The Lady in the Casket

Last night's story was most certainly the weirdest thing I've covered.

Shortly after I arrived at the station, I noticed that Sarah was at her desk writing instead of attending the afternoon meeting. I thought that was odd, but I didn't particularly want to go talk to her to find out what was going on. As I was checking my email, however, my answer walked up to me in the form of Mark, who informed me that he and Sarah were switching shifts for the week.

Whoopeee! Mark didn't know why they had to switch, but I have a feeling it has something to do with giving me and Dax a break from that crazy woman.

As I loaded up the van, Mark began filling me in on our story for the day.

"You're gonna love this," he said. "This 400 pound woman died, and her family bought a coffin that was too small for her. They shoehorned her into it, but the handles on the coffin broke while they were carrying her out to the grave Sunday."

"Jesus," I said.

"Yeah, seriously," he said. "The funeral home is saying they tried to tell them the coffin was too small, but they wouldn't listen. They insisted on the cheapest one. The family is saying the funeral home shouldn't have sold them a coffin that couldn't handle her weight, and they're talking about suing. The daughter says the casket bent up around her, so now they can't get her out."

"Holy shit," I said. "What did they do?"

"Well, nothin' yet. The funeral parlor wants to bury her in that same casket and just give 'em a discount on it. The family wants a whole new casket for free."

"Is the funeral parlor gonna talk to us?" I asked.

"I think so," Mark said. "I talked to him earlier and told him we were coming."

We headed first to the home of the grieving family to speak with the deceased Mrs. Ledbetter's daughter, who had lived with her during her last days. These didn't appear to be very wealthy people. The house was old and run down. The screen door almost came off its frame in Mark's hand when he opened it to knock. Inside, the furniture was broken down and torn, and everything was covered in a yellowish film with the stench of cigarettes.

The daughter, who was pushing 300 pounds herself, directed Mark to the couch, where he found himself surrounded by other family and friends who had assembled to lend their support. I went to work setting up for the interview.

"So, I guess, tell us what happened," Mark started.

"Momma been sick for a long time," the woman began. "She had cancer. She finally passed on last week. Just like, went to sleep, you know?" Her voice turned a little angry. "We were gonna have the funeral yesterdie, but then this all happened."

"What exactly happened at the funeral?"

"Well, the boys took her outta the hearse and started carryin' her up to the grave. The rest of us was all standin' up there already with the preacher. 'Bout halfway up the hill, looked like Billy stumbled. Then the whole casket just dropped on that side and crashed down, like 'whoomp!'"

She demonstrated the crash with her arms. Her anger seemed to be increasing as she continued.

"We thought they'd just dropped her, on account of her size. But when we run down there and looked, we seen the handles broke off! Can you believe that? What kind of funeral parlor sells people a defective casket?"

"What did you do?" Mark asked.

"I was in shock. Shock. When she hit the ground, the lid came open and we could see her arm flop around. We all run down there to see if the boys were okay, and I put her arm back in and shut the lid. It wouldn't close right. Poor Billy, he started sayin' 'I didn't mean to, I didn't mean to.' We was mad at him at first, but then we seen the broken handle. I was horrified. Horrified."

"Was anybody hurt?"

"Well, not physically," she said. "But them young ones gonna be scarred for life now. Little Jessie screamed and started cryin' when it happened."

"How bad was the damage to the casket?"

"It's all bent up on the side where it hit. They cain't get her out of it. It don't shut right, so they cain't leave her in it."

Mark took a deep breath. "I talked to Mr. Jones over at the funeral home," he said. "And he told me he tried to sell you a bigger casket, but you wouldn't buy it."

"They just want money," the woman said, angrily. "He tried to tell me we had to buy an $8000 copper casket. Momma didn't leave us that kind of money. He was just tryin' to take advantage of our grief. He already squeezed enough out of us."

"But he says if you had bought the bigger casket, this problem wouldn't have happened."

"If they'd built the casket like they were s'pose to, none of this woulda happened!" she growled.

After shooting video of a picture of Momma and plenty of b-roll of the family sitting around smoking and grieving, we headed out for the funeral home. I had a huge headache by then from the haze in that place and was glad for the fresh air.

Mr. Jones greeted us warmly in the dim, quiet waiting area of the funeral parlor.

