The end of an era...

Greetings good readers,

Never one to ignore the blogical muse when she slaps me, I felt compelled to write this today.

Yesterday, I buried an old friend. Tom was instrumental in my formative years as a funeral apprentice. He taught me lot, both in what to do and what to never do.

He was the antithesis of the stuffy undertaker. He was big, loud and brash. He sang too loud at Masses, his blue eyes danced with mischief and when that was matched with one of his Cheshire grins, you knew you were in for trouble! He talked to himself a lot and had a nearly photographic memory for names, faces, and funeral details.

And most families loved him. Most.

Tom was very funny and charming at a time when most didn't expect wit and charm. It put some off, but for the rest Tom would be the funeral director of choice the next time the family lost a loved one.

I saw Tom (or Big Tom, as most people knew him) turn a gaggle of elderly nuns into giggly schoolgirls with an inaudible (and probably bawdy) joke. I saw him hand a particularly crabby priest a business card that said "Jesus Loves You" on one side and "Everyone Else Thinks You're An Asshole" on the other side.

The priest loved it.

It became a long running joke with that priest and our firm to say "Jesus loves you" when he would get in the lead car on the way to the cemetery.

Tom also delighted in handing unsuspecting folks huddled around the outdoor ashtray urns a card that said "Thanks for smoking. From your local undertaker."

He would go to great lengths to get me (or others) to laugh at inappropriate times during a funeral. If you managed to hold it together, he would take that as the gauntlet being thrown down and redouble his efforts.

He got me once. ONCE.

Tom and I worked the front door one busy Sunday afternoon. An ancient gentleman slowly worked his way up the steps. Tom grandly swung the door open and said to the gent "Take all the time you need. I'm here 'til 5."
To which the man smiled and said "It's good to see you, Tom." Tom looked at him and his face changed.

Then Tom said, "Well, I'm sorry. I didn't know it was YOU. You old bastard, I thought you were dead." A hearty back pat, a Big Tom smile and a "Take care of yourself" from Tom as the man headed back to the visitation room. The old man seemed genuinely pleased and comforted that Tom recognized him.

"Who was that, Tom?" I was unsure that what I saw actually had just happened.

Tom stared far out the window and after a minute said, "I have no idea."

Tom's one downfall was never knowing when to be himself and when not to be himself. If Tom had known how to govern himself, he would have owned the city funeral business. He would have taken it by storm.

One of the most successful funeral home owners in this city is famous for joking and buying rounds of drinks at bars. Maybe it is some sort of St. Louis anomaly, but people seem to enjoy working with someone who isn't afraid to utilize some well-placed humor and irreverence.

What's the lesson here? Maybe it's time to channel a little Tom into your style. People love professionals, but people love REAL people more. Tom was real. He laughed with them, wept with them, he held the widow's hand during the walk to the gravesite. No one ever accused him of being a stuffy phony, which is a persona many suspect of our profession.

Be real. Add just a drop of Tom - but carefully. A little goes a long way.

Jesus loves you, Tom. Say Hi to Father Good for all of us down here.

Your friend,

Dan

PS - To all the readers out there, I want to share one more event - Tom taught me never to say no to a lunch invitation or a drink when proffered by a family. Never say no but find believable and genuine reasons to decline, because some ethnic groups in our city would take that as an egregious slap in the face to just say no. And you would have never got a dime of their business again...nor any of their friends or relatives.

That being said, true to form Tom and I accepted a family's lunch invitation and agreed that we would sit off to the side and slide quietly out after we had eaten.

So there we sat, enjoying the traditional south St. Louis church funeral lunch of rubbery roast beef and mostaccioli when he and I saw the children of the deceased all pick up their plates and walk over to our table to sit down and eat with us. What followed was a bit overwhelming, but many, many verbal thanks culminated in the family taking pictures with us...which they sent copies of in the long thank you letter that arrived a couple of weeks later.

Yeah. That really happened. And that was the Tom effect in purest form.

Happy August! I bid you all much success in the coming months.

D

PPS - Tom also taught me the only proper drink to allow a family to buy you was Scotch on the rocks. Good call, Tom!