Suicides present their own unique restorative challenges. My first experience came as a wide-eyed fifteen- year-old. My brother and I were dispatched to a residence to remove the victim of a self-inflicted shotgun blast to the face. That was considered in its day a simple, open-and-shut case. The coroner had already come and gone and granted permission for the deceased to be removed. The man’s daughter greeted us at the front door and showed us into a small first-floor bathroom with just a commode, a sink, and a ceiling coated with fragments of human tissue.
The man had placed the shotgun in his mouth as he sat on the toilet seat. His head was nearly gone; the blast had blown away all structures from the upper lip and above. Brain and skull pieces with hair still attached adorned the ceiling and hung downward like stalactites. Only the lower jaw still rested on the decedent’s neck. I was so stunned that I barely remember the removal procedure. Did we carry in the litter or just roll up the cot to the bathroom door? Who knows?
The daughter followed us outside to the hearse and asked whether part of our job was to scrub down the bathroom. My brother said no. However, when the woman said she would pay someone “a handsome sum” to do so, I readily spoke up. But my brother nixed the deal, saying that if I did a poor job, her family might not ever call our establishment again. Just as well, since I don’t know how I would have tackled that mess—although my fifteen-year-old mind kept spinning endlessly in regard to what “a handsome sum” might be.
Some restorations require many hours of effort, but others are much simpler. Many embalmers routinely fill women’s brassieres with cotton for the appearance of full, lifelike breasts. But the proper quantity sometimes involves a bit of guesswork. One grieving husband confronted me upon first viewing his late wife in her casket, inquiring as to how I had magically increased her bust size. At first I was apprehensive, thinking he might be angry with me—but then he winked and told me his wife would be proud to be sporting such an exquisite pair.
CHAPTER SIX
If someone does not volunteer it to me immediately, I ask why he or she came to us for service. It’s been said that the best form of advertising is word of mouth, which I can attest is true. I have conducted a huge number of funeral services for families that have called on me because of a recommendation from another family that I served in the past. The old adage “funerals begat funerals” is another time-tested fact that is applicable to the business today. Many times over the years I have heard the comment, “Our family came to your funeral home because we were just here last month for John Doe’s funeral and everything was so nicely done.”
I use the tried-and-true advertising techniques, most important, billboards and television. A marketing specialist informed me several years ago that a funeral home such as my family operation would achieve great results with outdoor billboards with our family photo incorporated on each one. Educate the public that our family will personally care for their family in their time of need.
I have six billboards strategically placed in my service area so they are seen on the most heavily traveled roads. My wife insists that we change the text of the printed message and, of course, our outfits. Every six months we arrange for a family photo shoot for our new billboard picture. I know it works because people call to acknowledge that they have seen the new billboard. We caused a stir of congratulatory phone calls recently when my daughter-in-law and our first grandson were included in the latest billboard picture. All of us pictured, my wife, daughter, two sons, and daughter-in-law, received positive comments from our friends, and even strangers—“Hey, I saw you on a billboard the other day.” Folks stop me in banks, gas stations, restaurants, and other places in town to acknowledge seeing my image on the billboards. Billboards are golden for us, and they prove to me that newspaper and telephone book advertisements have a lesser impact.
My marketing specialist lady also enlightened me about television advertising. At first I was hesitant because of the tremendous cost, but as she emphasized, “It takes money to make money.” She suggested that I stand in front of the camera and personally deliver my commercial message as opposed to a voice-over with photos and facts flashing across the screen. She informed me that if I were to use merely a voice-over and no live-action speaking, then I might as well do a radio advertisement. I have done a few radio commercial spots over the years, but there is no doubt that television ads have a much better impact and response from potential customers. I can’t tell you how many folks called me or stopped me on the street to tell me how impressed they were with the television commercial. I even got a big head at a visitation one evening when I happened to overhear an older man whisper to his wife, “Look, there’s
I must admit that I am pleasantly surprised that even today, less costly advertising and promotional items have garnered calls for service for me. My sons and I go through two boxes of business cards each a year, handing them out during visitations and funerals, and especially out in public. Our family photo adorns each business card, a stellar idea that real estate agents made popular years ago. I was playing golf early one morning a few years ago and was approached by the course manager, who said I looked familiar to him. I introduced myself and handed him a couple of my business cards. He said he knew my oldest sister and then thanked me for the cards. He jokingly asked me whether I thought he looked like he needed a funeral director. Two months later, the same gentleman called on me to take care of his son, who had unexpectedly died, and when his wife passed away a year later, I handled her funeral arrangements as well.
A bereaved family came to the funeral home one evening and requested that we take care of their late mother. The son of the deceased produced one of my business cards and stated that a kindly minister had handed the card to him at the hospital’s intensive-care-unit waiting room just that afternoon. The son explained that his mother’s doctor was in the process of detailing to the family that all hope for his mother’s recovery was lost and that she would surely expire in the next few hours. As the family exploded in grief at the news, the son said that a minister who was tending to another family in the waiting area approached his family and began to pray with them. The son thanked the unknown clergyman for his act of unexpected kindness and compassion and stated that his family had no clue where to turn next. The minister reached for his wallet and presented the son with my business card and told him, “Go see Mr. Webster; he will be glad to assist you and I know him well.” The son could not recall the minister’s name, and I still to this day do not know who that particular pastor might have been.
Another surprisingly effective promotional item is the fancy ink pens that I present to folks in mass quantities. Again, on the advice of my marketing friend, I now purchase expensive ballpoint pens (with my name and phone number on them, of course) and offer them to people just as I would a business card. If people ask to borrow my pen, I hand it over and tell them to keep it. My pens are thick with a padded grip, trimmed in gold and cost more than $3 each. If you offer people a cheap pen, then they have a cheap pen; offer them a quality, expensive pen and they are impressed that it is theirs to keep and are not likely to forget who presented it to them. My sons and I have a pocketful of pens with us at all times and make sure we hand them out every day, if possible. When we go to remove a deceased loved one from a hospital, a nursing care facility, or even a private residence, anyone present or nearby receives an official Webster Funeral Home pen. The nurses and caregivers at the local hospice unit greet us when we arrive with a familiar refrain: “We need some more of your nice pens.”
A family called recently and requested that we come to the residence to remove their late mother. The caller on the line stated that he was calling our funeral home because his next-door neighbor always had one of my pens in his pocket and often told folks in the neighborhood that I had once given him a handful of pens one day.
Whenever I go to deliver a prearrangement presentation in a group setting, I always leave two pens at each attendee’s seat. Many times attendees approach me at the conclusion of the presentation to return the pens but are happy when they realize the pens are theirs to keep.
Speaking engagements are the ultimate seed planters. When I started in the funeral business many years ago, I worked for an employer who despised public speaking, and if a group requested a presentation from the funeral home, I was instructed to be the sacrificial lamb. My employer would tell me that such public presentations were a waste of time and that those in attendance consistently asked the most idiotic questions. I, however, welcomed the opportunity not only to gain some possible customers but also to educate a public yearning to know
