When I first met Decca in person, she had been invited to give the keynote address at a biennial gathering of funeral and memorial societies in Denver, Colorado. I was struck by what "a lady" she was — a regal dignity and cultured intelligence in every mannerism, every word. Yet Decca clearly enjoyed her naughty and irreverent pokes at the absurdities of American funeral practices, among other things, and pulled it off with total aplomb. I suspect many would never quite realize that she was poking fun, too, at those who had been cuckolded by the funeral industry — Americans who wanted, without discrimination, all and everything that was offered up for sale.But this was a gathering of the already-converted — memorial society members who had long ago decided on unpretentious, simple funerals. "Unitarians, Quakers, egg-heads, and old-farts," she called them. Was that a loving compliment or a condemnation? . . . (I wasn't quite sure, as I nervously acknowledged to myself that I qualified for at least three out of the four.)
She entertained us with stories of the research she'd done for The American Way of Death. Although her expose' of the funeral industry had shocked everyone 20 years earlier, she reminded us that little had changed. Americans were still spending plenty for a funeral.
In the British accent she probably chose to keep, she described with ill-hidden glee a sample that she'd gotten from the Practical Burial Footware company — pausing her emphasis on the word "Practical" just long enough for the absurdity to sink in. The "Fit-a-fut" was an oxford type — a one-size-fits-all slipper with a slit in the heel — that her son quickly wore out as he tore around the house in them. Who would buy these "Fit-a-futs," these practical but not very long-lasting "Fit-a-futs," she wondered? And the audience — many in their own oxfords — was delighted and amused.
Decca had been in my thoughts much this week, when I got a call from a writer working on a Reuters article. The editor of a French magazine had read of an American "funeral cosmetics company" and presumed it to be the only one in the world. That ought to be an unusual story, he thought, and assigned a writer to check it out.
The writer soon found that it didn't stop with cosmetics or one company — there were lots of companies — who sold burial clothing and burial footwear, too. "But I guess those are just good quality things in the latest styles," she suggested. "Not exactly . . ." I described the slit in the back so one didn't have to wrestle the whole body into a dress or suit — just drape and tuck. And of course I shared Decca's fascination with the oxfords from "Practical Footware." By this time we were both giggling, and I knew this was going to be a Decca-type story. Wherever she was, I hoped she was "listening in."
"What else is there," the writer asked. "Well, let me check," and I got out my Blue Book of Funeral Directors, turning to the "Buyer's Guide" section in the back. "There are 12 companies under "Cosmetics," I offered. "Do you have them all?" Then my eye caught a display ad. "Get this."
Try Nadene Cover-Up Cosmetics
and discover what over 7000 other
funeral directors already know
100% GUARANTEED
ABSOLUTELY RISK FREE
"Absolutely risk free to whom?" I asked in charged disbelief. And the mirth rolled back and forth again on the phone lines. We're only in the "C" section, and already this has been the high point of my week on the laughter scale.
When we got to the "H" section, it happened again: there was "Hosiery." With the bottom half of the casket usually closed even with an "open casket" affair, who's buying enough funeral hosiery to induce eight companies to list their names here? (If there's a choice among "ecru," "taupe," or "support hose," which one do you pick? Knee- highs? Or do they offer panty-hose? Something to go with the "Fit-a-fut"?)
But the clincher that had us both leaking tears of laughter as we gave in to all-too-vivid imaginations came in the "U" section: "Underwear" — Six funeral clothing companies presumably paid extra for these listings. "Was he a boxer man or did he prefer briefs?" she croaked in feigned concern, gasping between attacks of laughter at the American way of death.
Ah, Decca, you'll love this story! No one will ever do it with the same mock restraint and outrageous wit that you did, but I know you'll enjoy it. I'll post it when it comes out.
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