On a normal day, my mind is slower than most; on a day when I’ve been battling the flu, it’s slower than an insurance company filing a death claim. Despite my molasses mind, I want to weigh in a little deeper on this situation where the two funeral workers were fired for stopping at a Dunkin Donuts (picture below)
I’ve already given my commentary on why I think their actions were a mistake (readHEREfor the story and my commentary); but, I’m also dismayed at how flippantly people revel in the firing of these two funeral workers.
To give more context and bring this closer to home, here’s a response from one of the men who was fired and then I’ll provide some more commentary:
When it comes to photos, such as the one above, the internet loves to create a fury with words such as “disrespect” and “dishonor” and “unprofessional.”
The internet doesn’t look for facts, it looks to be judge and jury.
It doesn’t look for context, it looks for strawmen that it can self-righteously and self satisfyingly destroy.
And it doesn’t have patience, it has projected anger and disapproval that come down like hammer.
After all, don’t we all find it somewhat satisfying to think we can affect the real world behind the comfort and safety of a computer screen?
When I’m writing a self-righteous remark on the internet (like I am now?), I don’t have to confront that person to their face. I just type and click. The accountability of community and proximity is destroyed on the world wide web so that some random guy walking out of Dunkin Donuts can snap a photo with his cell phone and someone from the other side of the county can weight in without any fear of personal discomfort, costing these two men their jobs.
And honestly, I think when something like this hits the internet, it’s always dangerous to base a “firing” entirely on the reaction by the world wide web. The internet likes to enforce pressure, but its really bad at giving perspective.
The internet also forgets very quickly. In some sense, it’s like the toddler who fusses for a toy only to forget why it was fussing a few minutes later. How quickly we forget about “The Dress” or “Alex from Target”. And how quickly our righteous indignation about respect and honor and professionalism move from one topic to the next in short order. Yesterday, funeral directors and veterans were in an uproar about said photo, tomorrow it will be something else.
Reactions from the internet are rarely long-time, while lives and jobs are. Again, it’s dangerous to use the reactions of the internet as a basis of something that has so much import.
And while there may be other reasons for the firing of these two funeral workers, if the above picture is the ONLY reason, perhaps patience and perspective would have been a better approach.
Countless memorable events had taken place during my months at “funeral director college”, but the one that had the most impact on who I will be in my new profession began inauspiciously with a large cardboard box at the front of the classroom.
Accompanying the box was a lovely older gentleman in a three piece suit wearing a bow tie. (For my television watching friends, he had a remarkable resemblance to Mr. Burns on The Simpsons.) He quietly began to tell us the story of a man whom he identified only as DP.
Several years earlier, a body had been found in an out-of-use garage. It had been there for well over a year. The woman who owned the garage said that there was a man who sometimes slept in the garage during cold times, but he would often be gone for months at a time so she wasn’t too worried not to have seen him. She did not know the man’s name.
A funeral home in the area took possession of the remains. Law enforcement then started on the time consuming and painstaking efforts to properly identify the man. The remains (respectfully packed and shipped in the same way as a funeral home would ship the remains of any family’s loved one) made at least two cross country flights to different labs and DP was finally “circumstantially” identified.
There were no surviving family members, so one of the funeral directors (our dapper, bow-tie wearing friend) decided that the remains, now just bones these many years later, should still be given a proper burial. DP was found to be African American and the African American community as a whole tends to prefer burial over cremation, which is why he chose against the easier option of having the bones sent to a crematory.
Now it would have been perfectly acceptable for this funeral director to just bury the box in which the bones arrived. There was no family. No friends to care, and certainly no one to foot the bill. He could have just dumped the box with DP’s skeletal remains into a casket, sealed it up and called it an act of public service.
But what he did next is the life-changing part. He brought the box of bones and a casket to the students of mortuary science at Milwaukee Area Technical College. We split up into groups and each took a lovingly packed set of bones. (They were packed in groups; ribs with ribs, legs, spine, hands all in separate packages, but each limb carefully preserved down to the smallest bones at the ends of the fingers.) We spread them out with gloved hands on laboratory height tables that had been draped with sheeting so no small pieces would be left behind.
