James Qualls III, of Springfield, has lost his funeral director and embalmer’s licenses for two years in Ohio, over misappropriation of funds relating to pre-paid funeral expenses. In Ohio, a funeral director has 30 days to place such funds in a trust account or insurance policy, and in some cases, Qualls failed to do so.

An Oregon resident writes about rude drivers in a letter to the editor. Note that the drivers weren’t just being rude, they were in violation of several Oregon statues covering funeral processions. I’ve come to the realization that people are just ignorant of procession laws, since they vary so from state to state. What’s required in some states isn’t even mentioned in others; several states don’t recognize processions at all. Add in self-appointed legal experts, and things become even more murky.

Locally, a Delhi Township police officer was struck during a funeral procession in suburban Cincinnati. His injuries were not considered life-threatening. The driver apparently left the scene after the crash, but later returned.

It’s said that a funeral will bring out the best and the worst in people. I was amazed at some of the folks who came to pay their respects to my dad when he passed. There were people I hadn’t seen in years, and folks who I know it was physically painful for them to come out on that September evening. But they came.

I’ve also seen fights break out at viewings and funerals. People choose some incredibly poor moments to make public some monumentally stupid event from the deceased’s past. Sometimes they decide now is the best time to let Aunt Susie know how much Dad hated her, or how Grandpa never forgave Uncle Joey for some slight. Family members start worrying about the estate, and who’s going to get what, and how that person doesn’t deserve anything, because they were never around for Dad, and Dad’s not even in the ground yet. It’s amazing and yet not, all at the same time.

Funeral directors (they prefer that over “mortician.” Honest.) in Cincinnati are noticing more problems with arguments and violence at funerals. I haven’t seen too many issues like that here in Columbus, but I suppose it’s coming.

The Ohio Supreme Court recently heard an interesting case. Who retains the right to a dead body? Christopher Albrecht’s parents think they should have all of him, but they don’t. He drowned in 2001 when his car overturned in a creek. As part of the autopsy, his brain was removed for examination. As part of that procedure, the brain is “fixed” in a solution of salt and formaldehyde to harden the tissue; this makes it easier to dissect. The procedure takes up to 2 weeks, meaning the autopsy isn’t completed for 2-3 weeks.

Ohio coroners are required to perform autopsies in certain situations.

The Albrechts think they should have been given his brain when the coroner was done with it; policy at the time classified it as medical waste, and it was incinerated. That’s part of state law now, but this case took place in 2001.

Does any person really think they get everything back after an autopsy? Putting aside the whole fluid issue, people should realize that tissue samples are taken for evidence if there’s any chance of a criminal case. Should that tissue be returned? When?

I’m sorry for their loss, but I think this suit is misguided. The coroner’s office probably should have made it clear they weren’t getting everything back, but I think it’s reasonable for the coroner to retain some tissue.

Come to work with me.

10:35 - Grove City
The funeral director just started the service with his usual comments about turning your cell phone down to vibrate, and using headlights & flashers on the way to the cemetery. He’ll repeat the light request after the service, but I’ll still have to remind someone. That’s life as a funeral escort.

I’ve been dong this for 6 1/2 years now, and over 3,500 funerals. It amazes me how many miles I’ve put in on a motorcycle: over 250,000 at last count, I think.

This is a fairly typical day; I have 2 services. One goes from Grove City to Sunset Cemetery at 10:30; the other is a downtown run from State Street to Green Lawn. Both will be down on surface streets, with no highway time. Many directors like to run on the highway, but I’d rather be on the surface. The directors don’t like the traffic lights, but I’d rather control traffic there than have someone weaving through the procession at 70 to our 40 or 45.

We’ve got 18 cars lined up, which is pretty average. Add in the hearse and lead car, which this funeral home always uses, and we have 20. It’s an easy route. Grove City is not busy, at least where we’re going, and the rest of the route is very quiet: Broadway to Southwest; turn left. Southwest to Big Run. Turn left, then a quick right to Holt. Holt to Alkire and left, all the way down to Galloway Road. Right on Galloway to West Broad, and a left turn into the cemetery.

