'Unexpected find at construction site'...

It all started last November in the historic part of Philadelphia.
A construction crew digging to start a new high rise
apartment building unearthed some old bones... old bones
that turned out to be, after their examination, from the
18th century.  Seems that there was at one time an old
cemetery at that site.. and the people buried there were
supposed to be moved many years ago.... but we all
know what happens when things are 'supposed' to happen
but never get accomplished.

Any
way.. what started out as a few bones has now become about 70 old coffins, most with full remains in them.

And so things stopped for a few days while the city,  the construction crew and public health people tried to figure out their course of
action...

Here is the rest of the story;

Construction workers in Philadelphia made a bone-chilling discovery at the site of a forthcoming apartment complex.

The crew on Thursday uncovered dozens of coffins at the former parking lot near 2nd and Arch Sts. in Old City, ultimately bringing work on the new residence to a complete stand-still, CBS Philadelphia reported.

In November, PMC Property Group contractor discovered a few bones during the excavation of the site. As it turns out though, they’ve stumbled upon an 18th century cemetery, according to the news station.

Now historians, anthropologists and other experts are working to unearth the rest of the remains and study what’s left

“One of the goals of this project is to very carefully recover the remains and then give them a full analysis so that we really understand who we have here,” Rutgers-Camden professor Kimberlee Moran told ABC.

They’ve been able to dig up some coffins fully intact, though many of their discoveries are significantly deteriorated.

The site once housed the burial grounds of the First Baptist Church, established in 1707, according to the news station. In 1859, however, the remains were supposed to have been exhumed and relocated to Mount Moriah Cemetery.

After examination, the remains will be buried finally at the Mount Moriah Cemetery.

'The Duke and his cancers'...

John Wayne, ‘the Duke’, was an American icon indeed who appeared in

over 200 films spanning five decades.  Wayne was a heavy cigarette

smoker most of his life.. and even did commercials for Camels, which

was his favorite brand, even commenting about how they ‘had never given him any throat irritation’. Ironically Wayne suffered from lung cancer in 1964… but later developed stomach cancer in 1979….the latter actually being blamed for his death, not the smoking. But were the two related? You might think so… but in 1956, Wayne was shooting a movie near St. George, Utah…. the chilling tale and results of that film are below.

The Conqueror  was a 1956 American CinemaScope epic film directed by Dick Powell and written by Oscar Millard. The film stars John Wayne as the Mongol conqueror Genghis Khan and co-stars Susan Hayward, Agnes Moorehead, and Pedro Armendáriz. Produced by entrepreneur Howard Hughes, the film was principally shot near St. George, Utah.

Now this next sentence is most important:

The exterior scenes were shot near St. George, Utah, 137 miles (220 km) downwind of the United States government's Nevada National Security Site. In 1953, 11 above-ground nuclear weapons tests occurred at the site as part of Operation Upshot–Knothole. The cast and crew spent many difficult weeks at the site, and Hughes later shipped 60 tons of dirt back to Hollywood in order to match the Utah terrain and lend realism to studio re-shoots. The filmmakers knew about the nuclear tests but the federal government assured residents that the tests caused no hazard to public health.

But the future deaths by cancer would be staggering in their numbers.

Director Powell died of cancer in January 1963, seven years after the film's release. Armendáriz was diagnosed with kidney cancer in 1960, and killed himself in June 1963 after he learned his condition had become terminal. Hayward, Wayne, and Moorehead all died of cancer in the 1970s. Hoyt died of lung cancer in 1991. Skeptics point to other factors such as the wide use of tobacco — Wayne and Moorehead in particular were heavy smokers, and Wayne himself believed his lung cancer to have been a result of his six-packs-a-day cigarette habit. 

The cast and crew totaled 220 people. By the end of 1980, as ascertained by People magazine, 91 of them had developed some form of cancer and 46 had died of the disease. Several of Wayne and Hayward's relatives also had cancer scares after visiting the set. Michael Wayne developed skin cancer, his brother Patrick had a benign tumor removed from his breast, and Hayward's son Tim Barker had a benign tumor removed from his mouth.

