How Driving A Hearse Keeps You From Getting Stiff

One hearse enthusiast shares what makes the final rides of the dead so appealing to the living.

Dear Ruby,

I remember the first day I laid eyes on you back in 2007 like it was yesterday.

You’d been languishing on the used-hearse website for over three lonely years, and just like a hard-to-place dog, you were repeatedly passed over for more traditional – and popular – shades of black, gray, and dark blue.

Why? Because you were red. Admittedly, it would take an unusual funeral director to opt for a red hearse, even at bargain-basement rates.

I zoomed in. You were the exact shade of Gwen Stefani’s lipstick. Part of the reason why I never hung on to my previous hearses was because the darker shades could make the pall of a too-long New Hampshire winter even more depressing.

A red hearse.

A little background: To supplement my writing career back in the late 1990s, I had developed a side business buying unwanted funeral equipment from small-town mortuaries, and selling the vintage casket stands, 1920s-era makeup kits—and yes, hearses—on eBay back when the site was a veritable toddler.

I’d drive the hearses for a few months before putting them up for sale, and I grew to appreciate the smooth ride and top-of-the-line options. Plus, they came in handy on weekly dump runs.

Fast forward to 2007: I had given up the antique funeral business and was back to writing full-time. I was also playing upright bass with some local bands and needed a bigger vehicle to haul it around. Pickups—even ten-year-old junkers— were too pricey, so I thought back to the six hearses I’d previously driven: all were low mileage – under 40,000 in most cases – and well maintained. After all, the last thing a funeral director wants is to have a hearse break down on the way to the cemetery. Plus, they were typically a quarter of the price of a comparable pickup.

I needed a hearse…or at least that was my excuse. In truth, I missed driving a hearse. So I checked out some hearse dealers’ websites for trade-ins, and that’s when I saw you.

Two weeks later you were in my driveway, clearly ready for adventure. I christened you Ruby, ordered a vanity plate that said HAULU, and we were off.

It quickly became apparent that you were special. With the other hearses, the focus was always on me; the first question someone asked was, “Why do you drive a hearse?”

With you, it was different: you commanded all the attention—not me—nd provided onlookers with something they had probably never seen before.

Life with you was never boring. I added a futon inside which raised lots of eyebrows, but it cushioned the bass and kept it from sliding around. It also provided comfort to the occasional human cargo—which, under my watch, could always fog a mirror—as well as smaller livestock like chickens and goats. Home Depot runs were effortless.

With a funeral home only a few blocks away, on more than one occasion I glanced in your rearview mirror to see a car with a FUNERAL flag on the hood tailgating me on my way to the supermarket or the gym. I’d pull over and point them towards the church, or cemetery.

And oh, how you made me laugh. The way people on a deserted back road would suddenly pull over to the side of the road when they saw us coming, or how the phone would start to ring nonstop shortly after we pulled into a friend’s driveway.

You were a great litmus test. Some would automatically turn away while the genuinely curious ones stuck around. We’d chat about gas mileage (18 miles a gallon on average) and the challenges of tight parking garages. Before long, complete strangers would be entertaining us with stories of the hearse a friend drove in college and the great parties they had in the back, or the time they used a chainsaw to hack off the roof so they could haul their Harley.

We had fun up until a few years ago, when I left you parked and idle during a couple of long New Hampshire winters. Once you were underneath a blanket of snow, the mice wasted no time moving in. I’d left behind a multicolored feather boa to keep up your spirits, but the spring thaw revealed stray bits dotting the yard as the snow retreated and the mice moved out. Months later I spotted a bright green feather in a bird’s nest nearby.

After a jump, you started right back up, eager for more adventures. That’s when I realized you needed a new home; I was traveling frequently, and you sat alongside the garage more often than not.

You deserved better.

So I started to look for your new companion, someone who wouldn’t mind a little attention and could occasionally provide you with an honest day’s work. I hit the jackpot with an artist who exhibits his work at various fairs and festivals throughout New England. He appreciates your copious weatherproof storage and how you boost his sales by drawing attention to his booth. Plus, his kids have a band and play occasional gigs, so I hope whenever they load you up with their guitar cases, amps, and speakers, you get a wee bit nostalgic about our own good times.

A few months ago, I stopped at a local general store to pick up a sandwich, and there you were, Ruby, in all your glory. It was a bit jarring to see you with someone new, and honestly, it felt a little bit like the time I spotted an ex in public sporting his new main squeeze on his arm.

So I did the same thing as before: I turned away and wished you well because I know you’re happy, and that we’re both better off.

Much love,

Lisa