MANNERS & MORALS: Where's the Eye Appeal?

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MANNERS & MORALS

Between lectures at the University of Chicago Small Businessmen's Seminar, Lemuel R. (for Robert) Crockett slipped into the corridor for a smoke. Thin, dapper Lem Crockett was in caskets—V.P. and general manager of the Evansville (Ind.) Casket Co., Inc. Like most U.S. businessmen and manufacturers, he was worried about Government controls.

"Take the last war," Lem explained to a reporter. "Son, the Government buried us in controls. Take sizes, for instance. Before the war we were making a nice job —6 ft. 6 by 26. Along comes the war, and the Government tells us what to make—6 ft. 3 by 22 was the largest. Son, the morticians had to fit them in with a shoehorn. All because the Government didn't know people had been growing bigger." Lem flicked an ash off his brown Palm Beach suit. "You've seen those high-class metal handles. We couldn't get them any more, so we had to use wood. Now, you tell me, where's the eye appeal in a wooden handle?

"Supposing ten years ago your grandmother passed away," continued Lem, bowing his head in an automatic reflex of respect. "Maybe she had one of our high-class caskets, maybe she had the middle or low class. Whatever she had, when tragedy strikes your family again . . . you're going to want the same job as your dear grandmother got. But it can't be done . . . You'll have to have the wood; won't be any more steel. Sure, we can fix up the inside a little extra—more plush and all—but folks like the outside to have class, and class costs, these days."

Lem noted sadly that his real expensive model in all-bronze ("Sell quite a few to Chicago—call it our gangster model") was no more. "Those guys will have to settle for wood," said he with finality.

"Face it, son," he went on. "The casket business is funny. We can't create a market; people die, or they don't—it's not up to us. All we can do is bury the death rate, and that's some job . . . We have about 10,000 different models, all the way from 18-inchers to the six-foot-sixers in bronze, aluminum, cypress, mahogany, inside silks, satins, plushes—things like that. But with the war, we just can't have the range. They make you stabilize . . . It's too bad, but that's how it goes."

Lem Crockett's colleagues started filing back into the auditorium, so Lem crushed his Fatima on the floor and turned to leave. "Don't worry, son," said he. "We'll take care of those that pass away [a quick bow of the head]. But it's going to be tough on all of us."