Despite the suggestion that Wayne's 1964 lung cancer and his 1979 stomach cancer resulted from nuclear contamination, he believed his lung cancer to have been a result of his six-packs-a-day cigarette habit.

Wayne’s actual death certificate signed at the UCLA medical center listed the cause

of death as respiratory arrest due to a consequence of gastric cancer.

And so ended the life of a true American legend.

'Somewhere in the freight'....

Believe it or not, there are humorous situations that involve the death industry.
Here is a story from my book Undertakings of an Undertaker. It's one of the 28
stories told within the book....

Somewhere in the Freight

     The phone ringing in the middle of the night always meant someone had gone on, died, passed away, crossed over, sugared off. There were so many terms and descriptions for death. Young people would say "bit the dust". Older people were kinder and gentler, many liking the term “going on” or “slipping into the night.”  The verbiage used really isn’t significant. Whatever the term used, it all ends up the same. For the person for whom the bell tolls, there will be no morning oatmeal.

     So it was 2:00 am and a hospital in Florida was telling me that Floyd so and so from our hometown had gone on to his last reward.  As I struggled to force my eyelids to respond, a family member was put on the phone and instructed me that they

wanted Floyd flown back to our town for just a local burial, no service, just a burial in the family plot next to Maude, his wife who had expired years before.  I managed to write the information down, expressed my condolences to the family and hung up the

old clunky black telephone, a phone that actually had a bell in it. When it rang, you'd swear the dust would emerge from the curtains; it was that loud. I attempted to put cotton in the bells years before but got a brief, but powerful shock when I tried to open the bottom of the phone, its corporate insignia AT&T glaring at me on the warning that said, “Do not try to make adjustments to this phone.”  No kidding. I think the shock I received must have at stopped my fingernails from growing for at least six months. 

     As I stumbled groggily to my desk downstairs in the funeral home, my mind started to formulate a plan to retrieve the gentleman from Florida and bring him back here as his family had requested.  I reviewed my funeral director yellow book, quickly discovering a funeral director in Florida near the hospital where Floyd had died.  Perfect.  Here's a guy who would retrieve Floyd and put him on an airliner to Rochester, the airport closest to me. I though more about it and decided to wait and call the funeral director at 7:00 am. There was no need of spoiling his night as well.  I closed the yellow book, killed the light, and went back to bed.  Unfortunately, my brain kept buzzing over the new death call, and a return to a restful sleep was not to be realized. 

    At 6:00 am, I was back at my desk dialing Florida and an undertaker who could assist me on that end.  An answering service told me I had reached some corporate funeral home. The corporate guys always had answering services. The mom and pop guys usually lived on premises, like my wife and I, and were usually the sober voices that answered the phone. 

   "Of course," said the director in Florida.  He would be very happy to claim Floyd, get the necessary paperwork and find an airliner going to Rochester within the next day or so.

    The plan was set.  There was an immediate family member locally who came in later that day, gave me the information I needed, selected a very humble pine casket and concrete grave liner, and paid in advance the amount I had estimated for all of the work, including the Florida undertaker and the airline fare.  Life was good.  Things always felt good when you had a plan in place and your family was pleased with their arrangements.

     Twenty-four hours later I pulled the vehicle out of the garage, gassed it up, and headed north to Rochester, about ninety miles from our chapel.  It would take me about an hour and forty five minutes to get to the airport.  Then, after a quick drive to the freight office, which was only about 100 yards from the passenger gates, Floyd would be mine for the drive home.

    In those days, the mid-1980's and before, there was little or no airport security. There was no TSA, few gates to show I.D's, etc.  You just showed up, stated your business, and you were in.  How innocent those days were.  Little did we know how drastically things would change someday and how difficult simple things would become.

