: FRONT PAGE

 Wreath Laying at Capital
On December 8th, VFDA is proud to support the annual wreath laying at all state capitals as well as in Washington, D.c. This ceremonial placing of a wreath in support of all veterans will take place at 12 noon on December 8th and all are encouraged to attend. For more information on this project visit www.wreaths-across-america.org.  

 VFDA Membership Meeting / Installation of Officers
VFDA membership meeting and bi-annual installation of officers will be held on December 9, 2008 at the Sheraton Burlington Conference Center. The day will begin with a 3 hour pre approved continuing education course presented by Alan Creedy that begins at 1 PM. Mr. Creedy has published articles in the Director Magazine and spoken nationally. He has extensive experience in the Funeral trade and other consumer related fields. Don't miss his three hour conversation on better understanding and serving the consumer.

The membership meeting will begin at 4 PM and in addition to updates on EDRS and state inspections we will hear from the current NFDA president John Reed. A reception will follow the meeting sponsored by Adirondack-Burlington Cremation Services and then the bi-annual dinner and installation of your 2009-2010 officers. Please send in your sign up sheet for the dinner on or before December 5th at 12 noon.  

 JetBlue Airways to receive Human Remains at the Burlington Airport
After considerable amounts of work on the part of VFDA President Book and members Chris Thrane and Greg Camp while attending the National convention, JetBlue Airways has agreed to receive Human Remains at the Burlington Airport. This will require the funeral homes to meet the incoming planes as the "cargo" area is still not open for business to Human Remains. One Vermont funeral home has already used this service and the association hopes that as usage continues we might convince the Burlington Airport to reopen the Cargo area and we can begin sending remains as well. Please use this service when ever possible to show our support to JetBlue.

JetBlue serves Burlington with three daily flights between JFK-BTV with our Airbus-320 capable of moving (2) HR's per flight.

Please call 1-866-287-BLUE (2583) for reservations and information.

 

 Maple Leaf Clinic announces suicide support group
Maple Leaf Clinic announces a support group for individuals who have suffered the loss of a relative or friend through suicide. Heartbeat Vermont is the local chapter of the national Heartbeat organization. The meetings will be offered at Maple Leaf Clinic in Wallingford, Vermont, on the third Tuesday of every month from 6:30 p.m. to 8:00 p.m. There is also a lending library available to support individuals suffering any type of loss.

Although professional counseling staff will moderate the group, the primary purpose of the group is to offer a structured and safe environment to people who have lost friends or family members to suicide. Additionally, the group will provide an opportunity to give and receive information, resources, emotional support, and the hope of healing. Attendance is open to all individuals age 14 and over. This is not a psychotherapy group, and there are no fees in order to attend.

If you have any questions or require further information, please contact Maple Leaf Clinic at (802) 446-3577 or visit our website at www.MapleLeafClinic.com.  

 Michigan Mortician Sues Two Vermont Funeral Groups
By Ken Picard as appeared in Seven Days publication

A Michigan funeral director and nationally acclaimed author has sued two of the nation's oldest and largest consumer advocacy groups on funeral ethics, both based in Vermont, accusing them of libel and defamation.

The Funeral Consumers Alliance of South Burlington and the Funeral Ethics Organization of Hinesburg are among four defendants named in a federal lawsuit, filed last month in U.S. District Court in Michigan by Thomas Lynch. Lynch, whose family business Lynch and Sons owns and operates six funeral homes throughout southeastern Michigan, is seeking more than $75,000 in damages, as well as relief from "consistent and continuous harassment."

Both Vermont organizations deny any wrongdoing and insist their criticisms are legitimate and valid.

Neither party would say much about the case on the record. But the lawsuit shines a light on an industry that critics say is fraught with unsavory and illegal business practices by funeral directors who prey upon consumers at their most vulnerable moments.

Lynch has a different view. He alleges, among other things, that the Funeral Ethics Organization (FEO) and its executive director Lisa Carlson made libelous and defamatory statements about him in a book and monthly newsletter. According to Lynch, Carlson branded him "a liar," accused him of "misleading the public" about legal options available for disposing of the dead, and charged him with "breaking the law" in his business dealings with at least three Michigan families.

Lynch's case may hinge upon whether the court rules that the remarks constitute fair criticism of a public figure. Lynch isn't just a mortician but also a commentator on the funeral industry. An author, poet and college professor, Lynch has written six books, including a collection of essays entitled The Undertaking: Life Studies From the Dismal Trade, which appeared on The New York Times bestseller list and won an American Book Award. The book was also the subject of a PBS/Frontline film of the same name, which won an Emmy in 2007.

But the defendants are public figures, too, in the funeral industry. Carlson, who founded the FEO, literally wrote the book on do-it-yourself funerals. Caring for the Dead: Your Final Act of Love is a 640-page compendium of state laws that govern the handling of the dead without the services of an undertaker.

