Chapter Eleven in “Decades with the Squad,” by my late father, William Palmer Jervey, Jr.

Blogger’s note:  The Muses are out getting their nails done, apparently, so I figured today is a good day to share something from my Pa, whom I credit as the source for both my writing and my acting chops.

This call involved three squad members, myself and a young couple (married, by George!) who had only very recently joined. What we had was a D.O.A. An elderly person who expired at home after an illness. At the request of the family, we took the remains to a funeral home in the Richmond area.

The home was a large imposing structure with two or three floors, I forget which. Little did I realize we were about to take a tour. What a tour we took! Business must have been good, for the place was packed with the deceased. In searching for a place to put our passenger, we walked down every hall, looked in every room on every floor. I have never seen so many dead people in my life. Pale in complexion, and in some instances grotesque in posture, the continuing tableau was taking a toll on our nerves, though our guide was as cool as a cucumber. Fortunately, before we reached the snapping point, a spot was found, and we departed.

The young couple showed good grit and stayed with the squad. They agreed, however, that this was indeed a “baptism by fire.”