Does This Mean You'll See Me Naked? (15 page)

As late as the 1970s, few funeral homes asked bereaved families to sign expense contracts. They rightly assumed that the bill would be paid promptly. If not, there was no recourse except for a collection agency or attaching a lien on the responsible party's residence, since we couldn't exactly repossess the merchandise. That's why without life insurance, funeral homes now ask for payment in full before they render any services.

PUBLIC ASSISTANCE

Today there is little, if any, public assistance from cities or counties to pay for funeral costs. Most have an indigent program designed to provide a decent burial for someone with no immediate family. A grave space, burial vault, the opening and closing of the grave, and a grave marker are provided at no charge, and the cemetery bills the city. Funeral homes are instructed to place the body in a “reasonable” casket and deliver it to the cemetery for a brief graveside service. The city then pays the funeral home $500.

Many low-income families who have been in dire financial straits for years or even generations are quick to inquire about any available government assistance. Other poor families scrape together the money to bury their loved ones, without complaining that the city, county, or state should ease their burden. But there have been many occasions on which families have heard of the indigent program and assume that it is there for anyone who requests it.

I met with a young lady recently who sat down to discuss funeral arrangements for her recently deceased grandfather. As I compiled the necessary information, I discovered that all her grandfather's children were deceased, he had no siblings, and the five surviving grandchildren were all he had left. The granddaughter further informed me that the man had no life insurance and was not a war veteran. She then inquired, “Before we go any further, can you call the city and make sure Grandpa is eligible for a city burial?”

I asked her how she knew about such a thing, since most people other than funeral directors do not even know the proper terminology. She explained that when her mother had died a few years earlier, the family had used the indigent burial program, and they had done so again when her sister died months later.

I called the city, and the man in charge asked me to repeat the family's name, which I did. According to policy, he said, he would need to meet personally with the granddaughter to question her about her financial circumstances. The city was changing its attitude regarding city cases; too many families had been abusing the system. Large numbers of sons and daughters were expecting the city to bury their parents for free.

After her meeting, the granddaughter told me that she was shocked and embarrassed when she was asked how much she paid for rent and her monthly car payment. The city ultimately turned her down because she and her siblings all worked, most of them owned homes, and all of them were successfully meeting their car payments. It probably didn't help her case that her family had taken advantage of the city's generosity on two previous occasions.

Social Security pays a lump-sum death benefit of $255. In years past, anyone who paid into or drew Social Security received that amount. The payment was sent to the surviving spouse—or if there was no spouse, to the funeral home providing services. In 1974, the policy changed and the benefit is payable only if the deceased has a surviving spouse or minor children.

The Veterans Administration used to pay $450 for the funeral expenses of a deceased veteran who served during wartime. Today, the VA makes that payment only if the deceased was drawing a VA pension, was injured in action, or died in a VA medical facility. Many benefits are still available to veterans—free grave spaces in a national cemetery (many local cemeteries also offer free graves to veterans), government-provided grave markers, and U.S. flags. The VA obviously pays the funeral expenses of those killed in action. There are a surprising number of families who have been misinformed somehow that the VA pays the funeral expenses of any deceased veteran. I suppose that when informed that the VA provides a lump-sum death benefit in some cases, some folks assume that means the entire funeral bill is going to be paid.

The state of Ohio ceased its welfare burial award program several years ago. The state used to pay a funeral home $750 to provide a “decent” burial for those who were Medicaid-eligible or for those drawing Supplemental Security Income. At my former place of employment long ago, we conducted several welfare funerals each year, and we saw certain families a number of times.

I was called to the residence of one of our frequent recipient families to remove the body of their late mother. The house was full of children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren, along with the family pastor. I was asked to sit down and discuss funeral arrangements. On my way into the dining room, I squeezed past a huge projection-screen television. This was in 1987, when the technology involved a large screen attached to a massive cabinet, housing a twenty-inch inverted television and four colored tubes that projected the image onto the enormous screen!

Something else that never ceases to amaze me are the numerous flower baskets that arrive at welfare-case funerals. One might think that senders realize the family is in dire financial straits and would offer money to defray expenses. But we humans are a strange bunch. We love to see things with our names on them. At all funerals, even when an obituary suggests making contributions to some worthy organization in lieu of flowers, most folks do both to make certain that something at the funeral heralds the sender's identity.

My former place of employment used to handle twenty to twenty-five indigent cases each year, which prompted my boss to begin cutting some corners. He decided to use heavy cardboard caskets, normally used for cremation, which featured decorative swirl designs in gray or blue. Lids were attached by large staples, which also served as crude hinges for opening and closing.

Indigent funerals were almost always conducted at the graveside, and we normally opened the casket at the cemetery for the family to view the deceased before the service began. On two separate occasions, I was about to open one of the indigent “specials,” only to have a gust of wind blow the lid right out of my hands. I watched in horror as it bounded across the grass and slammed against the monuments, leaving the gathered mourners speechless. Cemetery personnel and I quickly chased down the wayward lid. Once it was retrieved, I sheepishly replaced it and hoped it would stay secured.