The only place I’ll have any concerns on this one are turning from Broadway to Southwest, and from Galloway to West Broad. Broadway & Southwest is a 5×4 intersection, with a lot of truck traffic southbound on Broadway to Southwest. But most of the truckers who come through there drive that a lot, and know to watch for and yield to processions. Galloway to West Broad is a bit more difficult; the speed limit on W Broad is 45, and if we have a red light, traffic just doesn’t want to yield to us.

It’s in the low 30s today, so I’ve got most of my heavy winter gear on. We’ve got a lot of leeway in our winter uniforms. The company provides a First Gear Kilimanjaro 2 armored jacket, which is great. Very warm and dry. It includes a liner, but in the 3 years we’ve had them, it’s only been cold enough for me to use that liner twice, and that was in the low single digits and negative singles. We also get Carhartt Extreme coveralls, which keep us pretty toasty. In warmer weather, I’ll wear my regular uniform, with long johns and a sweatshirt layered under. But once it gets down in the low 30s and lower, I need to pay more attention to wind chill. It may be 30, but when you factor in a 50-60 MPH wind chill, I’m looking at 5 - 10 degrees felt temperature.

12:55 - State Street
We started dismissing the first service at 11:16 with “You Raise Me Up.” It took about half an hour to get everyone passed by the casket and into their cars. We ended up leaving around 11:47. It took us not quite half an hour to go just under 15 miles. Pretty average run. No cut-ins that I was aware of, and with only 21 cars total, it was easy for me to monitor the whole procession.

This run will be a little more complicated. The distance will be shorter - perhaps 5 miles - but it’s downtown streets, so it’s going to be busier. State Street to Grant and turn right to Rich; Rich to 3rd and turn left. 3rd to Whittier and right, then left on High to Greenlawn Avenue, and straight into the cemetery. The downtown turns will be busy, and it’s a little harder to control traffic. The airhorn tends to echo, and so it’s harder for people to figure out exactly where I am. But on overcast days like this, the lights tend to show up better.

This service turned out be much shorter than my first; we started dismissing at 13:21, and were ready to leave at 13:33. We could have left perhaps two or three minutes sooner, but the keys to the hearse went missing, keeping us from loading the body until they were found. The layout of this particular 19th-century funeral home forces them to park the hearse so that it blocks the doors to the chapel. At the end of the service, they pull the coach up 15 feet or so and load.

The intersection that makes this trip interesting is at 3d & Fulton, which has a red-light camera. The arrangement we have with Columbus Police is that if we enter the camera intersection on a green light, and it changes to red, we have to alert them to the time it happened, and the number of cars that went through. That way, when they process the photos and tape, they’ll know to not ticket the procession cars that may have been caught on tape. Other than that intersection, and some final construction work on the Greenlawn bridge, we had no real issues. It took us about 15 minutes to go just about 3.5 miles with 14 cars.

Just another day at the office.

A co-worker radioed me with this story.

Seems that he was blocking traffic at the bottom of an off-ramp, as his 35-car procession was coming off the freeway. He was blocking both lanes with his motorcycle when a lady pulled up on his left side and asked if he was OK.

He responded in the affirmative, and thanked her for her concern. Then she asked him why he was sitting in the middle of the road. She was apparently oblivious to the flashing red and yellow lights on the back and sides of his motorcycle, as well as the procession passing by 20 yards or so down the road. My colleague pointed the procession out to her, and she responded with something to the effect of “Oh, that’s what those things are.”

Sigh.

Today, that same co-worker was on an off-ramp when he managed to ride through a large spill of concrete that had apparently spilled from a truck. Not his day, I guess.

Also today, I was headed south on the same street involved in my previous story, blocking traffic for the procession to move through, when a white four-door sedan with out-of-state plates zipped past me on the right, then turned down a side street. There wasn’t much I could do except blow my whistle in frustration.