   Arriving at the freight office after an uneventful trip, I skipped up the four steps into the office announcing my presence and my intentions.  The guy behind the counter was munching on a tuna sandwich between swigs of soft drink and drags on a cigarette which almost choked me as I pulled back from him.

   "Is flight 490 from Atlanta on time?" I queried. He looked at me half interested as he continued to devour the sandwich. "I have some remains on that flight coming to my funeral home from Florida."

   With that, he wheeled around, pushed a button and looked at his TV screen.  "It’s already in," he proclaimed, "It came in early, about 20 minutes ago."

    Fantastic!  It was rare that a flight arrived early.  This meant that I might even be home early. It was a nice day to drive, but wanting to get back out and beat the afternoon commuters made me smile.

    "Back your car up to dock number 2 and we'll go fetch your guy," the attendant said.       

I quickly signed the receipt for the air-tray, which would contain the body, and I flew down the steps to await his next move.

    My car was backed up, the rear door popped, and I stood in my blue shirt, tie and sport coat, awaiting the front loader- lift which should soon appear with my guy attached.

    Instead, the same fellow came to the loading dock and started to say something, but his words were drowned out as an incoming airliner whined loudly overhead on its final approach and cast a shadow as it neared the runway just behind us.

   "What’s that?"  I screamed, so I could be heard.  "I didn’t hear you."

   The attendant had a sheepish look on his face as he jumped down and stood eyeball to eyeball with me next to the rear bumper.

    "I can’t find your guy. I know he's here. I just can’t find him"

     My mind was now processing this information.  You can’t find my guy.   A dead man in a standard pine and cardboard box, the size of a casket with stickers all over it saying

"human remains", “handle with care”, airline logos, etc., and this guy is telling me he's misplaced him?  This isn’t your standard shipment of copy paper, carpet remnants, or plastic actions figures. This is a deceased human we're talking about. You just don’t

misplace human remains. 

   I had to cut the cold veil of silence by asking, "You didn’t give him to somebody by accident did you?"   

   He looked at me like I thought he was a moron.  I think the term “moron” went through both of our skulls at the same time.

  "We'll turn the place over. We'll find him. I know he's here," the attendant tried to reassure me.

    I sat on the bumper of the car as he re-entered the building.  Five minutes turned to ten, ten to fifteen. Finally, the tractor emerged with my guy’s air-tray on the front, the driver smiling gleefully. 

   "Some guy threw a tarp over the box out back. Sorry for the wait."

   We loaded Floyd, I headed the car south, and we returned to the chapel unscathed. The next day I buried Floyd with a simple grave side prayer, and we called it a day.

The ironic part of the story was that just at the end of the service, the family member told me how great it was that Floyd was now home and tucked away with his family.

They said he had had a very frightful time once as a kid when he was lost in the woods for a couple of days. Wow. Floyd had almost done it again.  Sleep well Floyd; you are finally home. 

'Return to'.....

Did you ever have the thought of somehow going
back in time?  Maybe to that day of your high
school graduation... that first date... the day of
your first child's birth...or maybe something more
or less significant?

The clock has always been the master of us all...
literally in all things...it commands us totally
from morning till late night...setting our
schedule in neat little blocks of goals that must
be accomplished.

If you could go back in time... what year or
decade would you choose? You can leave
a comment below if you so desire.....

Time.... the most interesting concept of
them all!

'Remembering Patsy and her friends'...

 

What can you say about Patsy Cline? Words cannot describe her unmatched

talent. Her incredible career in the recording industry and live performing

touched thousands of people in the late 50’s and early 60’s.  Her biggest years

were from 1957-1963, she was putting out hit after hit, packing theaters

across the country and performing on the Grand Ole Opry. If you were one of

the lucky ones out there to have seen her in person… you were truly blessed.

She was the first female country singer to be inducted into the Country Music

Hall of Fame in 1973. Her music touched the soul, whether you were a country

music fan or not. Sweet Dreams, Crazy, She’s Got You, the list is endless. We

lost her crystal clear voice when she was just thirty years old, and we were all

cheated because of her untimely death. Play her music, remember her, and

pass it on……

Cowboy Copus, a young man from Ohio who started is music career while

appearing on local radio stations, as so many entertainers did fifty years ago.

