2B — Thursday, January 28, 2016
the b-side
The Michigan Daily — michigandaily.com

Muehlig, Ann 
Arbor’s funeral 
home since 1852

By MATT GALLATIN 

Daily Arts Writer

In youthful Ann Arbor, a city 

known by some as “the best col-
lege town in America,” death can 
be a foreign language. As much 
as smoking commercials and 
PSAs attempt to remind us of our 
mortality, the widespread youth-
ful delusion of invincibility can 
be hard to shake for a population 
that has little experience to the 
contrary. Students cross the street 
without looking both ways, drink 
more than they probably should, 
smoke cigarettes in the name of 
hipsterdom and yet, more often 
than not, still see the light of day 
tomorrow.

But death is a very real part of 

life in the ostensibly invincible 
Ann Arbor. We recently mourn-
ed the death of Chad Carr, the 
5-year-old son of former Univer-
sity quarterback Jason Carr and 
the grandson of former University 
football coach Lloyd Carr. Last 
July, a 21-year-old student fell 
to his death after climbing onto 
the glass ceiling covering Nickels 
Arcade. And of course, as with 
any city, there are people who pass 
every day.

For transient young students 

— for young people in general — 
it’s easy to absorb these deaths as 
one would anything else on the 
daily news cycle. When murders 
in Chicago are treated with more 
stoicism and banality than the 
morning traffic report, it becomes 
hard to see the emotion in death. 
For those who aren’t close to the 
individuals who pass away on TV, 
there likely isn’t a lasting impact 
from these tragedies. Loss is not a 
part of the local young adult ver-
nacular.

For a few, however, death and 

grieving are their livelihood.

Muehlig Funeral Chapel is the 

only funeral home within the city 
limits of Ann Arbor. Founded by 
Florian Muehlig in 1852, it is the 
oldest funeral home in the state of 
Michigan, originating in an upper 
floor office along Main Street and 
eventually moving into its current 
building on South Fourth Avenue 
in 1928. Once a private hospital, 
the history of Muehlig Funeral 
Chapel is the history of Ann Arbor. 

Thomas Jensen, director of the 

Muehlig home, has worked in the 
field for the last 34 years. While 
many enter the profession because 
of family ties, Jensen explained 
in an interview with The Michi-
gan Daily that he entered the field 
“totally by accident.”

“Over a summer during high 

school I got a part time job at the 
local funeral home washing cars, 
working at ceremonies, answer-
ing the phone and such,” Jensen 
said. “I went to college, and in my 
third year I decided that this (the 
funeral businesses) was what I 
wanted to do.”

As a student at Wayne State 

University in Detroit, Jensen con-
tinued working at funeral homes, 
and lived in one nearby during 
his later college years. Aside from 
the social strain that comes with 
living in a funeral home, Jensen 
explained that it was little differ-
ent than living in your average 
apartment.

“It’s hard to get your friends to 

come over,” Jensen said. “And for-
get about girls, I didn’t even try.”

According to Jensen, social 

stigmas are common for funeral 
directors. With the prominence 
of TV shows like HBO’s “Six 
Feet Under” and fantasized 
horror films like “After.Life,” 
there’s a tendency to focus on 
the morbid and tantalizing, 

regardless of accuracy.

“People are very intrigued by it 

(the funeral profession),” he said. 
“There’s two ways it goes if you’re 
on an airplane. They’ll say some-
thing like ‘I work in accounting,’ 
and I respond with ‘I’m a funeral 
director.’ Either they’re not going 
to say another word to you, or 
they’re never going to shut up. 
People have a curiosity of what 
goes on. They focus more on the 
technical, backroom things that 
aren’t actually as scary or creepy 
as people think they are.”

“There is a technical, medical 

part to the job,” he added. “It’s 
an important part, but it’s a really 
small part. It’s not the majority of 
our time.”

Rather, Jensen said, a lot of time 

is spent helping families. “For the 
first few weeks we’re getting them 
through the stages so they can 
move on. We’re not grief coun-
selors, but we educate people on 
what to expect, what they might 
go through emotionally.”

It’s this, not the cadavers, that 

drew Jensen to the business.

With his intimate place within 

the Ann Arbor community, Jen-
sen offers a unique perspective on 
both our ever-changing modern 
society and the lives of Ann Arbor 
residents. Whereas the funeral 
ceremonies that Jensen officiated 
when he began his career over 30 
years ago were often religious, 
traditional and perhaps cookie-
cutter, today’s ceremonies are 
remarkably personal.

