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2 IN THE CHEST 1869
2 IN THE CHEST
VELVET DE BLONKO
DRUMS
We are an army of 4 made up of a Bass player Guitar player Drummer and Lead guitar /FX/percussion's vocals. We have been resurrected to perform for the fans giving them a show they will never forget.
LEFTY MCCRAY
LEAD GUITAR/BACKING VOCALS
LEAD GUITAR/BACKING VOCALS
REVEREND BLACK
GUITAR/VOCALS
The Story of 2 IN THE CHEST Reverend B.J. McBride, Dr. Dagmar Jordanson, Velvet De Blonko, and Lefty McCray
Many years ago there lived a man who went by the name Reverend Black Jack McBride
He was a preacher man to most but even more than that he rode from town to town helping the less fortunate with basic needs such as food and clothing and blankets if it was winter time.
Life was very hard back in the 1800’s there was a great deal of crime where ever you went, but more so in the west.
On a beautiful Sunday morning in the spring of 1868 the Reverend was doing an Easter service and the congregation was full. "Standing room only on this day". The service was just about to conclude when three men walked into the church. It grew very quiet so quiet that you could hear the sheriffs watch ticking in his vest. One of the men shouted out..” Are you the one they call the Reverend Black?” The reverend of course answered yes I am what can I do for you folks?
At this time all three men UN-holstered their guns, one of the men shot the sheriff the second man just started shooting random people and the third man had his barrel aimed at the Reverend. The Reverend looked unto the heavens and asked, ”good Lord, is my work done? Will you make this wrong right?” Just then the man fired 2 bullets into the Reverends chest dropping him where he stood.
After the lead stopped flying, and horror of all the carnage was done, those evil men road out of town never to be seen again. 30 towns folk were dead. The reverends lifeless body lays motionless next to the statue of Jesus in a pool of blood.
The word of this horrific massacre spread throughout the neighboring towns like a wild fire. Many folks came together to give all these families a proper burial. A special crypt was constructed for Mr. Black one that would last for many life times. The following Sunday all the townsfolk from all the neighboring towns came to the church and shared the awesome stories of all the great things Mr. McBride had done for all these communities. After many people spoke a young man stepped up to the podium and said these few words. “The man all of you know as Mr. McBride should know this, It is foretold his work is not yet done, he will return.” After this young man said this he walked out of the church. No one had ever seen this person before. Who was this young man all the townsfolk asked themselves.
Many years went by and the memory of Mr. McBride will never fade because on the anniversary of his passing at dusk a strange thing happens and no one can explain it.
At dusk on the anniversary of the Reverends death something amazing happens, it really cannot be explained one would have to see it to completely understand it. But, at dusk when the sun has all but faded into the night, a very eerie red light shines from his crypt strait up to the heavens and its stays there until the sun crests the mountains in the east. This has happened each and every single year sense his passing. No one really understands it except the few who watch over his grave. What makes this really interesting is that the ones that are watching over his grave are not people at all, big Jon the black smith was heard saying, that it looked like 7 angels on the backs of golden horses. These angels as the blacksmith explained would ride around the Mr. McBride tomb until the breaking of the morning sun.
During the early years after his death, people still talked about the Reverend. Many stories were told. But what all the towns’ folk wanted more than anything, was to find the evil men that massacred all those people on that unforgettable Easter morning. Many people each and every day were praying for revenge on those three men.
Back in the tomb of the Reverend as he lays there in his coffin you can almost read the spiritual thoughts. The memory of what that little boy said at Reverends funeral stuck in the minds of many of the folks in that town. “It is foretold his work is not yet done” what did he mean by this, was the question.
A few years later in a town about 200 miles from the town the Reverend was murdered lived a loving and nurturing young woman this lady was the school teacher in that particular town and all the children loved her so. She would not only teach in the school but she would go to the homes of children that had to work the farms during the day and were unable to make it to school. This fine young lady’s name was Velvet De Blonko.
