The Legend
Should you enter the Shady Eye Saloon at this moment, you would be justified in inquiring,
What sort of reputable establishment allows a casket on its bartop?
Mind you, the Shady Eye is a far cry from your average watering hole. Each of us may have our responsible duties in the outside world, but within these dusty walls lies an oasis that speaks to our distinguished comportment in life.
We owe it all to the esteemed
Aloysius Percival
McGILLICUDDY,
the gentleman now supine in that aforementioned box on the bar. After winning the saloon in a duel, “The Doctor” (as he had come to be known) breathed confident life into this formerly depressed shanty.
His fine spirits – true to their name – are imbued with his genuine zest for living. Even in his passing, The Doctor’s venerable life inspires our sense of bold individuality.
Which brings us to our reason for celebrating today. Gaze around at all who have come to pay their respects:
The sheriff, the blacksmith, and even the mayor.
The woman in black is Lady Hermione McGillicuddy, his widow. The four gentlewomen to her right are his preceding wives.
There’s George J. Gunterfeld, the town barber who painstakingly cultivated The Doctor’s moustache as though it were a bonsai tree from the Far East Orient.
Filling glasses is Cleve August, the faithful barkeep. And draining them is Pervis Rutherford, the longest-standing client (some speculate that he was in fact deeded to The Doctor along with the saloon).
Accompanied by a lone candle in a shot glass atop the piano are The Doctor’s dueling pistols, watch and pipe. The leather-bound book is his very own journal, from which we shall read. Among the many heartfelt eulogies to be given, the most poignant musings will come from the guest of honor himself.
