I got to know CL Holdren in the usual way that clergy and funeral home directors in a county seat town do, in the front seat of a hearse. For five years, I’d see him about once a month as some of Warrensburg’s finest United Methodists found their way to heaven. (My church members were so prolific in their heaven-going that CL had to stop running my honoraria through the funeral home, because I had hit the point where they would have to file taxes on me as an employee.)
Most of the time, our hearse rides would be brief, only going the five minutes to the Warrensburg Cemetery. Other times, we’d find ourselves on the longer trek to the Veteran’s Cemetery in Higginsville. In a formal funeral procession, the trip would take about 45 minutes. On the way home, however, unburdened by a casket in the hearse or a trail of cars following us, CL could make the trip in 15 minutes. I am certain that there were times when all four wheels were not in contact with the pavement on those roller-coaster hills. More than once, I considered the potential irony that I might meet my own end in the front seat of a hearse.
Those rides with CL were worth every minute of hair-raising hills. He knew where every body in Warrensburg was buried, both literally and figuratively. He would regale me with stories of locals, making sure that this new-to-the-community pastor knew what she needed to know. Over time, we developed an ease and a friendship that was genuine. It was a wonderful gift to be able to move from a particularly intense, emotional funeral service and slip into the front seat of the hearse, where we’d talk about a wide range of topics until it was time to re-enter the emotions of the graveside committal service.
The thing about CL that impressed me the most is that he treated every family and their grief with respect. He never spoke unkindly about even the most demanding families, and he never spoke ill of the dead. It’s a rare thing to be able to tell the stories of a community with both honesty and love, and CL was able to do that.
Eventually, the time came for me to move on from Warrensburg, as is the Methodist way. On my last day in the office, CL showed up at my door. It was the first time he had ever been in my office, and now he stood there to say goodbye. The eyes of this man, who had stood beside the grief of so many others with stoicism and grace, welled with tears in our farewell. My heart was touched, and my own tears flowed.
I saw CL’s obituary as I was reading Saturday’s Kansas City Star. I thought it was surprisingly modest for a man who was in the funeral business. As for me, I don’t need words in a newspaper to remind me of this gentle, dignified man. On Wednesday night, I’ll show up at his funeral home to share my respects with his family. It will be odd for me to be in CL’s funeral home without him standing nearby, making sure things are going smoothly. I do know that hearse rides have never been the same for me since, and they never will be again.
