Another time, after a man’s funeral I was escorting the new widow back to her car for her trip home from the cemetery. She sat down in the car and motioned for me to come closer. She whispered in my ear, “Meet me at my house about four o’clock this afternoon so I can pay the funeral bill.” I was particularly relieved because she had selected very expensive merchandise for her husband’s burial and had simply informed me that she would pay her bill the day of the funeral. I started to get a little nervous when she made no offer to pay that morning. I decided to let it go until we concluded the ceremonial rites at the cemetery—I had planned to bring up the bill before she left the cemetery. Armed with a typewritten statement of funeral goods and services and a receipt book, I made my way to her residence. I sat down with her at her kitchen table, and she opened the conversation: “Just how much do I owe you, Mr. Webster?” When I told her that the amount due was slightly more than $12,000, she wanted to know if I would like to see something in the garage. I agreed, and in the garage, she removed a light green cover from what appeared to be a very large automobile. As she carefully removed the cover a foot or so at a time, a 1992 blue Cadillac Fleetwood Brougham began to reveal itself. I once owned a very similar car, and the condition of the one before me was nearly pristine. The lady said that this was her late husband’s car and that it had been in the garage for almost a year. Her husband’s illness had prevented him from driving, and the car was too large for her. “I know you like Cadillacs,” she began. “How about taking this car instead of me giving you $12,000?” Before answering, I looked the car over, opened the driver’s-side door, and peered inside—this was a done deal. My only concern was that the car had been sitting idle for nearly a year and sported four flat tires. I told her that I would have a Cadillac dealer tow the car for a thorough once-over. She agreed, and I hastily called the nearest Cadillac agency and anxiously awaited the towing company’s arrival. I followed the truck to the dealership, hoping a mechanic would inspect the car immediately. After an hour or so, the mechanic emerged from the shop area and told me that the tires were filled; the oil was changed; a new battery was installed; and all the hoses, belts, and rubber parts were in fine shape. I asked for an estimate of the car’s value—it would retail for about $14,000. The sales manager put that figure in writing, and I made my way back to the recently widowed lady’s residence to report my findings. I told her about the estimate and offered to pay her the $2,000 difference, yet she would not accept that. She was glad that someone would get some use out of her late husband’s car, and she was happy to know that the car would be in good hands.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
A little old lady enters chapel A, approaches her late husband’s casket, and notices that his suit is brown. She tells the undertaker that she had brought in a blue suit for her husband, not a brown one. The undertaker blushes and tells her, “I’m so sorry, Madam, I must have dressed the late Mr. Smith over in chapel B in your husband’s suit. Please allow me a moment to rectify the situation.”
Thirty seconds later the undertaker escorts the lady back into chapel A. Impressed, the little old lady asks, “How ever did you swap suits so quickly?”
“I didn’t,” the undertaker replies. “I just switched the heads.”
An unbelievable incident occurred many years ago that reminds me of that joke. The inattention of the employees of a large-volume funeral home in my area led to a hugely embarrassing situation. An elderly gentleman was delivered to a church for a visitation to begin at nine o’clock in the morning, followed by a funeral ceremony at ten. The children of the deceased arrived at the church at 8:30 for some private time, and they immediately discovered that the deceased reposing in the casket was not their father.
The funeral director at the church had no idea what had transpired, so he tried his best to smooth things over by attempting a plausible explanation: “Perhaps you have not seen your father in a while,” “You know, you are not used to seeing your father with his mouth closed,” and “You were obviously close to your father, and in your tremendous grief, perhaps you are not thinking clearly.”
The children patiently listened to the funeral director’s attempts at an explanation and answered each politely: “Yes, we have seen our father recently,” “Yes, we have seen our father with his mouth closed,” and “Yes, we are grieving, but that is not our father.” The family also stated that the clothing was not that which they had selected.
The funeral director was still not convinced until he slid back the shirtsleeve of the reposing gentleman and spied the hospital-supplied bracelet that revealed the name, date of birth, and Social Security number of the deceased. I’m sure the funeral director’s heart sank when the reality of this nightmare sank in. The wrong body had been brought to the church. He apologized to the assembled family members and immediately called the funeral home to have his employees try to find the correct deceased gentleman. Sure enough, there was another elderly gentleman lying in casketed repose in one of the funeral home’s chapels.
By the time the correct deceased gentleman was delivered to the church for his funeral service it was past ten o’clock. I cannot imagine how much embarrassment that funeral director endured in the eyes of the family involved and the entire church full of congregants. Lesson learned: clearly mark the clothing, the casket, and of course the body of the deceased.
People should know that funeral directors take legitimate complaints very seriously. Immediate damage control is of utmost importance, since a family who feels slighted or mistreated in any way will surely call on a competing funeral home for service in the future.
Most complaints, thank goodness, are minor, usually the result of some miscommunication. Obituaries are the most common snags, as when a family member has gone unmentioned or a name has been incorrectly spelled. Such incidences can be smoothed over quickly with no lasting severe effects.
But it’s not always that simple. After I conducted funeral services for a deceased friend, I was delighted when my employer handed me a letter from my friend’s spouse. I assumed it would be congratulatory, perhaps lauding me for my fine job of caring for her family’s needs. But as I read the letter I slowly became shocked at its contents. She was terribly upset over “many” incidents taking place at both the funeral home and the cemetery. I pored over her list of infractions and decided to call her to go over each one.
She was angry about late arrivals being allowed to enter the chapel. I explained that letting people in after the funeral had begun was customary. She was angry about the chapel door squeaking every time it was opened. I assured her that I would spray WD-40 on the hinges. She was angry about two babies crying throughout most of the service. I explained that such disturbances were common at both weddings and funerals, and it wasn’t my place to order young mothers to leave. Her next problem was with the lounge—she was upset that a place where small children played might be filled with cigarette smoke. She was also appalled that a funeral home would charge fifty cents for a can of soda at her husband’s visitation and funeral, thereby profiting further at her expense. I happened to agree about the lounge complaints—since then there’s no smoking inside my funeral home and I don’t charge for coffee or soft drinks. Her next problem was with the cemetery and that there were not enough chairs graveside; typically, cemeteries set up only a dozen. She also disliked the large pile of dirt next to her husband’s grave—it’s easier to fill the grave this way after everyone leaves.