"Welcome, welcome," he said, smiling sympathetically. His suit was perfectly tailored. His handshake was perfectly firm, but not intimidating. Every hair on his head was perfectly in place, in a hairstyle that swept from one corner of his forehead back over his scalp without a part, like a televangelist's wig. His voice was deep and artificially soft and soothing, no doubt from countless hours of practice. He had an odd cadence to his speech, an unusual way of emphasizing certain words to enhance their sympathetic value.

I loathed this man from the moment I saw him.

We set up the interview in a "showroom" of sorts with rows of beautifully polished caskets. The room was decorated with large, fake, electric candelabras, along with some displays of synthetic flowers. The crucifix or cross was the primary religious symbol in the room, with a Star of David here or there to provide a little diversity.

"First let me say we are dedicated to making this right for this family," he began, once I was rolling. "This was a very unfortunate situation, and I will do everything in my power to see that they're taken care of."

"They'll be glad to hear that," said Mark. "Can you tell us a little bit about what happened?"

"Well, you know, the loss of a loved one is a stressful time, and we do what we can to put the family at ease. Sometimes, though, a miscommunication can happen."

"What kind of miscommunication?"

"Oh, with all the distractions, sometimes the family members aren't really in a clear state of mind. That's why we try to take care of everything for them so they can deal with their grief."

It was immediately clear this guy would rather talk around the situation. I've mentioned before that Mark doesn't always come across as the brightest bulb in the package, but in this instance I was glad to see he was willing to push.

"Let's get specific with this case," he said. "Why did the handles break on this woman's coffin?"

"Casket," Mr. Jones corrected him.

"What?"

"We refer to it as a casket," he said.

"Okay, casket. Why did it break?"

"Well, each of our caskets have a certain weight rating. We have some bigger ones that go up to 500 pounds, and some that can handle 300 pounds. The model Mrs. Ledbetter's family selected was rated for 250 pounds."

"So the casket couldn't handle her weight?"

"Unfortunately, yes. But we did explain the weight issue to the family. We did suggest to them very strongly that they purchase a larger casket. Unfortunately they insisted on the less expensive option."

"Why didn't you just refuse to sell them the cheaper casket?"

"Our job is to make things easier for the family, not more difficult. We would never refuse a customer's wishes. When our gentle persuasion proved unsuccessful, we had no choice but to honor their wishes."

"So, I guess the bottom line is, what are you going to do to make this right for this family? Can you give them another casket?"

"No," Mr. Jones shook his head. "Unfortunately that's not possible. We ran into some difficulty with Mrs. Ledbetter's casket and won't be able to transfer her to a different one. What we can do, pending the family's approval, is to send the casket back to the factory to be repaired."

"With Mrs. Ledbetter in it?"

"Um, yes, that's correct."

"What about... Mrs. Ledbetter's daughter said the casket won't seal up now."

"Oh, that casket never sealed," Mr. Jones explained. "The less expensive models don't come with a seal on the cap."

"Cap?" asked Mark.

"The 'lid' is actually called a 'cap.' But that one isn't supposed to seal. I think she's getting confused. Right now the cap doesn't close properly, but they can fix that at the factory."

"So you're gonna ship her out to the factory?"

"Oh, no, we're not going to ship her off, ha ha. The company we buy our caskets from actually has an assembly plant here in town that serves the entire region. We'll take her to the factory in our hearse, and the craftsmen there will see that the vessel is in an appropriate condition. We'll make sure she's treated with the utmost respect."

"And who's gonna pay for this work?"

"Oh, the family will not pay a dime. Not a dime. In fact, I'm fully prepared to offer the Ledbetters a refund on the entire service. We're here to take care of bereaved families, and I'll do whatever I can to demonstrate our commitment to that goal."

After a bit of video of the various caskets, including both the box Mr. Jones recommended and the one in which Mrs. Ledbetter now rests, we had everything we needed. We put the story together and aired it in our late news, much to the shock of our audience. Or, at least, our anchor SAID it was a shocking story in the tease before the show. Our viewers probably weren't as shocked as our anchor thought they should be. But then, what do viewers know, anyway.

And finally, to top off the entire day, the anchor introduced the story with the cliche, "It's a family's worst nightmare." I'm pretty sure Wendy wrote that.