D
Dean Wilkinson
Guest
http://www.wheels.ca/newsFeatures/article/782678
Handsome hearses: Going out in style
DAVID PENHALE FOR THE TORONTO STAR
Oct 30, 2009
Philip Marchand
Special to the Star
A "professional car," strictly speaking, is a hearse or an ambulance or the pickup-like flower car in a funeral procession.
"It's something of a euphemism," Walt McCall acknowledges. "`Hearse' has a harsh sound."
But the vehicle itself is a lovely thing – which is why McCall and Tom McPherson are spending a sunny October afternoon at the headquarters of the Baker Vault Company – a family farm in Newmarket.
Handsome hearses in photos
Here, rows of concrete burial vaults stand between the barn and the fields. What better place for McCall and McPherson to admire a matched pair of 1962 Miller Meteor hearses – one landau style, the other limousine style – recently purchased for $100,000 by Darren Bedford, a long-time collector of funeral vehicles.
Hearse aficionados speak of the early 1960's Miller Meteor in hushed tones, regarding the Ohio-built cars as the epitome of the hearse builder's art. A 1962 Miller Meteor carried Marilyn Monroe to her final resting place.
It wouldn't have done to use a lesser vehicle that day, and indeed, the twin cars parked on the farmhouse lawn are superb specimens. Long, gleaming land yachts with a combined weight of some 6,350 kg, they radiate decorum.
Bedford, 44, is in awe of his visitors, particularly of McPherson. "If this were a rock concert now, he would be like Mick Jagger," he says. When it comes to hearses, Toronto-based McPherson is an authority of renown.
The author of American Funeral Cars and Ambulances Since 1900, a standard reference work, he has published four other histories of funeral car and ambulance manufacturers. Next spring he will publish, through Iconografix, a company specializing in transportation books, Miller Meteor – The Complete Illustrated History.
In addition, from 1980 to 1988, McPherson was co-owner of Eureka, a Toronto manufacturer of hearses.
"We were shipping cars from our plants here to Japan and Europe and the United States," he recalls. "We would sell three or four cars into Japan every year and everybody knows that's a tough market in terms of quality. We sold cars to the King of Tonga."
His fondest memories seem to be of the pale yellow hearses he sold to a funeral home in Alabama. The cars had gold-coloured roofs. "Just gorgeous," he recalls. "I know it doesn't sound like it, but they were stunning."
After McPherson left the company, it was moved to the United States. Eureka and Miller Meteor are now part of Accubilt, Inc., in Lima, Ohio.
For many years the hearse was constructed from a purpose-built chassis provided by Cadillac or some other brand name. Since 1985, that chassis has been replaced by a "commercial body" – almost always a Cadillac sedan – fitted with upgraded wheels, tires and suspension components to bear the added weight of a funeral car. The resulting product – a brand new hearse – sells for around $100,000.
If McPherson is Mick Jagger, McCall is Paul McCartney. In fact, the two of them have been friends for almost 40 years, after McPherson was hired by the publisher of the Windsor Star. During the employment interview, McPherson revealed his love of hearses.
"Not another one of you freaks," the publisher said and summoned McCall to his office to meet McPherson. A jovial, unassuming character who eventually became manager of Chrysler's public relations department for 24 years – McPherson also worked for Chrysler public relations – McCall has written 18 books on professional cars, although most of them have dealt with fire and ambulance vehicles. He has no intention of letting up.
"It's a good way to keep busy," he says. "If we don't do this, nobody else will. The story will not be told."
It's a story that practically begins with the automobile, and it is not simple. Most funeral directors refused to countenance motor-driven hearses until practically the 1920s (too noisy and smelly a presence in the restful glades). McCall and McPherson can tell you about this, and about recent changes in the funeral industry.
"There's a lot of direct cremation with memorial services to follow now," McPherson says. "I talk to funeral directors who say, `Gee, we haven't had a traditional service in weeks.'" City dwellers are responsible for the trend, McPherson feels. "You would find less of it in Keswick than in Toronto."
History aside, funeral vehicles clearly hold a strong appeal for the 1,500 members of the worldwide Professional Car Society. The appeal is lost on many, McPherson admits. "Let's be honest. The hearse is a pretty mobile reminder of one's mortality."
The last ride you ever take on this Earth may be as the honoured guest of one of these vehicles. I ask these men why they love these objects.
"My dad says one of the first things I learned to say was, `What kind of car is that?'" McPherson says. "I've collected automobile literature and photographs all my life."
