Mordecai the Mortician

I never knew if Mordecai was his name or if that was just what we called him. He was at least a decade older than me, not so noticeable at my present age but quite a difference when I was in my early teenage years. He was a little slow and had probably been relegated in life to hard labor, if employable at all, had he not found an opportunity in something which had been his dream job all his life. Mordecai’s mother’s sister was married to the man who owned the local mortuary. She had been particularly fond of her nephew and her training as a school teacher, together with her love for her sister, had softened her heart, making her want to do all she could for him. She had singlehandedly seen to it that he got through school with a high school diploma as good as anyone’s. After he was out of school, college being out of the question, Mordecai was as prepared as possible to enter the work force.

Following a brief stint as a fry-cook at the local drive-in, it looked as if he would never be able to hold down a job again. He lost the fry-cook position for reasons which were absolutely not his fault. The drive-in became infested with mice and when that knowledge became public it was bad for business. His boss told him to do something about the mice and Mordecai, with his limited imaginative powers had only been trained to run the deep fryer. So, he applied his knowledge to the problem at hand and had it remedied in no time.

When word of Mordecai’s firing reached the ear of the public, there was a reaction against the owner of the drive-in which resulted in a loss of business from which he never did completely recover. People were furious that Mordecai had been treated in such an arbitrary and capricious manner. But, sympathy doesn’t pay the bills; he had to find another job. After a month or so of unsuccessful job search, his lovely aunt came through again. She demanded her husband hire Mordecai as an assistant at the funeral home. He didn’t want to, but he could never say no to his wife’s requests. We all assumed it might have been because she seemed to be one of the dearest, most beautiful saints we had ever seen, but we later suspected that it might have been because her requests were not requests at all.

Mordecai was hired to be just a general helper around the mortuary. His duties at first were to clean up around the place and he took to his new job with alacrity. His uncle had to admit that the place looked better than it ever had before. He would have been perfectly happy to keep Mordecai on forever in his custodial position. But, Mordecai had greater plans. It was a while before his uncle allowed him in the embalming room. That was where he really wanted to work. Like any successful person, Mordecai was working himself out of custodial work, looking for more and greater responsibilities. It was a proud day when Mordecai informed the locals over morning coffee at the café that he had been promoted to “Embalmer’s Assistant.” It wasn’t very good for business right at first; there was a noticeable drop off in the number of funerals for women who were put off by the idea that Mordecai would be touching their naked bodies. But, where else could they go. The funeral home was the only one in town. So, as time went on people became more accustomed to the idea and business picked back up.

He seemed to do well in this career change. He did not get to conduct the funerals; that would have demanded more class and dignity than Mordecai could ever muster. He did, however, work his way out of the custodial role and did everything necessary for the preparation of the body and the service.

Mr. Davis owned the local hardware store. He wore a toupee for as long as anyone could remember, and he was known as “the man with the moving hair.” When it fell off, Mr. Davis would simply pick it up and stick it back where it belonged. His hair was never situated the same two days in a row. You didn’t know if the part was going to be on the right or the left or right down the middle. One time it was even across his head, running from side to side. He might have bangs one day and a receding hairline the next. When he died we all wondered how they would get that thing to stay on his head. At the funeral, as we walked by paying our respects, more than one of us laid our hands on his head imparting a special blessing from God. And while we were at it we gave it just a slight push to see how well it was on there. To our surprise, it seemed solidly attached. Later, when we were through grieving and mourning, we asked Mordecai how he got it to stay on so well. All he said was, “Nailed it,” and we changed the subject.

After he had been working at the mortuary for several years, his aunt prevailed on her husband to take a vacation. They hadn’t been anywhere in years and she was reaching an age that she was a little restless and needed a change. She needed a change in scenery or else she might start looking at changing something else. Her husband didn’t feel he could get away, his was the only funeral home in town and Mordecai was his only full-time employee. She was confident Mordecai could take care of things and, after great entreaty, persuaded her husband to take her to the beach, one of those resorts in Mexico, for a week-long holiday in the sun. It was December and cold where they lived and, if the truth be known, he, too, was looking forward to some time off in a warmer climate.

Her husband prepared a list of instructions for Mordecai. He told him to just keep the doors open and keep everything looking good and professional. He had made arrangements with the mortician in the next town to cover any funerals which might arise. But, he also gave him a list with about a dozen names on it with strict instructions that if any of those particular people died, Mordecai was to call him immediately. He was to take possession of the body and keep it cool. The people on the list were simply too rich to allow the other mortician to bury them. He could net as much from one or those funerals as he would from ten normal ones. And it wasn’t just a matter getting that funeral. He knew that if he did a good job with that one it would be good advertising for getting more and bigger funerals in the future. He had a bearing about himself like a gentleman from the Old South. Often calling himself a Southern Planter, he dressed and spoke and held himself out like a character from a Tennessee Williams play. He cultivated his image wherever and whenever he could and he knew doing a rich man’s funeral was the ideal time and place to showcase his many talents.

Mordecai, left alone and to his own devices, went about the daily work of the mortuary. Only one person died that week and since she was not on the rich list, he called the neighboring mortician to come get her and conduct the funeral. Mordecai stood in the back and observed with a very critical eye. He was critical of the dress she was wearing, her makeup and her hair. Nothing was right as far as he could see. His uncle could have obviously done a better job and, for that matter, Mordecai could have done better himself. It was the first time he allowed himself to think that maybe he could run his own funeral home someday.

