in action, or died in a VA medical facility. Many benefits are still available to veterans—free grave spaces in a national cemetery (many local cemeteries also offer free graves to veterans), government-provided grave markers, and U.S. flags. The VA obviously pays the funeral expenses of those killed in action. There are a surprising number of families who have been misinformed somehow that the VA pays the funeral expenses of any deceased veteran. I suppose that when informed that the VA provides a lump-sum death benefit in some cases, some folks assume that means the entire funeral bill is going to be paid.
The state of Ohio ceased its welfare burial award program several years ago. The state used to pay a funeral home $750 to provide a “decent” burial for those who were Medicaid-eligible or for those drawing Supplemental Security Income. At my former place of employment long ago, we conducted several welfare funerals each year, and we saw certain families a number of times.
I was called to the residence of one of our frequent recipient families to remove the body of their late mother. The house was full of children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren, along with the family pastor. I was asked to sit down and discuss funeral arrangements. On my way into the dining room, I squeezed past a huge projection-screen television. This was in 1987, when the technology involved a large screen attached to a massive cabinet, housing a twenty-inch inverted television and four colored tubes that projected the image onto the enormous screen!
Something else that never ceases to amaze me are the numerous flower baskets that arrive at welfare-case funerals. One might think that senders realize the family is in dire financial straits and would offer money to defray expenses. But we humans are a strange bunch. We love to see things with our names on them. At all funerals, even when an obituary suggests making contributions to some worthy organization in lieu of flowers, most folks do both to make certain that something at the funeral heralds the sender’s identity.
My former place of employment used to handle twenty to twenty-five indigent cases each year, which prompted my boss to begin cutting some corners. He decided to use heavy cardboard caskets, normally used for cremation, which featured decorative swirl designs in gray or blue. Lids were attached by large staples, which also served as crude hinges for opening and closing.
Indigent funerals were almost always conducted at the graveside, and we normally opened the casket at the cemetery for the family to view the deceased before the service began. On two separate occasions, I was about to open one of the indigent “specials,” only to have a gust of wind blow the lid right out of my hands. I watched in horror as it bounded across the grass and slammed against the monuments, leaving the gathered mourners speechless. Cemetery personnel and I quickly chased down the wayward lid. Once it was retrieved, I sheepishly replaced it and hoped it would stay secured.
Three Mexican cousins were killed in an auto accident a few years ago, and the family wanted the teenagers sent back home for burial. All three had worked for a landscaping company and were illegal aliens with no green cards and no Social Security numbers. Ohio death certificates, which had to be translated into Spanish for international shipment of human remains, contained spaces that required those numbers. I am certain that the family member who arranged for the funerals gave me fictitious ones, but I had no proof. A translator helped explain to them the requirements and costs involved in international shipment, including airfare for all three and fees incurred by the receiving Mexican funeral director.
The cost for each teenager was $7,000, for a total of $21,000. Since I was concerned about ever seeing the family again, I insisted on immediate payment before any shipment could be made. The following day, one boy’s parents brought in a Converse All-Star sneaker box full of hundreds, fifties, twenties, tens, fives, and even ones to cover the entire cost—the result of multiple contributions.
When families reveal to me that they have no money and no insurance, I don’t turn them away. Many funeral homes, however, particularly conglomerates, do just that—they simply send them elsewhere. I happen to believe that some relative or friend will eventually come through with funds. So I cut to the chase and simply ask how much they can pay on the spot and then offer whatever service or merchandise will fill their need. Sometimes we eliminate the evening visitation and have a graveside-only service, or sometimes cremation is the answer. Barter is a final option.
Back in the 1970s, my wife worked for a dentist who commonly bartered his services in exchange for the services of other like-thinking businesspeople. She once told me about how the dentist had bartered the restoration of an antique car, and the owner of the restoration shop had been in the dentist’s office undergoing some quite extensive dental work. One particular day, the dentist instructed my wife to prepare a cubicle for the application of several dental crowns. The shop owner had just finished applying a very expensive paint job to the dentist’s classic car and it was payback time! I had never considered bartering with anyone for funeral goods and services until three brothers came to the funeral home a few years ago to arrange for their mother’s funeral. The brothers explained that their mother had no life insurance and that all three siblings were in dire financial straits.
After making all the necessary arrangements and arriving at a discounted price, the three brothers asked to be left alone to discuss their options. When they asked me to come back into the arrangement office, they presented a rather unorthodox proposal—they asked whether I would accept a 1996 Ford F-150 pickup truck and a 1997 Ford conversion van in exchange for the selected funeral goods and services.
Since it was obvious that the three gentlemen could not pay for their mother’s funeral expenses, I conditionally agreed, so long as the two vehicles were delivered to me for inspection. Later that day, they pulled both vehicles into my parking lot, and I must say, I was impressed. Both had been cleaned and detailed to the point of being twenty-footers: they were sharp as a tack from twenty feet away. On closer inspection, both sported faded paint and extremely high mileage. My son and I drove them across the street to a Ford dealership and requested an estimate of value for each. The sales manager gave us the estimate, which was lower than I had expected, but I agreed to carry out the transaction with the three brothers. I parked both vehicles in my parking lot, affixed a for-sale sign on each, and hoped for the best. Fortunately, both vehicles sold in less than a week, so everyone was satisfied.
Another time, an elderly lady and I had just completed the funeral arrangements for her late husband. She produced her checkbook and told me she did not have the total amount necessary to pay the funeral bill in full. I offered to show her a less expensive casket and a less costly burial vault to offset the price difference, but she stated that she really wanted the originally selected casket and vault. She invited me to come to her home that evening so she could show me her late husband’s pickup truck that she had no desire to drive. She asked me to take the truck for the difference in her balance due. I agreed and a gentleman purchased that truck the night of the elderly man’s visitation.
Still another time, a middle-aged man sat down with me to discuss arrangements for his recently deceased roommate. He explained that his roommate had allowed life insurance benefits to lapse and that he himself was in no financial position to be able to pay a funeral bill. He further explained that his roommate had recently purchased and accepted delivery of a power wheelchair. He said that the chair had never been used and was sitting on their living room floor still encased in shrink-wrap. The gentleman asked whether I would be willing to accept the chair as payment for his roommate’s funeral expenses. Of course I wanted to inspect the item before closing such a deal, so I arranged for my son to go to the gentleman’s home to retrieve the power chair. Lo and behold, this motorized wheelchair was absolutely, stunningly beautiful. It was brand new and the seat reminded me of a supple leather bucket seat in a brand new Cadillac. The bright red fiberglass body was gleaming as we plugged the power cord into the wall outlet to begin charging the battery. This power chair was the same one that was being constantly advertised on television. I printed out the product information from a website and was surprised to learn that the retail price was more than $6,000. I called my customer back and informed him that I would be glad to barter with him. In the meantime, my wife was very skeptical about the transaction, and she was rightly concerned about just who would purchase this item from me. I told her not to worry—I would call my many retirement home contacts and request that they put up an announcement about the chair on the home’s bulletin board. But I should have listened to the whole commercial I had heard so many times. Because Medicare often pays for power chairs, why would anyone pay me the retail price? After three or four weeks of observing my son drive the chair down the funeral home halls once a day, I gave it to an elderly man from my church who really needed it.
Another time, after a man’s funeral I was escorting the new widow back to her car for her trip home from the cemetery. She sat down in the car and motioned for me to come closer. She whispered in my ear, “Meet me