According to McPherson, a hearse fulfills the criteria for a true classic car. "They were built in low numbers, they were all hand-built on very expensive chassis, to the designs and requests of the individual buyers," he says. "These cars represent the last bastion of coach craft, the hand-built, custom-built automobile."
McCall remembers seeing these "long, elegant" vehicles with their spotless body work and mohair interiors parked outside the funeral homes of his boyhood Toronto, and being fascinated by them. "The impressiveness of the vehicle, in its sheer size, the uniqueness of the vehicle – it commands respect and dignity like no other car does."
Bedford bought his first hearse in 1993. "I grew up with The Munsters and The Addams Family," he recalls. "That kind of got me, you know – the creepy side of things."
A performer adept in such arts as juggling, stilt walking, magic and manipulation of yo-yos and balloons, Bedford constructs Halloween displays, for his own home and for restaurants.
"Halloween is a big thing for me," he says. "It took me 80 hours to set up my own front yard display."
He gives me a guided tour of the Meteors, pointing out their shiny, grey metallic curtains, the discreet barrier that separates the driver from the casket, the glowing Plexiglas interior light with its starburst and cross.
He invites me to sit behind the wheel. The seat is soft. The hood seems to stretch forever.
There's a black space on the dashboard – these cars were ordered with "a radio delete." These days, a mourner might slip an iPod in a casket, but back then, no one thought the dear departed would want to hear the Top 40.
Bedford bought the Meteors in Montana, had one shipped, and drove the other back to Toronto.
"People loved it," he says. "I got thumbs up on the highway. Even if it is a hearse, comments about it were 100 per cent positive. Nobody said, `Geez, why are you driving something like that?'"
The afternoon fades as McPherson and McCall return from a tour of the barn where the burial vaults are made.
"Another underappreciated business," McPherson comments. "I've always thought I'd like one of these companies," McCall says with a laugh. "I'd call it Walt's Vaults."
The pleasantry dispels any hint of the morbid. There are "hearse clubs" out there that cater to weirdos, but all that has nothing to do with the hobby these men espouse.
Their pursuit is about respect and scholarship and cars that – even in twilight, perhaps especially in twilight – demonstrate gravitas.
Handsome hearses in photos
Toronto Star
Handsome hearses: Going out in style
DAVID PENHALE FOR THE TORONTO STAR
Oct 30, 2009
Philip Marchand
Special to the Star
A "professional car," strictly speaking, is a hearse or an ambulance or the pickup-like flower car in a funeral procession.
"It's something of a euphemism," Walt McCall acknowledges. "`Hearse' has a harsh sound."
But the vehicle itself is a lovely thing – which is why McCall and Tom McPherson are spending a sunny October afternoon at the headquarters of the Baker Vault Company – a family farm in Newmarket.
Handsome hearses in photos
Here, rows of concrete burial vaults stand between the barn and the fields. What better place for McCall and McPherson to admire a matched pair of 1962 Miller Meteor hearses – one landau style, the other limousine style – recently purchased for $100,000 by Darren Bedford, a long-time collector of funeral vehicles.
Hearse aficionados speak of the early 1960's Miller Meteor in hushed tones, regarding the Ohio-built cars as the epitome of the hearse builder's art. A 1962 Miller Meteor carried Marilyn Monroe to her final resting place.
It wouldn't have done to use a lesser vehicle that day, and indeed, the twin cars parked on the farmhouse lawn are superb specimens. Long, gleaming land yachts with a combined weight of some 6,350 kg, they radiate decorum.
Bedford, 44, is in awe of his visitors, particularly of McPherson. "If this were a rock concert now, he would be like Mick Jagger," he says. When it comes to hearses, Toronto-based McPherson is an authority of renown.
The author of American Funeral Cars and Ambulances Since 1900, a standard reference work, he has published four other histories of funeral car and ambulance manufacturers. Next spring he will publish, through Iconografix, a company specializing in transportation books, Miller Meteor – The Complete Illustrated History.
In addition, from 1980 to 1988, McPherson was co-owner of Eureka, a Toronto manufacturer of hearses.
"We were shipping cars from our plants here to Japan and Europe and the United States," he recalls. "We would sell three or four cars into Japan every year and everybody knows that's a tough market in terms of quality. We sold cars to the King of Tonga."
His fondest memories seem to be of the pale yellow hearses he sold to a funeral home in Alabama. The cars had gold-coloured roofs. "Just gorgeous," he recalls. "I know it doesn't sound like it, but they were stunning."