She was an Italian immigrant that came here with her parents when she was just a baby. Her parents own a small store in this town and they are very loved as well.
One morning in the winter Velvet was in class teaching her pupils, and three men busted open the school house doors and yelled are you the one that goes by the name Velvet De Blonko? She of course said yes I am, what can I do for you gentlemen we are having class right now can this wait until after school is out?
Just then the men started opening fire on all the children killing every last one of them leaving none alive then the men set fire to the church after locking the doors and Velvet was burnt alive within that school on that horrific day. after the towns folk worked tirelessly trying to put the fire out, when it was said and done they found her lifeless body huddled around all the children that were murdered.
Dr Dagmar was born in a little town just outside Copenhagen, Demark. Growing up, his father, albeit a wealthy man always suffered with respiratory sickness. At the age of 15 Dagmar moved with his family to the dry climate of Arizona, settling in the recently chartered city of Phoenix. The move did little to help his father’s health unfortunately, and Dagmar’s father died two years later. From that day forward, Dagmar dedicated himself to the practice of healing. After graduating from Harvard with a medical degree, he traveled throughout the Southwest, making house calls and offering his services for free; relying on the hospitality of those he helped as payment.
One day, while out along the California border offering assistance to a young boy suffering from the same respiratory sickness that killed his father, there came the thunderous sound of horses from the road. Suddenly three men and their horses burst through the door of the little cabin and demanded the name of the man standing before them. “Dr Dagmar Jordanson,” he said, “and who, may I ask, are you?”
The tallest, most evil looking one of the three, stepped from his horse and said, “The last man you will ever see, Doctor.” With that, the man pulled out his pistol and fired one shot into the good doctor’s head, as the other two outlaws shot and killed the young family. As if blatant murder wasn’t enough, the evil trio dismembered Dagmar’s body, and set the cabin on fire. And as quickly as they appeared, they disappeared, riding off into the darkness.
Word spread quickly across Arizona of the crime that had been committed against this pillar of the community. Prominent members of Phoenix knew this man did not deserve such a disrespectful death, and decided that Dr Dagmar body should be recovered and the remains buried next to his father in the family’s Phoenix graveyard. His charred body was recovered from the burned out cabin, and put on a wagon drawn by two white horses. In every town that the body traveled through on its way back to Phoenix, the townsfolk came out and lined the streets to honor this great man. As the sad precession traveled through each town, women wept, children threw flowers on the casket, and men vowed revenge upon the heads of the evil three…but the three were never identified, and the crime went unsolved.
It was getting late in the afternoon and Thomas McCray was a long way from the ranch house. Repairing the wire fences that enclosed the property and kept his herd of cattle contained, was one of Thomas’s least favorite tasks. But it kept him busy, and honestly, he was enjoying the alone time. The days were growing colder and his thoughts kept turning to the cattle drive to Texas that was coming up in the next few weeks.
The cattle drives were the best part of his job as far as he was concerned. He relished the time away from the pressure and decision making that came from running a large and fairly successful cattle ranch. A few months away from the ranch was just what he needed. Thomas McCray had inherited his Colorado Springs ranch from his parents after Yellow Fever had taken his mother and his father from this Earth.
He had to grow up fast in order to keep that ranch from going under. The work was hard but satisfying, at least most of it was. Thomas did have plenty of hired help around the ranch though. Most of them were drifters just passing through. It was well known in the area that Thomas was the type of man who would never turn away someone in need and was always quick to offer a place to stay, a job that paid fair, and two free homemade meals a day for as long as they signed on for.
Thomas’ thoughts now drifted to his father. He would never forget the joy that riding the range alongside his father brought him. He could always count on Thomas being faithfully to his left side. And for this reason, time and time again, he would jokingly call Thomas “Lefty.” And once the other ranch hands heard his father calling Thomas by his nickname, it stuck. But it was only after the passing of his father that Thomas became determined to leave the name Thomas behind, and forever only answer to the name Lefty McCray.
