The American Way of Death Revisited (36 page)

Here is how it works: The cheapest available is not displayed in the showroom, and there are no photos of it in the brochure. The only time it is ever mentioned is if somebody telephones to inquire about prices, the assumption being that “if they are the type of customer who is phoning, they will phone everybody to compare prices.” Total price of the rock-bottom funeral is $1,016
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(which does not include “disbursements,” embalming, or complimentary car).

Those who come into the funeral parlor looking for a bargain will not be told of this option—“We were not allowed to mention it face-to-face with somebody in the shop,” said Mr. B. Instead, they are told the cheapest is “The Fundamental,” which Mr. B says looks like cardboard—and moreover, “it is specifically designed to look like cardboard.” The price of a funeral using “The Fundamental:” over $1,760—not including disbursements. $1,340 of this sum is for “professional services,” a hearse, and limo.

There are two more in the bottom range: “The Primary,” which “looks like a hi-fi unit that someone has dismantled and then put together to look like a coffin,” and “The White Pearl.” “They really look cheap,” said Mr. B. “It’s really bloody painfully obvious. The first three in the range are so awful. I wouldn’t bury or cremate your dog in the first two, let alone a member of your family. The cardboard ones really look super-cheap.” The fourth coffin is “The Consort,” which is “the nearest to the traditional English coffin,” but costs $760! To which, of course is added the $1,340 fee for “professional services” and the rest of the paraphernalia.

“Every single funeral director in every single shop complained about the coffins,” said Mr. B.

The above prices are in any event only meant for the serious bargain hunter, the rare hard-nosed individual whose main concern is keeping down the cost. For the average customer, “funeral directors are instructed to work from the top of the range down, and to keep the family in the coffin showroom for forty minutes. We are pushed to sell the more expensive coffins.” And here come the carrots and sticks: at the beginning of each year, each funeral parlor is assigned a target figure and a target budget. This is further refined as a breakdown of the number of funerals each is expected to perform each month and how much should be earned per funeral. “Some funeral directors have to sell a Consort or above to reach the budget figure,” Mr. B explained. Those who fail to achieve the budget figure get a letter or phone call expressing disappointment; Somebody Up There is watching, namely SCI’s control department. Mr. B had such a phone call last January, saying that he was down 12 pounds from the sales of the previous January. Conversely, two thousand overachievers are singled out each year for a “loyalty or productivity” bonus.

The SCI bigwigs were inclined to shrug off adverse comments from any quarter. Eric Spencer, an Englishman whose SCI title is senior director of corporate development, was chief executive of the Great Southern Group before the takeover. His primary responsibility, he said, is in Europe, although he does also look after some of the British acquisitions.

“This anti-American hysteria is quite laughable,” he said. “Although SCI is owned by Americans, there are only two American executives permanently in the U.K. Everyone below them is English.” He explained that SCI intended to maintain a low profile; it refused to get into a shouting match with its detractors in the media, which is why they declined the invitation to appear in the “Public Eye” documentary. He now thinks that decision might have been a mistake, and said that “we’ll see a more active response from SCI in the future.”

Peter Hindley, the English chief executive of SCI in the U.K., is the author of many an in-house directive to “All Staff.” Accusations of hard sell? “Absolute rubbish,” he said. “We do not have hard-sell tactics. What we have is people offering client choices, informed choice. We offer a much wider range of coffins than other funeral
directors. We will offer a much greater range of ashes caskets [cremation urns]. We will offer memorial books, and a much wider range of graveside memorials. We will offer a better range of flowers.” Echoing his memo to “All Staff” in the wake of the “Public Eye” documentary (in his opinion, the program was “motivated by some of our competitors”), he declared that “small-minded funeral businesses spend their life trying to sling mud at SCI.”

