Category: Death

The Menendez Coffin in St. Augustine, Florida

Is it a casket or a coffin? This question is an old one that is guaranteed to make any funeral director raise an eyebrow and sneer if answered improperly. My impression was always that a casket is the newer style of burial container, the ones that look like fancy boxes. The coffin usually refers to a plainer box with a shape to it, like a toe-pincher. I love them both.

When I was a kid growing up in Tallahassee I had to go on a field trip to St. Augustine just about every year when I was in elementary school. The obligatory stop was the Fountain of Youth and the Mission Nombre de Dios, the site of the first Mass in St. Augustine in 1565. The Mission was always my favorite. The churchyard had beautiful old oaks and was on the water, so there was always a nice breeze and a pretty view. Even then I loved the lichen-covered headstones and the smell of the inside of the chapel, like incense and candle wax. It’s a magical place, so please be sure to visit.

Inside the onsite museum is the casket of General Pedro Menendez de Aviles, who came here to colonize the land for Spain and to convert the Indians to Christianity; he essentially brought Catholicism to the U.S. His casket is actually a cover, he is now in an urn in Spain. The outer casket was inside the entrance to the church gift shop when I was little, and to be honest, I really miss my view of it when I was eye level with it.

The coffin is painted a glossy black with gold lettering over the entire surface, and skulls and crossbones decorate it as well. The lock on it is huge and formidable, and I’ve wanted to see the key to it my entire life but never have. While my classmates were wreaking havoc on the grounds and chasing squirrels and screaming I would stand and look at the casket, quietly and respectfully wondering about it. I think even as a kid I understood that I would be working around death one day. I still love caskets and casket hardware, though with an appreciative eye rather than a morbid one. When a fancy one comes into the funeral home now I’m starting to recognize the brands and know the features, something I never expected to say about myself.

This casket is certainly befitting the first governor of Florida. He died of typhus in Santander, Spain in 1574. The original coffin was presented to the city of St. Augustine in 1924 by Aviles, Spain, where his body now lies. Well, his remains, anyway. He was moved around a LOT for various reasons, and now what’s left of his body is in a marble urn placed on a wall near the pulpit in the Parish Church of St. Nicholas. And it’s a bit odd, but he is on Find A Grave with photos of the coffin inside the museum listed as grave photos, but as I mentioned it’s actually empty.

If you get the chance please visit St. Augustine to see this beautiful coffin and stroll through the grounds of Mission Nobre de Dios. While I like the Fouintain of Youth park, I’ll admit that I can still remember the taste of that foul water. But go drink it anyway -because you never know. The last time I got to visit was on New Year’s Eve, thankfully before the afternoon cocktail hour. I visited the Ice Plant on Riberia Street for the upstairs bar view and something fancy to drink, and then spent the rest of the afternoon trying to keep my balance as I walked around. I’ll admit though that it’s nice to see that city through a haze of alcohol. I highly recommend it.



When Funeral Homes Go Bad

Many of you may have seen the news last month about Cantrell Funeral Home in Detroit and know the developing story. Raymond Cantrell inherited the business and last April it was shut down for malpractice, which usually means something to do with money or something to do with bodies and their handling and storage. During a state inspection bodies were found that, even though they were embalmed, were not being kept in a refrigeration unit. They were in a garage. In addition some of their licenses were expired and they had also not deposited money from contracts. So- there were a lot of reasons for the inspectors to shut them down.

The building’s new owner went in recently to clean and said that the building smelled bad and was full of trash, which he began removing. He is making it into a community center to help people in the area.

Last week state investigators went to the funeral home again, this time on an anonymous tip that led them to a false ceiling holding 11 infant bodies. Some were in trash bags, some were in a casket. The question now is, why?

So far the only answer was that the business owners may have been holding onto the bodies for people who were unable to pay for the funerals in full. But even that doesn’t make sense, since the funeral usually has to be paid in full from the start. Though it is true that funeral homes rarely will make a profit on a child’s funeral, it doesn’t explain why the bodies weren’t disposed of properly.