“Now, people are telling us 

what they want, and it’s our job to 
make it happen,” he said. “We’ve 
had people bring in motorcycles 
and put them up with the casket. 
We’ve had them bring old cars in 
and park them outside. We’ve had 
them bring boats and park them 
outside. We had a gentleman who 
had participated in the Mackinac 
Races for over 30 years, and they 
had all his flags from all his races 
all the way around the room, with 
pictures of his boat everywhere.”

And, because this is Ann Arbor, 

pride for the University finds its 
way into the most intimate part 
of a person’s life. Funerals are 
not to be held in Ann Arbor when 
there is a football game. Families 
hang the University flag over their 
loved ones, and often request for 
the home to be decorated in maize 
and blue for the service. Some 
even manage to incorporate the 
Big House into their commemora-
tion: “It’s not unusual for people 
to request we drive past the sta-
dium,” Jensen said.

But with emotions running 

high, funeral ceremonies are not 
always flowered with family unity. 
Jensen said everyone handles loss 
individually, but often one fam-
ily member’s idea of how to com-
memorate a loved one differs from 
another’s. In some families this 
leads to passive aggressiveness, 
though in others it can be much 
more overt.

“We’ve had fist fights, we’ve 

had yelling, we’ve had the 
police show up,” Jensen recalls, 
noting a particular quarrel over 
a seemingly innocuous portion 
of a ceremony

“With one family, there were 

two daughters arguing over flow-
ers, and they were throwing them 
at each other,” he said. “Not just 
the flowers, but the vases. So 
sometimes you’ve got to step in 
and separate that.”

Beyond stepping into physi-

cal altercations, funeral directors 
have the daunting task of handling 
the emotional weight of other’s 
grief on such a consistent basis. 
Jensen said there is no doubt that 
the job is draining. Indeed, there is 
an element of separation that the 
funeral director must have.

“You have to deal with that 

(loss),” he said. “But I tell people, 
not that we don’t have feelings 

or don’t feel for them, but we’re 
not emotionally connected to the 
people who pass like those who 
come for our services are. They’re 
paying us a lot of money, and 
they’re not paying us to cry with 
them. Not that we don’t do that, 
but that’s not what we’re here 
for them to do. We’re just here to 
help them any way we can, to help 
them get through their grief, so 
that they can hopefully move on.”

Jensen 
explained 
that 
the 

most difficult part of the job is — 
perhaps surprisingly — the long 
hours.

“For me personally, the families 

always come first,” he said. “I’ve 
missed a lot of my family things.”

He added that with modern 

technology, it’s become almost 
impossible to truly remove your-
self from the job. But, as he points 
out, that is little different than 
most careers, and the satisfaction 
that he receives from helping a 
family through the process of loss 
is rewarding enough to make the 
profession worth it: “I love what I 
do,” he said. 

For a profession so rooted in 

death, Jensen says that his job 
gives him an important perspec-
tive not just on loss, but on life.

“We just had a 17-month-old 

yesterday whose parents are from 
Alaska,” he said. “They came down 
here just for U of M, with their 
son, and he didn’t survive the sur-
gery. Life’s not so bad compared to 
all the people I’ve worked with. It 
keeps things in perspective that 
way, not to sweat the small stuff.”

But when it comes to the big 

stuff, Jensen says that he isn’t 
worried.

“I don’t want to die yet, but if I 

die tomorrow, I’m OK with that,” 
he said.

For Jensen, faith is an impor-

tant element in facing any fear of 
passing.

“It (the job) affects my belief in 

life after this; I hope, so yeah, it 
affects a lot,” he said. “Again, treat 
the body as just a vessel. The soul 
is then going to live on.”

Last October, a close friend of 

mine died in a drunk driving acci-
dent. I won’t lie and say that this 
gave me some kind of epiphany 
about valuing my own life. Every-
thing didn’t suddenly become 
clear. I didn’t “see the light.” 
Rather, I drank to blackout the fol-
lowing weekend and missed the 
service. A moral low-point? Prob-
ably. For me then, and likely still, 
it’s easier to embrace the igno-
rance of death as an abstract.

I offer this not for sympathy, 

but to recognize the shortcom-
ings of one-size-fits-all clichés. 
We’re constantly assailed with 
the importance of each day of our 
lives. We’re supposed to accept 
that we can be gone at any minute, 
and therefore need to enjoy every 
moment of our days here. “Thank 
God it wasn’t us,” people say.