Of far greater moment than the slings and arrows of the media to SCI’s plans for achieving its goal of “enhancing its revenues by enhancing consumer choices” is the May 1995 report of the Monopolies and Mergers Commission presented to Parliament by the secretary of trade and industry by command of Her Majesty. The MMC is the British counterpart of the Federal Trade Commission, but the approach of the two agencies to their mandated job of consumer protection couldn’t be more different.

The FTC does not normally concern itself with so-called market share until it becomes formidable enough to threaten competition in wide regional areas. SCI’s national market share in the U.S., measured in terms of its own undertaking establishments, is about 10 percent. Not to worry, says the FTC. But what of Houston, Texas, where SCI’s market share, measured by its share of the funeral business, is no less than 70 percent?

The MMC, recognizing that competition in the funeral trade is of local rather than national concern, has taken a different view of SCI’s recent acquisitions in the U.K. It has condemned the merger on the ground that “it may be expected to operate against the public interest.” Its reasons stated with typically British reserve, the report castigates the merger in terms which would equally apply to SCI’s operations in the U.S. and Australia:

The report identifies ten localities where the merged companies’ share of funerals performed range from 29 percent to 51 percent. Consequently, the report continues, “SCI may be expected … to raise prices excessively … to the detriment of consumers in these localities.” While the Federal Trade Commission has turned a blind eye to SCI’s practice of concealing from the public its ownership and control of its hundreds of funeral homes by the fictitious use of their pre-purchase names, this practice is a matter of concern to the MMC:

The report recommends that SCI be ordered to sell off enough of its funeral business in the ten Greater London markets to reduce its market share to not more than 25 percent, and that it be ordered to make no further acquisitions in those areas without prior approval.

The report notes that “it would be natural for SCI to take advantage” of its acquisitions of crematoria by steering its business to them: “As prices at SCI’s crematoria are generally higher than those of competitors, this would be a clear loss to consumers.” Therefore, “SCI should be required to post prices of competing crematoria at every SCI funeral directing branch.…”

Finally, there should be an end to SCI’s devious ploy of concealing its identity from the purchaser. It should be required “to disclose its ownership of funeral directing businesses prominently in all documentation presented to customers and in all advertisements or other promotional material used in connection with those businesses. We believe it is highly desirable that the disclosure of ultimate ownership of funeral directing branches should be the general practice throughout the UK.”
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Reverberating throughout SCI’s promotional literature, in memoranda from American executives to British staff and in written declarations for public consumption, are the words “dignity,” “respect,” “tradition.” These are repeated as a sort of mantra, meant to reassure everyone of the company’s sincere intention of preserving Britain’s ingrained funerary customs.

But then—oh dear!—SCI really put its foot in it by producing an illustrated brochure bearing the imprimatur of the staid and ancient British firm of the Kenyon Funerals now owned by SCI. The message: “Disasters cause the greatest public relations challenge any carrier can meet.” The
Sunday Telegraph
(May 12, 1996) made hay with this, under the headline
OUTRAGE OVER FUNERAL FIRM’S PICTURE BOOK OF DEATH
, with examples of the photos captioned “Macabre Marketing: A Montage of Disaster and Death.” Vivid scenes from some of Britain’s worst disasters: Lockerbie, Zeebrugge, Piper Alpha, and the Scilly Isles helicopter crash. Also featured were gruesome views of corpses being autopsied and the dead pilots hanging from the wreckage.

The families of victims were furious; Pamela Dix, whose brother died in the Lockerbie disaster, told the
Telegraph
, “This is both offensive and completely inappropriate—it strips away the dignity of the dead. A brochure like this shows they have in no way taken into account the emotional needs of survivors. People will feel very hurt.” A survivor of Lockerbie said, “It is quite terrible. I don’t know why they have to have photographs at all. Everybody in the airlines and emergency services knows what they do. This is insensitive.” Philip Lewis, chief executive of Kenyon Funerals in its pre-SCI days, said he was “appalled” by it: “I would not have done it and, frankly, I’m shocked. It is turning tragedy into an advertising slogan and is breaking every code we work under.”