Three Mexican cousins were killed in an auto accident a few years ago, and the family wanted the teenagers sent back home for burial. All three had worked for a landscaping company and were illegal aliens with no green cards and no Social Security numbers. Ohio death certificates, which had to be translated into Spanish for international shipment of human remains, contained spaces that required those numbers. I am certain that the family member who arranged for the funerals gave me fictitious ones, but I had no proof. A translator helped explain to them the requirements and costs involved in international shipment, including airfare for all three and fees incurred by the receiving Mexican funeral director.

The cost for each teenager was $7,000, for a total of $21,000. Since I was concerned about ever seeing the family again, I insisted on immediate payment before any shipment could be made. The following day, one boy's parents brought in a Converse All-Star sneaker box full of hundreds, fifties, twenties, tens, fives, and even ones to cover the entire cost—the result of multiple contributions.

When families reveal to me that they have no money and no insurance, I don't turn them away. Many funeral homes, however, particularly conglomerates, do just that—they simply send them elsewhere. I happen to believe that some relative or friend will eventually come through with funds. So I cut to the chase and simply ask how much they can pay on the spot and then offer whatever service or merchandise will fill their need. Sometimes we eliminate the evening visitation and have a graveside-only service, or sometimes cremation is the answer. Barter is a final option.

BURY MY WIFE, AND I'LL GIVE YOU MY CADILLAC

Back in the 1970s, my wife worked for a dentist who commonly bartered his services in exchange for the services of other like-thinking businesspeople. She once told me about how the dentist had bartered the restoration of an antique car, and the owner of the restoration shop had been in the dentist's office undergoing some quite extensive dental work. One particular day, the dentist instructed my wife to prepare a cubicle for the application of several dental crowns. The shop owner had just finished applying a very expensive paint job to the dentist's classic car and it was payback time! I had never considered bartering with anyone for funeral goods and services until three brothers came to the funeral home a few years ago to arrange for their mother's funeral. The brothers explained that their mother had no life insurance and that all three siblings were in dire financial straits.

After making all the necessary arrangements and arriving at a discounted price, the three brothers asked to be left alone to discuss their options. When they asked me to come back into the arrangement office, they presented a rather unorthodox proposal—they asked whether I would accept a 1996 Ford F-150 pickup truck and a 1997 Ford conversion van in exchange for the selected funeral goods and services.

Since it was obvious that the three gentlemen could not pay for their mother's funeral expenses, I conditionally agreed, so long as the two vehicles were delivered to me for inspection. Later that day, they pulled both vehicles into my parking lot, and I must say, I was impressed. Both had been cleaned and detailed to the point of being twenty-footers: they were sharp as a tack from twenty feet away. On closer inspection, both sported faded paint and extremely high mileage. My son and I drove them across the street to a Ford dealership and requested an estimate of value for each. The sales manager gave us the estimate, which was lower than I had expected, but I agreed to carry out the transaction with the three brothers. I parked both vehicles in my parking lot, affixed a for-sale sign on each, and hoped for the best. Fortunately, both vehicles sold in less than a week, so everyone was satisfied.

Another time, an elderly lady and I had just completed the funeral arrangements for her late husband. She produced her checkbook and told me she did not have the total amount necessary to pay the funeral bill in full. I offered to show her a less expensive casket and a less costly burial vault to offset the price difference, but she stated that she really wanted the originally selected casket and vault. She invited me to come to her home that evening so she could show me her late husband's pickup truck that she had no desire to drive. She asked me to take the truck for the difference in her balance due. I agreed and a gentleman purchased that truck the night of the elderly man's visitation.

Still another time, a middle-aged man sat down with me to discuss arrangements for his recently deceased roommate. He explained that his roommate had allowed life insurance benefits to lapse and that he himself was in no financial position to be able to pay a funeral bill. He further explained that his roommate had recently purchased and accepted delivery of a power wheelchair. He said that the chair had never been used and was sitting on their living room floor still encased in shrink-wrap. The gentleman asked whether I would be willing to accept the chair as payment for his roommate's funeral expenses. Of course I wanted to inspect the item before closing such a deal, so I arranged for my son to go to the gentleman's home to retrieve the power chair. Lo and behold, this motorized wheelchair was absolutely, stunningly beautiful. It was brand new and the seat reminded me of a supple leather bucket seat in a brand new Cadillac. The bright red fiberglass body was gleaming as we plugged the power cord into the wall outlet to begin charging the battery. This power chair was the same one that was being constantly advertised on television. I printed out the product information from a website and was surprised to learn that the retail price was more than $6,000. I called my customer back and informed him that I would be glad to barter with him. In the meantime, my wife was very skeptical about the transaction, and she was rightly concerned about just who would purchase this item from me. I told her not to worry—I would call my many retirement home contacts and request that they put up an announcement about the chair on the home's bulletin board. But I should have listened to the whole commercial I had heard so many times. Because Medicare often pays for power chairs, why would anyone pay me the retail price? After three or four weeks of observing my son drive the chair down the funeral home halls once a day, I gave it to an elderly man from my church who really needed it.

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.