by Joe Pulizzi
“Times are tough. We’ve cut some corners here and there. I’m sure you’ve noticed the wear and tear at home base. It sorely needs a makeover. But business has been trailing off for the past few years.” He reached inside of his pocket, pulled out a pack of gum, and popped a piece out of the container and into his mouth. He pointed the gum at me. “This here’s nicotine gum of some sort. Wife says I need to kick smoking altogether. It was my favorite thing in the world to do. It hasn’t been easy. So she makes me chew this god-awful gum. I’d be smoking right now, but that woman is a bloodhound. She can smell smoke on me from a mile away.”
“Anyway,” snorted Jack. “Sorry again about your Pop. He was a son of a bitch but a great man. This here city’d be a shithole if it wasn’t for all the good works he’d done around town. I’m real broken up about it.”
“Thanks,” I said. “You know, about the funeral home, Dan mentioned yesterday that you want to buy the place. No offense, but with business being the way it is, I thought you’d be more interested in retirement than becoming an entrepreneur.”
“Good point. Two things. First, I think I can fix her up. A little. Maybe cater to a certain kind of folk. Traynor can’t be the only game in town, can it? And between us boys, I’ve put away some money. Hell, I can’t use it when I’m dead, and my kids sure don’t need it. That’s a blessing.” He snorted again.
“What’s the second thing?”
“Retirement. Funny word that: retirement. I’ve been doing some research on it, and I do believe if I retire, I’m going to have to spend more time with my godforsaken wife. And between us little chickadees, I’d rather put a bullet between my eyes.”
“I see your point,” I said, pausing. “I found out yesterday that Dad left me the place in the will. Did you know that?”
“Of course I knew. Your Pop and me used to talk about it all the time. That’s as it should be. If you want it, go for it. But I figure if you’d like to stick with the advertising bit, I’d be here to pick up the pieces.”
Marketing, I thought, not advertising. But Jack didn’t need to know the difference.
Jack took a right, and we pulled in a turnaround drive in front of the overhang at Blessings. He exited the hearse, and I followed.
Just before we entered the building, Jack turned to me. “Will, you know this, but normally when we retrieve a body, we wear suits. It’s just part of our professionalism. I know you packed light to get here so quickly, so I’ll let it slide this time. But tuck in your shirt, will you?” He smirked.
“Roger, boss,” I said, quickly stuffing my shirt down into my pants.
I followed Jack through the automatic sliding doors as he headed straight for the reception desk. “Hello, ma’am. My name is Jack Miller from Pollitt Funeral Home. We received a message that you called about a Mr. Davies passing. We’re here to retrieve the body as instructed by the family.”
The woman looked at Jack, then glanced over his shoulder at me. She took her glasses from the rope hanging around her neck and placed them on the tip of her nose. “Yes, indeed. Thanks for coming,” she said as she reviewed her notes. “Mr. Davies is in room one-two-six. That’s just down the hall. Make a right and a left, and you’ll see it. As per our regulations, we can’t move a resident once they’ve passed on, so do the best that you can.”
Jack and I glanced at each other. “Okay,” Jack said. “We’ll retrieve the stretcher and take care of it. Much obliged, ma’am.” Jack tipped his head at the receptionist, and we headed back to the hearse.
As we wheeled the stretcher down the hall, Jack asked, “When was the last time you picked up a body, son?”
“Must have been the last year I worked at the funeral home. The summer before I graduated college. That was in ’96,” I said. The same year I met Sam, I thought to myself.
We left the stretcher in the hall and as we entered the room, Jack said, “Single room. Good. I hate wheeling out a body in front of a roommate.”
The room smelled of antiseptic. Tan and white everywhere except for the sixty-inch television in front of the bed, which wasn’t made. There was also no body. Jack walked to the back of the room, toward a small closet. He looked at me and said, “Bathroom. Never a good thing.”