Kenyon, founded in 1816, had an exalted past, having buried such dignitaries as Lord Mountbatten and Sir Winston Churchill; it had been undertaker for the Royal Family, but no longer. The Queen withdrew the royal contract when Kenyon was bought out, “preferring to deal with named individuals rather than large conglomerates,” according to Keith Leverton, whose firm, Levertons, is presently under contract to the Palace. True to form, SCI has been trying—so far without success—to obtain funeral records of
British monarchs whose funerals were handled by Kenyon. They would doubtless use this information in future publicity, much as they have done with claims to Elvis Presley and U.S. presidents, all of whom died long before SCI acquired the premises that arranged their funerals.

In the English countryside, the style and conduct of funerals are, it seems, pretty much unchanged from time immemorial. This may be explained by the fact that the conglomerates have generally satisfied their takeover appetites by swallowing high-volume mortuaries and chains located in urban areas.

J. W. and J. Mettam are undertakers in the small Derbyshire town of Bakewell. Mr. Roger Jepson, managing director, says that their coffins are made on site as of yore, measured to fit in a range of sizes starting at 5 feet 5 inches by 16 inches and going up in 2-inch increments. Small coffins for children are made to order. Materials used are various woods or chipboard.

The Mettams provide a full service, as much or as little as the family wants and is prepared to pay for. Prices range from $1,056 (660 pounds) for the complete basic funeral, with oak veneer coffin, to the top-of-the-line Devonshire, solid oak coffin, for $1,750. Included in the price are collection of the body, obtaining death certificate, making all arrangements with church or crematorium, notices in newspapers, all transportation for accompanying family—they will even arrange for a funeral tea at a suitable hotel if asked. They cater to all denominations and to nonreligious groups such as the British Humanist Association.

In one respect, there has been a departure from the old ways: embalming is on the rise. It is always done if the body is to be sent abroad, or transported any distance within the U.K. It is also usually done if the family is coming to the Chapel of Rest to see the body—unless the family specifically objects. Unlike the mortuaries in the USA—where mortuaries routinely refuse to permit viewing unless the body has been embalmed—families here often view unembalmed bodies. In about 70 percent of cases the family (they often bring children) does ask to see the body, and this is encouraged.

However “viewing”—as the U.S. funeral directors call it—is generally limited to the close family members and is in no way comparable to the American custom of a general spectacle for the neighbors, coworkers, and mere acquaintances.

What about American caskets? They are never used in this way, although Mr. Jepson has heard of them in London. Floral tributes? Less of those—more donations to worthy charities. The coffin, closed, is usually at the front of the church.

A friend described the funeral of a retired farm foreman who bred his own Shire horses. “The tiny church was packed,” she said. “It couldn’t hold half the people who came, so there was a crowd in the churchyard. It was snowing, and bitterly cold. His family had arranged for a dray drawn by a Shire, all got up super-smart, to carry the coffin to the church. There is a steepish hill and I heard a sound which took me back sixty years—the scrape of the brake on the wheel of the dray. The farm men lined up outside the church and made an arch of pitchforks when the coffin was carried out. Talk about moving to tears—a village funeral is a killer, far worse than a big London affair.” It would seem that the Derbyshire countryside is for the moment quite safe from incursions of the American way.

At the other end of England, country funerals are conducted in much the same manner. A friend visited Philip Wakely and his brother Simon, of A. J. Wakely and Sons in Bridport, Dorset. They have two other funeral parlors under the same family name in Beaminister and Lyme Regis, all within a twenty-mile radius. The firm was established in 1897, and holds strongly to long-standing custom.

While they no longer make coffins on the premises, these are all in the traditional coffin shape. Thus far, nobody has asked for an American casket, said Mr. Wakely, “but if people wanted them, we’d have to supply them.” As in Derbyshire, “people are tending to ask for charitable contributions, and only the family brings flowers from their own gardens,” he said.