Here goes part 2....
We got out of our trucks, and my client introduced me to the Coroner. In Monterey County, the Sheriff and the Coroner are the same person. It is a high level elected position so I doubt the guy we met was the official Coroner. He was dressed more like a Deputy, and was carrying a gun. We also met a guy driving an unmarked station wagon. The wagon was set up on the inside like a hearse, but with dark tinted windows. The guy driving that was just a driver. He stayed back and didn't want any part of this mess. He was probably the smartest one at this event.
Next, the family members get out of their trucks and walk up to meet us. I was taken back upon seeing these guys. The family members were two brothers. Each of the two brothers was covered in tattoos. I don't have a problem with tattoos, but this was a shock. These guys were wearing those white tank tops. You know, the ones that used to be call "Wife Beaters" back in a less politically correct time. These shirts showed off their collection of white supremacy tats. One of the brothers even had a swastika tattooed right on his forehead. That must have made him really employable. Not to mention the smell. These guys stunk. They had the sickly sweet smell pouring out of them. The smell of meth heads, mixed with extreme body odor.
These two guys really thought they were something. They came out with an attitude. I'm a big guy. I'm 6'5" and at the time I was pretty heavy. I wasn't yet 400 pounds, but I was on the way and probably around 300 pounds. I was a little bit intimidating myself, and I may have even had a little bit of an attitude. I really don't like white supremacists. Now the brothers kind of came up on me and got up in my face. I think they thought they could intimidate me and expected me to quiver. I didn't back up. Like I said, I may have had a little bit of an attitude as well. Here is how it went down.
Brother # 1 - You doing the digging?
Me - Yep.
Borhter # 2 - Couldn't you find a ********
Me - This is my job for today.
Brother # 1 - You going to dig fast? We got a long ways to drive.
Me - Yep, I'm planning on getting done quick and taking my kids surfing.
Brother # 2 - Just make sure you show my Mother respect.
Me - Shouldn't be a problem.
The guy with the gun was smirking. My clients didn't know what to think. There was testosterone overload in the air. The brothers just stood there and tried to stare me down. Finally, my clients said "Let's do this."
I grabbed my pick and shovel, and we all started looking for the right grave site. The numbers to the grave sites were on little rock markers, and in some cases, these little rocks had been moved. When we found the right number, it was pretty obvious that the marker had been moved. It looked like I was going to have to estimate where to dig.
I picked a spot and started to dig. Wow. The ground was a lot dryer and harder than I expected. I started calculating in my head..... 6 feet down, 3 feet wide, 6 feet long. Hmmm. This was not going to be a one hour job. This was a lot bigger job than I had expected. I began to sweat almost immediately. My tattooed buddies were starting to get impatient, and it was starting to get hot outside. Just as I was about to have to take a break, I hit something.
Back in the day, High Schools used to teach things like Wood Shop. At the time of this lady's death, kids in Wood Shop at Salinas High School build coffins. They built all the coffins used in the burial of people in the Paupers Cemetery. They did not always have the best workmanship and they never used the best materials. The coffins were actually built out of very cheap plywood. The thought being "who would complain?"
Once I hit something, I could tell it was the coffin. Now I had to find the edge of the box. That kept me going for awhile. At this point, my shirt was completely soaked, I was starting to smell as bad as the family members, and I was really, really tired. It was to the point where I was going to have get down in the hole to finish the job, but first I need to rest. One of my clients jumped down in the hole to keep things moving while I caught my breath.
As soon as I caught my breath, I got down in the hole. I brushed away some dirt, then heard a little sound. It sounded like a crack. The next thing I knew, the top of the coffin collapsed and I had fallen into the coffin! Just as I fell in, the smell got me. I freaked. I jumped out of the hole and became violently ill. I was heaving my guts like never before. The Coroner actually started laughing out loud. My Clients were chuckling to themselves, but the family members didn't find the humor in it. They started yelling at me to get back in there and to "show their Mother some respect!"
After a few more moments of getting sick, I climbed down into the hole. Just as I got in the hole, I hear a clunk. I look to the left and see a green bag, all folded up. The Coroner had thrown it in the hole with me. It was a body bag. The Coroner told me to "transfer the body to the bag and let's get the hell out of here."
I moved as far back in the hole as I could, and began to pry the top of the coffin off, throwing the pieces out of the hole. The body itself was tiny. The woman was probably no more than 5 foot tall. She had been burried in a cotton/polyester blend dress, with nylon stalkings. How did I know what she was buried in? Well even after 40 years, the nylon and polyester didn't break down or disintegrate. The leg bones were perfect inside the nylon stalkings, with absolutely no flesh.
I started the transfer by grabbing the nylon stalkings and moving the lower half as a single unit. As I started to transfer the body to the bag, I had to climb out of the hole one more time. A combination of the noises of the bones and the smells and the whole thing just got me. This time nobody thought it was funny.
I got back in the hole and finished transferring the body. The entire time I'm loading the bag, the family is yelling at me to show some respect. I load the bag and hand it up to the Coroner. I then climb out of the hole. I'm dripping wet and completely exhausted. I thought I was done. Then they ask me to help carry the bag to the station wagon. Almost done!
Just about then, the guy with the swastika tattooed on his forehead looks around and says "Lots of ********** in this neighborhood and I hate to waste a perfectly good hole." At this point even the Coroner has had enough of these guys. He tells them not to push their luck. He had them sign some papers and I shut the back of the station wagon.
After all that I was done, both physically and emotionally. I went home and took a long shower and a long nap. I never did make it to take the kids surfing that day, but man I had one heck of a story to tell.
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