5. Papa’s Young Protégé

The first funeral I ever conducted was held in our church, but the interment was to be in a country graveyard many miles from town. As I had very few country parishioners, I did not own a horse and buggy. The bereaved family was poor. We wanted to spare these good people any unnecessary expense; so the undertaker drove the hearse and I sat perched high beside him.

It was a very hot day. The graveyard, evidently not used much, was overgrown with tall timothy hay. The old caretaker, who apparently hadn’t cared very far beyond the call of duty, met our little cortege at the open gate.

“I don’t know jest how yer a-goin’ t’ make out,” he ‘lowed.

“The boys ran into a yallerjackets’ nest; and they’s a-buzzin’ around right thick like at the grave.”

But this was no time to abandon the business that had brought us here. We drove on to the graveside. I firmly intend to spare you the details of this event. The committal service was brief and to the point. If I left anything out, there were no complaints. The relatives were too busy fighting yellowjackets to pay much attention to what we had come to do. Nobody lingered.

As boy and man, I think I have seen about everything happen to disturb the orderly procedure of a funeral.

Once, during the early days of my ministry, on the half-mile trip from the church to the cemetery, the team attached to the pallbearers’ large conveyance, frightened by the band, ran away.

The deceased, prominent in county politics, had been an incorrigible “joiner.” In the procession, far ahead of clergy, hearse, pallbearers, family, etc., marched, in full uniform, the Knights Templar, I.O.O.F., Modern Woodmen, Junior Order of American Mechanics, Elks, Moose, and more.

The frightened horses took off for the country by the shortest route which lay straight ahead. At full gallop they plunged through the long files of marching men who scurried to the fences making no effort to defend themselves with the axes and swords with which they were armed.

At a funeral I conducted, some twenty-five years ago, a belated family of relatives arrived at the cemetery after the casket had been lowered to what had been referred to as its last resting place, and firmly insisted on seeing Auntie. Everybody but the protagonists of this idea thought that it was an immensely foolish thing to do; but the late-comers held their ground. It took a long time, but we did it. A lot of relatives weren’t on speaking terms when they left for home.