The casket was open at the front of the room and as we put the puzzle pieces together, we gently transferred them to their place in the casket. Our new mentor told us that he wanted DP to look like the man that he was, and not just a pile of parts.
When we were finished, it looked like the skeletal remains of a human being lying in repose. DP was at peace.
It is difficult to keep the thought about each life being unique and precious fresh in your mind when the vagaries of life are pelting you day by day. It is even harder for those in the funeral service profession; because we see so much that we sometimes become jaded. The experience of putting Mr. DP back together also made us more “whole” as future funeral directors.
Our Mr. Burns-ian friend thanked us for our help, but it was our group of smart-alecky mortuary students who owed him a debt of gratitude. He let us know that it matters who you are when no one is watching you (or paying you for that matter). And he let us in on the best advice we would ever receive as funeral directors: Do the right thing. Every life is a gift.
Patti Fitchett is currently completing her Funeral Service degree and works for Casey Family Options Funerals and Cremations in Kenosha Wisconsin. She writes a monthly column for the Kenosha News titled “Matters of Life & Death”.
Here’s the story from Nashville News and then I’ll provide some commentary:
NEW PORT RICHEY, Fla. (WFLA) – Rob Carpenter did a double-take on his way into his New Port Richey Dunkin’ Donuts. But there it was, straddling two parking spots: a hearse, with the front window down, back curtains drawn and a flag-draped coffin on display.
He took video, snapped a photo and then confronted the funeral home workers when they returned, coffee and a bag of doughnuts in hand.
Carpenter, whose own father served this country in the military, described his confrontation with the driver.
Ltc. Jesse Coleman, who died at age 84
“I’m like, ‘Is this really a body in here?’ and he says, ‘Yes,’ and I said, ‘So you have a dead soldier in the back of your hearse and you’re stopping to get coffee?’ And he didn’t say anything.”
Carpenter said the men didn’t seem at all remorseful. So, he sent his video and photo to the local group, Veteran’s Warriors.
“It was very upsetting and very disrespectful to this solider and their family,” Carpenter said.
Lauren Price, who is the head of Veteran Warriors, posted the photo on Facebook and it went viral.
I’ve hearse bombed more than a couple times in my life. I’ve driven our removal van through Dunkin Donuts, through McDonalds (eating there is a crime in itself) and I’ve parked the hearse outside a restaurant on a number of long trips (2+ hours) I’ve taken to various cemeteries.
Rarely have I driven the hearse / removal van through an eatery when it has been loaded with a deceased body. But, I’m sure — although my memory can’t recall anything specific — that I’ve needed to stop for a pee once or twice when I’ve had a body in the back of my vehicle.
Stuff happens.
From my perspective, the mistake here is twofold: 1.) the casket is viewable to the public and 2.) the deceased is a Veteran. Veterans belong to a group of men and women who thrive on honor, integrity and sacrifice. Just as funeral directors adapt our services to the rituals and values of Catholics, or Jews, or Muslims, so we should adapt ourselves when we are serving a Veteran by making sure the commitments and sacrifices they gave for their country are recognized and appreciated. The rituals of service men and women are integrity, honor and sacrifice, and funeral directors need to understand and accommodate ourselves to those values, whether we ourselves have served or not. So if we park a hearse at a coffee shop and the Veteran is viewable to the public eye, we should realize that we — in effect — are doing a disservice to the culture and community of the armed forces.
I’ve always been told that it takes a lifetime to build a legacy and only takes a second to destroy it. Thanks to the viral nature of social media, for the two funeral directors involved, it only took a donut.
On October 27, 1997, Oregon became the first state in the US to legalize physician-assisted suicide. Since the law’s passing, more than 500 Oregonians have chosen to die with dignity.
The clip above is the opening footage of the documentaryHow to Die in Oregon. It shows Sagner, an elderly man who was suffering from an advanced stage of cancer, impatiently insisting that he be given a lethal dose of drugs.
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