Time can be an issue when organ donation is a factor. Tissue banks from around the country are becoming more aggressive in their quests to acquire hearts, lungs, kidneys, skin, eyes, ears, bones, and other harvestable human body parts. Many hospitals’ death-reporting forms even include spaces for families to check whether they wish the tissue retrieval organization to be contacted.
I happen to be a big fan of organ donation. An unbelievable amount of good has come from it, and we all might need a new part or two someday. Young people involved in accidents who are brain dead are ideal candidates for donating their organs. Their bodies are kept alive for transplantation once family members say good-bye and grant their permission. I am quite surprised, however, that even elderly bones are in demand. Apparently, they can be crushed into a fine powdery mix and used in knee-replacement surgery.
My only problem with tissue donation is the lack of expediency. Educating the public and making funeral directors and families keenly aware of the Tissue Bank’s valuable service is all well and good, but when the time comes to actually remove the needed tissue, it takes too long. I have had to wait more than a day on several occasions before I could retrieve a body to start the funeral process, and embalming is more difficult after the body has been kept in a hospital cooler for several hours.
Suicides present their own unique restorative challenges. My first experience came as a wide-eyed fifteen-year-old. My brother and I were dispatched to a residence to remove the victim of a self-inflicted shotgun blast to the face. That was considered in its day a simple, open-and-shut case. The coroner had already come and gone and granted permission for the deceased to be removed. The man’s daughter greeted us at the front door and showed us into a small first-floor bathroom with just a commode, a sink, and a ceiling coated with fragments of human tissue.
The man had placed the shotgun in his mouth as he sat on the toilet seat. His head was nearly gone; the blast had blown away all structures from the upper lip and above. Brain and skull pieces with hair still attached adorned the ceiling and hung downward like stalactites. Only the lower jaw still rested on the decedent’s neck. I was so stunned that I barely remember the removal procedure. Did we carry in the litter or just roll up the cot to the bathroom door? Who knows?
The daughter followed us outside to the hearse and asked whether part of our job was to scrub down the bathroom. My brother said no. However, when the woman said she would pay someone “a handsome sum” to do so, I readily spoke up. But my brother nixed the deal, saying that if I did a poor job, her family might not ever call our establishment again. Just as well, since I don’t know how I would have tackled that mess—although my fifteen-year-old mind kept spinning endlessly in regard to what “a handsome sum” might be.
Some restorations require many hours of effort, but others are much simpler. Many embalmers routinely fill women’s brassieres with cotton for the appearance of full, lifelike breasts. But the proper quantity sometimes involves a bit of guesswork. One grieving husband confronted me upon first viewing his late wife in her casket, inquiring as to how I had magically increased her bust size. At first I was apprehensive, thinking he might be angry with me—but then he winked and told me his wife would be proud to be sporting such an exquisite pair.
CHAPTER SIX
If someone does not volunteer it to me immediately, I ask why he or she came to us for service. It’s been said that the best form of advertising is word of mouth, which I can attest is true. I have conducted a huge number of funeral services for families that have called on me because of a recommendation from another family that I served in the past. The old adage “funerals begat funerals” is another time-tested fact that is applicable to the business today. Many times over the years I have heard the comment, “Our family came to your funeral home because we were just here last month for John Doe’s funeral and everything was so nicely done.”
I use the tried-and-true advertising techniques, most important, billboards and television. A marketing specialist informed me several years ago that a funeral home such as my family operation would achieve great results with outdoor billboards with our family photo incorporated on each one. Educate the public that our family will personally care for their family in their time of need.
I have six billboards strategically placed in my service area so they are seen on the most heavily traveled roads. My wife insists that we change the text of the printed message and, of course, our outfits. Every six months we arrange for a family photo shoot for our new billboard picture. I know it works because people call to acknowledge that they have seen the new billboard. We caused a stir of congratulatory phone calls recently when my daughter-in-law and our first grandson were included in the latest billboard picture. All of us pictured, my wife, daughter, two sons, and daughter-in-law, received positive comments from our friends, and even strangers—“Hey, I saw you on a billboard the other day.” Folks stop me in banks, gas stations, restaurants, and other places in town to acknowledge seeing my image on the billboards. Billboards are golden for us, and they prove to me that newspaper and telephone book advertisements have a lesser impact.
My marketing specialist lady also enlightened me about television advertising. At first I was hesitant because of the tremendous cost, but as she emphasized, “It takes money to make money.” She suggested that I stand in front of the camera and personally deliver my commercial message as opposed to a voice-over with photos and facts flashing across the screen. She informed me that if I were to use merely a voice-over and no live-action speaking, then I might as well do a radio advertisement. I have done a few radio commercial spots over the years, but there is no doubt that television ads have a much better impact and response from potential customers. I can’t tell you how many folks called me or stopped me on the street to tell me how impressed they were with the television commercial. I even got a big head at a visitation one evening when I happened to overhear an older man whisper to his wife, “Look, there’s the Mr. Webster; I saw him on TV yesterday.”
I must admit that I am pleasantly surprised that even today, less costly advertising and promotional items have garnered calls for service for me. My sons and I go through two boxes of business cards each a year, handing them out during visitations and funerals, and especially out in public. Our family photo adorns each business card, a stellar idea that real estate agents made popular years ago. I was playing golf early one morning a few years ago and was approached by the course manager, who said I looked familiar to him. I introduced myself and handed him a couple of my business cards. He said he knew my oldest sister and then thanked me for the cards. He jokingly asked me whether I thought he looked like he needed a funeral director. Two months later, the same gentleman called on me to take care of his son, who had unexpectedly died, and when his wife passed away a year later, I handled her funeral arrangements as well.
A bereaved family came to the funeral home one evening and requested that we take care of their late mother. The son of the deceased produced one of my business cards and stated that a kindly minister had handed the card to him at the hospital’s intensive-care-unit waiting room just that afternoon. The son explained that his mother’s doctor was in the process of detailing to the family that all hope for his mother’s recovery was lost and that she would surely expire in the next few hours. As the family exploded in grief at the news, the son said that a minister who was tending to another family in the waiting area approached his family and began to pray with them. The son thanked the unknown clergyman for his act of unexpected kindness and compassion and stated that his family had no clue where to turn next. The minister reached for his wallet and presented the son with my business card and told him, “Go see Mr. Webster; he will be glad to assist you and I know him well.” The son could not recall the minister’s name, and I still to this day do not know who that particular pastor might have been.