Reflecting back to the very beginning..... Chicago....1978. I was not born and raised in "the business." My dad was not an Undertaker and neither was my Grand Pappy. Dad was a dentist and a very great one at that.
"Pappy" was a retired Chicago cop. He was in great shape, handsome, and took care of a the roughest police district in the world named "Bloody Maxwell" . It was a melting pot of many people on the near west side. Grand Pappy and Dad were instrumental in helping me by teaching me how to run a business, so they are aforementioned.
I am often asked how, exactly, did I even think to become a
mortician? Where do I start? Should I start with my successes, or perhaps my failures? Or for the other darkest sides of this business that put me to my knees or made me shed tears for tragic losses of life....or having to hide laughter from things that were just too funny and had to immediately exit. I often find myself explaining about embalming and debunking myths pertaining to the dead....there are
many tales to tell. I will write about these subjects in future writings.
I guess I will start at the beginning......
I just finished the university as a language major, specializing in the German language with four year degree. I was 22 years old and I STILL did not know what the heck to do for a living. I was in shock that I actually did this.... getting a degree in GERMAN!!! What the heck was I even thinking? I got this degree and had no valid idea what I was going to do with it! I never told my Dad that "Deutsch Sprechen" was not exactly my gig.
I was never really guided in the right direction of selecting a worthwhile occupation at the time. He didn't care that much, but I could never admit it to him.... he knew though that it was partially wasted, but I would be onto something bigger eventually. He would sarcastically speak German to me all the time, even in public and laugh out loud right at me. He sounded like a staunch old German man, but thought he was the funniest thing, as he sounded almost Schultz-like (Hogans Heros). He did not know German, but made a point to buy Berlitz tape courses just to constantly mess with me. On the other hand, I did have many bio sciences on my transcripts which really did become my passion as time unfolded.
SO, as the story goes.... one night I met these people in a bar..... and they were telling me about where they worked. A funeral home!!! I felt exhilarated! I knew I would love knowing about this!!! We did some disco line dancing and talked more and drank even more, for it was the 70's. I was a little tipsy but I was maintaining normalcy. I was highly inquisitive about the whole topic. The funeral home was in walking distance of the bar....hmmmmm. A tour was in order, and I schemed to get what I wanted.
My posse of girlfriends, my cousin, and I went to funeral home with a young man who claimed to be the manager of it. We were all being pretty bad with our loud and careless behavior. We were making jokes about the Stiffs and the Zombies from The Night of the Living Dead. Svengoolie was even mentioned. It was nearly midnight and I was thinking to myself that this situation had great potential in making a fun time even better. He offered a tour and most of us accepted, with the exception of my cousin. I forced her to go because she was crashing at my place for the night anyways. She begrudgingly went. Besides, the walk would sober us up a bit.
We walked over and began touring the funeral home. We entered with a bit of hesitation at first glance, as reality hit us in the face upon our entrance into the dimly lit foyer. We saw names of deceased on the wooden boards with white letters. I knew these were not just dead bodies, but people who once loved and were loved , and who also felt hardship and illness. It all began to fall in place. It was a bit chilling though.
The next room we entered was the parlor. We were looking at all the dead bodies in the caskets. They were already lying in state and presented well with care of the embalmer. They were waiting to be viewed the following day. Their faces had a peaceful look and seemed to have a hint of a smile. One of the caskets were closed and I asked our new friend about this. He told me there had been a terrible fatal accident and that kid had sustained major facial trauma. It was a 17 year old boy. I felt so bad, as he was even younger than I was.
We carried around our glasses filled with our new friend's private stash of straight bourbon that he insisted on pouring for us. So much for sobering up. Anyway, there was so much to see and this was really getting to be interesting and fun for me! We went into the morgue where all the preparations were done on the dead and saw even more bodies on the white porcelain tables, covered with white sheets. We saw embalming machines, and various tools, and chemicals they used to preserve the remains. There was just too much to absorb.
Next, of course, we went into the casket showroom. I never saw such a selection of coffins and caskets before and I wanted to see what it felt like to be dead. I layed in a pink steel casket with pretty pink velvet embroidered lining. I kept thinking that if the lid slammed down, they would surely forget about me and leave. Another one of my friends picked her favorite and got in. What a hoot!
Then we went into the chapel where the services were held. He switched on the sound system to play the funeral music, and after that the Rolling Stone were playing. Then the party was beginning to end for me. The parlor was not too comforting and I had a few too many bourbons.
No one was fit to drive. I told my friends it was time to leave and we had to take the CTA home. I puked later. And that was my
Epiphany, to become a mortician. That really was a tale from the mortuary.
So I signed up for school to become a mortician and started
in winter. The school was ironically across from the American
Medical Association, there were always plenty of jokes regarding this. People said we would get to embalm the Doctor's mistakes. That was where we did classroom studies.
Then.... the actual embalming class was held at the old Cook County Morgue. That part is when it all came to life. At least it did for me.
The later years of my life brought me to the in between, to save lives and I became a paramedic. I observed many occasions of people crossing over to death from life perhaps in a mere second of time.
Some parts of both my careers have many sad and very touching events. Parts also have happy, or very maddening parts dotted with pure insanity. To expound even further....hours of boredom interrupted by sheer scathing terror. I really never wanted a 9 to 5 office job, anyways.
When your toast comes out of the toaster in the morning like this, you know it is gonna be a really bad day.
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