When Life is More Important
The Baltimore Sun’s Michael Dresser asks when it’s OK to cut through a funeral procession.
George and Cassie Bailey live near Dulaney Valley Memorial Gardens, where police officers and firefighters are often buried. Funerals for active-duty public safety deaths are often miles long, involving hundreds of vehicles. It can easily take well over two hours for the procession to clear any given point.
George Bailey requires dialysis; his kidneys don’t work. He gets treatment every week, and it’s a live-saving issue. If he doesn’t get the toxins cleaned out of his body properly, he’ll get sicker, and die. Several times in the past, the Baileys have been held up in their apartment complex by funeral processions. Even when they’ve left early, they’ve gotten caught at other intersections. On one occasion, when she explained the situation and asked a traffic officer if they could get through, he refused. On another, the desk officer told her anyone she asked would laugh at her.
A department spokesman was concerned over that response, and suggested the Baileys contact the precinct captain. Dresser closes with this comment:
It’s time for a wide-ranging - and respectful - discussion between local police chiefs and the public about how to continue these motorcades while preserving public health, safety and mobility. Because if the two goals can’t be reconciled, it’s time for a new tradition.
The comments following the article are interesting, and wide-ranging. Some are pro-police, and some are anti-police. Many are anti-funeral, or at least anti-procession. How about it? Is it time to re-think the idea of processions, especially in larger cities?
Respect The Procession
They do in Port Huron, Michigan.
Some don’t in Florida, though.
Funeral Processions and the Law, Take 2
An Oregon resident writes about rude drivers in a letter to the editor. Note that the drivers weren’t just being rude, they were in violation of several Oregon statues covering funeral processions. I’ve come to the realization that people are just ignorant of procession laws, since they vary so from state to state. What’s required in some states isn’t even mentioned in others; several states don’t recognize processions at all. Add in self-appointed legal experts, and things become even more murky.
Locally, a Delhi Township police officer was struck during a funeral procession in suburban Cincinnati. His injuries were not considered life-threatening. The driver apparently left the scene after the crash, but later returned.
Funeral Industry News - 17 September 2008
In this summary: a funeral home employee steals urns, then sells them for scrap; an SC funeral home recovers from an arson fire; and an NC funeral home has its license suspended.
Escort Dies
Steven Keith, the 51-year-old funeral escort hit by a drunk driver on 3 April, has died.
Here’s his employer. You can send your condolences there.
A Matter of Common Courtesy
Stuff like this still occasionally happens, even up here in Central Ohio. I think the coolest time I ever saw it happen was three or four years ago, when 2 young boys, maybe 11 or 12 years old, stopped what they were doing, stood to, and paid their respects to the procession. It wasn’t a nice neighborhood, either, which made it all the more poignant.
Escort Hit By Drunk Driver
A funeral escort working Jackson County, Missouri was hit by a drunk driver April 3d. The escort suffered “life-threatening injuries” when a 20-year-old intoxicated male began passing the procession one car at a time, leapfrogging his way up. The escort, moving up to the front of the procession, was struck when the intoxicated driver swerved out to pass another car.
And I Think I’ve Got It Rough
Up in Shorewood, IL (near Joliet), apparently people get pretty worked up over having to wait for funeral processions.
Clara Plut, 20, was recently stuck waiting for a funeral procession (for Troy Fire Protection District Chief Kerry Sheridan) to pass by. I’ve worked firefighter funerals before. They’re big. Think seventy-five cars easy, along with fire apparatus. Clara got perturbed about waiting, and texted a firefighter friend of hers, making what she thought was a joking comment about killing a firefighter.
Now, I don’t know if Clara really was that ticked off about waiting for the funeral. Nor do I know how well she knew the FF she was threatening. I DO know it was a pretty stupid move for her to make, and I think she’s learning that lesson as well. She’s lucky to just be facing a DC charge. These days, she could have been facing a terroristic threats charge, or telecommunications harassment, or both.
Stories from work
In this post, I talked about a funny story from work. Just a few days later, a co-worker radioed me with his own story.
Seems that he was blocking traffic at the bottom of an off-ramp, as his 35-car procession was coming off the freeway. He was blocking both lanes with his motorcycle when a lady pulled up on his left side and asked if he was OK.
He responded in the affirmative, and thanked her for her concern. Then she asked him why he was sitting in the middle of the road. She was apparently oblivious to the flashing red and yellow lights on the back and sides of his motorcycle, as well as the procession passing by 20 yards or so down the road. My colleague pointed the procession out to her, and she responded with something to the effect of “Oh, that’s what those things are.”
