I was perusing the bulletin board down at the senior center the other day--I like to go there just to heckle the young squirts--and was looking at the various athletics scheduled: Wii bowling, line dancing (well, line shuffling anyway), contact sports like cards and pool, water aerobics (proof that bikinis can still look good--if you don't believe me, take your glasses off and try it again), etc. The one sport that appeared to be missing was senior division car jumping. Which leads to a Kelly story...
Kelly, a guy I worked for many moons ago, put himself through art school working as an undertaker in Virginia's Blue Ridge Mountains. One pleasant Indian summer afternoon, he was out in the driveway of the funeral home washing one of the hearses when he almost became one of the dearly departed. He had just walked under the carport to grab a swig of Dr. Pepper when he heard a car engine rev to light-speed and a loud thump. He looked up to see a Chevy Corvair coming down the hill and across the lawn from the Kroger's parking lot above at a high rate of speed (the fact of a Corvair moving fast proves it was downhill). Kelly did his best second base slide out of the way and the car crashed into the side of the funeral home beneath the carport's canopy.
When he opened the door, he found the driver, a late-middle-aged lady (the French, being the French, have a much more female-friendly phrase: "Une femme d'un certain age...") to be shaken--not stirred--but otherwise unharmed. It seems the heel of one of her stylish shoes became lodged against the accelerator and the Corvair fulfilled Ralph Nader's title, Unsafe at Any Speed.
While the repair work was being done to the funeral home, the owner decided an armor upgrade was in order figuring this might not be the last occasion of a prospective customer attempting to deliver themselves from the supermarket parking lot. So, a three foot-high brick wall was added to the outside edge of the carport.
Kelly was shoveling snow out front when he heard the tinny sound of a way over-revved Corvair engine and the familiar loud thump. He turned in time to watch the same Corvair fly down the hill, hit the bottom, become airborne, leap the brick wall, and end up wedged between the wall and the canopy overhead with its tail-end protruding far too saucily for a family-oriented blog.
While the lady, again, wasn't injured, the Life-Saving Crew did have to cut Detroit's masterpiece apart to extricate her. The cause? Yep, you guessed it. The heel of the same stylish sort of shoes had performed the trick of their predecessors.
This time she ended up in court. The Commonwealth of Virginia is generally pretty patient as such entities go, but this was getting to be a blasted habit. The offending stylish shoes were the Commonwealth's Exhibit "A." Both the Defense and the Commonwealth agreed that they were there more too ask his honor what to do about the problem rather than to seek punitive action against the unfortunate driver. The judge leaned back in his chair and studied the ceiling for some minutes, came to a decision, leaned forward, and ordered that henceforth, the lady's driver's license, on the line normally devoted to "glasses" or "hearing aid," would read, "sensible shoes."
Our lady of dragons is at it again--publishing a book that causes normal law-abiding people to breakout in loud, uncontrollable laughter in the middle of such places of quiet as libraries, funeral parlors, hospitals, and boiler factories. Her latest hoot, Neeta Lyffe, Zombie Exterminator, is hitting the stores and ereaders this December. Considering my low tolerance for zombie lit (something about Sturgeon's Law being at work in the tidal wave of this stuff lately--as it is in all things human), this is one of the two keepers I've found so far (maybe I'll talk about the other next time if I get bored enough). Here's links to some sites with information: The Zombie Cookbook, and Fabianspace. (Note to FTC: I neither bought it nor was given it, you guys figure it out.)
31 October 2010: Feast of St. Arnulf. Luther nails his "95 Theses" to door of Wittenberg church 1517, Maori Wars resume in New Zealand 1864, last successful large-scale cavalry charge (so far) in Battle of Beersheba 1917, torpedoing and sinking of USS Reuben James 1941, Indian Prime Minister Indira Gandhi assassinated 1984.
Showing posts with label undertakers. Show all posts
Showing posts with label undertakers. Show all posts
Early Burials of Priests.
From the paper - Proper timing of priest burial in montane environments: A history and prospectus.
