Does This Mean You'll See Me Naked? (6 page)

SUPERGLUE AND SKELETONS

So, is it really a good thing to embalm and restore a body, then put cosmetics on it and dress it in its Sunday best to display as if the person were still alive? Ironically, in nearly every case of someone who dies over the age of seventy-five, the family is very satisfied with the appearance of the deceased.

A young person, however, presents the ultimate grief experience to his or her family, which is often compounded by a need for extensive restoration, since young people tend to die tragically. A face that has been bludgeoned, smashed, traumatized, burned, lacerated, or exposed to the ravages of cancer presents a challenge too, regardless of how sharp the funeral director's skills may be. There is no greater sense of helplessness than needing to tell a mother and father that their son or daughter cannot be viewed because of too much disease or damage, not enough body parts, too many days in the July sun, or too many weeks of lying in a river.

Summer heat results in a body that turns on itself. Stomach acids and gases erode and destroy the body from the inside out. Once maggots develop, the body can be reduced to a skeleton in a matter of days. Too much time submerged in deep water creates similar decomposition problems, with a greater incidence of bloating and discoloration, which often results in a closed casket.

If any semblance of the person's face is present, however, then restoration can take place. Time-tested methods can repair even blunt-force trauma from an auto accident. Lacerations are secured with superglue, rather than sewn, which leaves a raised trail from the thread. Broken facial bones are pushed back into place and wired together. Large holes from rearview mirrors, radio knobs, gearshift levers, turn-signal stalks, and windshield glass can be filled with wax and reshaped like the former contours of the face. Lips, orbital bones, and even eyeballs can be fashioned from wax. Eyebrows, eyelashes, and facial hair can be harvested from the back of the deceased's head and then inserted into soft wax in the appropriate areas.

However, a body run over by a train, caught in an explosion, hit by a shotgun blast, killed in a plane crash, or burned in a fire is generally a hopeless case. Burned beyond recognition is a lost cause; there is only a black skeleton to work with. I have attempted a facial reconstruction in such a situation, and with poor results. Working from a photo, I have constructed a face and all its features from wax; filled clothing with cotton to simulate chest, arms, and abdomen; and even attached white gloves to the cuffs of a blouse so that hands appeared present—not a very natural appearance, but close enough for the family to derive some sort of closure from a devastating loss.

Once I discovered the utility of plaster of Paris, restoring large defects of the head became simpler. A young man I cared for recently had been attempting to discover the object that was obstructing the travel of a large hydraulic press at an automotive parts production facility. He placed his head inside the press, and unfortunately, the press engaged and flattened his head to the shape of a pancake.

After embalming the lower portion of the body, I set out to repair his head. The press had caused massive scalp and facial tears, so I knew there would be a great deal of superglue involved. I used my gloved hand to push wet plaster of Paris into the area that was once his mouth, and amazingly enough, the plaster expanded as it dried. I continued to push the material into the defect until it completely popped his features back into an almost-normal position. I was then able to glue the multiple lacerations and apply cosmetics to eventually achieve a very natural appearance.

MAGGOTS AND THE MAGIC OF LIME

During summer months, there are increased cases not only of rapid decomposition as a result of drownings but also of people who happen to die alone at home and are not discovered for several days. With severe decomposition, the skin slips off the body, bloating occurs, and the tremendously offensive odor does not allow for normal viewing. In years past, a formaldehyde-based chemical was poured over the body to mask the odor, but even that could not completely eliminate the smell.

A funeral director employer of mine from many years ago introduced me to the positive effects of agricultural lime. Lime is the white drying agent familiar to those who watch Mafia-themed movies, where hit men bury dispatched victims in shallow graves and then cover the bodies with a hundred pounds of lime. Because lime rapidly absorbs any liquids, in the case of a decomposing human body, it eliminates those odiferous liquids; thus, the body is less likely to be discovered. In this day and age, however, skeletal remains can still be identified.

As a farmer, this man had poured lime into the graves of dead livestock and rightly assumed that the same treatment would suffice for humans. Before the deceased is placed in a normal casket or cremation container, a bed of lime eight inches deep is poured into the casket. The deceased is then placed on top of the initial bed of lime, and then completely covered with additional lime. This process requires two fifty-pound bags, which eliminate the odor within minutes. I have also used lime with wonderful results on decubitus ulcers (bedsores) and other odor problems. Other funeral directors in my area have called to inquire about how to handle agricultural lime in a funeral home setting.

Many years ago, I embalmed the body of a twenty-two-year-old man who had been hit by a passing freight train. Luckily, he was killed instantaneously on impact. But the engine did not pass over his body; he was flung alongside the tracks. Since this occurred back in the 1970s, long before the days of obligatory lawsuits, an autopsy was not performed. The county coroner correctly determined at the scene that this was an accidental death.

But since this man carried no identification, I embalmed the body and held it. Three weeks went by, with several visits from grieving parents of missing sons, all deeply torn. Their pain was excruciating to watch. Might we now bury our long-lost boy and perhaps derive some sort of closure? Or do we pray that this body is not really his?

Although facial features were still clearly recognizable, formaldehyde gray was making its presence known. I had liberally applied a massage cream to retain tissue pliability, and I soon decided to add paste cosmetics to mask the impending changes.

Identification finally came five weeks later. A trembling father had seen flyers published in his local newspaper. His son had stormed out after a disagreement over farm chores. He was ultimately identified by his unique work boots—and a missing ring finger from an earlier tractor accident on his dad's property.

