Harrington Birch was born in England in January of 1800 under the Beck Hole Road bridge, while snow drifted down on the moors. His father, Harrington Birch Senior was a well to do gentlemen with a top hat and ivory cane. Harrington Birch Senior was a man who loved minerals, and it was this love that took him to Bauxite County, California. Harrington Birch Senior loved bauxite. He loved the smell of bauxite. He loved the taste of bauxite. Most of all, he liked to hold onto bauxite while making love to his wife, a great hunk of the beautiful mineral held in each hand as he heaved his petite figure around her sprawling elastic flesh.
Harrington Birch then, was raised surrounded by bauxite. Unlike his father Harrington Birch despised the substance and spent much of his early life musing schemes for the eradication of bauxite. He spent several unsuccessful years as an alchemist, and two decades running an ill fated bauxite disposal company.
In 1882 Harrington Birch made a deal with the devil. If Harrington Birch could defeat the devil in a round of golf, then the devil would grant Harrington Birch a single wish, the delivery of a petition to God requesting the disintegration of bauxite. If Harrington Birch lost, then the devil would take his immortal soul.
The Devil, filthy sneak that he is, chose the course. The Devils Golf Course, Death Valley, California. With the summer of 1882 burning hard shadows across the mottled ground, Harrington swung deep into the uneven surface, repeatedly, in futility until he collapsed having not reached the first hole. At two hundred shots above par Harrington Birch was dead. His heart cooked inside the cavity of his chest, his brain warm soup in his skull.
Harrington Birch was left to dry out under the sun like so many before him. His soul tortured forever in damnation and bauxite.