We were kicking grave side services around over on the Catholic Writers' list a while back (we had to because someone who will remain nameless' blasted dragon swallowed our political football) and it reminded me of a grave side service that involved a former boss--call him Kelly. Kelly put himself through art school working as an undertaker at a funeral home in Virginia's Blue Ridge Mountains.
One time, they had a Catholic burial that included a grave side service. The ground at the cemetery was so rocky the grave had to be dug with a backhoe, resulting in an over-sized hole. To give the priest a place to stand at the head of the coffin, boards covered over with fake grass carpeting were placed around the grave. The priest arrived a few minutes before the family. Father was a bit old-fashioned and wore a biretta. As the family approached from the parking lot at the bottom of the hill, the priest stepped to the head of the coffin and vanished. Kelly and his assistant whirled and looked in all directions. Kelly said that he happened to glance down and there was Father's biretta sticking up out from beneath the coffin. Apparently, the priest had stepped on a spot were two boards had moved apart and gravity took it's course. While his assistant ran down the hill to stop the family, Kelly helped Father from the hole. The service was conducted by the mud bespattered clergyman without further entertainment. According to Kelly, Father took it well, for the most part, remarking that to be a good priest, one had to throw oneself into it. He also said while it (pointing to the grave) was the destination of all, he really hadn't expected to get there quite that fast.
As a Note,
The last passenger pigeon, a female, died in the Cincinnati Zoo on this day in 1914. During the 19th century, single flocks of over 2 billion covering an area of 1 mile (1.6 km) by 300 miles (500 km) were counted (estimated?) during migrations. Rather than being wiped out by sports hunters, they were destroyed by market hunters who shipped boxcar loads the eastern U.S. cities for the restaurant trade . Leaving this country boy with one question: Did y'all enjoy y'all's supper?
Certainly makes one appreciate the conservation work done by and paid for through donations, license fees, and taxes on ammunition by sports hunters through organizations such as Ducks Unlimited and others.
Thus endeth today's lesson.
Also on this day, something happy. Alberta, bringing with it one of the richest dinosaur fossil deposits around the Red Deer River, joined the rest of the Canadian confederation. Oh, yeah, Saskatchewan joined too--but they seem to have a dearth of dinosaurs. If you ever get the chance, check out Drumheller and the Royal Tyrrell Museum.
1 September 2010. Feast of St. Lupus of Sens. Montrose defeats Covenanters in Battle of Tippermuir 1644, Mission San Luis Obispo de Tolosa founded 1772, Germans capture Emperor Napoleon III of France at Battle of Sedan 1870, Tokyo and Yokohama destroyed by Great Kanto earthquake 1923, Germany invades Poland 1939.
We were kicking grave side services around over on the Catholic Writers' list a while back (we had to because someone who will remain nameless' blasted dragon swallowed our political football) and it reminded me of a grave side service that involved a former boss--call him Kelly. Kelly put himself through art school working as an undertaker at a funeral home in Virginia's Blue Ridge Mountains.
One time, they had a Catholic burial that included a grave side service. The ground at the cemetery was so rocky the grave had to be dug with a backhoe, resulting in an over-sized hole. To give the priest a place to stand at the head of the coffin, boards covered over with fake grass carpeting were placed around the grave. The priest arrived a few minutes before the family. Father was a bit old-fashioned and wore a biretta. As the family approached from the parking lot at the bottom of the hill, the priest stepped to the head of the coffin and vanished. Kelly and his assistant whirled and looked in all directions. Kelly said that he happened to glance down and there was Father's biretta sticking up out from beneath the coffin. Apparently, the priest had stepped on a spot were two boards had moved apart and gravity took it's course. While his assistant ran down the hill to stop the family, Kelly helped Father from the hole. The service was conducted by the mud bespattered clergyman without further entertainment. According to Kelly, Father took it well, for the most part, remarking that to be a good priest, one had to throw oneself into it. He also said while it (pointing to the grave) was the destination of all, he really hadn't expected to get there quite that fast.