He opened the door and stepped aside, giving me a view inside. Mr. Davies, apparently, had passed away while going to the bathroom. He was a large man, easily 250 or 275 pounds. His dark-skinned arms were dangling to either side of him with his right hand touching the floor. His chest was pressed tight against his knees. His head, reddish and purple, was nearly kissing the underside of the toilet.
“Smell that?” Jack asked. “I’m assuming no one did a courtesy flush.” He turned toward me. “Okay, Will, go fetch the stretcher, bring it over here to the door, and put it on the lowest setting to the ground. There’s no way we can fit that stretcher in the bathroom, so we’ll have to carry him out first.”
“Can I ask you something first, Jack?” I asked.
He nodded.
“How were you going to do this by yourself?”
“Kid, you don’t want to know. Now let’s do this.”
I brought over the stretcher as instructed. Then Jack went in beside the toilet and grabbed Mr. Davies under the armpits. “Okay, I’m going to lift up his torso and then balance him on his feet. When I do that, you take his underwear around his ankles and pull it up. I’m 99 percent sure Mr. Davies wasn’t finished, but just get the underwear on him, and we’ll clean him up back at the home.”
I was doing everything I could not to lose my coffee from this morning. “Aren’t we going to put on some gloves before we do this?”
“Jesus Christ, Will, the man is dead. We aren’t going to infect him with anything,” snapped Jack. I was thinking the other way around, but I didn’t dare say another word.
“Okay, I’ll lift him up on three, you get the underwear on, then grab his ankles. I’ll take top and you take bottom, and we’ll carry him out.” He looked at me intently. “Hey, if you’re going to puke, make sure you don’t get it on my shoes. The wife just bought these for me. All right ... one ... two ... three.”
Jack yanked him up and moved to get his weight underneath the body. Mr. Davies, his head dangling like a piñata, dropped about a liter of saliva out of his mouth and onto his chest. I bent to pick up the underwear, trying to look with only my left eye.
“Oh, God,” I said in an octave too low.
“Don’t lose your shit on me, boy,” Jack said. “We’re professionals here.”
I quickly pulled the underwear over Mr. Davies’s privates and gave extra room in the back to encapsulate whatever remained from his nether regions.
“That’s good enough,” Jack said. “I’ve got him balanced, now grab his ankles, not the feet, and let’s carry him out.”
I seized Mr. Davies by the ankles, and Jack had him under his armpits.
We moved the body enough to get away from the toilet. “Stop right there,” Jack said and he set Mr. Davies’s backside on the white bathroom tile. “This guy has to be topping three hundred pounds.” Jack was breathing heavily. “Give me one second.” I just stood there, looking at a three-hundred-pound human boomerang.
“Okay,” Jack said. “I’m ready ... and now.” I lifted the feet and Jack moaned, pushing the body at me with excessive force until we had Mr. Davies next to the stretcher. Luckily, we already had it set to its lowest setting to the floor, so we only had to lift him up about three feet. Without saying another word, Jack swung Mr. Davies’s head and shoulders onto the stretcher. It caught me by surprise, and only half his backside made it. After securing the chest with the stretcher belt, Jack scooted over to my side and pulled up the rest of Mr. Davies, securing the second belt.
At that, we both sat on Mr. Davies’s bed, dotted with sweat and breathing hard.
“Goddamn,” Jack said. “How the hell does a decent person let themselves go like that?”
“Judging by the walker and the wheelchair in the cor
ner, I’m assuming Mr. Davies wasn’t much for exercise anymore.”
Jack put his hand on my shoulder, which sort of grossed me out, and said, “You done good, Will. See all the fun you been missing in your fancy Cleveland office.”
“Yeah, this will go down as a career highlight for sure.”
At that, we wheeled Mr. Davies out of the room and down the hall. Jack gave the receptionist a half-hearted salute as we passed, and we rolled the body out the sliding doors.
Chapter 6 – Running the Numbers
By the time we delivered Mr. Davies to the embalming room at Pollitt Funeral Home, it was already pushing eight thirty. After scrubbing my hands raw for twenty minutes under scalding water, I grabbed the van and headed to Uncle Dan’s office.