About five blocks later, I pulled up to a light just as a white four-door sedan with out-of-state plates arrived at the side street. I realized it was the same car. He started to pull out, and I blew the whistle and raised my hand to a “stop” signal. I pointed to him, and made the stop signal again, just so he was clear. He unbuckled his seat belt and stuck his head out of the sun roof to ask me, “Is that illegal or something?”

I replied, “As a matter of fact, it is. Check out ORC section 4511.451 if you’re curious, and have a nice day.” He looked perturbed as he sat back down. Oh well.

I’m a funeral escort. That basically means I ride a motorcycle in front of an d along funeral processions, helping surrounding traffic see the procession and respond accordingly. I clear traffic in front of them, help them get on the freeway, and generally try to make their trip to the cemetery safer for everyone involved.

Some days, that’s easier said that done. Yesterday was one of those days. I had a 25-car procession westbound on a two-lane street, approaching a big intersection with a five-lane street. This particular intersection is a little odd. While it’s a four-way intersection, the east and west branches are offset from each other by about fifty feet, so you can’t just drive straight through. When westbound as we were, you have to make a left and a quick right.

So here I am, flashing lights turned on, with my black and safety yellow vest on, pulling in to the intersection on a green light. I see to my left that the northbound traffic has filled all three lanes (two through lanes, and a left turn lane), that they have a red light, and should have no problems seeing my big black motorcycle with flashing yellow and red lights. There’s no one southbound yet, so I pay attention that way, since typically people see a green light and don’t look for anything in the intersection.

As I watch the traffic light turn green for north-south traffic, and my procession is almost ready to enter the intersection, one of the northbound cars pulls out from the stop line, looking like he’s just going to fly through. I hit my air horn and jump off the bike, waving him to a stop, and asking him not too quietly, “Where are you going? What are you doing?”

The white male driver in his maybe 30’s looks at me and says, “What? What am I missing?”

This is one of those moments that I really wish I had a video camera running, because I truly wanted to see the expression on my face. There’s a scene in “Terminator” where Ahnold is in his flop house room, trying to repair some part of his mechanism when the landlord knocks on the door. The landlord has noticed the smell of the Terminator’s rotting skin. The view cuts to Ahnold’s point of view as the computer cycles through a list of possible replies to the landlord before choosing “F*** you, a******”.

At that moment in the middle of the intersection, with the procession starting to pass by, and this person asking me what he was missing, I’m certain that if you had been able to see inside my eye, you would have seen the various retorts and responses that I considered as they scrolled through my field of vision.

I couldn’t choose the ones that I really wanted to use, because I don’t have Hollywood scriptwriters working for me. If I had used one of the ones that I really wanted, I likely would have had to just ride to my boss’s house and turn in my uniform and bike, because I probably would have been fired on the spot.

So I looked at my bike, there in the middle of the intersection, with the flashing yellow and red lights. I looked at the lead car of the procession, with the yellow light on top, and orange flags on the roof. I looked at the hearse as it went by. Then I calmly looked back at the gentleman in the car, and politely responded, “Excuse me?”

He asked me again, “What am I missing?”

I gestured to the bike, and said, “Well, there’s a motorcycle with flashing lights there in the intersection. What do you think you should do?”

“I don’t know. What am I missing?”

At that point, the hearse was driving right in front of him, crossing from right to left. I pointed to it, and the limo following, and said, “Sir, there’s a funeral procession passing by. You have to yield.”

“A funeral? Where?”

At this point, the lead car (with yellow beacon) the hearse (with yellow beacon) and the limo with flashing headlights and orange flags have all drive past him, no more than thirty feet away. I just did not understand at that point if he was deliberately being dense, or just pulling my leg, or what. I pointed out the hearse, limo, and the rest of the cars following, and I think I actually saw the light bulb go on. I think I actually saw in this man’s face the moment of realization that he was completely clueless about what was going on around him.

It was at once satisfying and frightening. Satisfying because he had, I hope, realized that he needed to be more aware of what was going on around him. Frightening because I realized yet again after almost four years and over 2200 funeral processions that there are plenty more out there just like him.

Every day is a good day to get paid to ride a motorcycle. Some days are easier to ride than others.