By Todd W. Van Beck, CFuE
Published in the August/September 2023 Issue of Memento Mori

Since time began, mortuary science students have universally chanted over and over the same phrase, “Why do we need to know this stuff?” I asked this question when I was a mortuary science student during the “Middle Ages.” Looking back, however, I most often asked this immature question when I was having trouble in a course, such as chemistry.

In the courses I was doing great in, I never asked, “Why do we need to know this stuff?” Not once! Ah, the life of a student!

Asking that pesky “why” question and then getting reinforcements from my other college friends made me feel artificially in control of an academic situation that was spinning out of control. This approach to academics was a pale type of student psychology. I passed chemistry, but only by the hair on my “chinny chin chin.”

As long as there are students, the “why” question will be asked; and as long as there are examinations, there will always be prayer in the classroom.

A Philosophy

I often hear students speak of education as if it were an end in and of itself. I hear people question the relevancy of mortuary education altogether. And why not? There is no required licensing in most of the countries in the world, except for Canada and the United States. Why is this education stuff important anyway?

A philosophy of education is a process of living life and searchingly asking one specific question: “What is the aim of education?” Education to what end and for what purpose are always compelling questions and are very difficult to answer.

I mentioned before that I did not like chemistry in Mortuary College. I didn’t like anything about it, and I really didn’t like the chemistry professor in a big way! He was obnoxious, ego driven, rude, unreasonable, and he made me work like hell. The first day of class he looked at our entire class and announced in a loud aggressive voice, “When I finish with this class, we will hold commencement in a telephone booth.” Do you know how many people can fit in a telephone booth?

I hated him.

All the students at NEI sat back and complained and complained that nobody uses chemistry to embalm a body—nobody! The mortuary students in my class were devoted to the idea that the embalming chemical companies mixed the fluids and all we had to do was add water. Chemistry had no relevancy to the real world of funeral service; or so we thought.

This, my friends, was NOT a philosophy of education.

This was just a bunch of young funeral director wannabes who were terribly young, probably immature, most definitely insecure, and who had horrible attitudes toward the very purpose of their being in the mortuary science program in the first place!

Yet against all these wacky student protests, against all the negative gossip, against all the unkind graffiti that ended up on bathroom walls, our dedicated but still annoying chemistry professor kept pounding away at us week after week. And the more he pounded, the more I hated him. This professor was relentless.

Of course, the glaring problem was that TVB was too young and possibly too stupid to understand even remotely what a philosophy of education was even when it was standing right in front of him. I totally missed what the chemistry professor was trying to do.

Then a strange thing happened. I earned my highest mark on the National Board Examination in chemistry! I was so happy.

Could the chemistry professor have known what he was doing all along? I was now in love with my chemistry professor. This was totally psycho, on my part, but it happened just that way. I felt a tremendous appreciation and I went up to him and thanked him.

My chemistry professor at the New England Institute of Anatomy, Sanitary Science, Embalming and Funeral Directing possessed a very effective philosophy of education. He lived the power and truth of education simply for the sake of education. No argument, no debate, just educational action! Having him as my professor was indeed a humbling experience. He was not my friend, he was not my chum, he was my professor, and he knew what was better for me than I did for myself.

Sure, I don’t use chemistry to embalm, per se, but I still calculate the HCHO demand, and I do use chemistry generally every day of my life.

Always the Apprentice

Education is a powerful tool for good and for bad. I have worked with students whose life experiences served as their education, teaching them to deceive and take the easy way out. I have seen students in my career who had great talent and intelligence, but their life experiences taught deviousness and destructiveness even unto themselves.

Education is surely not a substitute for morality; but in teaching and attempting to communicate with students, I have found that moral, ethical, and even spiritual elements must be added to give philosophical character and balance to their lives. These are elements that allow us to function in the “real” world as caring, concerned, and compassionate funeral professionals. This is not easy, particularly in the cynical and complicated world in which we live, but it is a worthy ideal worth holding onto as a vision for the future.

The National Board examination and the license are vital, but those certificates give us only a learner’s permit. We must focus on the concept of creating a philosophy of education and associate this with the noble theme within our beloved profession: “always the apprentice.”

“Integrity without knowledge is weak and useless, knowledge without integrity is dangerous and dreadful.”

Those are the words of Dr. Samuel Johnson (1709–1784), an English author who made lasting contributions to literature as a poet, essayist, moralist, biographer, editor, and literary critic that points to a persistently important subject in all professional educational endeavors and one that I feel is particularly important for our beloved profession.

When I graduated from mortuary college, I thought I knew it all. When I received my license, I thought I knew what I was doing.

Looking back, I am embarrassed at my behavior, and I offer thanks and appreciation to those veteran funeral professionals who had the kindness and graciousness to tolerate my arrogance and ridiculous behavior.

Then I landed a job with a gentleman in Cedar Rapids, IA, named John B. Turner. Turner was a human being whom I call the Great American Funeral Director. Turner was mature, confident, knowledgeable, and extremely humble and kind.

One day John approached me and said, “Todd you are going to meet this family and be the funeral director in charge of this service from start to finish.” I was so happy. I was so full of myself. I was so obnoxious.

I had my conference with the family; and while the actual funeral service was being held, John came up to me and very gently said, “Now, Todd, you know that on our services the funeral director in charge takes the flowers to the cemetery?” I was stunned, confused, and I could feel my anger growing in my soul. I didn’t like this notion one bit. I thought to myself, “Didn’t John realize that I was a graduate, licensed funeral professional?”

The places I had worked in the past always gave the job of taking the flowers to the cemetery to the grunt on the staff. The funeral director in charge usually drove the lead car, or at least the funeral coach.

Then John explained his reasons. First, to ensure funeral service excellence, the funeral director in charge needs to be the first person to arrive at the grave. Second, this method ensures that if anything was wrong at the grave it could be corrected and/or notification could be made to slow the procession down. And third, the greatest benefit would be that the funeral director in charge would be already in position to personally greet and tend to the bereaved family when they arrived at the cemetery. Then after the committal service was completed, the funeral director would stay and ensure that the vault and grave were properly closed.

John B. Turner made a production out of his graveside committal services and he conducted over 800 funerals annually. John was right and I was wrong.

John pulled me aside and said these words, “Todd, you are licensed and that is great; however, that is behind you now. We are all licensed, it is special, but it is not that special now. What is special for the rest of your career is humble service. Todd, remember, here at John B. Turner & Son, we are all lifelong apprentices.”

That is a true philosophy of education.

Todd W. Van Beck, CFuE, was one of the most sought-after speakers and educators in funeral service. He served as director of continuing education for John A. Gupton College in Nashville, and as former dean of ICCFA University’s College of Funeral Home Management. In 2014, Todd received the inaugural Lasting Impact Award from the ICCFA Educational Foundation. Todd had written numerous books, among them, Exploring the Heart of Funeral Service; Reverence for the Dead: The Unavoidable Link; and The Genius of Frank E. Campbell, all of which are on Amazon.

Todd, a pillar in the deathcare community, passed away suddenly on May 23, 2023. The August/September 2023 issue of Memento Mori honors his commitment to the profession, his leadership through the years as dean of the ICCFA University’s College of Funeral Home Management, his innate skills as a storyteller, and, above all, his legacy that will forever enshrine him in the hearts and minds of his colleagues and the families and students whose paths he crossed along the way.