This isn’t the first funeral home horror story in recent years. There have been many, and it seems that bodies are stored in garages a lot and tend to end up on the news. It’s sickening, and it’s sickening that these operators fall into this routine of hiding bodies or not caring for them, lying to families, and then calling it their new normal.

In Florida in 2016 there was the news story about Brock Funeral Home, where investigators got a tip and went in to find 16 bodies being stored improperly. The story reads like a script from a horror movie, it’s so bad.

In these situations I almost feel like the scale tips away from gross negligence and malpractice onto the side of mental illness. How can someone think those are “normal” working conditions in the funeral business?

I found out recently that some people who work in funeral homes in a capacity aside from funeral directing or preparation can be squeamish when it comes to being around bodies or having them in the building. Several of the people that I spoke to said that it made them very nervous knowing that they might see remains at work. I was surprised by this, but I know that many people have those fears and that they’re natural. While I don’t feel uneasy, I do feel a heaviness in the building I work in when we are preparing for a service.

I interviewed at a funeral home once and the staff were extremely concerned about newcomers understanding that there may sometimes be casketed (and cared for) remains waiting for their service in a back hallway, and I was asked very politely if that would frighten or bother me in any way. I said no, that it wouldn’t, because I understood that I would be working in a funeral home. That is normal. Walking into a chapel and finding someone resting inside before their services is also normal.

Coming to work in a building full of flies and the stench of decomposition is not. Hiding bodies is not normal. Justice for these families is sometimes hard to get as well, and I feel that often the punishment is not severe enough, but that’s just me. Right behind the story about Cantrell came the story about Perry Funeral Home, also in Detroit, and investigators finding over 60 remains, mostly infants. I think Detroit’s funeral professionals are in for a rough winter of inspections after these two incidents, and the fact that these family run businesses that have served for years in their communities have arrived at this kind of end is sad and disturbing.

No pictures on this post- they were all from news sources.

Hollywood and Lincoln Cemeteries, Volusia County

Sometimes when I’m running around these places I look up at the beautiful blue sky and the fluffy while clouds and think to myself, you know, I’d really like to see something different for a change.

I miss cooler temperatures and think nostalgically of Virginia in the fall, when I would go outside early in the mornings to feel the chill of the air on my cheeks and have the horses breathe on my hands. Or Charleston in the spring, and the marshy, salty smell of the air and the cooler nights. I think I’m just over the heat and that blue sky constantly glaring down at me.

This day was no different. The sky was brilliantly blue, the clouds were high and white and didn’t seem likely to drop any rain. There wasn’t a breath of wind anywhere in the cemetery when I got out to look around. Oh my goodness, it was hot. After ten seconds I wondered why I’d put on makeup that day.

Hollywood Cemetery is in Orange City, not a place where I’ve spent a significant amount of time, but when I’d pulled up cemeteries there I saw a few that I’d never heard of and decided to go take a look. It wasn’t a long drive, and I needed to get out of the house and start seeing what it was like to feel freedom again. The cemetery entrance is very beautiful, with a wide avenue of palm trees and an attractive gate. I drove to the back and got out of the car at the oldest section.

When I got out the first stone that I saw was one with a small floating angel on it, a motif that I’ve seen one other time, and is actually one of my favorites. Instead of looking imposing and stern, these little angels are small, childlike, delicate, and done in profile so you can see the small wings stretching out behind. I think they’re magical. As I walked I noticed that there were a lot of large, expensive newer monuments here as well.

One of them was for a family, mom, dad, and two older kids, and it was extraordinary, made of black granite in a very modern style, and the kids on either side had etched portraits and also their signatures. Sadly, their children had passed on before them.

Nearby was a small cremation garden, with tiny plots and small plaques for each person. Most of the plots had vases of flowers, and it was a bright, pretty spot to look at. I continued down that aisle and saw an area fenced off with black iron and I knew before I got there that it was Babyland. It was small and completely tidy, filled with grave sites that had small, creative headstones. There were teddy bears and writing that looked like crayon, like a child’s. I saw angels and dollies. I stopped and leaned on the fence for a time, reading what I could from where I was, but I didn’t go inside the enclosure. I will say that this was the nicest baby section I’d ever seen. A crow was sitting on the fence, and he cawed at me a few times, as though encouraging me to step inside.