A consummate public speaker and storyteller, Carlson also penned I Died Laughing: Funeral Education With a Light Touch, a collection of jokes and cartoons that takes an irreverent look at our passage into the sweet hereafter. Over the years, she has been a frequent critic of Lynch, most recently in the Spring/Summer 2008 issue of the FEO newsletter, in which she accused the Lynches of lobbying against a change in the funerary laws and being "vocal against families caring for their own dead." Michigan is one of seven states that require a mortician's involvement in the disposal of a dead body.

Carlson later retracted her remarks, in print and online. But Lynch rejected her apology as inadequate, and accused her of simply restating and rewording the "malicious mischaracterization" of him and his business.

Lynch declined to comment for this article. However, in an August 2008 letter to FEO, he explains his position: "All I've ever said to her is that I do not oppose the law as it stands now and am disinclined to lobby for a change. Ms. Carlson takes umbrage with that opinion and therefore fashions me, in her newsletter, a vocal opponent of families caring for their own dead . . . She is welcome to umbrage, but not libel."

Carlson would only say that she stands "wholeheartedly" behind her criticism of Lynch and is "looking forward" to her day in court.

Joshua Slocum, executive director of the national funeral-ethics watchdog group Funeral Consumers Alliance, is also an unrepentant Lynch critic. From a small office in South Burlington, Slocum fields dozens of complaints a day of abuse, fraud or neglect by morticians, cemeteries, crematoria and mausoleum directors.

Lynch alleges that the Funeral Consumers Alliance and its Idaho chapter posted a PowerPoint presentation on its website entitled, "Deconstructing Thomas Lynch: Why good guys sometimes go wrong." The complaint claims that the presentation libels and defames Lynch and his family and mischaracterizes their business practices.

Slocum said he didn't write the presentation but stands by its assertions and will defend them vigorously in court.

"It's bad enough that Tom Lynch does not understand that he is not above being subject to fair critique for what he writes in public by people who disagree with him," Slocum said. "But it is infinitely worse that he would turn his legal guns on nonprofit organizations that exist largely on donations from the public and do work in a charitable sense for the public. I find that appalling, and he should be ashamed of himself."

Lynch has himself been an outspoken critic of the abuses plaguing his own industry. In December 2005, he gave a presentation to the Vermont Funeral Directors Association in which he chided morticians about the need to elevate the reputation of their trade if they hope to remain in business in an age when many Americans are choosing cremation over burial.

"We have gone from trafficking in the sublime to trafficking in the ridiculous," Lynch told his fellow morticians. "Just because a funeral costs the same as a trip to Disneyworld doesn't mean we should market it like one."

The case is expected to go to trial sometime in early 2009.  

: ARTICLES

 "CONFESSIONS OF A SMALL TOWN FUNERAL DIRECTOR"

By Randy Garner of the Day Funeral Home and published in the October issue of the American Funeral Director

In my town, people understand that I don't make a profit every time someone dies�I make a living. Like them, I have never found a grocery or department store that would feed and clothe my family for free�or a bank that would lend me money for a house, then be unconcerned when I fail to make the mortgage payments. So I must charge for what I do, and they're OK with that. They trust me to be fair, and I certainly try to be. When I lived in a large city, it would bother me when someone would declare that I "must be able to harden to all the tragedy that a funeral director sees." I would never want that to be true of myself. In my town, when tragedy strikes, the community, instead, understands that it is difficult for me too, and they show their concern for my well being. The basket of goodies left at my front door by the church ladies, or the hug and thanks for doing what I do. It's the thing I rely on, when so often, I'm caring for people that I know. They are not potential customers or prospects~they are neighbors. It is, you see, the paradoxical curse and blessing of being a small town funeral director. It's why in between deaths I can't sit around wondering which one of them will be the next to go. I prefer, instead, to put it out of my mind, and stay busy around our farm, on the tractor, or making maple syrup in the sugar house. I stay busy trying to help out in my community, and when someone needs my help, I stop what I am doing, and I go.

It rained again this morning, and it started me thinking about something � remembering. Three Springs ago I stood under a canopy at Pleasant View Cemetery with the hospital chaplain and the parents of child that had died shortly after birth. This was their first child, and the grief they were experiencing was profound. They had come to say goodbye to someone they never got a chance to know. There were no memories of happier times spent together, no humorous stories from her life. All they could do was say goodbye. As we stood in silence, a warm Spring rain began. The drops falling from the edge of the canopy made it seem to me as though the heavens, too, were crying. When the service had finished, under umbrellas, I helped the parents and the chaplain into their cars, and they drove away. As I stood under the canopy alone, waiting for the cemetery workers, though I tried not to, I could not help but to think about my own family. How fortunate my wife and I had been with our four children, not to have experienced their heartbreak. Our children had all been born healthy and never had we gone to the crib in the morning to find one of them cold and lifeless. God willing, they will live long productive lives, and bring us grandchildren in our old age. As the cemetery workers drew closer, I felt tears streaming down my face. Not wanting them to see, I stepped out from under the canopy and turned my face to the heavens. My tears were instantly combined with rain drops and my secret was safe. Now it seemed to me that my tears and the rains had gathered together in one place, for one brief moment, the sadness of all the families I had tried to help over the years.

