Rich Overhessan attends a small, rural church in the upper Michigan peninsula. He’s known for his wise counsel, money-management skills, and quiet demeanor. You’ll often find Rich reading quietly at home or enjoying a nice newspaper at the The Bird, a local coffee shop in town largely populated by elderly, mostly friendly gentlemen. You will not, however, find Rich gripping a microphone and pushing sounds out of his lungs in a melodic, breathy manner.
“Rich is a beautiful, luscious man with skin covered in the black spots of frostbite. He never bundles up when he goes outside in the winter. He just wears a t-shirt with cargo shorts, totally ignoring the dramatic winter temperatures,” noted Wendy Nutt, a member of his church. “He’s fiscally responsible, a fool when it comes to planning for cold weather, and absolutely will not sing a song for us in church, no matter how many times we ask him to.”
“We’ve lured him on stage with hotdogs and ground beef cubes,” said Jeff Tweem. “He will wander on stage with a bewildered look on his face as his big wet eyes feast upon the meat-lures hanging from the ceiling. We start the music up, hand him a mic, and then he sprints out into the cold wearing summer clothes.”
Colleen Resputan recalls becoming violent with him: “We verbally abuse him and physically accost him,” she said with her mouth wide open so one could see the back of her red, warm throat. “I brought a cow brand to church last month and branded him real good on his belly during ‘Meet and Greet.'”
We know one thing for sure: literally nothing will coerce frost-bitten Rich to sing special music.