Fifty

 

“Tales From the Cemetery”

With “Cowboy” Matt Chasco

 

Fifty

 

            No. This isn’t another birthday essay.

           

            My job duty count keeps going up as I move through my 19^th year at the cemeteries. My joke is that the powers that be keep saying, “I know your plate’s pretty full… so we brought you a second plate!”

Some of those duties are certainly labors of love. We’re currently updating our records so they can be uploaded to a brand-new software program and it’s basically correcting errors made 20+ years ago that were ignored or, sadly enough, went unnoticed until I caught them. It’s… unpleasant, but very satisfying to know that it’s going to be fixed, correctly, for the first time in a long time, maybe ever.

            Other job duties are a somber reminder of our mission to the people of Milwaukee. Today was one of those days.

 

            Every six weeks, we perform a “Burial of The Pre-Born”. We coordinate with several local hospitals and Pinelawn Cemetery to give a burial to miscarried and stillborn babies, less than 20 weeks of gestation or and/or less than 12 ounces. The technical term for these babies is “Products of Conception”. We use the term “babies”, because that’s what they are. We travel to the hospitals to pick them up, deliver Pinelawn’s burials to them, then we take ours back to Holy Cross for a fully-fledged committal service, just as we’d do with anyone else. The babies are each placed in their own small container by the hospital staff, and those containers are then placed into a small concrete burial vault and buried in our infant section. We will know exactly where that baby is buried should a family wish to visit them.

            Today, we laid fifty children to rest. Fifty.

It’s heartbreaking. To see some of those parents dealing with the loss of a child, regardless of age, is devastating. For some, it’s their first time. For one family, this was their sixth miscarriage. Yes. Six.

 

In my years at Holy Cross, I started by making sure our service was on our daily schedule and the babies’ names were entered into our records. In time, it became my job to order the vault. Then, it was my responsibility to set the schedule for the entire year and become program coordinator. Today, I completed the circle by taking over the pickup duties.

 

I attended the service for the first time today and it was not an easy time. I witnessed a family as they sat there with their two very young children and were there to pray for their baby, a sibling their children will never know this side of heaven. I’m not ashamed to tell you I shed tears, as the entire situation hit me very deeply. I have family and friends that have dealt with this, and I cannot imagine the pain they went through and are still going through.

 

I am honored and humbled to help these families and take it very seriously that they have entrusted their little ones to us. These little souls will never know the warmth of the sun on their faces, the smell of rain, the beauty of snow. I take comfort in the fact that these families will see them again someday. I pray we can give these families a sense of closure and security that their baby is not only safe with us but is now safe in the loving arms of our savior.

 

I ask all of you, from the bottom of my heart, to pray for these families. Pray for healing, understanding, and hope in the resurrection.

 

Parents, give your kids an extra hug. Soak up every moment you have with them and be thankful we have those moments.

 

“Tales From the Cemetery”

With “Cowboy” Matt Chasco

 

The Godfather of the American League

 

            Soooooderblom…

            Soooooderblom…

            Soooooderblom…

            YOU SUCK!

            IT’S ALL YOUR FAULT! IT’S ALL YOUR FAULT! IT’S ALL YOUR FAULT!

            *Cowbells

            Hockey is fun. Period. That being said, I can’t tell you the pure joy we fans felt when we were a part of that chant against Arvid Soderblom, goalie of The Rockford Icehogs, the AHL affiliate of the Chicago Blackhawks. When our Milwaukee Admirals scored against him, it’s a time-honored tradition to chant the “tendy’s” name, and remind him how bad he is at his job.

            A chant is one thing, but what about a song? European sports fans are really good at this, but it’s nothing new.

            During the first World Series in 1903, the “Royal Rooters” were the travelling cheering section for the American League champion Boston Americans. Led by the owner of the 3^rd Base Saloon Michael T. “Nuf Ced” McGreevy and included Boston mayor John Fitzgerald (grandfather of John F. Kennedy), they would sing a song called “Tessie” from the Broadway show The Silver Slipper to taunt the players of the National League champion Pittsburgh Pirates, especially their shortstop, the legendary Honus Wagner.

            One verse they re-wrote for the occasion went as follows:

Honus, why do you hit so badly?

Take a back seat and sit down

Honus, at bat you look so sadly.

Hey, why don't you get out of town?