The whole time I was in the cemetery there was an elderly man at the very front, standing in the first row. Because he had on a white shirt and had white hair and was so immobile I had actually mistaken him for a statue when I drove in. He was standing with his hands behind his back and staring forward at one of the newer graves, not moving. I can seem to feel when people are praying or talking to their loved ones, so I assumed that’s what he was doing and parked well away from him for that reason. He left just before I did, so he was there quite awhile in that same pose.

As I was walking back to the car I saw it, beckoning to me.

The back fence made of chain link, separating this cemetery from the other one on my list, Lincoln. Lincoln was the African-American cemetery and was the one I had really wanted to see, and it was right there, I recognized it from the photos online. I looked up and down the fence- no gate. I looked on the other perimeter, but there was no gate there either. I eyed the fence and thought, I can totally climb over that. And that part was true, it wasn’t tall at all. However, it wasn’t like hopping a cattle gate where you have room for your foot to turn on the rungs. Nope. At the top I had no choice but to sit to get my foot out of one side and put a foot in the other side, and while I was doing this I caught a barb from the top of the fence on my rear end, through my shorts, and shredded my hindquarters and the back of one thigh. The fence, of course, was fine.

When I got down the first thing I did was check for blood, and thankfully, there wasn’t any that I could see or feel running down my leg. It was a nasty scratch though and quite painful. I wondered how I was going to get back over that thing and decided to worry about it later as I limped off into the headstones.

Lincoln Cemetery is fascinating, with lots of handmade tributes and markers, including a whole little arbor built over the top of a single grave. There are also a lot of marked graves here with no names, so it was interesting to look around and wonder about them. My favorite grave was near the fence, covered with creeping jasmine and made of concrete. The name and dates were long gone, but it was so small and delicate I felt like it belonged to a child. A small angel in a blue gown had been laid at the base of it. It was very beautiful. Next to it was a piece of broken marble with an enamel cook pot holding it up, and the pot was planted with flowers that had died, but weeds were thriving in it. It was another person’s grave.

Lincoln is in use and maintained, and they’ve done a good job of protecting it, especially with all of the handmade markers. It’s obvious that people come here.

I loved this little bit of history…in 1870 the Wisconsin Land Company donated the ten acres of land to be used as a cemetery, and then it was segregated, with half for whites (Hollywood) and half for African-Americans (Lincoln). Burials began in 1876, so they go way back, though I didn’t see anything that old. Hollywood was actually Holly Wood, because of the holly trees on the property, but it was changed to just Hollywood through the years.

At the side of the cemetery I found a spot by the hearse road where I could go over the fence where the barbs had been bent down a bit more. Did I make it? NO. This time I got stuck on a hidden piece of fence on the other side and hung there limply, my shorts stuck on the wire, wondering what I should do as my legs dangled a couple of inches from the ground. Finally I dug in my heels and managed to unhook myself. I dropped down. The fence was fine, thank God. I would have been horrified otherwise.

I drove to Publix to check for damage in their bathrooms. Just a few big scratches. No tetanus shot needed on this trip.

Buying Funeral Antiques

 

I was fortunate enough to go to an Oddities Market recently here in Orlando. Well, maybe not fortunate. It was about 98 degrees that day, the heavy cloud cover made it feel like a greenhouse, and most of the booths were outside when the event had been advertised as being inside of a brewery. Lies. It was so packed we could barely move, and we managed to snake past the couple of indoor booths at a pace that made me frantic since I like to keep things moving. Gus is still training his service dog, and the dog proved to be practically bombproof in that insane crowd, stepping carefully and licking a leg or a knee gently when one was close by.

I collect embalming bottles. I love them, but they didn’t have any at the market. My first one was for Rochester Germicide and is printed upside down because it was used for gravity embalming. After that I got several from the 1930’s with the original labels, including instructions, which can be horrifying on the cavity embalming chemicals. The first time I read the back of one I felt oddly lightheaded, but it passed and I ended up with the collection anyway. It’s slow to grow, since I don’t seek out new ones every payday, but if I’m in an antique mall and I see one, I’ll usually buy it. I try not to pay more than 25 per bottle, but would be willing to break this rule if it included one from Dodge, Pierce, or Frigid, since they are some of the more widely known companies that provide chemicals and are still in operation.