As a Note,
The last passenger pigeon, a female, died in the Cincinnati Zoo on this day in 1914. During the 19th century, single flocks of over 2 billion covering an area of 1 mile (1.6 km) by 300 miles (500 km) were counted (estimated?) during migrations. Rather than being wiped out by sports hunters, they were destroyed by market hunters who shipped boxcar loads the eastern U.S. cities for the restaurant trade . Leaving this country boy with one question: Did y'all enjoy y'all's supper?
Certainly makes one appreciate the conservation work done by and paid for through donations, license fees, and taxes on ammunition by sports hunters through organizations such as Ducks Unlimited and others.
Thus endeth today's lesson.
Also on this day, something happy. Alberta, bringing with it one of the richest dinosaur fossil deposits around the Red Deer River, joined the rest of the Canadian confederation. Oh, yeah, Saskatchewan joined too--but they seem to have a dearth of dinosaurs. If you ever get the chance, check out Drumheller and the Royal Tyrrell Museum.
1 September 2010. Feast of St. Lupus of Sens. Montrose defeats Covenanters in Battle of Tippermuir 1644, Mission San Luis Obispo de Tolosa founded 1772, Germans capture Emperor Napoleon III of France at Battle of Sedan 1870, Tokyo and Yokohama destroyed by Great Kanto earthquake 1923, Germany invades Poland 1939.
"You want fries with that?"
Kelly, a guy I once worked for, put himself through school by working as an undertaker in Virginia’s Blue Ridge Mountains. One of his charges turned out to be a fast food junkie.
Living at the funeral home, one of the things Kelly dealt with where the middle-of-the-night calls to come pick up a new customer. People often seem to have no consideration about when they drop dead. Of course, planning ahead by scheduling the event is rather frowned upon by the three major desert religions.
The call came in, as they always do, at oh-dark-thirty. One of the folks over at the state’s home for the bewildered had just become the dearly departed. The body was already on a gurney and had been released by the attending physician when Kelly got there with the hearse. A night attendant helped load the gurney in the back of the vehicle and Kelly headed back to the funeral home. All Kelly had to do was roll the gurney into the cold storage room in the home’s basement, lock up, and he could go back to bed.
Kelly told me he still says a prayer of thanks from time to time when he thinks of it that he had been caught by a stop light. As he sat there waiting for it to turn, he suddenly felt a hand on his shoulder and a child-like voice asked, “Could we stop for some fries?”
He whirled around and found himself eyeball to eyeball with the customer. Rather distractedly, Kelly said, “Pardon?”
The customer smiled gently and repeated, “Could we stop for some fries?”
Kelly said that by this time the world had dropped back into position and he explained to his new friend, Bill as it turned out, that it was pretty late and everything was closed. Bill seemed saddened by this so Kelly assured him that he, Kelly, would tell the folks at the institution of his request when they got back there. This seemed to satisfy Bill and he lay back down. On the drive back, Kelly discovered that Bill snored.
Kelly pulled up to the ambulance entrance and tooted the horn. The same attendant who had helped him before came out and walked up Kelly’s door. Curious, he asked, “What are you doing back here?”
Kelly replied, “I’m afraid this one ain’t done yet.”
“Huh?”
At that moment, Kelly said, he was treated to one of the finest displays of the double-take as Bill raised up from the gurney and waved to the attendant with a happy, “Hi, Tommy.”
An hour later, Kelly was perusing an ancient copy of Field & Stream in a waiting room when Tommy walked in pulling on a jacket. The attendant told him, “You can head home, the doctor looked Bill over and says he’s fine.”
Kelly asked, “The same one who said he was dead?”
Tommy half smiled. “Hmm, on second thought, maybe you better hang around a while. Anyway, the boss says for the home to send a bill for your trouble.”
As they walked out to the parking lot, Kelly remarked, “I ‘spect you’ll be happy to get home.”
“Oh, I’m not going home. I’m headed out to one of the truck stops on Route 11.”
“Oh?”
Tommy grinned, “We figure with what happened tonight, we owe Bill some French fries.”
He's the last guy to let you down.
