Excuse me for doing a little reminiscing today, but today (July 16) would be my father’s 101st birthday.  I lost my father to a sudden heart attack – while he was servicing a funeral – on Easter weekend 1977, 42 years ago, when I was a teenager.  Life has certainly moved forward since then, but it is days like this when I get nostalgic and look back at what was.

And, I will find time today to stop by Dad’s grave at Kinkead Cemetery and tell him thanks for all he did for me, including the values he instilled in me, as well as tell him – even after 42 years, including 25 being a father myself – how much I miss him every day.

So, many of you are funeral directors who are serving at least in the 2nd generation of your family’s business.  I happened to be the 4th generation to work in the funeral trade from my family.

In America today so much is made of immigration that sometimes it is difficult for new members of our country to understand that those of us — even 4th generation funeral directors – descend from immigrants. . .and life was not always easy for our ancestors either.  Assimilation to a new country took time and great effort to provide and make sure that the next generation had more opportunities than you (as an immigrant) did.

My family history in America begins with my great grandparents on my father’s side who arrived by ship, with their one-year old son,  in New York Harbor in 1872.  They knew that other Scandinavian immigrants were finding opportunity in Wisconsin and Minnesota so that is where they were headed.  They took the train to within 60 miles of Alexandria – their destination and where I still live today.  The final 60 miles was overland either walking or on some type of horse drawn carriage.  They owned one trunk which held all of their belongings for their life in this new country.  My wife and I now own that trunk that accompanied them on the ship, on the train, and eventually to Alexandria.

That trunk held all of their belongings, including a small Swedish language Book of Psalms published in Stockholm in 1819 which I still have.  That trunk was big enough to contain all of their belongings, but it would never have been big enough to contain their dreams and ambitions.

Our destiny in the funeral business was fixed when my great-grandfather was able to pledge all he owned for a $500 loan so he could build a 50 x 26 foot cabinet shop where he worked and lived with his 21 year-old wife and one year old son.  As people passed away in the small community, family members would come to John Anderson’s cabinet shop and ask him to build a coffin for their loved one.  That simple beginning is how we started.

John’s son, Carl expanded the cabinet shop into a furniture store and a home built for funerals — something new in the day back in 1928.  My father followed in those footsteps and, eventually when he died in 1977, I cast my lot in becoming the 4th generation of funeral workers in my family.

It’s a life that I didn’t actually choose, but one I felt obligated to follow out of family commitment when Dad died.  I did enjoy the work and truly took appreciation in being able to help others through their grief.  I now look back and believe that God put me in that place and time where family commitment ended up being the right decision for me.  I enjoyed being the one who was there to help. . .even when it meant a 3 am wake-up to make a death call removal.

Immigration is a many-sided issue in America today.  However, I will never forget that I descended from immigrants to this country and I thank God everyday for the opportunity this country offered my great grandparents.  I often think of their grit and what must have been an overwhelming desire to succeed.  My great-grandfather became a U.S. citizen in 1896, 24 years after arriving, so he would have the opportunity to become Mayor of Alexandria. . . which he did.  Oh, and that one-year old son who crossed the Atlantic with his young parents. . . . he was elected to the House in 1908.

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