On page 347 of Tom McPherson’s "Superior, The Complete History," is his statement at bottom left, that in 1970 “. . . Superior received orders for only 7 Consorts as exclusive funeral coaches . . .” The picture shown above that statement looks mightily like the one owned by the funeral home where I worked, as seen below – medium gray, the color used by that funeral home I’d known all my life.
Mr. McPherson said he didn’t have a color photo of that car, and cautioned me to not publish that shot, as it infringed on his copyright.
I drove, and wrecked, the Pontiac shown below, when a car turned in front of me as I was going for a pickup at the airport. As the other driver and I waited for the highway patrol, the funeral home’s ’65 Consort combination drove by, completing the trip I began. The Chevy station wagon shown next to this Pontiac was the first-call car.
The ’70 was repaired and returned to service. On the day of its return, another employee took it to the gas station across from the funeral home for gasoline. We watched as the station owner filled the tank (what a concept) while the funeral home employee checked the vehicle’s various fluids. He found it to need brake fluid, so he got a can from the station owner and filled the reservoir. He gently closed the hood and moved to check the tires’ air pressure . . . after he sat the brake fluid can on the freshly painted hood. I immediately ran across the street, telling him to get the can off the hood. He didn’t understand me, and it was too late by the time I jerked the can away from the paint – brake fluid had travelled the circle of the can’s bottom, and gray paint was replaced by the sight of primer and bare metal.
The owner held his tongue, but we were all thunderstruck. Back to the body shop it went for another paint job on the hood. It was the first “straight hearse” bought by the owner since the late ’40’s/early ’50’s, because at that time ambulance service was part of the territory, and combination cars were common. In the mid-’60’s most local funeral homes banded together to alert the various county commissioners that “EMS” would not be provided by their establishment. The ’65 was the final combo, but before that the owner bought a ‘62 Corvair van (yes, really), a ’63 Dodge van & a ’66 Ford van – all locally converted into straight ambulances. The Corvair’s service was short-lived, for obvious reasons, the Dodge was totaled in a head-on collision while en-route to the hospital, and the Ford was given to the county, along with a Cadillac from a neighboring funeral home, to get “EMS” started in our area.
I traded the funeral business for the fire service, and the steering wheel and pump panel of a fire engine was exactly where I needed to be . . . and practiced "EMS" anyway. I worked with a man who is now assistant chief, and his calm demeanor usually brings forth the statement, “Well, he meant well.” That’s where the title originated for this 40+ year tale.
The funeral home owner died and the funeral home was sold to a conglomerate, but it wasn’t long before it was gone altogether, replaced by new blood and a new facility, which chugs along to this day.
Mr. McPherson said he didn’t have a color photo of that car, and cautioned me to not publish that shot, as it infringed on his copyright.
I drove, and wrecked, the Pontiac shown below, when a car turned in front of me as I was going for a pickup at the airport. As the other driver and I waited for the highway patrol, the funeral home’s ’65 Consort combination drove by, completing the trip I began. The Chevy station wagon shown next to this Pontiac was the first-call car.
The ’70 was repaired and returned to service. On the day of its return, another employee took it to the gas station across from the funeral home for gasoline. We watched as the station owner filled the tank (what a concept) while the funeral home employee checked the vehicle’s various fluids. He found it to need brake fluid, so he got a can from the station owner and filled the reservoir. He gently closed the hood and moved to check the tires’ air pressure . . . after he sat the brake fluid can on the freshly painted hood. I immediately ran across the street, telling him to get the can off the hood. He didn’t understand me, and it was too late by the time I jerked the can away from the paint – brake fluid had travelled the circle of the can’s bottom, and gray paint was replaced by the sight of primer and bare metal.
The owner held his tongue, but we were all thunderstruck. Back to the body shop it went for another paint job on the hood. It was the first “straight hearse” bought by the owner since the late ’40’s/early ’50’s, because at that time ambulance service was part of the territory, and combination cars were common. In the mid-’60’s most local funeral homes banded together to alert the various county commissioners that “EMS” would not be provided by their establishment. The ’65 was the final combo, but before that the owner bought a ‘62 Corvair van (yes, really), a ’63 Dodge van & a ’66 Ford van – all locally converted into straight ambulances. The Corvair’s service was short-lived, for obvious reasons, the Dodge was totaled in a head-on collision while en-route to the hospital, and the Ford was given to the county, along with a Cadillac from a neighboring funeral home, to get “EMS” started in our area.
I traded the funeral business for the fire service, and the steering wheel and pump panel of a fire engine was exactly where I needed to be . . . and practiced "EMS" anyway. I worked with a man who is now assistant chief, and his calm demeanor usually brings forth the statement, “Well, he meant well.” That’s where the title originated for this 40+ year tale.
The funeral home owner died and the funeral home was sold to a conglomerate, but it wasn’t long before it was gone altogether, replaced by new blood and a new facility, which chugs along to this day.