While the funeral home was located on the east side of town, the office of McGinty & Associates was in the heart of the now vibrant downtown Sandusky area. In the early 1900s, Sandusky housed two of the largest paper mills in North America. When those companies went bankrupt after World War II, the downtown area fell into ruin. About twenty years ago, a number of concerned citizens, including my father and Uncle Dan, worked together to build what was now a center for shopping, office complexes, and parks, on the waterfront.
As I approached Uncle Dan’s office, I was amazed at both the building and the view, almost like he had the pick of the litter as to where to set up shop. I parked in the back and walked up the stairs to the front doors. As I turned around, I had a breathtaking view of bluish-green water and, to the east, the roller coasters at Cedar Point.
I walked in and recognized the receptionist right away.
“Mrs. Kromer? Do you remember me?”
“Why, William, how could I forget? You went the entire sixth-grade year without doing one spelling assignment I gave you for homework, then argued at the end of the year why you deserved a passing grade.”
“Well, I remember ditching the spelling, but I don’t remember what my argument was. I take it you do?”
Mrs. Kromer scratched her head. “If my thinking is correct, dear—and God knows if it is since I’m almost eighty years old now—that was the year your grandmother died. God bless her soul. It happened at the beginning of the school year. I believe you said that you spent that school year in mourning for your grandmother and dedicated your spelling homework time to praying for her in Heaven.”
“And you were nice enough to give me a B in that class even though you knew I was full of it?”
“William, you had such a wonderful imagination. I had a grand old time telling all my friends about your shenanigans. Heck, honey, you were so cute about it I almost gave you an A.”
“You were way too nice to me, Mrs. Kromer.”
“Honey, please call me Alice. You must be in your forties; we can talk like adults now.”
“Well then, thank you, Alice. I’m here to see Dan. I have a nine a.m. appointment with him.”
“I’ll let him know you’re here. Oh, and I’m so sorry to hear about your father. What he did for this community. A true hero.”
“Thanks,” I said and went over to a small waiting area with magazines and newspapers scattered about the tables. I grabbed a seat and picked up the magazine on top, Erie County Business. Uncle Dan was on the cover.
After a few minutes, Alice said he was ready and directed me down the hall.
Uncle Dan’s office was an odd mix of small-town hospitality and state-of-the-art technology. You could clearly see the tech—the flat screens, a small data center, new computers on every desk, Bluetooth headsets for the employees—but it all came across as folksy. Maybe it was the wood separating the offices and cubicles instead of the normal fare like what you’d find in The Office.
Dan’s office was the largest, a view of both the waterfront and half the downtown area. Probably the best view in downtown Sandusky.
As I walked in, Dan opened his top drawer and pulled out two documents, which looked like formal reports. “How you holding up?”
“As well as can be expected. I’m more worried about Denise. She’s taking it pretty hard,” I said, taking a seat.
“And Sam?”
“I’m sure you can figure it out. The same day she lost her mentor and father figure, she had to interact with me. Yesterday was probably her worst day ever. But Jess is coming in today, and that will help.”
“I’m looking forward to seeing her, considering the circumstances,” Dan said clearing his throat. “All right, son, well let’s get down to it then. Lots for you to review and think about.” He handed me one of the reports from across his desk. “I know you’ve always been a whiz with numbers, I’m sure much better than I, so let’s just go through the summary report on page three. Then you can take a deep dive later and let me know if you have any questions. Sound good?”
Alice brought in coffees and set them on Dan’s desk. “Will, as you can see this is a five-year performance report. Over that time, revenue has been cut in half, and where there was a nice profit, Abe was showing break-even for the past couple years. But between you, me, and the fence post, he was losing money. I believe he was subsidizing the funeral home with his own funds. Actually, I know he was. A few more months and he would have had to sell the antique hearses, or maybe even the house.