            In 1903, the American League was still “new”, having been founded in 1900 thanks to the leadership of people like Charles Comiskey (eventual owner of the Chicago White Sox), Connie Mack (part-owner of the Philadelphia Athletics) and Poygan, Wisconsin’s own Henry Killilea, the eventual owner of the Boston Americans. Killilea was already a part-owner of the Milwaukee Brewers, who were a minor league team at the time. He was an attorney by trade, but a good college athlete (played football and baseball for the University of Michigan) and fan of baseball in general. The American League was founded with a meeting at Killilea’s home here in Milwaukee. There’s even a historic plaque on the spot where his house used to stand in what is now the parking lot of the former Milwaukee Journal offices.

            Killilea sold his interests in the Brewers (who moved to St. Louis and went on to become the St. Louis Browns and, eventually, the Baltimore Orioles) and pumped money into the Americans and got far enough along to get them to the First World Series, which almost didn’t happen.

You read that right: he helped found the league, was a pretty good owner, had a great team, and they almost refused to play.

            What happened? A few things.

            First of all, the Americans’ contracts only ran through September 30^th, 1903. The World Series was slated to take place in October. They wanted a contract extension, which Killilea offered. They refused, because money was left on the table.

Killilea and Pittsburgh owner Barney Dreyfus agreed to split the ticket revenue 3-1. In simple terms, the winning team got 75% of the ticket money from the series, and the losers got 25%. Dreyfus vowed to give his share of those gate receipts to his players if they won. When the Boston players caught wind of this, they asked for the same treatment, and a contract extension.

            Killilea refused and was about to call the series off. However, after some negotiations, Killilea agreed to give 50% of the team’s share of the gate receipts to his players and extended their contracts. The Americans went on to win that first series -a best of nine series- five games to three, coming back from a 3-1 deficit and winning four games in a row.

But…

It was a rare situation where the players of the losing team actually earned more money than the players on the winning team. According to The Sporting News of October 24, 1903, Dreyfus gave his players the full ticket revenue anyway, giving each player a World Series bonus check of $1,316.00. The Americans got $1,182.00 each.

Killilea himself… got $6,699.00.

            While Killilea could be hailed as a “pioneer” in revenue sharing with his players, let’s face it: he had little choice. He doesn’t agree, there’s no World Series and the reputation of the league he helped found would have been in jeopardy. At any rate, he sold his shares in the team in December 1903 for $150,000 (between roughly $3-4 million in today’s money), claiming his law business in Milwaukee took up too much of his time. (Fun fact: during the 1902 season, it was reported that as owner of the Boston Americans, he only saw six games in Boston.)

            Killilea owned part of the Cleveland Naps in 1904 and established himself as a leading baseball attorney in the following years. In 1928 he bought the Brewer minor league team here. He died in 1929, leaving his 24-year-old daughter as the owner of the Brewers.

This World Series-winning baseball owner, and a key character in professional baseball history, is buried here in Milwaukee, at Historic Calvary Cemetery on Chapel Hill.

Chronic Grief vs. Profound Love

    There is a fine line between what we may call “profound love” and “chronic grief”. Both are very real, very powerful and potentially very destructive.

