Blog # 9 – Tales from the Crypt……Er, Cemetery

Jul 21, 2019 · 15 min read –

Being a college student that put himself through by working and taking out loans and landing a few scholarship grants, I did virtually any job that paid a buck. In the early 1980’s, Jimmy Carter had just finished his term as President, and the U.S. was going through a tough recession and interest rates were in double digits. Entry level jobs were scarce. But I was fortunate to get a job the summer of ’82 and was very proud to announce to my dad that my new position was over about 4,000 people. Boy, did Dad ever share that factoid to anybody that would listen!

For full disclosure, I must say that I got the position as a result of my grandfather’s passing. He’d died in March, and that May, when school was out for the year, I returned to live with my grandmother for the summer and be in the house with her to help out, and to get a summer job. The salesman from the cemetery came by one day to up-sell Grandma on the headstone for the grave site. As he was closing the deal, I chimed in to see if he had any jobs available. Smelling a commission, he invited me to come out to the office and fill out an application. The headstone sale closed and I got a job. Title: Grave Digger. Pay: $3.10 per hour. Locale: Florida. And yes, I worked over about 4,000 people (pushing up daisies), as it were.

Besides digging graves for burial, I also used a weed whacker to keep the grass edged around headstones, weeded, mowed, and did whatever maintenance was required to keep the grounds looking good for the visitors, regulars and service attendees.

So, to bust a few myths about the cemetery business and share some experiences that I had, I offer the following:

Don’t waste money on waterproof caskets — Several occasions involved the casket being outside in the heat, then being moved into the mausoleum for placement into one of the crypts in the wall. The mausoleum is air conditioned, thus creating an extreme temperature differential. If you remember from 8th grade science class, as air is heated or cooled, it either expands or contracts. Thus, I would hear a high pitched “wheeeeeeeeee” whenever a casket got rolled into the mausoleum building due to the change in air temperature between the casket and the room. If it isn’t air tight, it’s not watertight. ‘Nuff said.

Don’t believe the salesman when they say the vault is waterproof — We had to dig up a few vaults and all had water inside. A burial vault is a concrete box that goes outside of a coffin to keep the coffin from collapsing under the weight of the dirt on top. It probably weighs 800 lbs. or more. The top edge has a lip on it and then a lid is placed on top of the vault “box”. One unrolls a pinky-finger sized string of tar along the edge of the lid. That way, the weight of the lid squishes the tar caulking into the lip edge to make it water tight. Except it isn’t. Trust me. Reread the first sentence.

Don’t move your loved one after burial — One day we were instructed to dig up a casket and move it to the mausoleum. The guy had been in the ground for about 12 years or so and his widow must have come into some money and decided that “Wilbur” deserved better digs for his eternal rest. So we dug until we hit the top of the vault. John, one of my associates, apparently liked me as he recommended I leave the area before they opened the lid. I heeded his words and went a few hundred yards away. Johnny, a high-school drop out that smoked weed, and was about the cockiest, loudmouthed guy I’d ever met, said he’d do the honors of taking off the lid. Bill, the big boss supervisor (he made $4.50 an hour), told him with his expletive-filled vocabulary to get down on the top of the vault and connect the winch chains to the 4 hooks on the corners. Big Boss Bill then warned everyone about the pending stench. Johnny, true to form, defiantly exclaimed “Nothing turns my stomach!!”. With Johnny on the vault lid, Bill cranked the winch and a corner lifted. Green vapor spewed out. Johnny turned the same color, staggered to the nearby bushes and vomited his breakfast all over the place. He went home. There was a touch of humility in his demeanor when he returned the next day, though.

A few minutes after Johnny barfed his breakfast, at about 100 yards downwind, I caught a whiff and started to gag. It was the worst smell I can ever remember. If you’ve ever smelled a dead rat, increase that by a factor of 100. Rotten human flesh is the worst. If you never have to smell it, your life will be more fulfilling. But, after some time, the area cleared and the vault aired out. The crew was rounded up and we lifted the casket out of the ground. Handles were rusty and broken and the whole assembly was dripping water. Recall this is Florida where the ground water table is about 2 feet down. We rolled the gurney to the mausoleum, and proceeded to lift the casket into the slot about 10 feet up. Fluids were running from the casket, to my hands, down my arms, into my armpits and torso. It was gross. Was this in my job description for $3.10 per hour?!