After McPherson left the company, it was moved to the United States. Eureka and Miller Meteor are now part of Accubilt, Inc., in Lima, Ohio.
For many years the hearse was constructed from a purpose-built chassis provided by Cadillac or some other brand name. Since 1985, that chassis has been replaced by a "commercial body" – almost always a Cadillac sedan – fitted with upgraded wheels, tires and suspension components to bear the added weight of a funeral car. The resulting product – a brand new hearse – sells for around $100,000.
If McPherson is Mick Jagger, McCall is Paul McCartney. In fact, the two of them have been friends for almost 40 years, after McPherson was hired by the publisher of the Windsor Star. During the employment interview, McPherson revealed his love of hearses.
"Not another one of you freaks," the publisher said and summoned McCall to his office to meet McPherson. A jovial, unassuming character who eventually became manager of Chrysler's public relations department for 24 years – McPherson also worked for Chrysler public relations – McCall has written 18 books on professional cars, although most of them have dealt with fire and ambulance vehicles. He has no intention of letting up.
"It's a good way to keep busy," he says. "If we don't do this, nobody else will. The story will not be told."
It's a story that practically begins with the automobile, and it is not simple. Most funeral directors refused to countenance motor-driven hearses until practically the 1920s (too noisy and smelly a presence in the restful glades). McCall and McPherson can tell you about this, and about recent changes in the funeral industry.
"There's a lot of direct cremation with memorial services to follow now," McPherson says. "I talk to funeral directors who say, `Gee, we haven't had a traditional service in weeks.'" City dwellers are responsible for the trend, McPherson feels. "You would find less of it in Keswick than in Toronto."
History aside, funeral vehicles clearly hold a strong appeal for the 1,500 members of the worldwide Professional Car Society. The appeal is lost on many, McPherson admits. "Let's be honest. The hearse is a pretty mobile reminder of one's mortality."
The last ride you ever take on this Earth may be as the honoured guest of one of these vehicles. I ask these men why they love these objects.
"My dad says one of the first things I learned to say was, `What kind of car is that?'" McPherson says. "I've collected automobile literature and photographs all my life."
According to McPherson, a hearse fulfills the criteria for a true classic car. "They were built in low numbers, they were all hand-built on very expensive chassis, to the designs and requests of the individual buyers," he says. "These cars represent the last bastion of coach craft, the hand-built, custom-built automobile."
McCall remembers seeing these "long, elegant" vehicles with their spotless body work and mohair interiors parked outside the funeral homes of his boyhood Toronto, and being fascinated by them. "The impressiveness of the vehicle, in its sheer size, the uniqueness of the vehicle – it commands respect and dignity like no other car does."
Bedford bought his first hearse in 1993. "I grew up with The Munsters and The Addams Family," he recalls. "That kind of got me, you know – the creepy side of things."
A performer adept in such arts as juggling, stilt walking, magic and manipulation of yo-yos and balloons, Bedford constructs Halloween displays, for his own home and for restaurants.
"Halloween is a big thing for me," he says. "It took me 80 hours to set up my own front yard display."
He gives me a guided tour of the Meteors, pointing out their shiny, grey metallic curtains, the discreet barrier that separates the driver from the casket, the glowing Plexiglas interior light with its starburst and cross.
He invites me to sit behind the wheel. The seat is soft. The hood seems to stretch forever.
There's a black space on the dashboard – these cars were ordered with "a radio delete." These days, a mourner might slip an iPod in a casket, but back then, no one thought the dear departed would want to hear the Top 40.
Bedford bought the Meteors in Montana, had one shipped, and drove the other back to Toronto.
"People loved it," he says. "I got thumbs up on the highway. Even if it is a hearse, comments about it were 100 per cent positive. Nobody said, `Geez, why are you driving something like that?'"
The afternoon fades as McPherson and McCall return from a tour of the barn where the burial vaults are made.
"Another underappreciated business," McPherson comments. "I've always thought I'd like one of these companies," McCall says with a laugh. "I'd call it Walt's Vaults."
The pleasantry dispels any hint of the morbid. There are "hearse clubs" out there that cater to weirdos, but all that has nothing to do with the hobby these men espouse.
Their pursuit is about respect and scholarship and cars that – even in twilight, perhaps especially in twilight – demonstrate gravitas.
Handsome hearses in photos
Toronto Star
