Another elderly man recently selected an extremely expensive casket for his late wife, reassuring himself that she would have thought it was the “purtiest” one available. He also insisted that the entire interior be replaced with a quilt design that his wife had loved, even after I informed him that the switch would cost an additional $500.
More than once a beneficiary has informed me, “I have a $25,000 life insurance policy, and I want to spend it all, so there is no money left over for anyone to argue about.” Grieving parents also tend to overspend on deceased children. Entering a funeral home often scratches the open sores of both guilt and regret. Even a prodigal child hoping to settle some past parental tiff will purchase a fancy casket to ease a burdensome mind.
But just as some consumers insist that money is no object, many more have no desire or no means to spend a lot of money on funeral merchandise.
I once worked for an employer who simply could not understand why a family opted for limited offerings or purchased inexpensive merchandise. “We can’t stay in business if we keep selling those tin cans,” he’d remark, referring to our low-end caskets. He became especially irate if a family chose immediate cremation—so much cheaper than ground burial—and would be absolutely incensed on the rare occasion of body donation, since our funeral home was merely required to complete a few forms and transport the deceased to the medical school.
A man in the price-shopping mode called one morning and inquired about the cost of our service for body donation. His mother had died, and she had a prearranged agreement, but the son still needed to go through a funeral home to finalize her plans. When I told him that we charged $350 for body donation, he questioned the validity of our pricing and commented that our service in this case was nothing more than a glorified ambulance run. He then wished to speak to the owner. I handed the phone over to my employer—who immediately hit the speaker-phone button and instructed me to listen and learn.
His initial tone was pleasant as he explained to the caller that our price included the cost of having two men remove his mother’s body from the hospital, the use of the vehicle for transportation, and the secretarial expense needed to complete the necessary documentation. The caller then went into a bargaining mode and asked if we would perform the job for $200. Now steaming, my employer uttered the phrase that would become legendary among all of us for years to come: “Sir, why don’t you just shove a ham bone up your mom’s ass and let the dogs drag her away?” I was shocked, to say the least. The caller hung up in a huff, and my employer smiled and declared, “I hate price shoppers.” From that day forward, if any family ever mentioned that they were short on funds or were looking for our least expensive services, we would all grin at one another and, privately, say, “I suppose we should offer the ham-bone option.”
A few of my colleagues still take it personally when a client purchases an inexpensive casket. They see it as a blow to their professionalism. Some are even ashamed to pull a cheaper model out of the hearse, because cemetery personnel recognize quality, even at a distance. That’s one reason so many homes position cheaper caskets away from the display area’s entrance—they hope customers won’t even notice them.
I can relate to both views, to a point. Families will say, for example, “Dad was a simple man; he told us years ago not to waste good money on a casket,” or “Mom would come back and haunt us if we spent a lot of money on her funeral.” Those things are legitimate in most cases; however, sometimes siblings later tell me that their parents never said such a thing and that their brother or sister just wanted more of the parent’s estate.
I have also been in situations where survivors expressed horror at casket prices, demanded to see the least expensive ones, and then turned around and purchased a pricier one than intended because they liked how it looked. Or they chose an inexpensive option and then called back the next day to choose a costlier option because they feared that other family members might be upset.
Another former employer was arranging the funeral of a prominent physician and became enraged when the late doctor’s wife requested the simplest casket in stock. He angrily informed the woman that because such a high-profile funeral would inevitably draw a huge, well-heeled crowd, he could not allow her to embarrass herself by laying the good doctor to rest in a “cheapo.” The widow relented and selected a higher-priced model—but she told her children that they should call a different funeral home when her time came.
People who aren’t funeral directors should understand that we funeral directors, like all salespeople, feel a sense of pride and accomplishment when we hit a homerun, which for us means selling the most expensive casket on the floor. Just as in a real estate office or automobile showroom, the lucky seller is the envy of his peers.
A few of my colleagues have resorted to stretching the truth and even being downright misleading to avoid selling a cheap casket, especially for obese decedents, who require an oversize (and more expensive) casket. I have heard stories of families being told that the obese loved one can fit only into a certain (very pricey) oversize casket and that there is no alternative. I have also conducted many funerals for families who have been berated for their frugality by competing funeral homes. They come to me because I don’t engage in such astonishing trash talk as “I wouldn’t bury a dog in that casket” or “You’re not really going to put your mother in that sardine can?”
Several years ago a smarmy coworker prided himself on being a casket salesman extraordinaire. He could sell the most expensive units by using some of the oldest, most despicable tricks in the book. He’d drape his arm around a widow’s shoulders; stop in front of the costliest casket; and say, “Wouldn’t Ed look nice in this one?” or “You know, this is the last thing you can do for Ed” or, “Think of all the nice things Ed bought for you over the years; it’s time you paid him back, wouldn’t you agree?” or, “You can’t take it with you. Have you ever seen a U-Haul pulled by a hearse?”
I am still amazed that anyone could possibly garner high-dollar sales from such inane spiels, yet somehow for this guy they worked. He had, however, an affection for wine, and once was assigned to collect a large unpaid funeral bill that resulted from his having badgered a client with little ability to pay. After making several phone calls and getting no response, he returned to the funeral home late one evening to try reaching the customer at home. He had already consumed a few martinis, and it showed during his conversation. He informed the customer that if he did not make payment in full by the following day, he would go to the cemetery, dig up the casket and vault, and store them both in the funeral home’s garage until the bill was paid. The customer arranged a bank loan the very next morning.
Our supervisor was happy with the results but aghast at the collection method. (Luckily the customer didn’t initiate an emotional distress lawsuit.) My coworker based his treatment and level of service to a client family on the amount they spent. If they purchased an expensive casket, he would insist that we be extra nice. For a lesser casket, he would ignore them as much as possible. As I said, he was smarmy. I was definitely learning how not to behave.
Other funeral directors admit to having been terrible businesspeople over the years because of the trusting nature of their enterprise. When a family comes to us in a time of desperation, many of us find it difficult to bring up finances. I always hope that the family mentions money first. Even after three decades, I still find it uncomfortable to question a grieving family about how they will pay their bill.