As the sun dipped low on the horizon, Lefty decided that he should be getting back to the ranch house. He wished he hadn’t staid out so long and he already knew he was going to miss out on dinner again. On his way back, Lefty’s thoughts returned to the upcoming cattle drive. He couldn’t wait.
Suddenly his mind snapped to attention. It wasn’t dinner he smelled; something was burning! He was sure of it. Digging his spurs into his mount he raced toward the ranch house at breakneck speed. As he crested the next rise, he could see the flames. But they were too close to be coming from the house. Terror crossed his face as he realized they must have been coming from the Bunkhouse where all the ranch hands slept. And as he got closer, sure enough, the Bunkhouse was completely engulfed in flames. Still a distance away, he could see the ranch hands streaming out of the building one by one, each of them on fire, running, screaming and flailing to no avail. There was nothing he could do but watch them die a horrifying death.
Then he noticed three silhouettes, on horseback, between himself and the flames, watching this horror unfold. And as he grew closer, they noticed him approaching, They all three turned and raced towards Lefty, closing the distance between at what seemed like a supernatural pace. Lefty stopped his horse in its tracks. One of the men shouted out “Are you the one known as Lefty McCray”? Lefty didn’t answer. His instincts told him that he was in grave danger. The Tallest, foulest feeling rider spoke, “you may think there is wisdom in being silent, but your silence will not protect you.” And before Lefty could grab for his revolver, two shots rang out in the dim of the sunset’s last rays. Two lead slugs slammed into Lefty’s body knocking him from his horse, dropping like a sack of wet flour; falling face down in a small muddy stream. Had Lefty not already been dead, he would most definitely have drown. “Let your silent wisdom now be your comfort,” said the faceless rider, looking down from horseback at Lefty’s lifeless body.
After just a few short years on the anniversary of the Reverends death. Like every year, the graveside overseers did something a little different than just riding around his crypt, they dismounted there golden steads and walked over to his coffin and as the glowing red lights shined through the cracks of the coffin the overseers opened it up and said some words in a language mankind will probably never understand. At that moment he arose from his resting place with a red brilliant glow emanating from his chest. And a glorious white horse appeared. And a loud thunderous voice pierced the sky and spoke to him. The voice was clear on the directions the Reverend was supposed to follow.
“THESE WORDS I HAVE SPOKEN TO YOU MY SON HOLD A MEANING NO MAN CAN UNDERSTAND. YOU MUST SEEK OUT THE OTHERS.”
After his resurrection ripped the ground out from under his crypt and the spirit of St. Christopher was back in his hands once again. He immediately headed out to find the other chosen ones. Arriving in a town some 200 miles from his crypt towns people look on in total amazement remembering what that young boy said “he will be back and he will continue his work. the towns people were shocked to see this man that everyone has been talking about for so many years. He was no longer who he once was. Just then the red illuminating light from his chest started glowing bright as he rode closer to the gravesite of Miss Velvet De Blonko. He dismounted his stead and slammed St. Christopher down on her grave as he did this, the skies turned black and a thunderous voice pierced the sky. Velvet emerged from her grave and as this was happening a glorious a fiery red horse appeared. She looked at The Reverend and a blue light shined through her chest.
They rode off in search of another. As they ride from town to town people started to take notice of these skeletal remains everyone somehow knew why they were here. Town to town they rode tirelessly looking for the others. A period of about a year had past as they rode through yet another town and it happened the red and blue lights started shining through there skeletal remains as they ride closer to the graveside of Dr. Dagmar Jordanson. As Velvet stayed on her mount, the Reverend slammed St. Christopher on the grave of the Dr., and again the skies turned black and the thunderous voice pierced the sky. Dagmar rose from the dead and a black horse appeared after which he mounted and They rode off in search of a fourth chosen one. Their travels took them to a small ranch in Colorado and yet again as they rode closer to the resting place of one called Lefty McCray the illuminations began to shine through their skeletal remains. The Reverend dismounted yet again and slammed St. Christopher on the grave of this man grave and the ground began to crack as he awoke from his sleep a pale horse appeared. at lighting speed they all rode off in search of the three faceless men that killed and imprisoned their souls.