Mr. Schmooze Salesman swung by the crew, told us he appreciated the work, and as a feeble attempt to reconcile the crummy duty we’d just experienced, left a cold six-pack of beer as a Thank You.

Poor John then had to scoop out the remaining roots, dirt and water from the vault, and cover the surface in embalming powder. The lid was put back on, the hole filled with dirt and the sod restored. The vault would live another day to claim another tenant in the future. And I wonder how much commission Mr. Schmooze Salesman made on that transaction? Our spiff from the deal was a lousy six-pack of Pabst Blue Ribbon. And I don’t even drink.

Burial at sea — Many folks prepare for their pending demise and burial by purchasing their burial plots years in advance. However, good cemetery owners have an area for sudden or unexpected deaths. To wit: a teenager was killed in a motorcycle accident, so the designated area was “Garden of the Good Shepherd” for these random, one-off burials. While most of the State is borderline swampland anyway, the Garden of the Good Shepherd was notorious for having a very high water table.

News came to dig a hole for the next day’s service. I drew the short straw and was paired with Johnny. We dug the hole, and kept having issues as the sides would cave in. Think digging a hole in the wet sand at the beach. Nonetheless, we finally got it deep enough to haul over the concrete vault and drop it in. We then knocked off for the day. The next morning, we brought over the plywood and green astro-turf to surround the hole, and rolled the tent awning over for the graveside service. I looked in the grave hole and saw that the vault was at grade level. The previous night, it had rained very hard, and filled up the hole so much that the entire concrete vault was floating inside the water-filled hole. This wasn’t good!

We consulted Big Boss Bill on what to do. He told us to push the plywood and astro-turf over the hole so nobody could see the vault and water surrounding it. Brilliant! (Maybe that is why he was the big boss). A few hours later, the graveside service was held and when it was over, we went to drop the casket, put the lid on the vault and fill the hole with dirt. We dropped the casket and put the lid on. It was still floating. Johnny and I put dirt on the lid to weigh it down. It didn’t sink. Then Big Boss Bill came over to see what was taking us so long. We showed him the problem. “Load up more dirt!”. So we did. “Stand on it!”. So we both did. It was like a huge barge bumping around in the pool of water. But it didn’t sink. The weight/volume/water displacement formula (like why an aircraft carrier floats) had come into play here and even with the casket, the lid, a huge mound of dirt and two guys, this thing wasn’t going to sink.

Big Boss Bill again showed why he was the Supervisor after studying this new problem for a bit. Then he asked us to look around to make sure nobody was watching. We scoped the area as directed. He fired up the back-hoe and drove it over to the gravesite. He extended the bucket and placed it on top of the floating vault. With the power of hydraulics, he pulled the lever and down went the bucket, the back-hoe arm and the vault, into the hole. Water overflowed from the hole. The vault then burped bubbles and water poured into the vault (recall my previous comment about not being water tight?). Though we were on land, this poor kid was finally laid to rest, at sea.

We barely had enough room above the vault lid to put some dirt since the hole had caved in more, and then replaced the sod. The poor guy was barely underground. I did feel icky about that one.

Wasted money on the box your body will decay in — When shopping for caskets, there is an array of quality, décor, interior linens and so on. From aluminum to gorgeous carved and stained wooden caskets, the range in price and appearance is incredible. Alas, since I am a bit callous to this due to my work experience, why people think it matters to their deceased loved one (or themselves), that Uncle Fred is in a $500 box or a $10,000 box that goes inside the alleged waterproof vault is beyond me. At the end of the day, the body (a shell of who you are that is just water, carbon, and pumped full of embalming fluid) will decompose and the elements will penetrate it at some point. I do appreciate that at the time of grieving Uncle Fred’s passing that the remaining family only wants the best. Thus, a gorgeous, expensive casket is partially a salve to their own sense of loss. However, a large funeral expense can be reduced significantly by doing what several folks did during my cemetery job tenure.

