CLOSE-UP

David Techner:
"Between seeing
some of the
things I see at the
funeral home and
the experiences
I've had in my
own life, I've
gained an
appreciation for
living that I think
is a real gift. I
don't take
anything for
granted?'

24

FRIDAY, FEBRUARY 22, 1991

socks still rolled up, one pair
of underwear.
The cousins decide to give
the clothes, along with fur-
niture and other items left in
Mr. Z's apartment, to Mrs.
Techner, who is working
with Jewish agencies to
recycle the goods for Soviet
immigrants.
"The most painful thing a
family faces is not just the
loss of a loved one, but all
that goes with that loss,"
Mr. Techner says. "After the
funeral the family has to
deal with taking the
(deceased's) apartment
apart: What do they do with
that new television, or the
80-year-old dining room set
that has been in the family
for years but that nobody
wants?"
Mrs. Techner will arrange
for emptying the apartment
and sending the goods to
those who need them, which
often gives the grieving
family comfort, Mr. Techner
says.
Inside Mr. Z.'s pants are
two black wallets. The anx-
ious cousin sorts through
them, checking if Mr. Z.
belonged to any organiza-
tions he forgot to mention.
He shakes his head in
amazement at the numerous
business, club and credit
cards.
For a moment, the cousin
sets them on Mr. Techner's
desk and looks out into
nowhere.
"Imagine," he says. "A
man's life comes down to a
bunch of cards."
At noon, Mr. Techner en-
joys a lunch of salmon. He
loves the stuff, could eat it
twice a day every day. That
and a cup of coffee and he's
ready to go.
Few funeral requests sur-
prise him anymore. He's
willing to try just about
anything that gives comfort
to the grieving. Take the
rock concert/funeral for a
sound systems engineer who
had worked with many top
bands. Members of Blue
Oyster Cult came to the fu-
neral and sang a song for the
deceased. The hard-rock
group KISS, notorious for
their dramatic makeup,
came in business suits and
without the face paint. An
Orthodox rabbi presided.
"That was one of the
neatest funerals I ever did,"
Mr. Techner said. "It was
really all about this guy's
life."
A car phone featured
prominently in another fu-
neral. Ill for many years, the
man had refused to go
anywhere without his phone
for fear he might need
emergency medical treat-
ment. The wife asked that
her husband be buried with
his mobile phone.

After the funeral, the wife
admitted she called the car
phone number. She got a
recording telling her the
phone was "out of range and
not turned on."
Another woman asked
that her husband, a travel-
ing salesman, be buried with
two dimes. She never let him
go anywhere without two
dimes. What if he was
robbed and didn't have 20
cents to call for help?
Mr. Techner also worked
closely with David Rivlin,
who made headlines in 1990
when he asked to be taken
off his life-support system.
Injured in a diving accident,
Mr. Rivlin had for years liv-
ed unable to move from the
neck down.
After one of his last visits
with Mr. Rivlin, Mr.
Techner drove to Providence
Hospital for a check-up. He
underwent a series of exams.
At the conclusion of the tests
the physician appeared
grave. He told Mr. Techner,
"You have cancer."
"My first thought was, 'I
don't have time for cancer.
Wait a few months. In
December I'll have more
time,' " he says. Then he
contemplated the bizarre
circumstances that tied his
situation to that of David
Rivlin.
"Here I was dealing with
this guy my age who wants
to die," he says. "Hours
later, I'm facing my own
death. It was the ultimate
irony."
Mr. Techner went for
cancer treatment five times
a week. Among his most un-
forgettable visits was when
he saw a 9-year-old boy re-
ceiving radiation therapy.
The boy wore a baseball cap
and clung to his mitt.
Mr. Techner admits he had
been feeling sorry for
himself. Then a hospital
worker pointed to the boy
and told the funeral director,
"You're going to get through
this. He's not."
"That guy did me a real
favor," Mr. Techner says.
"He taught me that no
matter how bad things are
for you, somebody's always
got it worse."
Doctors say Mr. Techner's
cancer has been cured,
though the disease "lives
with me daily," he says. It
also has influenced his at-
titude about life.
"Between seeing some of
the things I see (at the fu-
neral home) and the experi-
ences I've had in my own
life, I've gained an apprecia-
tion for living that I think is
a real gift," he says. "I don't
take anything for granted
anymore."
After lunch, Mr. Techner
speaks on the phone with a
woman looking for a
bereavement support group.