Many years ago there lived a man who went by the name Reverend Black Jack McBride
He was a preacher man to most but even more than that he rode from town to town helping the less fortunate with basic needs such as food and clothing and blankets if it was winter time.
Life was very hard back in the 1800’s there was a great deal of crime where ever you went, but more so in the west.
On a beautiful Sunday morning in the spring of 1868 the Reverend was doing an Easter service and the congregation was full. "Standing room only on this day". The service was just about to conclude when three men walked into the church. It grew very quiet so quiet that you could hear the sheriffs watch ticking in his vest. One of the men shouted out..” Are you the one they call the Reverend Black?” The reverend of course answered yes I am what can I do for you folks?
At this time all three men UN-holstered their guns, one of the men shot the sheriff the second man just started shooting random people and the third man had his barrel aimed at the Reverend. The Reverend looked unto the heavens and asked, ”good Lord, is my work done? Will you make this wrong right?” Just then the man fired 2 bullets into the Reverends chest dropping him where he stood.
After the lead stopped flying, and horror of all the carnage was done, those evil men road out of town never to be seen again. 30 towns folk were dead. The reverends lifeless body lays motionless next to the statue of Jesus in a pool of blood.
The word of this horrific massacre spread throughout the neighboring towns like a wild fire. Many folks came together to give all these families a proper burial. A special crypt was constructed for Mr. Black one that would last for many life times. The following Sunday all the townsfolk from all the neighboring towns came to the church and shared the awesome stories of all the great things Mr. McBride had done for all these communities. After many people spoke a young man stepped up to the podium and said these few words. “The man all of you know as Mr. McBride should know this, It is foretold his work is not yet done, he will return.” After this young man said this he walked out of the church. No one had ever seen this person before. Who was this young man all the townsfolk asked themselves.
Many years went by and the memory of Mr. McBride will never fade because on the anniversary of his passing at dusk a strange thing happens and no one can explain it.
At dusk on the anniversary of the Reverends death something amazing happens, it really cannot be explained one would have to see it to completely understand it. But, at dusk when the sun has all but faded into the night, a very eerie red light shines from his crypt strait up to the heavens and its stays there until the sun crests the mountains in the east. This has happened each and every single year sense his passing. No one really understands it except the few who watch over his grave. What makes this really interesting is that the ones that are watching over his grave are not people at all, big Jon the black smith was heard saying, that it looked like 7 angels on the backs of golden horses. These angels as the blacksmith explained would ride around the Mr. McBride tomb until the breaking of the morning sun.
During the early years after his death, people still talked about the Reverend. Many stories were told. But what all the towns’ folk wanted more than anything, was to find the evil men that massacred all those people on that unforgettable Easter morning. Many people each and every day were praying for revenge on those three men.
Back in the tomb of the Reverend as he lays there in his coffin you can almost read the spiritual thoughts. The memory of what that little boy said at Reverends funeral stuck in the minds of many of the folks in that town. “It is foretold his work is not yet done” what did he mean by this, was the question.
A few years later in a town about 200 miles from the town the Reverend was murdered lived a loving and nurturing young woman this lady was the school teacher in that particular town and all the children loved her so. She would not only teach in the school but she would go to the homes of children that had to work the farms during the day and were unable to make it to school. This fine young lady’s name was Velvet De Blonko.
She was an Italian immigrant that came here with her parents when she was just a baby. Her parents own a small store in this town and they are very loved as well.
One morning in the winter Velvet was in class teaching her pupils, and three men busted open the school house doors and yelled are you the one that goes by the name Velvet De Blonko? She of course said yes I am, what can I do for you gentlemen we are having class right now can this wait until after school is out?
