Editorial
Front Page - Friday, February 26, 2010
Are We There Yet?
Last laughs
Jay Edwards
I was in the Spa City last Friday and Saturday with others on the Arkansas Newspaper Foundation Board. Part of our business was to extensively update the bylaws, and for this monumental task we were blessed to have Marie Bruno of the Arkansas Literary Council to consult and guide us with her non-profit expertise. Marie has taken non-profit to a new level and wouldn’t even accept a mileage reimbursement for her travels. Thanks Marie.
So there the nine of us sat in a suite on Lake Hamilton, eating homemade toffee and drinking various forms of caffeine, when Marie told us about the columbarium’s that are available at her church, St. Mark’s Episcopal in Little Rock. For those of you, like me, who didn’t know what a columbarium is, here is the Wikipedia definition - “A place for the respectful and usually public storage of cinerary urns (i.e., urns holding a deceased’s cremated remains).”
Throughout the afternoon, Marie kept referring back to the term as she deftly guided us through the riveting world of tax-exempt entities.
A few more hours passed and she again mentioned columbariums. Louie Graves of The Nashville Leader could take it no longer and asked, “Marie, how do you spell columbarium?”
After she told him, Louie said, “Ohhh, I thought that this whole time you were saying, ‘Call and bury em.’”
Marie was never quite the same the rest of the day.
So the tone was set, and our Executive Director Karen Brown, not to be outdone, shared a story about a Cajun friend of hers in south Louisiana, whose 95-year old aunt passed away. Two of the deceased’s grandsons, who were brothers, had both coveted an antique bedroom suite that had been in the family for generations, and had made the trip from Nova Scotia to Louisiana in the late 1700’s.
The old woman had been aware of each grandson’s strong desire for the furniture and in her wisdom put in her will that each would receive pieces of it. But that hadn’t been good enough and each brother showed up at the funeral jealous of what the other had. As the family members paid their last respects while standing around the matriarch’s coffin (probably on her way to a columbarium), the brothers began arguing with each other. It got louder and louder until their mother could take it no more at last said, “Don’t make me come over this casket to straighten you two knuckleheads out.”
So when your irritated at someone you say, “Don’t make me come over there.” But when your really mad you say, “Don’t make me come over this casket!”
It reminded me of that radio prankster who on Monday morning called the Mississippi funeral home to get a price for burying his wife, who he said had passed away Saturday night. He said he needed to get the price of a “fine funeral” for her. He also said that he was keeping her in the freezer in his basement until arrangements could be made.
The funeral home director told the man that wouldn’t do at all and he would need to immediately call the coroner to come out and pronounce her dead.
“Oh she’s dead all right, she’s been in the freezer since Saturday,” the husband said.
“But she has to be pronounced dead by a legal authority. You have got to take care of this right away because you’re in violation of the law you see.”
“Well could you bury her for me?” The husband asked.
“We could,” said the funeral director, but you’ve still got to get the coroner to come out first. Then call us back and we’ll send someone out to pick her up.”
“Oh I reckon I could just bring her to you.”
“No, you better let us come and pick her up.”
“Well how much do you charge for the funeral?” the husband wanted to know.”
“Well we could do it for about $3500.00.
“Oh my, I don’t have that kind of money. No sir, no sir I sure don’t.
“Well I’m sorry,” said the director, “but that’s how much it would be.”
“How about if I just bury her myself in the back yard?”
“Oh no, you can’t do that.”
“Can’t huh, why not?”
“Well that’s against the law.”
“But she’s my wife and it’s my yard.”
“No you can’t do that. That wouldn’t work at all.”
“It wouldn’t?”
“No it wouldn’t.”
The bereaved husband thought a bit then said he couldn’t understand that because he had once buried the family’s pet hog back in the back yard and no one had a problem with that.
To which the funeral director replied, “But you must know that a hog is different.”
“It is?”
“Oh yes. A hog, you understand, a hog is not an individual.”
(Unless, of course, you’re from Arkansas)
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