With little else to do, Mordecai visited with his friend, an old eccentric living outside of town, by the name of Taylor Hanks. He was a large man with a full head of white hair and a long white beard. He was known for drinking to excess, usually a cheap whiskey. But, when Mordecai’s uncle was gone, he and Taylor would break into his private stash of Jack Daniel’s Black Label. And now he was gone for a week. On the second night they had pretty well emptied the cabinet of the good stuff. Taylor had done most of the drinking, although Mordecai did his share, and as he normally did when he went on a binge, Taylor went to sleep.

Mordecai decided he needed more of the good stuff, but he was short of cash. His uncle didn’t pay him all that much, but he wasn’t in the work for the money anyway. He had a job he loved and his salary was just a little bonus for him. But, clearly he had enjoyed the liquor from his uncle’s cabinet. He wanted to buy some more of it, and he knew he needed to replace what he and Taylor had consumed. His aunt and uncle were scheduled to come home in three days so he really didn’t have a lot of time to come up with a suitable plan. There were limited opportunities to make a good living in his small town and Mordecai knew there were even fewer opportunities to make extra cash quickly. And that was what he needed, extra cash quickly.

Fortunately for him, he had visited a neighboring town just the previous week and had seen at the local Walmart a sign saying, “Pictures with Santa.” As he was thinking about this, he took inventory of what this might require and compared this to what he had on hand. He had a camera and had mastered putting pictures on the computer where he could print them off if he so desired. They printed their own funeral programs and obituaries so he had everything he needed to print pictures. He still had an old Santa Claus suit he used to wear to schools and rest homes during the season. It was a little worn, but it was still red. The only problem he could see was who would be Santa and who would take the pictures? He couldn’t do both.

As he pondered the predicament, he cast his eyes toward Taylor where he was sleeping off his inebriation, lying on the embalming table. He was a large man with snowy white hair and beard. He was perfect for the part. And Mordecai knew from experience that Taylor would be asleep for another day or so.

It wasn’t easy getting Taylor into the Santa suit. It was like working on a dead man, but, of course, Mordecai was accustomed to working on dead people. It was a struggle, but he finally got Santa dressed. Now there was another problem. Taylor was sleeping so soundly there was no way he could possibly sit in a chair with a child in his lap. About the only position he was capable of maintaining was what he was already doing, lying prone on the embalming table. There was only solution as far as Mordecai could see. He rolled the finest casket from storage into the embalming and, with the aid of ropes and pulleys, placed Taylor into the coffin. He did a little last minute touch-up on the makeup and splashed some talc on his hair and beard to make it look even whiter. As he looked at him, he was satisfied with his work and looked forward to the day Taylor would be there for real and Mordecai could do it all over again.

A makeshift sign was placed out front. “Pictures with Santa.” All was ready and Mordecai waited with camera in hand.

Mollie Thompson worked at the local day care center. She wasn’t much smarter than Mordecai, if any at all. She had grown up with him and had gone to school with him. She and he had dated a little and most of the townsfolk thought they would make a good couple. They enjoyed the idea of their dating, but rather cringed at the thought of procreation. About the only people who expressed any concern for Mollie’s working with small children were people who didn’t have any of their own in the day care center. Those mothers who had children there really didn’t have any choice in the matter. They had to leave them somewhere and that particular center was the only place in town that provided such a service. So, they either knew Mollie better than the other townspeople and knew she was able to provide safe and nurturing care for their children, or they simply didn’t want to admit their misgivings. People with little alternative often have to accept the unacceptable.

Mollie was taking her young charges, aged 4 and 5, with a few just having turned to 6 years old, on a walk. It was a pretty day for December, the weather was unseasonably warm. They had a long rope on which the children held as they walked. Mollie took the lead and her subordinate followed behind, with the children strung out between them. It was a sight familiar to the people of the town and it pleased them to see the small children being so orderly and well-behaved.

As they approached the mortuary, Mollie saw the sign advertising the pictures with Santa. She didn’t know they were doing this as she had heard nothing about it and the sign wasn’t there the day before. She didn’t have the parents’ permission to have pictures made, but she thought what a treat it would be if she could just step in and let the kids see Jolly Old St. Nick. She turned off the sidewalk onto the walk to the front door. Her charges dutifully followed her like a flock of ducklings following their mother. And her aid came along unquestioningly, like a caboose bringing up the rear, following the engine without any input where or when it would go.

Mordecai was a little surprised to see them. They were his first visitors for the morning. He didn’t know anything about parental consent before taking pictures. He simply thought this was a windfall. Mollie thought she saw a little glow in Mordecai’s eyes as she entered the building and was convinced it was because of her. Mordecai smiled at her and she smiled at him. And she then smiled a little smugly at her underling who didn’t have a boyfriend like Mordecai, and probably not even the possibility of ever having one of such high quality. After the greetings, Mordecai took them into the viewing room.

Neither Mordecai nor Mollie had sense enough to see the wide eyes of the little tykes as they looked deep into the room and saw Santa lying in the coffin. Mollie could only see Mordecai and Mordecai could only see dollar signs, still having not been told there could be no pictures at that time. Everyone was seeing their own reality and the reality of the children was Santa lying in a coffin.

It took a little coaxing to get the kids up near the coffin. And as they stood there looking at him, Santa awakened.

(The above is purely fictitious. It was based on a sign I saw outside a funeral home a year ago which read, “Pictures with Santa.”)