A member of the Grand Ole Opry, Copus was known as the Country Gentleman

of Song. He was a solid entertainer who played the circuits of fairs, country

music halls and special events. His hits included Signed, Sealed and Delivered,

Tennessee Waltz and Alabam. His band was known as the Gold Star Rangers.

Cowboy Copus was just 50 when he was killed on that foggy, rainy day in March

of 1963.

Hawkshaw Hawkins, born in West Virginia, a country singer who had a rich,

smooth vocal presentation. With a six foot five inch frame, Hawkshaw commanded

the stage when he made an appearance in his spangled outfit and boots. I was

lucky to see him perform at the Steuben County Fair in Bath, NY. My father who

had a country and western band himself loved Hawkshaw and took me to see

Him, I believe it was in August of 1960, perhaps 61.  Hawkshaw performed for

years on WWVA in Wheeling and his signature song was Sunny Side of the Mountain.

In 1962, his biggest hit was released, just three days after his death was

Lonesome 7-7203 and that song was huge for weeks and months to follow.

Hawkshaw was just 42 when he died, but his fans continue to enjoy him. 

Randy Hughes, a session guitarist had met Patsy in 1959 and soon after became

her manager. He was the pilot and owner of the aircraft flying the night of the accident.

Hughes, age 34, was also the son-in-law of Cowboy Copus. Hughes did hold

a private pilot’s license but did not have an instrument rating, so he had to fly by

visual flight rules only. Hughes bought the aircraft in 1962, less than a year before

the day of the fateful crash. He had only logged 44.25 hours in the Piper Comanche

and only had a total of 160.10 hours flight time in his career. 

'Once you're published'....

It's amazing how the world has changed since the
intervention of the internet... in all phases of living
it seems.

The world of business has taken on a whole new
level of selling, promotion and marketing...and I
found that out quickly after publishing my first
book almost two years ago.

Since the release of Undertakings of an Undertaker,
My whole being has changed it seems.  My
'slow mail' volume has increased, my internet
activity has soared significantly... and much
more ominous and less interesting are the
'offers' that I 'shouldn't refuse'.

I have received offers from other companies who
want me to do business with them, but that of
course would be at a nominal fee of just one
or two thousand dollars to be affiliated with them.

A publishing company in Atlanta this week
desperately wanted me to participate in a New
York book fair coming up in N.Y.C.... and it
was only going to cost me $2,000, taken in
payments for my convenience.  I've had
companies who wanted to make me T-shirts,
coffee mugs... small plastic caskets to
promote my book....ha... you name it,
the list is endless.

Some where in some of those offers, a legitimate
one might exist...but you wouldn't have
enough time in this life or the next to
find that 'needle in the haystack.'

So as I continue to work on book number two
for hopefully later this year...I have a new
'caution' flag up around me... like the
old robot on Lost in Space who used to
utter...Warning..Warning...

Sitting at an old manual typewriter a few
years ago seemed so much simpler... and
a whole lot stressful.  I think I still
have that machine somewhere.

On Lady Gaga......

It seemed like just a couple of years ago that I

wasn't all that excited about Lady Gaga...she had

some pretty wild outfits... especially the 'raw

meat thing' she modeled awhile back....she does

know how to get attention, that's for sure.  But

last year  when she did the anthem at the super

bowl... I  all of a sudden took notice... and

started  to  listening to her.  She is an incredible

talent, on the piano and at the microphone.  And

this year's super bowl halftime I thought was an

outstanding performance. The visuals, the

overall presentation; everthing I thought was

superb... and that from me, a cranky old

white man who really 'isn't with' the modern

times at all.  So Lady Gaga; my old hat is

off to you!  Great job... keep pounding out

the good stuff for us....you will inspire a lot

of new performers I am sure.