An expensive coffin does not decrease the deceased’s chances of going to hell.” ― Mokokoma Mokhonoana

One day, an old man passed away and they held the memorial service in the mausoleum. The body was in an open casket that was very nicely decorated; aluminum with brass colored handles. Nice linens and satin liner were inside with frills and lace and all the luxe one could ask for to be comfortable in their eternal domicile. After the memorial service, and the guests had left, they called us over to return the casket to the hearse. The hearse delivered the casket to the work shed where we kept the mowers, back hoe and other landscape tools. The driver backed the hearse inside the maintenance shed and we rolled the casket out and set it on the floor. Big Boss Bill climbed a ladder and pulled down a small fiberglass box with a lid from a shelf. Imagine a luggage carrier for a car. It was literally the “$79 special”. Apparently, Mr. Freddy Fondue, the deceased, had rented a gorgeous casket for the service, but with the guests gone, was showing his true cards as a tightwad, or his checkbook balance, (I’m not sure which), and was going to spend his eternal rest in a cheap fiberglass box. Our job was to move the body from the luxury box to the cheap seats.

Big Boss Bill, who spoke, looked, and acted like the toughest, meanest, foul-mouthed person I’ve ever met, would get giddy and freaked out around dead bodies. He just got nervous and weird around them. So he instructed John to grab one end, and me the other to pick up Mr. Fondue and place him in the box.

John had done this before and immediately went to the end where his feet were. Smart. I, the newbie, was stuck with the head. John simply had to grab the trousers by the ankles and lift. I had to reach my hands and arms way under the guy’s shoulders and bend down to get leverage to lift. Of course the suit was snug, so I couldn’t grab a bunch of cloth on the jacket and lift. Rather, I had to place my head next to his and use my entire arms and hands for a grip to lift. Fortunately the guy was under a hundred pounds. So, creepy as it was, “one, two, three”, and up and out of the casket he went, and into the fiberglass car carrier.

“I don’t make enough money for this crap” I said. Big Boss Bill nervously brought the lid over then said to move the pillow from the casket to the box and put it under his head. “No way” I said. So John did the honors so Freddy’s head would rest eternally on goose feathers. He handed us the lid and we lined it up to match it with the base. As we’re preparing to close the lid, his arm jerked out. “Get that thing closed up, you blankety-blank-blank” yelled Big Boss Bill. “I tried, but the arm popped out” I responded. I used my foot again and shoved the arm back in. I wasn’t going to touch him again. John again attempted to put the lid on, as one puts a lid on a Tupperware container. “Boing” — it came out again. Fill in the blank with whatever cuss and swear words you can think of, because that is what Big Boss Bill yelled. He really wanted Mr. Fondue sealed up and out of sight. He was getting the heebie-jeebies.

So I instructed John to get ready, and on the count of three, I kicked the arm inside, John slammed the lid shut and Mr. Fondue was in his eternal cocoon. But just think how much money he saved.

Oh Honey, where art thou? Our cemetery had several areas of raised dirt that were held in place by retaining walls a few feet high. In these areas, they would stack a vault on top of another one. These areas were called “turf tops”. The schtick was “Together Forever”. Hence, if Suzie Cupcake died first, she’d be buried in the bottom vault. A concrete lid would be placed on top of her vault and then when her husband died, he’d be placed on her concrete lid and then another lid would be put on top of him. So both would be near each other forever, one on top of the other. “Together Forever”…very romantic. I wonder what the premium was for this grave design versus the common side by side?

So one day, we got news that someone had died. We needed to dig down till we hit the first lid of the vault and remove it so the second person could be placed on top of his or her spouse. I was dispatched to dig this one. I dug the hole, hit the concrete lid and rolled the winch over to lift it out.

The lid came up with no issue. Unfortunately, there was a problem. There was a casket in the top vault! It was supposed to be empty so Mr. Cupcake could finally join his lovely wife Suzie “forever”. What? This can’t be!

The office was notified, and Mr. Schmooze Salesman came out with a long metal rod about 6 feet long and a clipboard. He found some markers and starts probing the ground with the rod. After some time he finally figured it out. Someone, years before, put a casket in the wrong spot. We only figured it out since it was supposed to be empty for Mr. Cupcake. Mr. Schmooze Salesman went back to the office and then came back with instructions to dig a new hole a few grave sites away. We did so, and relocated the unknowing squatter to their proper spot.