My friend, Christopher, the hospital chaplain who stood with me that afternoon, died this past October. He was 38 years old. The story of his death began with a seizure that revealed a brain tumor that would eventually take his life. Two nights before he died, I had the privilege of sitting up with him all night, pushing the button on his morphine pump whenever it would allow. At one point, he came up from his narcotic induced coma and mumbled to me, "Good Nurse". Two nights later, he died. Another of his friends, Dan, and I carefully placed Christopher on the stretcher, covered him with a quilt, and took him out to the van. Back at the funeral home, I sacramentally bathed his tired body, trying to remove any signs of the dreaded disease that had claimed him. The cancer could not harm him any more. The next day, we dressed Christopher in Jeans and a tee shirt, and he and I took one last ride together to the crematory, the long way around. I find myself thinking I'll bump in to him at one of his favorite places, like the coffee shop or the library� places where I expect to see him still. His death tore the fabric of our community, and I miss him. He was my friend.

The day before his funeral, two brothers, one seventeen and one twelve, pulled out of their driveway for a road trip to visit their mother who lived two states away. Less than a mile from their house, the family dog jumped into the lap of the eldest who was driving causing him to lose control sending the car over the embankment. His unrestrained twelve year old brother was thrown from the car, which then came to rest on top of him. He died as his older uninjured brother ran a half mile to the closest house to call for help.

Jake sat quietly as his parents made funeral arrangements for his brother. When it came time to pick out a casket, Jake stayed behind. After I had finished explaining the caskets to his parents, while they spent time looking around, I went back and sat with Jake. I told him that he was a good kid, and how sorry I was. He said nothing in return. There were others things I wanted to say. I wanted to tell him that sometimes people die, and it's no one's fault. That his little brother was lucky to have someone who cared enough to want to spend time with him, even though he was five years younger. But anything else I might have said was cut short by the lump welling in the back of my throat. So we just sat silently, waiting for his parents to return, doing our best not to cry. The car insurance paid most of the bill. I could not bring myself to press his father for the balance. The rest of the payment would come from a good night's sleep, knowing that some things in this life are too horrific to demand a fee -- adding a financial burden to the tragedy of losing a son in such a manner as this. While I'm sure that most people find me very helpful, I am not under the lofty illusion that I can somehow magically reverse the sting of grief. Sometimes I feel that the best I can do at times like this, is to stand with them, guide them through several difficult days, and along the way, try hard not to make things worse.

Two months later I stopped off at the grain store on the way home from work to pick up some feed for the horse. As I entered the store, I could see Jake several aisles over, stocking shelves. He looked up as I entered, and without smiling, gave a quick jerk of his head to say hello. I gave the clerk my order. As I finished paying, the clerk grabbed the walkie talkie to radio my order to the yard. But before he could speak, Jake shouted "I've got this one". It was the week before Christmas, and quite cold outside�single digits as I remember. Jake went to the back room and found his coat, then silently joined me as I walked out to the grain yard. He went about loading the grain into my truck, and as he threw in the last bag, he looked up at me, and with the faintest of a smile said, "Have a nice Christmas, Mr. Garner". "You too, Jake", I said. "You too.". I went on home and changed my clothes, then went out to the barn and unloaded the grain. And as I mucked out the horse's stall, this time, I cried.

My best friend is a respected local physician of long standing. Sometimes when community tragedies are mounting, we retreat to his hot tub, and over a cold beer, try to make sense of it all. He being the one who finds himself delivering the news of terminal illness to members of our close knit community, and I the one sitting with them months later when the disease has run its course. I don't think that we've ever really come up with any profound wisdom on the subject---nothing to explain away the human condition, or give us some unique ability to treat it all as though, in the long run, it doesn't really matter anyway. Not believing like those who wonder why the fuss when we are all headed for the same destination, at varying speeds anyway. But this much we believe. That in the end it does matter�we all matter. That when someone we love is taken away, we will grieve and we will miss them. Living in a small community, we try to help each other through life's tragedies, and we give thanks for each other. Perhaps my doctor friend and I feel fortunate that our unique perspective on the issue makes us a little more grateful for the gift of life and for the closeness of friends that living in a small town brings. And though it's not ever easy to be front and center for this town's illness and grief, far from being a burden, it is a privilege. I like to think that it in some way defines a large part of who we are, and of how we will be remembered when we, like our friend Christopher, have gone.