Another time, I removed the body of a young man from underneath a school bus he had been repairing. The jacks supporting the bus had failed, and the rear dual wheels crushed him. Unfortunately, he was working alone during the noon hour when other mechanics had left for lunch. When his coworkers returned, they made a horrific discovery. The man had been underneath the bus for at least an hour, and another hour or so had passed before my arrival—ample time for nature's effects, such as the gathering of flies. I brought him back to the funeral home to begin the embalming process and noticed some tiny fly larvae in the corner of his mouth and the corner of one eye. I brushed them aside and thought nothing more of it.

After meeting with the young man's mother the next day to make the funeral arrangements, she requested that she view her son immediately, even before he was dressed and placed in his casket. I asked her to join me back at the funeral home in two hours. Thank goodness I granted myself the extra time.

When I went into the preparation room, I was aghast. When I looked at the man's face, it appeared to be moving. With a pair of tweezers I pulled open his mouth and found it full of slimy, squirming maggots. I dipped cotton into liquid formaldehyde and pushed it inside, but it had little effect on those rascals, and being a novice in the funeral business at that time, I was at a loss as to my next move. I called my more experienced older brother. He sagely informed me that, since maggots have a slimy coating, only kerosene would cut through it to kill them. So that's what I used.

ORGAN DONATION AND EMBALMING

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.

THE TOUGHEST RESTORATIONS

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.

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.

Another surprisingly effective promotional item is the fancy ink pens that I present to folks in mass quantities. Again, on the advice of my marketing friend, I now purchase expensive ballpoint pens (with my name and phone number on them, of course) and offer them to people just as I would a business card. If people ask to borrow my pen, I hand it over and tell them to keep it. My pens are thick with a padded grip, trimmed in gold and cost more than $3 each. If you offer people a cheap pen, then they have a cheap pen; offer them a quality, expensive pen and they are impressed that it is theirs to keep and are not likely to forget who presented it to them. My sons and I have a pocketful of pens with us at all times and make sure we hand them out every day, if possible. When we go to remove a deceased loved one from a hospital, a nursing care facility, or even a private residence, anyone present or nearby receives an official Webster Funeral Home pen. The nurses and caregivers at the local hospice unit greet us when we arrive with a familiar refrain: “We need some more of your nice pens.”

A family called recently and requested that we come to the residence to remove their late mother. The caller on the line stated that he was calling our funeral home because his next-door neighbor always had one of my pens in his pocket and often told folks in the neighborhood that I had once given him a handful of pens one day.

Whenever I go to deliver a prearrangement presentation in a group setting, I always leave two pens at each attendee's seat. Many times attendees approach me at the conclusion of the presentation to return the pens but are happy when they realize the pens are theirs to keep.

Speaking engagements are the ultimate seed planters. When I started in the funeral business many years ago, I worked for an employer who despised public speaking, and if a group requested a presentation from the funeral home, I was instructed to be the sacrificial lamb. My employer would tell me that such public presentations were a waste of time and that those in attendance consistently asked the most idiotic questions. I, however, welcomed the opportunity not only to gain some possible customers but also to educate a public yearning to know about what goes on in a funeral home, and especially how much it is going to cost. My former employer probably won't admit it, but there were many funerals at that funeral home because of my “pre-need” presentations. (When we are called for service upon the death of a loved one, that is considered “at-need.” When someone who is very much alive decides to arrange and pay for their funeral services before their own death, that is “pre-need.”)

Since I opened my funeral home in 2001, I have actively offered to speak to Veterans of Foreign Wars groups, retirement communities, and churches. Nearly every request I have made is positively acknowledged, and most every time an appointment is made for such a speaking engagement. For the first few seminars I conducted, I came prepared with a briefcase stuffed full of insurance applications, contracts, and ink pens, assuming I would be inundated with a new crop of customers. Alas, such is not the case. I have not once completed a sale at the conclusion of one of my seminars—most likely because folks are hesitant to attempt to complete such documentation in such a public forum, and I completely understand. Perhaps folks are concerned that their peers might overhear some of their answers to required questions, especially when a monetary amount is discussed.

However, just like billboard advertising, television advertising, ink pens, or business cards, a personal appearance seminar is a sure-fire seed planter. Even the informational brochures I hand out plant the seed in the potential customer's mind to remember my funeral home when the need arises. I have had so many customers come to me to prearrange their funeral services because they attended one of my seminars two or three years earlier. A gentleman called recently to inform me of his wife's death. During our initial conversation, he thanked me for being so informative when he and his late wife attended a pre-need presentation I had delivered three years prior at a Ford Motor Company retirees' luncheon.

There are cases where funeral directors have woven their own networking webs by mingling at various civic functions, especially anything church related. Bingo nights at churches have long been golden opportunities for directors to press the flesh, hand out draft beer and Cokes, and always be certain to pause and fawn over the elderly ladies—who are the mouthpieces of their church. They quickly spread the word when they find a funeral director whom they consider nice.

One longtime director friend who has since died was once considered the area's king of the church supper. He hit as many as possible on any given evening, and upon his departure, he would find the minister, thank him for his hospitality, and slip a crisp $50 bill into his palm—a huge sum in the 1940s. Which director do you suppose that minister recommended whenever a death in the church family occurred?

My elderly friend scored big in the 1950s with an ingenious promotional item, again targeting churchgoers. A traveling salesman was peddling high-priced grandfather-clock kits. He also had thirty large schoolhouse clocks stored in a warehouse, collecting dust, which he wished to dispose of. My friend proposed that if his funeral home's name were painted on the clocks' white faces, he would buy all thirty. Soon thirty local churches had new clocks positioned in their sanctuaries so that the clergy could see them clearly. Instead of glancing at their watches to be sure their sermons ended by noon, they glanced at the clocks—and at the same time etched the funeral home's name in their minds.