    Chronic grief is, bottom line, awful. I see it far too often here. The widows and widowers that are “left behind” when their spouse dies truly feel in some cases “lost”. They really, truly can’t function without their “other half”. I once had a brother and sister bring their father into my office to buy new flowers for their mother/wife’s (respectively) grave. “Mom always took care of the bills” they told me with a knowing glance implying that, yes: their dad had never, ever written a check, kept a budget or even done laundry in his 80+ years of life.
    I realize this has much to do with perspective. You have to recall that the generation we are currently interring here were born right before the depression, had mom & dad take care of them while lived at home until they were drafted into World War II or Korea when the military took care of them. Then they returned home, got married, and had their wives take care of them and their own kids. In short, for many of the men, this is the first time they’ve ever really been on their own. Parents, military, spouse… someone was always there to take care of them. Now they need to take care of themselves and they really are in the dark. Something as mundane as brewing a pot of coffee is a mystery to them because, as I mentioned before, “Mom always did that” and they simply do not know how to do it.
    For the ladies their husband, friend, partner, support system is gone. They remembered falling in love in high school and still get emotional when they recall the day their boyfriend got his papers to report to boot camp. They realized the love of their life was leaving… and may never return. They cried, said goodbyes, promised to write and waited for newspapers and radio reports about the war and where their boyfriend/fiancé may be fighting. They ran to their mailboxes every day hoping for a letter (and in my grandmother’s case getting really ticked-off when they’re wasn’t one. I’ve read her diaries. I know.) and dreaming of a homecoming that may never happen.
    In some lucky cases, that homecoming did happen. Marriage, children, struggling to find work and pay bills until finally they got the house, the car, a washing machine and maybe –if you were particularly well-off- a TV. 40-50 years of life together, traveling to visit friends and relatives, cruises, bingo, dances, regular fish fry dates. Souvenir photos from Hoover Dam, Alaska, Florida, Wisconsin Dells. Then “traveling and visits and souvenirs” became weekly trips to doctors, X-rays, scans, new treatments, special shoes, walkers, canes and wheelchairs. The house they worked so hard for is suddenly for sale and they trade in 50+ years of memories in that home for a few hundred square feet of retirement home or apartment living.
    Man or woman, like I said before, some never get over it all. Chronic grief is horrible. Story time:
    “Joe” was a World War II veteran. He made it back home and got married and they had a daughter. He was a barber here on the south side in his dad’s shop and eventually worked for a prominent insurance company. A lifetime together with his wife ended with her death in 1994. His daily visits to the cemetery began then… and never stopped. He was here every day, at least once or twice in all kinds of weather. I remember one particularly horrible snow storm a few years back and I didn’t see his car drive past my office like usual. I thought, with relief, “Thank goodness. He’s stayed home out of this terrible weather and he’s safe and sound and warm and dry. I’m sure he’ll be back tomorrow but I’m glad he didn’t risk it today.”
    I went to lock-up our main chapel and as I walked I saw the tire tracks had come in from a different direction. No wonder I didn’t see him. They stopped at the usual spot and there were the footprints in the snow leading from the car to his wife’s crypt and back. I wondered if he ever took those steps –and thousands like them- and thought about the footprints he left in the snow in the Ardennes in 1944 during the battle of the Bulge of which he was a proud veteran. He was one of my regulars and was here every day, one to three times a day. For 17 years.
    Now on the one hand, this is the “profound love” I mentioned. His daily pilgrimage to his wife’s crypt was heartbreaking. The words of an old song came to mind and I thought to myself, “I want to be loved like that”. However, I must admit, it was also heartbreaking that, after 17 years, he was still here EVERY DAY.
    This is what I mean about a fine line between profound love and chronic grief. I’m not a doctor or a psychologist but do I think he had chronic grief? Yes. Period. Multiple trips a day for 17 years? Yeah. He was in here once a few years ago with his daughter and son-in-law and I was praying he’d go use the restroom or something so I could politely but lovingly hint to them both, “I really, really think he needs some help. For his sake and yours, please look into this.”
    But then, last fall, the visits stopped suddenly. I was surprised but also thought, in my own naïve way that maybe he did get some help and he was “better”… perhaps he was only here on Sundays or something.
    Then I got the call for a service for today… for Joe. I’d be lying if I said I was fine. It didn’t ruin my day but I was certainly saddened by the news.

    His family and friends gathered and said their last goodbyes to him this morning. Everyone, including me, choked-up when the Army honor guard folded the flag that draped his casket and the local VFW post fired their shots in salute. No MP3 player in a fake horn today: a real, actual bugle player sounded-out “Taps”. Joe’s daughter received the flag bestowed to her on behalf of our grateful nation and that was that.

    I’ve done over a thousand funerals here in my 6 years. This one hurt.

    Near the end of my marriage my ex-wife asked me if people could really, truly love each other and stay married forever. (I did not know that when she was asking me this she was already engaged in affair with her now husband and had successfully pursued several affairs before this one). I thought about Joe, both sets of my grandparents and countless others that walk through here every day. Through my tears and shock at such a question I answered her, without a doubt, “Yes. True, lasting love exists. It is real, it works and I have it for you. Period.”
    Our marriage did not last. True, deep love only lasts when both people feel it. I guess I was alone in that endeavor. Never the less, I believe in it and people like Henry, Joe, my grandparents and others are all the proof I need that it’s real. I hope it happens for me someday.

