock the church.
Also the minister, who wanted to see how the music was going to go.
And parents of younger members of the choir, who wanted to see the rehearsal.
Lots and lots of people were supposed to be at that church that night (maybe the late 1940s?).
HOWEVER.
Things started happening. All those--every single one, no exception--were delayed, detoured, for one reason or another (the babysitter arrived late, the organist forgot the music and had to go back home to get it, the maintenance man at home wasn't watching the clock, someone's car broke down, those sorts of things).
And at 7:05 p.m. that evening, five minutes after everybody was to be at the church, it blew up.
Clear up into the skies; a natural gas explosion.