Category: Funeral

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.

Surprises on Clean-Up Day

Our cemetery clean up on September 29 was fantastic; it was the first time when I was really able to step back and see a dramatic change on the property. We were so fortunate to have so many wonderful people and groups there, and also to have the assistance of the city Parks Department. When we heard ahead of time that there was going to be a grounds crew there I got pretty excited. When I saw these men at work I was beyond thrilled. They attacked the place with chainsaws, machetes, and mowers and raised the tree canopy by several feet, making a tremendous difference.

Page Jackson is full of beautiful old oak trees that spread, nearly touching the ground in some places. They are lovely to look at but do tend to cause some problems for us here in Florida, especially since we’re in the middle of hurricane season. Heavy limbs can fall and crush or topple gravestones, and since so many in the cemetery are handmade repairing them is costly IF it can be done at all. The crew thinned the trees a bit, trimming the lower limbs, and for the first time since I’ve been working there we had a clear line of sight to the back of the cemetery. We’re hoping that this will help with the crime that takes place out there and also help the police when they drive through. The very back still has a large amount of underbrush and trees that need to be removed, but this was progress.

The volunteers worked on headstone recording, cleaning, and repair, and we finished a large front area, leaving crypts and headstones gleaming in the sunshine. People tended to work in pairs and got to know each other, which was really nice to see.

At the end of the day I went to ask Robert from the city if he was about ready to call it quits. He was. But he had something to show me.

In the back section there had been what looked like a small island of trees and thicket, and the grounds crew had gone in with machetes flying. In the process of clearing the land they found five graves there dating back to the 1950’s. More than that, three of them were covered with plastic grave covers.

If you’ve never seen one (I had not) they’re definitely an oddity. These were a faded peach color and moved easily when you pressed down on them, which I did several times because I could not believe what I was looking at. I did a Google search and got all kinds of interesting things, but nothing like this. I’m wondering if it was just a trendy and inexpensive funeral item in the 50’s. Apparently it scared the crew half to death when they pressed on it and it briefly caved in before bouncing back into shape with a thump! Understandable. To date they are the only ones we’ve seen out there or in any of the surrounding cemeteries. We plan to get the funeral records just to see if there’s any info on them that could tell us anything about them or their cost. I’d love to know where they were manufactured. If you’ve seen any of them please drop me a line and give me cemetery info.

As I stood there marveling at them we found out that another volunteer was cleaning a headstone and found needles. We walked across the cemetery to her and sure enough, there were two capped syringes at the base of a grave where they had been hidden by some leaves. The police were called and came out to take photos and write a report. Apparently people use them and then bury them by a headstone that they feel they can recognize so they can go and use them again later. I’d never heard of anything like that and it gave me a shiver. I was just happy that our volunteer was safe and now we know for next time to encourage everyone to use gloves if they’re cleaning headstones. I know that people have rampant sex in this cemetery, but this was really the first time I’d seen evidence of drug use as well.

After everyone had started packing up I walked through the section we had worked in and noticed that now that they were clean, we could see that some of the crypts had been painted with what looked like a lime wash. I had never been able to see it before, but the D-2 solution from FPAN had cleared away so much grime that the brush strokes were now visible.

The final surprise was at the very front of the cemetery when volunteers found a walkway leading from the road into a family plot that had at one time been cordoned off with chain link and concrete posts. The posts were still standing, but the chain was gone. Very close by there was one headstone with 9 names on it and it looked like they may be the ones buried in that plot. Putting in a walkway would not be an easy project, and it appears to be the only plot that has one. I looked at Emily and said, “Let’s get a shovel,” meaning, let’s pull back some of the grass and reveal more of it so we can figure out where it led to and if it was made of any specific material, like brick.

Nearby, Robert raised his eyebrows in surprise. I think he thought I was going to dig somebody up for a minute there.

We left the walkway for next month, when I hope to wear knee pads and just pull the grass up by hand to reveal all of it.

Before I left I got a video of the plastic grave toppers, still amazed by them, and sent it to Jennifer, who did a ton of work that day (and on many days since then) with her son, Austin. She’d never seen them either. I can’t wait for the next visit to get some more answers. So far, Page Jackson Cemetery only raises more questions. A very sincere thank you to everyone who came out, and to Smoothie King in Lake Mary for their kind donation. Also, thank you to Pamela who does genealogy work for us from afar, your research is making a tremendous difference.

I just got back from a 2 week trip to Tampa for job training, and I was able to visit some stunning cemeteries during my free time. More on that later.

 

 

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.