On June 3, 2001, the highly acclaimed show Six Feet Under premiered on HBO.  Set in the fictional Fisher & Sons Funeral Home in the very real Los Angeles, California, the show attempted to take viewers inside the lives and minds of a funeral service family.  Each show began with a death, be it natural, accidental, or intentional, involving people of all ages.  From there the episode centered on how that death affected the family members who were still grieving their own loss in the form of their patriarch, Nathaniel Fisher, Sr.’s, death.  The whole premise of the show wasn’t to allow the viewer to peek into the inner workings of a family owned and operated funeral home, but to focus “on human mortality, the symbiotic nature of life and death feeding off each other, the death industry, and the lives of those who deal with it on a daily basis.”  At least, that was the idea according to my good friend Wikipedia.  Critics raved but funeral service folks were less impressed, stating Six Feet Under “showed little of what really happens”.  I think they missed the point.

Fast forward to April 19, 2004 and change channels to A & E.  That’s where the reality series Family Plots found a home.  Filmed out of the Poway Bernardo Mortuary in Poway, California, the series documented the day-to-day activities of three sisters and their father who worked for but did not own the mortuary.  The show lasted two seasons, folding on May 8, 2006, and was viewed by some funeral service professionals as a “very real portrayal”.  I would disagree based on the few episodes I watched, one of which involved a pizza fight in the employee lounge and another which had the father frantically driving to a cemetery to set up for a graveside service they forgot about.  Where Six Feet Under earned nine Emmys, three Screen Actors Guild awards, three Golden Globes, and one Peabody, I can’t find any such recognition for Family Plots. . . which provides some insight into the success of each and is totally beside the point of this post.

Landing squarely in the middle of both premiers was a phone call that came into the Savannah office one afternoon.  I can’t remember if I answered the phone or was summoned to it, but I can tell you exactly where I was sitting during the conversation.  Strange, the things we remember about past events . . . The voice on the other end identified himself as someone connected with “a major television network” and he asked if we were family owned and did we really live in the funeral home.

Me:  Yes, we are and my parents do.  Why do you ask?

Him:  We’re hoping to develop a show centered around a funeral service family that lives in the funeral home.  And we got your name from your state association.  (Translation—HBO’s got a really good thing going and we want a piece of it . . .)

Me:  (In my head)  Really?  I’m not sure I believe that . . . I’m not sure I believe any of this . . . and why would they tell you to talk to me?

Me:  (Out loud)  I’m not prepared to make that kind of decision on the spur of the moment . . .

Him:  Oh, I wouldn’t expect you to.  Just consider it and I’ll call you next week to see what your thoughts are on proceeding and to answer any questions you may have.

The minute I hung up I called the office of the Tennessee Funeral Directors Association to find out how legitimate this call really was . . . ‘cause, let’s face it, stuff like that just doesn’t happen to normal people and before I wasted an enormous amount of time and thought (both of which were in short supply), I wanted to be sure this was actually a thing.  They confirmed they had given out our contact information . . . because we were the only firm that came to mind when the caller tacked the “live in the funeral home” requirement on to his request.

I discussed the matter with my dad, whose mind was failing even then—we all knew something was amiss but we really didn’t know what or why.  After an extended silence he finally spoke, “If it will help the image of funeral service, I think it would be all right.” And that was the extent of that.

I wasn’t worried so much about the image of funeral service.  One TV show wasn’t going to change that.  I worried about protecting the privacy of the families we served.  I worried about the show’s content, knowing they could easily manipulate the most innocent and normal of circumstances in their quest for maximum entertainment value—and probably would.  And I worried about protecting my father.  Never in a million years did I want him ridiculed or made to look out of touch with reality . . . even though, through no fault of his own, he was . . .

In the end I decided this probably wasn’t the best idea, and once the show premiered I was proven right.  In the course of their two season run the firm resigned from Selected Independent Funeral Homes, an international organization of well-respected funeral establishments from around the world, based on the investigation the organization opened into the conduct of the Poway Bernardo employees.  The firm still exists today, but with most of the aforementioned family members having left for other positions with other businesses.  I have zero regrets about by-passing that circus and avoiding the distraction it would have been for the families who are here to focus on their loss and saying good-bye.  They were my primary concern, and their well-being the primary factor in my decision.

But we were almost famous.  Almost . . .

And that’s one missed opportunity I’m ok with.

About the author:  Lisa Shackelford Thomas is a fourth generation member of a family that’s been in funeral service since 1926.  She has been employed at Shackelford Funeral Directors in Savannah, Tennessee for over 40 years and currently serves as the manager there.  Any opinions expressed here are hers and hers alone, and may or may not reflect the opinions of other Shackelford family members or staff.

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