I guy I worked for, call him "Kelly," put himself through school by working as an undertaker in Virginia's Blue Ridge Mountains. Being in a vocation that allows one to meet everyone eventually, he had a number of interesting tales of various folks he had the enjoyment of dealing with.
According to Kelly, his first night at the funeral home set the tone for the years that followed. Part of his deal with the owner was that Kelly would live at the home. This had the advantage that someone would be on hand if a call came in during the night (a very common occurrence) and there would be someone to keep an eye on things, funeral homes being prime targets for burglaries (to some folks, all that class and glitz screams, "Steal me!"). After everyone else went home, Kelly made himself dinner and relaxed in front of the TV with a Washington Senators game (which puts it before 1972). After the game, he retired to the master bedroom on the second floor. Along about oh-dark-thirty a sound awakens him. He listens in the darkness and hears it again--a quiet little thump. He eases out of bed picking up the flashlight from the bedside stand and his softball bat (no, he didn't normally go around armed, he just played on a local church team).
At the head of the stairs, he hears the thump once more, this time from the darkness below. He oozes down the stairs staying as close to the side as he can to avoid causing the steps to creak. At he bottom, he stands listening. A thump comes from the rear of the funeral home. A backdoor leads into the kitchen. Somebody trying to quietly break-in?
As he reaches the door of the kitchen, there are a series of thumps apparently from the stairs leading down into the basement where the cold storage and preparation rooms for the dearly departed are located. He notes that the backdoor is still locked and turns to the open basement door. Could one of the folks downstairs be unhappy with the arrangements made so far and be coming up to complain to the management?
He raises the bat and flicks on the flashlight. The ginger cat at the bottom of the stairs blinks up at him and gives the tennis ball another whack, bouncing it off the bottom step. Kelly stuck the flashlight in his robe's pocket, flipped on the light switch, set down the bat, and went down and picked up the cat. After returning to the the master bedroom with flashlight, bat, and cat, he slept soundly until his alarm clock went off.
3 April 2010: Feast of St. Vulpian of Tyre. Edward the Confessor crowned 1043, Federal forces capture Richmond 1865, Lenin arrives at Finland Station in Petrograd 1917, Japanese begin assault on Bataan 1942.
According to Kelly, his first night at the funeral home set the tone for the years that followed. Part of his deal with the owner was that Kelly would live at the home. This had the advantage that someone would be on hand if a call came in during the night (a very common occurrence) and there would be someone to keep an eye on things, funeral homes being prime targets for burglaries (to some folks, all that class and glitz screams, "Steal me!"). After everyone else went home, Kelly made himself dinner and relaxed in front of the TV with a Washington Senators game (which puts it before 1972). After the game, he retired to the master bedroom on the second floor. Along about oh-dark-thirty a sound awakens him. He listens in the darkness and hears it again--a quiet little thump. He eases out of bed picking up the flashlight from the bedside stand and his softball bat (no, he didn't normally go around armed, he just played on a local church team).
At the head of the stairs, he hears the thump once more, this time from the darkness below. He oozes down the stairs staying as close to the side as he can to avoid causing the steps to creak. At he bottom, he stands listening. A thump comes from the rear of the funeral home. A backdoor leads into the kitchen. Somebody trying to quietly break-in?
As he reaches the door of the kitchen, there are a series of thumps apparently from the stairs leading down into the basement where the cold storage and preparation rooms for the dearly departed are located. He notes that the backdoor is still locked and turns to the open basement door. Could one of the folks downstairs be unhappy with the arrangements made so far and be coming up to complain to the management?
He raises the bat and flicks on the flashlight. The ginger cat at the bottom of the stairs blinks up at him and gives the tennis ball another whack, bouncing it off the bottom step. Kelly stuck the flashlight in his robe's pocket, flipped on the light switch, set down the bat, and went down and picked up the cat. After returning to the the master bedroom with flashlight, bat, and cat, he slept soundly until his alarm clock went off.
3 April 2010: Feast of St. Vulpian of Tyre. Edward the Confessor crowned 1043, Federal forces capture Richmond 1865, Lenin arrives at Finland Station in Petrograd 1917, Japanese begin assault on Bataan 1942.
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