Sigh.
Today, that same co-worker was on an off-ramp when he managed to ride through a large spill of concrete that had apparently spilled from a truck. Not his day, I guess.
Also today, I was headed south on the same street involved in my previous story, blocking traffic for the procession to move through, when a white four-door sedan with out-of-state plates zipped past me on the right, then turned down a side street. There wasn’t much I could do except blow my whistle in frustration.
About five blocks later, I pulled up to a light just as a white four-door sedan with out-of-state plates arrived at the side street. I realized it was the same car. He started to pull out, and I blew the whistle and raised my hand to a “stop” signal. I pointed to him, and made the stop signal again, just so he was clear. He unbuckled his seat belt and stuck his head out of the sun roof to ask me, “Is that illegal or something?”
I replied, “As a matter of fact, it is. Check out ORC section 4511.451 if you’re curious, and have a nice day.” He looked perturbed as he sat back down. Oh well.
What Am I Missing?
I’m a funeral escort. That basically means I ride a motorcycle in front of an d along funeral processions, helping surrounding traffic see the procession and respond accordingly. I clear traffic in front of them, help them get on the freeway, and generally try to make their trip to the cemetery safer for everyone involved.
Some days, that’s easier said that done. Yesterday was one of those days. I had a 25-car procession westbound on a two-lane street, approaching a big intersection with a five-lane street. This particular intersection is a little odd. While it’s a four-way intersection, the east and west branches are offset from each other by about fifty feet, so you can’t just drive straight through. When westbound, you have to make a left and a quick right.
So here I am, flashing lights turned on, with my black and safety yellow vest on, pulling in to the intersection on a green light. I see to my left that the northbound traffic has filled all three lanes (two through lanes, and a left turn lane), that they have a red light, and should have no problems seeing my big black motorcycle with flashing yellow and red lights. There’s no one southbound yet, so I pay attention that way, since typically people see a green light and don’t look for anything in the intersection.
As I watch the traffic light turn green for north-south traffic, and my procession is almost ready to enter the intersection, one of the northbound cars pulls out from the stop line, looking like he’s just going to fly through. I hit my air horn and jump off the bike, waving him to a stop, and asking him not too quietly, “Where are you going? What are you doing?”
The white male driver in his maybe 30’s looks at me and says, “What? What am I missing?”
This is one of those moments that I really wish I had a video camera running, because I truly wanted to see the expression on my face. There’s a scene in “Terminator” where Ahnold is in his flop house room, trying to repair some part of his mechanism when the landlord knocks on the door. The landlord has noticed the smell of the Terminator’s rotting skin. The view cuts to Ahnold’s point of view as the computer cycles through a list of possible replies to the landlord before choosing “F*** you, a******”.
At that moment in the middle of the intersection, with the procession starting to pass by, and this person asking me what he was missing, I’m certain that if you had been able to see inside my eye, you would have seen the various retorts and responses that I considered as they scrolled through my field of vision.
I couldn’t choose the ones that I really wanted to use, because I don’t have Hollywood scriptwriters working for me. If I had used one of the ones that I really wanted, I likely would have had to just ride to my boss’s house and turn in my uniform and bike, because I probably would have been fired on the spot.
So I looked at my bike, there in the middle of the intersection, with the flashing yellow and red lights. I looked at the lead car of the procession, with the yellow light on top, and orange flags on the roof. I looked at the hearse as it went by. Then I calmly looked back at the gentleman in the car, and politely responded, “Excuse me?”
He asked me again, “What am I missing?”
I gestured to the bike, and said, “Well, there’s a motorcycle with flashing lights there in the intersection. What do you think you should do?”
“I don’t know. What am I missing?”
At that point, the hearse was driving right in front of him, crossing from right to left. I pointed to it, and the limo following, and said, “Sir, there’s a funeral procession passing by. You have to yield.”
“A funeral? Where?”
At this point, the lead car (with yellow beacon) the hearse (with yellow beacon) and the limo with flashing headlights and orange flags have all drive past him, no more than thirty feet away. I just did not understand at that point if he was deliberately being dense, or just pulling my leg, or what. I pointed out the hearse, limo, and the rest of the cars following, and I think I actually saw the light bulb go on. I think I actually saw in this man’s face the moment of realization that he was completely clueless about what was going on around him.
It was at once satisfying and frightening. Satisfying because he had, I hope, realized that he needed to be more aware of what was going on around him. Frightening because I realized yet again after almost four years and over 2200 funeral processions that there are plenty more out there just like him.
Every day is a good day to get paid to ride a motorcycle. Some days are easier to ride than others.