“Unfortunately my dad lost his job at the cemetery yesterday. He buried someone in the wrong hole. It was a grave mistake.” — Anonymous

Reality of what had happened hit me and I made the following observations to my fellow work associates: 1) Some poor family members have been paying their respects and leaving flowers in the wrong spot for years. The grave site they’d been visiting for years had been empty. 2) We’d better hope the sod in the new grave site grows fast and looks normal in case the family member comes to visit their deceased mate and sees disturbed grass at their loved-one’s grave site. 3) How could someone be so clueless to bury someone in the wrong spot? 4) If we got caught, would the cemetery be fined?

Fortunately, nobody ever came out to the relocated grave site before the grass returned to normal. But still……

Who cares about the view? Many folks who select their grave site before their own passing spend considerable time picking and choosing their spot. Mr. Schmooze Salesman was constantly tooling around the cemetery in his golf cart with folks evaluating their future piece of permanent retirement real estate. “Ah, this view of the entryway and statue of Jesus is terrific”, or “You’ll have the lovely mausoleum in the back of you and the fountain to your right and the palm tree lane in front of you…just beautiful”. You get the point. “Premium view” lots commanded a much higher price. Somewhere in the “back forty”, in the Garden of the Good Shepherd, with a view of the woods and the de facto dump where we tossed all the dead flowers, the lots were much cheaper.

Now, if I’m booking a room at a hotel resort at a beach town, then the view is important. I know I’ll pay more for a balcony and view of the water and crashing waves on the sand. Contrast that with the great deal I’d get if I’m overlooking the trash bin area behind the hotel restaurant. I get it.

So view and location are important. But that’s when I’m alive. So why does it matter if you’re underground and dead? I’ve never understood that. Furthermore, seeing how cemeteries exploit this issue in their marketing and sales tactics amazes me further. The gullibility of the customer is on full display during their period of grief and loss, or anticipated future demise.

As a Believer in Christ, I know that I’ll be spending my eternal life in heaven. Many people feel as I do. My earthly body now is a mere shell of water, carbon and few other chemicals. I know my spirit will live on somewhere off this blue marble spinning around in space. I’m actually looking forward to shedding this human body of aches, pains, sickness and other faults for a more perfect body like an angel. That’s why I’m an organ donor. I want someone to benefit from my organs, eyes, tendons or other body parts to live a better life. So where I’m buried in the cemetery holds no import to me.

Jesus said to her, “I am the resurrection and the life. The one who believes in me will live, even though they die; and whoever lives by believing in me will never die. Do you believe this?” John 11: 25–26

But if one doesn’t believe in God and doesn’t know or care if he will be in Hell or Heaven, it still shouldn’t matter what view they have from their grave. Remember, the body is dead, it’s allegedly 6 feet under and it can’t see anything.

Or, for those who are convinced they are here by chance, evolved from primordial soup millions of years ago, and will become worm food when they die with no spiritual purpose, again, you’re dead underground. Caskets don’t come with periscopes, so there’s no view of the Jesus statue or the palm trees with the accent lights at night to make it more special or comfortable.

“Surveys show that the number 1 fear of Americans is public speaking. Number 2 is death. That means that at a funeral, the average American would rather be in the casket than doing the eulogy” — Jerry Seinfeld

Alas, that summer was quite an experience and gave me a certain perspective about death, caskets, and cemeteries. Initially, it was sort of weird being at the same cemetery where my Grandpa was recently buried. I’d be by his grave several times a week trimming the grass, removing dead flowers or doing other maintenance nearby. That was tough as I was close to him and part of who I am and many values I hold came from his example and investment in me.

So heed these pieces of insider knowledge about the cemetery, funeral and casket business. Save a few bucks, remember the coffin isn’t 6 feet under (at least not in Florida’s high water table ground), and it’s not waterproof in the casket nor the vault. So should you and your family really make such a big deal about it?

When I get hit by a pie truck and meet my Maker, my family knows to donate my organs and any other usable body part to give life and healing to anybody that can be helped. Then, cremate me and do whatever they want with the ashes. No fancy grave site with a “view”, no fancy headstone, no expensive “waterproof” casket or vault is necessary. They know it’s not important to me, and to tell Mr. Schmooze Salesman that it’s not worth the money. Because they actually know a lot of insider things about the cemetery business. Now you do too.

Congo Kid – Article # 9 – July, 2019

Copyright © 2019 by Jeffrey W. Eales. All rights reserved. No portions may be reproduced or transmitted in any format without the prior written permission of the author.