 

I also like caskets and coffins, but do not live in a place where collecting them would be realistic, and I also don’t want to terrify any future acquaintance that may come to my house. I heard recently that there were 2 in an antique shop in Mt. Dora and I went to have a look. Mt. Dora is an old city, very small, that dates back to 1880. I love any excuse to go there. Sure enough, in one of the antique malls I rounded a corner and saw two coffins laid on a large dining table. One was a toe-pincher from the Civil War era that had once held a glass viewing plate so you could look down on the deceased after they were tucked away inside. The other was for an infant, also in the traditional shape, and made of dark wood. That one didn’t interest me much. For one thing it lacked any hardware or way to close it unless it was nailed shut, which is fine but not interesting. Also there was the possibility that it was only a salesman’s sample. I focused on the big one and got out a flashlight.

The hardware was beautiful and made of some sort of darkened metal, with small handles that had been screwed onto the sides and painted black, which could have been a later addition. The inside (because I put my head into it through the opening where the glass used to be) was lined in a rough unbleached cotton that was padded with straw. The lining was heavily stained and damaged, but it was a fantastic thing to get to see. Price: $2,400. The price for the infant coffin: $475.

 

A couple of miles away sat a larger antique mall that had a wicker child’s casket last year, and I went to see if it was still there. It was. Price: $275. Of the three this would have been the one I wanted. It was lined with leather and very delicate, but it was also a subtle design that didn’t scream COFFIN. It was small enough for me to carry with both arms, and weighed very little. I still want this one and felt that it was better priced than the others. Plus, and I don’t know how to say this exactly, but this one gave me a feeling that I can’t explain. I still feel like I may buy it one day.

At the same mall I found 4 embalming bottles and my collection grew when the shop owner told me I could have all 4 for $75, that yes, I could in fact pet the stuffed skunk at the front of the shop, and that she also had something else that I might like to see.

From behind the desk she hefted a large picture in an ornate frame of a deceased child in her white casket, surrounded by funeral flowers. It was almost hard to make out the body because the flowers overpowered the scene, which had been taken in a home parlor judging by the furniture in the room. At the bottom of the frame were details of her birth and death written in pencil surrounded by pressed flowers and ferns. I looked at it for a moment in stunned silence. It was very large. My mind was racing. I had 2 mostly paid off credit cards in my purse- hang the fact that I’d just spent a year and a half paying them off.

“The other shop owners don’t want me to hang it because they feel it will upset someone, so it stays with me for now,” she said, looking wistfully at the photo.

“Was there a price you were thinking of asking for it?” I asked. She never got to tell me, because Shawn started yelling that she had just told me she was keeping it. I left disappointed. I would have liked to have known her price range, partly so I could go back ALONE and ask about it, and partly to do some research. If she had quoted me anything up to $500 I would have bought it that day, even if I was an idiot for doing so. The flowers, along with the handwritten details made it a one of a kind piece. Rather than argue with Shawn publicly I gave her my card and asked if she’d let me know if she decided to sell it.

At the oddities market I saw two things that interested me, but they were sold. One was a Victorian hair wreath, which I look at with a mix of fascination and horror since they’re kind of a ghastly art form. Still, the fact that I’ve only seen 2 my whole life makes them rare (to me) and worth looking into. The price tag was gone, the shop owner was busy talking to someone, and I had sweat running down my sides. The next item was a framed set of five black and white photos of a young boy’s funeral. Four of him in the casket from different angles, and one of his headstone. It was sad of course, but I tend to like collections like that when they include the headstone or photos of the actual funeral. (Though I will admit to crying over a set once.) The price tag had also been removed. One thing that was interesting about these photos was the fact that the boy had been covered with a white blanket that draped over the sides of the casket making him literally look like he was sleeping, which I’m sure was done to make the casket look less shocking for the family. The photos were tastefully done and I tend to like a lot of post-mortem funeral photography.  I don’t like the ones that are little more frightening and include blood or gore of any kind. I still remember the first one I saw like that and I wish to all that is holy that I could un-see that photo.