Just then the men started opening fire on all the children killing every last one of them leaving none alive then the men set fire to the church after locking the doors and Velvet was burnt alive within that school on that horrific day. after the towns folk worked tirelessly trying to put the fire out, when it was said and done they found her lifeless body huddled around all the children that were murdered.
Dr Dagmar was born in a little town just outside Copenhagen, Demark. Growing up, his father, albeit a wealthy man always suffered with respiratory sickness. At the age of 15 Dagmar moved with his family to the dry climate of Arizona, settling in the recently chartered city of Phoenix. The move did little to help his father’s health unfortunately, and Dagmar’s father died two years later. From that day forward, Dagmar dedicated himself to the practice of healing. After graduating from Harvard with a medical degree, he traveled throughout the Southwest, making house calls and offering his services for free; relying on the hospitality of those he helped as payment.
One day, while out along the California border offering assistance to a young boy suffering from the same respiratory sickness that killed his father, there came the thunderous sound of horses from the road. Suddenly three men and their horses burst through the door of the little cabin and demanded the name of the man standing before them. “Dr Dagmar Jordanson,” he said, “and who, may I ask, are you?”
The tallest, most evil looking one of the three, stepped from his horse and said, “The last man you will ever see, Doctor.” With that, the man pulled out his pistol and fired one shot into the good doctor’s head, as the other two outlaws shot and killed the young family. As if blatant murder wasn’t enough, the evil trio dismembered Dagmar’s body, and set the cabin on fire. And as quickly as they appeared, they disappeared, riding off into the darkness.
Word spread quickly across Arizona of the crime that had been committed against this pillar of the community. Prominent members of Phoenix knew this man did not deserve such a disrespectful death, and decided that Dr Dagmar body should be recovered and the remains buried next to his father in the family’s Phoenix graveyard. His charred body was recovered from the burned out cabin, and put on a wagon drawn by two white horses. In every town that the body traveled through on its way back to Phoenix, the townsfolk came out and lined the streets to honor this great man. As the sad precession traveled through each town, women wept, children threw flowers on the casket, and men vowed revenge upon the heads of the evil three…but the three were never identified, and the crime went unsolved.
It was getting late in the afternoon and Thomas McCray was a long way from the ranch house. Repairing the wire fences that enclosed the property and kept his herd of cattle contained, was one of Thomas’s least favorite tasks. But it kept him busy, and honestly, he was enjoying the alone time. The days were growing colder and his thoughts kept turning to the cattle drive to Texas that was coming up in the next few weeks.
The cattle drives were the best part of his job as far as he was concerned. He relished the time away from the pressure and decision making that came from running a large and fairly successful cattle ranch. A few months away from the ranch was just what he needed. Thomas McCray had inherited his Colorado Springs ranch from his parents after Yellow Fever had taken his mother and his father from this Earth.
He had to grow up fast in order to keep that ranch from going under. The work was hard but satisfying, at least most of it was. Thomas did have plenty of hired help around the ranch though. Most of them were drifters just passing through. It was well known in the area that Thomas was the type of man who would never turn away someone in need and was always quick to offer a place to stay, a job that paid fair, and two free homemade meals a day for as long as they signed on for.
Thomas’ thoughts now drifted to his father. He would never forget the joy that riding the range alongside his father brought him. He could always count on Thomas being faithfully to his left side. And for this reason, time and time again, he would jokingly call Thomas “Lefty.” And once the other ranch hands heard his father calling Thomas by his nickname, it stuck. But it was only after the passing of his father that Thomas became determined to leave the name Thomas behind, and forever only answer to the name Lefty McCray.
As the sun dipped low on the horizon, Lefty decided that he should be getting back to the ranch house. He wished he hadn’t staid out so long and he already knew he was going to miss out on dinner again. On his way back, Lefty’s thoughts returned to the upcoming cattle drive. He couldn’t wait.
