Several years ago when I was giving substitute teacher training workshops with my friend, Ruth, we wanted to start a newsletter for subs. We found that  paper, postage and duplication costs were making it difficult to keep the price low.

Ruth's dad, a well- respected and successful businessman, came to our rescue. He offered us the use of new Xerox machine at his establishment to make as many copies as we wanted to.  He was a mortician.

Working in the  back rooms of the mortuary seemed a little strange. The people employed there, including Ruth's sister, were very pleasant. The place was always spotless and well kept, even in the rooms where the public didn't go. There were never any unpleasant odors, sights or sounds.

 Yes, occasionally were near the area where the cosmetician was  putting the final touches on hair and makeup before occupied caskets were wheeled to the viewing rooms.

Ruth had grown up with it,  and appreciated the necessary services provided to families, but never had any interest in going into the family business.
 As a dedicated teacher, she was never happier than when surrounded by a bunch of noisy, lively teenagers.  She had an enthusiastic and outgoing personality along with an extraordinary  musical talent.  The family business would have been a little too quiet for her.


 I remember once when I found a little sign in the desk with a saying on it.  I had seen  the sign before, but it seemed to take on a new meaning in this setting.

It said: "Those who think the dead don't come back to life, should see this place at quitting time."

 The small office  with the copier  had a wall full of shelves and cupboards on one side. Office supplies, memorial books and funeral leaflets were stacked neatly on the shelves

 Sometimes the shelves also had plastic bags neatly marked with names and dates, containing clothing and shoes which had belonged to the recently  departed.
There was a large refrigerator in the room. Occasionally people from the coroner's office would come in and pick up small containers stored there. I don't think they were snacks.

Our newsletter was being produced before we had computers. We typed our copy then cut and pasted it along with hand-drawn graphics, and rub-on letters for headlines. Then it needed to be duplicated.

Both of us were working in schools during the day, so sometimes we would go down after business hours to work at the mortuary.  In my logical mind I knew there was nothing really creepy about it, but still I always had a little trepidation about meeting one of the customers unexpectedly.

Usually the place was dark when we unlocked one of the side entrances, but sometimes, when they were having an especially busy week, a worker or two would we there.

Jake, one of the assistant morticians was a very  friendly and pleasant 60-ish man who wore a white lab coat and looked like everyone's favorite pediatrician.  One evening when we were working there, he came into the room, slid open the large cupboard under the shelves and said  "Oh!" as if he had just found something which he  had misplaced.

Inside the cupboard was a gurney with a body on it which was (thankfully ) covered with a white sheet. He  looked at the toe tag, then closed the cupboard and left the room-- taking nothing with him.

Ruth and I looked at each other silently  for a  minute, then she said "I'm glad that things like that don't bother you."

I was OK with it as long as she opened all doors and went in first.  I was not wanting to find any unexpected hidden treasures.