“On page four, you can see the breakdowns by product area. While all the lines are down, it’s embalming that’s the issue. People getting embalmed were the lifeblood of your father’s business. Cremations are up a bit, which is great, but the yield on a cremation is less than a thousand. No embalming, no casket, and generally smaller services and rental fees.
“Okay, let’s stop there for a second,” Dan said. “Questions?”
I looked down at the report, the numbers flying around in my head, trying to make sense of Dad’s business. “Well, from what I can see, the business model might be beyond repair. Even if you doubled or tripled the amount of cremations, the numbers still may not work out. I’ll have to do more research, but I’m ninety-nine percent sure that embalmings are not going to make a comeback any time soon.”
“I think that’s a valid assertion,” Dan said.
Dan and I talked for another twenty minutes, half about the business and half about my current business.
“Son,” said Uncle Dan, “you could own this from afar and let Jack run it, of course, but I think your father wanted you to either own and run the business or just get the hell out altogether, so I think those are your two choices. The valuation model is included in the back of this report, which includes how the sale would work with Jack, if you decided to do that. Anyway, I’ve talked enough. Anything else I can answer for you?”
“No, Uncle Dan, this is more than I could ask for,” I said. “I just need to review and sit with this for a while. How long do I have to make a decision?”
“There’s no real time limit. The funeral home sits in a trust, and you’re set as the beneficiary. This all means that you’ll get no red tape from probate upon examination of the will. That said, considering Jack and the other employees, I’d make a decision in the next few days if possible.”
As I turned to leave, I remembered the one thing I was supposed to ask him. “I almost forgot. I found a piece of paper at Dad’s house with ‘life insurance’ written on it. Do you know anything about that?”
He paused for a second, looking like he misplaced something. “I’m sorry, son. You’ll see in the documents I gave you. Your father cashed his life insurance out about a year ago to help pay down some debt. There’s nothing left. Maybe the note was about something else.”
Pay down debt, huh? Like father, like son.
Back in the car, I spent twenty minutes going through the financial report from Uncle Dan, making a few notes and calling out some odd numbers. Then I called Denise. We decided to have the visitation on Friday from three p.m. to nine p.m., and the funeral on Saturday morning. This would probably be the biggest funeral procession Pollitt had handled in years, so the team needed some time
to prepare.
I rang Robby and asked him if he had time for a quick lunch. We decided to meet in an hour at an Applebee’s in Elyria, halfway between the two of us. If the timing was right, I’d be back at the funeral home by the time Jess arrived. I also asked Robby to grab a few more clothes from my place, including at least two more of my suits.
Then I called Sam. Surprisingly, she picked up.
“I take it you’re done with Dad?” I asked.
“Yes. You said you wanted to see him before hair and makeup?
“No, go ahead and finish him off. I need to head to Elyria to meet with Robby for an hour before Jess gets in.”
“Okay, anything else?”
“Is everything okay? I mean, besides the obvious.” She sounded mad. I thought I knew why.
“Were you planning on telling me you’re taking over the funeral home?”
“I just found out yesterday, Sam. And I haven’t decided anything. Uncle Dan gave me all the numbers to review to see if I want to keep it or sell it to Jack.”
The line went silent.
“Still there?” I asked.
“I’ve got to go,” she said.
“Wait. Any ruling on COD for Dad?”
“Nothing yet. I need to call Uncle Dan’s nephew and check. Bye, Will.” The line went dead. I didn’t think our relationship could actually get worse, but I was wrong. She seemed to hate me now more than ever.
I pulled off Route 2, passed the mall on Route 57, and found the Applebee’s on the other side. Robby’s Ford was already there waiting for me.
He was sitting at a booth near the window. As I approached, he stood and we did our normal bro hug, but he held it a little longer than usual.
“How you holding up, man?” he asked.
“I’m okay,” I said. “Everything seems strange. Seeing my father dead. Seeing Sam twice in one day, knowing that she hates me. What’s not to like?”
“How’d she look?”
“Sam? You know what she looks like.”
“C’mon, man. Is she letting herself go, or does she look as cute as ever?”