When we entered Latham Cemetery, and I confess I was still unsure that all my phone calls had produced a ready hole in the ground, we saw, in the distance, a lone truck next to a fresh mound of earth. We pulled up to the driver and instead of introducing ourselves we simply said hi.
Keith, who worked for the vault company, was a young guy, lean of frame, not too tall, and with a quick smile and efficient manner. He grumbled just a bit about how the concrete box (into which the body is placed) didn’t fit into the grave. Instead of four inches too long, the hole was four inches too short. Not a problem on a warm day with soft earth, and a truck with a motorized winch, but this day he had neither. The arduous process of raising and lowering the half ton box was pure mechanical advantage – a long chain wrapped through a series of pulleys. Easy to lower, but way slow to raise, and bare-handed Keith was doing just that in 11 degree wind chill weather.
He’d raise the box, hack away at the frozen earth, lower the box only to find it didn’t fit, raise it again and hack away more earth. Finally Keith gave up and pulled the box all the way out of the hole. He called the funeral home who called the grave digger, and together they jumped down and worked, spades in hand, on either side of Mack’s grave. Time was not exactly flying at we stood in the cold wind, so I’m guessing the too small hole added another two hours to the committal. Keith apologized but we didn’t care a bit. Peter simply joked about the stubborn earth mimicking the stubborn man about to placed into it.
Will it fit?
“Not a chance, Keith.”
Gaining access.
Keith works on one side and
Jim on the other.
