Sheldon Shit was a small, sickly child. His father built
and operated a disreputable bucket o’ blood roadhouse,
little more than chicken wire and dry wall on the northernmost
road out of Cochtotan. The bar was called the Tufted
Nuthatch Tavern after the rich variety of wild birds
that made their home in the thicket by the road. Sheldon,
better known as Shorty, would spend hours on the roof
learning the calls of the wild birds. One afternoon,
local ruffian Beau Shit shot and killed one of Shorty’s
prize birds. Shorty was distraught and joined the clergy.
Beau came out of Juvie a changed man and went to Shorty
to make amends. Shorty, however, had changed too. No
longer slight and sickly, he broke Beau’s nose
in two places – once
in front of the church and once at the local music store.
It was there these two former enemies discovered their
mutual love for music. Shorty had a voice from the gods
and learned much music theory from his study of birds.
Beau lived like a devil but played guitar like an angel.
The two had no choice. The church lost a brilliant preacher
but Cochtotan was two thirds of the way towards the musical
miracle that would put them on the map. But they still
needed a drummer.