There are a few things that I refuse to buy when I see them, and that is casket hardware, casket nameplates, and any kind of marker, metal or otherwise. If you see a funeral home marker for sale online or in a store, report it. In a store it gets reported to the Sheriff. If it’s online, report the posting. They are not to be sold. Casket hardware is generally one of the easiest things for grave robbers to loot, and the chance that the items were stolen makes me very wary of any kind of purchase like that.

Compare prices and do your research before you buy, and enjoy! If you have an interesting collection tell me about it! Also, Shawn and I did break up so I will post when I can because I am moving and also taking a class. No, I didn’t break up with him because of the photo. And yes, I’m fine.

Observations On A Recent Death

Listen, I tell you a mystery; we will not all sleep, but we will all be changed.

1 Corinthians 15:51

 

Before Father’s Day I was at home one night and got a text from my mom. My cousin wasn’t well, he was being transferred to a medical center in Gainesville, and he wasn’t expected to survive the night.

I sat staring at the text and thinking, “What? How?” We’d never even heard that he was sick, or that anything was wrong at all. How do you go from nothing wrong to not expected to make it that fast?

Well, he didn’t survive. At 8:30 that night I got the second text. It’s over.

They had placed him on life support long enough for the family to get there, and that was that.

I saw my cousin at Christmas and had been deeply shocked by the change in him; his skin looked pale and had an odd color, and he seemed  to be heavier than usual and almost sluggish. He didn’t want to hug anyone, saying that he was getting over the flu. He did sound bad, so I believed it. But it was so odd to watch this usually vibrant, happy man and loving father watch everyone from the sidelines and not interact. I believed that it was because he wasn’t feeling well and didn’t want anyone else to get sick.

The day of the funeral Shawn drove me to Lake City to be with everyone. The last time we had all gathered for a funeral was when my grandfather had died years before, an extremely painful grieving process for all of us. It was so surreal to sit on my aunt and uncle’s back porch with family everywhere, talking, laughing, eating, and then know that in a few hours we would be getting dressed for the service.

My family is Christian, and they all have the servant’s spirit in them. They’re kind, they help others, they go on mission trips, they raise their children to pray and believe in God. I’ve always thought they were amazing and have wished that I led a similar life (and I may yet), but while I call myself a Christian because I pray to one God, not many, my habits are rooted a little more in the earth and her cycles. I feel comfortable and happy following moon phases, lighting candles with an intention, and celebrating the solstice days each year. I like the rhythm of it, though I am also comfortable going to church, and I was looking forward to hearing my cousin’s service, especially when I heard that my uncle would be speaking.

He began with the Bible verse quoted above, and went on to speak about my cousin and what a great man he was. And it’s true. He was. His urn sat at the front of the church, and there was standing room only in the sanctuary. People were lined up and down the hallway, along the walls at the back and sides of the church, and kids were sitting in laps to make extra room for other adults. It was beautiful to see so many tears, and I got up at one point to run to the restroom (I was on antibiotics for a severe sinus infection and needed tissues, crying was actually quite painful) and found two women standing in the bathroom, sobbing. I never found out who they were but the image of them with their heads bowed, faces turned toward the wall, and tissues held to their faces has stuck with me.

There is no real wrap up to this post today, but I want to point out that even the most perfect families have secrets that run through them, deep and black like seams of anthracite through a mountain. These secrets don’t make them any less perfect in my opinion, and they may sit for years undisturbed, or some event may cause them to catch fire and burn unseen, smoldering and smoking until the explosion inevitably takes place.

My cousin was very sick. I didn’t know. No one talked about it. I doubt it would have made a difference if they had…but still, I wish I had known. I could have prayed for him and for the rest of my family, or I could have lit a candle for him. I could have gone out to look at the full moon and thought about him being whole, and healthy, and happy. But all I could do was pray for him after the fact, and light that candle when I got home… and let it burn until it quietly went out on it’s own.