Chapter Five in “Decades with the Squad,” by William Palmer Jervey, Jr.
It began as a simple suicide, if any suicide is really simple.
The elderly recluse went out into the yard one summer evening, sat down in a chair in the shade of an old oak tree and put a pistol bullet through his head. He was still seated in the chair when discovered later that night. The usual hubbub that follows a shooting ensued. By about midnight the coroner decided that the body should be taken to the morgue for autopsy. Nothing daunted, we loaded him up and away we went.
We arrived at the morgue around 1:00 a.m. The loading dock was sealed off from the world by a massive steel door that descended from overhead. A nearby sign gave directions to those bringing in bodies after hours. They involved walking around the other side of the large building, entering a certain door, and ringing a certain bell. These things I did, and a sleepy man opened the door, regarded me sourly and said, “Whatcha want?”
“We’ve got one,” I said.
He either grunted or groaned and with a twitch of his head indicated that I should follow him. I did, through a passageway that would have gladdened the heart of the producer of a horror movie. Seemingly endless, dimly lighted, cobwebby, with a network of pipes overhead that sometimes were so low we had to duck to get by. I am sure we were observed by spiders, mice, rats, probably bats and no telling what else. Finally, we arrived at the inside of the overhead door. My guide pushed a button and with a clanking, grinding sound (punctuated by assorted squeaks and rattles) the door opened. It sounded like the gates of Hell might sound, I thought.
Next, my guide unlocked the refrigerator, provided us with a tray and beckoned me into the office. Here I filled out the log and was given a toe tag. At this point I wondered if he might help us put our unfortunate friend, who was rather large, in the tray. My guide’s eyes bugged out in terror, and he responded with animation that I didn’t think him capable of.
“I ain’t got nothin’ to do with it!” he screeched and dived behind a filing cabinet. He would have been happier in the ranks of the unemployed, perhaps.
We put our friend away. It was cool and peaceful in there, if somewhat close, and he had plenty of company.
Coming home we didn’t talk much. We did stop at 7-11 for coffee and an apple Danish.
Life goes on!
This would have made a good Halloween story. The cobwebs overhead grabbing my hair and images of rats got me going so that the rest of what was not said about “our friend” became pretty fertile soil for this person’s imagination!
So true! My Pa was a great storyteller too, and I recall him really doing this one justice for us. Not sure if it was on Halloween or not, though. 🙂
That’s my favorite of your dad’s essays so far; matter-of-fact, shocking, funny – great!
Thanks, Terry. There’s more where that came from!
Evelyn, I have been really glad to re read this story. If your readers will bear with me it reminds me of a couple of stories, since I have spent most of my work time in the same facility that this story came from.
The first, one of my jobs in a lab in a building since torn down, was to empty radioactive waste. Properly shielded, it was loaded on a cart and I began the trek through the 3rd basement catacombs, to Radiation Safety, since we didn’t want patients to see what we were transporting around. This time, we were recovering from a hurricane that had knocked out the electricity. All the labs had back up power, but when the door shut behind me in the catacomb, I realized I was completely in the dark, as in cave-like dark. I decided to continue, to focus on direction and felt my way along through the entire basement of the building, pushing a big tank of waste. I made it safely (and back!) with no mishaps.
The second, was a story told me by some booksellers who had set up a sale to make money for the clinic. They said they had a permanent bookstore a few buildings over, that was where the morgue had been, after being renovated. When they moved in they were pushing a cart full of books up an incline to their new digs, and suddenly felt an outside force take over and push the cart up the incline without their help. They said they felt they were being welcomed in to the old morgue!
Thanks for telling these stories. I had no idea that you were connected to that building. For the first story, that just goes to show how brave and levelheaded you are in times of stress. For the second, I am reminded that Daddy said their “friend” had plenty of company in there. This is getting more Halloween-ish by the minute.