Funeral Directing: The Art of Death
Patrick Wendt was in the business of death. To put it in less daunting terms, Mr. Wendt was a funeral director and had been a part of the Wendt family business since his early childhood. The business runs deep, Pat being the sixth of seven generations to run the funeral home. His nephew now takes the reigns, becoming the seventh generation to run Wendt Funeral Home.
Illinois's oldest funeral home run by a single family had its beginnings in 1866, with J. Robert Earler, a German immigrant, opening the first Wendt funeral parlor in Port Byron, IL. From there, the business continued to be passed down generation after generation. It became a rite of passage. These days, Pat is settled down and retired after a full career funeral directing.
As I pulled into the secluded cul-de-sac to meet Patrick, I came to a crawl, finally stopping in front of a quaint pastel yellow home. I had ten minutes until our interview, and my anxiousness and anticipation grew. I only knew what was provided on the Wendt website, detailing the long history of the parlor. I was impressed, to say the least, and wondered what an entire life dedicated to this field could make of a man. I’ve had my fair share of funerals in the past, and even the ones for those of which I vaguely knew were hard. Seeing people in deep grieving is always hard, despite whether you are close to them or not. The one thing I did know was that Patrick was very familiar with this and had undoubtedly gone through this process over and over.
I waited for the right moment to walk up to the house, but the front door swung wide open and who I presumed to be Mr. Wendt stared directly at my car. This was my cue and it was time to make my move. I made my way to the door, and he welcomed me with a warm smile and told me to call him Pat. I began to relax. He wore a pastel yellow polo, matching the color of his house, and his full head of snow-white hair was neatly combed. Upon entering, I couldn’t help but take note of the impeccable neatness and simplicity of the home. We took our seats in the living room, a space that felt oddly familiar to me. It consisted of two padded armchairs, a couch, coordinating side and coffee tables, and an area rug. My eyes locked onto the box of tissues perfectly centered on the coffee table, and that’s when I knew. The living room in many ways mirrored a funeral parlor, from the tissues to the style of furniture- though it was a much brighter and cheery version.
I asked Pat to start from the very beginning, and he began to recall fondly of his early interactions with the family business.
“When I was ten- maybe nine, I can distinctly remember my father getting all of us up, taking us to the funeral home at 6 O’Clock in the morning and shoveling off the driveway,” Pat said.
A plan had been laid out for Pat and his brothers. According to Pat, “It was get married, go to mortuary college, and live in the apartment above the funeral home.”
After the death of his father in 1967, Pat with his two brothers became partners to run the funeral home. His third brother got out of the business altogether and moved to Florida. Pat’s time with Wendt Funeral Home shined through with his passion and vast knowledge for the field. He spoke with a calm confidence that invoked a sense of expertise, and he was quick to acknowledge that things have changed between 1967 and now- most notably the cost.
Today, “A typical, what I would call traditional funeral that involves a visitation, a service, and transportation to the cemetery, will run you between $8,000 and $9,000.” Pat said. “Depending on the casket and services we can get it as low as $5,000 in some cases.”
Pat noted the old way of pricing funeral costs, saying “Funerals used to come in package deals. You paid for the funeral based on the price of the casket. But every funeral included a hearse, a limousine for the family, a lead car, and occasionally a pallbearer car.”
He then explained that this changed when congress created a policy in hopes of reducing the cost for the consumer. The policy made funeral directors separately charge for each item and service they provided, as opposed to a one-price package deal.
Pat said that “this forced funeral directors to account for and really figure out what the cost of every item was to the last nickel. So then a funeral director had to look at it like, well the casket cost me $600… typical retail markup is twice, or three times that… By the time we got done, it ended up costing the families more because the funeral director was actually focused in on what the cost was to them.”
As much as funeral directors were against the government getting involved with their businesses, the fact of the matter was that it greatly increased profitability.
“It’s typical. When the government gets involved, it gets screwed up.” Pat said with a laugh.
This created a temporary boom in the market. But as traditional funeral costs soared, the popularity of cremation grew and the boom began to fade.
“Not so much today, but back in the day, these were businesses that usually made a handsome living. There's no denying it.” Pat said.
Now, Pat sees the funeral industry taking a turn and said he can foresee the industry evolving into exclusively removal and cremation services. In 1967, cremation services totaled 4%. Today it makes up 45%.
“That doesn’t mean funeral homes per se are going to go out of business, but there's going to be an alternative that just deals with cremation,” Pat said.
On the topic of cremation, Pat shared some not-so-common knowledge information about the process. It turns out that cremation doesn’t just incinerate the body into ash, as many might assume. According to Pat, “Everybody assumes that the fire turns you to ashes, and it doesn’t. They come out as bones. And then they run you through a grinder.”
Even more, some never return to pick up the remains of their family members. Pat said that “After six months to a year, the remains are surrendered to the county to be put in a common grave. The county makes a note of where the remains are at if anybody decides to go visit.”
As the majority of America continues to transition to cremation over burial, Pat remains firm that “this change is driven by the cost partially, but I see it more as a change in societal norms… the tenderness of their mercies are starting to decline is where I’m coming from… And again that’s part of society not worrying about how they bury their dead.”
I pressed Pat further on why he thought the tenderness of their mercies were declining. Before he spoke, he clasped his hands in his lap, and a look of contemplation washed over him. Pat had been gentle and careful with his words throughout our conversation, a skill acquired through a profession that required just that.
Pat continued after a moment, saying that he knows things have changed for the worst in his eyes because “People don’t show up dressed for a funeral. They walk in, they’ve got their 36 oz mug with them, and they’re in cut-offs.”
Pat raised his hands up in a half shrug, conveying without words a “What can you really do?”
In the end, Pat admitted that he understands why many families opt for cremation over burial, his main point being that “From a transportation standpoint, families can live all over the country. People have jobs, and it can be difficult to get everyone together for a funeral. Typically when that happens, we cremate them and we’ll have a service later when they can arrange a time to get together.”
After talking about his past and the logistics of running a funeral home, I finally asked him what it really takes to be a good funeral director. Pat replied, “You have to have empathy for everybody. You have to be able to put yourself in their position, number one. You have to be good at communication so people know that you’ve got their best interest at heart. I’m not equating them to the clergy, but you are meeting them at the worst time in their lives, and it’s up to you to guide them through.”
When I was anxiously sitting in my car an hour prior, I thought I might perhaps meet a hardened and desensitized man. I’d assumed that a career like this would require a good amount of going through the motions day after day. After we said our goodbyes and I had left, I began to think about empathy and what it really meant to empathize. On an individual level, dealing with our own emotions is taxing enough, but to share the feelings of another during “the worst time in their lives” as your job… I can only imagine it’s a hard labor of love. After my hour with Pat concluded, I realized how wrong I was with my preconceptions. Pat wasn’t desensitized; he had mastered the ability to feel.