Suddenly his mind snapped to attention. It wasn’t dinner he smelled; something was burning! He was sure of it. Digging his spurs into his mount he raced toward the ranch house at breakneck speed. As he crested the next rise, he could see the flames. But they were too close to be coming from the house. Terror crossed his face as he realized they must have been coming from the Bunkhouse where all the ranch hands slept. And as he got closer, sure enough, the Bunkhouse was completely engulfed in flames. Still a distance away, he could see the ranch hands streaming out of the building one by one, each of them on fire, running, screaming and flailing to no avail. There was nothing he could do but watch them die a horrifying death.
Then he noticed three silhouettes, on horseback, between himself and the flames, watching this horror unfold. And as he grew closer, they noticed him approaching, They all three turned and raced towards Lefty, closing the distance between at what seemed like a supernatural pace. Lefty stopped his horse in its tracks. One of the men shouted out “Are you the one known as Lefty McCray”? Lefty didn’t answer. His instincts told him that he was in grave danger. The Tallest, foulest feeling rider spoke, “you may think there is wisdom in being silent, but your silence will not protect you.” And before Lefty could grab for his revolver, two shots rang out in the dim of the sunset’s last rays. Two lead slugs slammed into Lefty’s body knocking him from his horse, dropping like a sack of wet flour; falling face down in a small muddy stream. Had Lefty not already been dead, he would most definitely have drown. “Let your silent wisdom now be your comfort,” said the faceless rider, looking down from horseback at Lefty’s lifeless body.
After just a few short years on the anniversary of the Reverends death. Like every year, the graveside overseers did something a little different than just riding around his crypt, they dismounted there golden steads and walked over to his coffin and as the glowing red lights shined through the cracks of the coffin the overseers opened it up and said some words in a language mankind will probably never understand. At that moment he arose from his resting place with a red brilliant glow emanating from his chest. And a glorious white horse appeared. And a loud thunderous voice pierced the sky and spoke to him. The voice was clear on the directions the Reverend was supposed to follow.
“THESE WORDS I HAVE SPOKEN TO YOU MY SON HOLD A MEANING NO MAN CAN UNDERSTAND. YOU MUST SEEK OUT THE OTHERS.”
After his resurrection ripped the ground out from under his crypt and the spirit of St. Christopher was back in his hands once again. He immediately headed out to find the other chosen ones. Arriving in a town some 200 miles from his crypt towns people look on in total amazement remembering what that young boy said “he will be back and he will continue his work. the towns people were shocked to see this man that everyone has been talking about for so many years. He was no longer who he once was. Just then the red illuminating light from his chest started glowing bright as he rode closer to the gravesite of Miss Velvet De Blonko. He dismounted his stead and slammed St. Christopher down on her grave as he did this, the skies turned black and a thunderous voice pierced the sky. Velvet emerged from her grave and as this was happening a glorious a fiery red horse appeared. She looked at The Reverend and a blue light shined through her chest.
They rode off in search of another. As they ride from town to town people started to take notice of these skeletal remains everyone somehow knew why they were here. Town to town they rode tirelessly looking for the others. A period of about a year had past as they rode through yet another town and it happened the red and blue lights started shining through there skeletal remains as they ride closer to the graveside of Dr. Dagmar Jordanson. As Velvet stayed on her mount, the Reverend slammed St. Christopher on the grave of the Dr., and again the skies turned black and the thunderous voice pierced the sky. Dagmar rose from the dead and a black horse appeared after which he mounted and They rode off in search of a fourth chosen one. Their travels took them to a small ranch in Colorado and yet again as they rode closer to the resting place of one called Lefty McCray the illuminations began to shine through their skeletal remains. The Reverend dismounted yet again and slammed St. Christopher on the grave of this man grave and the ground began to crack as he awoke from his sleep a pale horse appeared. at lighting speed they all rode off in search of the three faceless men that killed and imprisoned their souls.