    Rest in peace, Joe. Tell the Mrs. I say “Hi”.

Bullet Points

It's been too long. Each of these would have made great posts but I have limited time to write, so we'll start off as "notes" and maybe someday we'll expand.

Here's a bullet-point rant to my latest string of complainers/bizarre questions:

* No. The grass is NOT growing and it looks awful. I know. We haven't had any decent rainfall in weeks, it's unbelievably hot and unless you want the prices for, oh, EVERYTHING to go up exponentially because you expect us to keep the grounds looking like a golf course by watering every day and racking up a HUGE water bill, deal with it.

* No, a dog did NOT take a dump on your grave. Look at it carefully. No, really REALLY look at it. That is NOT dog crap. It's green and mushy. It's not from dogs. There are these things, called GEESE, that LOVE to eat the sod here and poop on everything. It's a goose, not a dog. If you'd like to take it up with the geese, feel free.

* Yes, I'm sure you were a very devout, reverent Catholic/Lutheran/whatever. This does not entitle you to a discount.

* No, I'm not a priest. Trust me, I'm far from it.

* No, there is no coffee available here... at least not for you.

* Trust me: our zombie countermeasures are highly effective.

later... hopefully sooner than later...

C_G

The Road to Hell

Yes, I am fully aware that this is a rotten title for a blog about cemeteries but it's part of a bigger cliche about how "the road to hell is paved with good intentions". It seems that when a family tries to make cemetery arrangements by themselves without the aid of a funeral home and funeral director more often than not that road ends in my office.

Sure, it's only one phone call to confirm a date & time for their service in addition to making sure their departed loved one actually has a space here to be laid to rest. This sounds very simple. The families that try to do this on their own -and 99% of the time it's for a cremation- seldom put all the pieces together properly. They figure their expenses and responsibilities are all at the funeral home for the actual cremation and that's it. Done.

Oh, so wrong. They have forgotten:
1. The cemetery service fee (colloquially known as "the opening/closing fee"). Sometimes this is paid in advance... more often than not, it isn't and it's due the day of the service.
2. Clergy do not magically know that there's a service to be done and just appear at the cemetery ready to pray. They need to be contacted. They also enjoy being paid/tipped.
3. Military honors are not guaranteed, automatic or arranged by the cemetery.
4. We do not have "extra" flags for your military service
5. We will not call a restaurant for you and arrange for your funeral luncheon or dinner.
6. We do not control the weather. Please do not complain if the ground is muddy after a rainstorm or melting snow

These are just a few items that families tend to miss when they try to do this on their own. I understand that in many cases trying to take the wheel and guide the family through the funeral is their own way of dealing with grief. That's fine. BUT, if you're going to do that, save yourself extra stress and grief by doing it right. Ask the funeral home as many questions as you can about what to do and when. They will help you. It's their job! Ask me as many questions as you can about what the cemetery does. I will help you. It's my job!

My case study for this:
A few years ago a family walked in with an aunt's urn. "Here's so-and-so" they said. I asked, "Have you made any arrangements for the service to be done?" The family answered, "Nope. Here's the papers. Bye!" and walked out. Seriously. There I was with the cremated remains of dear auntie so-and-so on my desk. At least the family had (most of) the paperwork I needed. I did some research and found out that she did indeed own a niche space here and her service fee had been paid in advance. All we needed to do was put her inside the niche. I double-checked with the funeral home anyway and they apologized for the family's rather dismissive behavior: it seems this nephew had been saddled with the responsibility to "take care of this" and did exactly that as if he were running an errand. I guess I can't blame him...
but a phone call in advance would have been nice.

So, to anyone out there who wants to "take care of things" on their own in regards to burying a loved one -or not so loved, I guess- make a couple phone calls & ask all the questions you like for your own sanity, for that of the funeral home & cemetery involved and most of all, out of respect for the deceased.

-CG

It Begins...

Good afternoon, inhabitants of the land of the living!

After years of compiling various anecdotes both cute and crazy I decided it's time to, as the kids say, "blog it up, yo".

I have no intention of incriminating myself or others here. I will use no formal names for the deceased in question or their families or the funeral homes I work with.

These are, in essence, stories from where I work. They are funny, profound, sad, bizarre and in some cases hard to believe.

I hope you'll enjoy my various musings and comment and condemn them as we go along.

-CG