But if each day could be our 

last, should we attach such grav-
ity when a day doesn’t fit the bill 
for “best day ever?” The idea that 
we can be extinguished like a 
candle isn’t an enjoyable concept. 
It seems in ignorance there is far 
more bliss.

Jensen’s proximity with death 

reminds him, and us, that we 
shouldn’t sweat the small stuff. 
To me, this extends to the things 
we cannot change. I can’t change 
that someone texting down I-94 
could leave me, or anyone, six 
feet under. But what good is 
there for it to weigh on myself, 
or anyone else? People enter 
funeral homes each day. Wor-
rying about when we’ll go can’t 
change that. For me, embracing 
each day doesn’t come from the 
fear the it could be the last, but 
because so far it isn’t. 

“It’s going to be OK,” Jensen 

says. If a funeral director can 
believe this, we sure as hell can.

By BAILEY KADIAN 

Community Culture Columnist

“Ann Arbor? What a great col-

lege town.”

How many times have we all 

heard that? No doubt, it’s true. 
Ann Arbor is populated with an 
incredible variety of people; this 
city is built on passion, intellect 
and drive.

Recently I realized that the 

more time I spend in AA, the 
more I forget that. Outside of 
this town, it’s easy to see how 
it stands out. There is a type of 
energy at school you can’t find 
anywhere else. When I speak 
to alumni about Ann Arbor, the 
conversations are endless: Where 
do you go to eat? What shows 
have you seen? Sports, events, 
classes — everything. We will all 
be at the point when we eventu-
ally leave this city, (some never 
do, but you might) and appreciate 
all these elements that composed 
what we called home.

With two years almost com-

pleted, and only two to go, I 
realize there is potential to miss 
the point. I feel like we’re so 
immersed in it — whether that it 
is classes, clubs or relationships 
— it’s hard to really appreciate 
the vastness of this place and 
recognize all the opportunities 
here.

There are thousands of stu-

dents in this city studying so 
many different subjects, with so 
many different talents and pas-

sions. It’s absolutely crucial we 
use that towards something. I 
feel like I get stuck in this rou-
tine (understandably so) of class-
es, clubs, friends, résumé, career 
… the list goes on. It takes some-
thing extra to get myself out of 
this mindset and recognize that 
I, along with many others, could 
be missing exactly what Ann 
Arbor asks us to find. Find our 
passion, yes. But ultimately, find 
its purpose.

I came across a video the 

other day posted by C.S. Mott 
Children’s Hospital with SMTD 
Senior Christina Maxwell sing-
ing to children in the hospital. 
She decided to use her talent and 
passion for performing to bright-
en the day of children.

I realized then — that is exact-

ly what we should be doing here.

You could see this forced 

reflection as clichéd, or maybe 
you think you’re already doing 
this. This video made me ques-
tion if I really am.

Ann Arbor hands you the 

opportunity to find what you 
love, but often we see that as 
something applied to a career 
and not everyday occurrences. 
We should use what we’re learn-
ing, seeing and experiencing 
not only toward future goals, 
but toward what’s in front of us. 
Simply, to do something beyond 
ourselves.

Maxwell’s Friday visits to the 

hospital illustrate exactly what 
I’m talking about. It’s so easy to 

get fixated on everything we are 
committed to, and in turn lose 
moments we don’t even realize 
we had. We have a rare oppor-
tunity to be in a place that offers 
the ability to simultaneously 
learn and give. 

“What performing is about is 

that connection,” Maxwell said. 
“It’s about sharing that gift of 
joy, that give of love, that gift of 
happiness.”

The kids at Mott are so excited 

and happy by these Friday visits, 
and the musical theatre students 
who perform are simply doing 
what they love. This service isn’t 
some résumé booster, or way to 
showcase talent. It’s sharing a 
gift with those who need a little 
more joy.

I’m not telling you to drasti-

cally change your schedules to 
accommodate this idea. I am, 
however, suggesting you start 
recognizing the moments that 
are in front of you to give back. 
The gratification from those 
efforts is inexpressibly glorious, 
whether you are the one doing it 
or witnessing it.

Maxwell admitted that her 

Friday visits provide the best 
work she will ever do.

So Ann Arbor, the great col-

lege town, what else do you have 
to offer?

Kadian is skipping through 

the streets. To take her on 

a night on the town, e-mail 

bkadian@umich.edu. 

COMMUNITY CULTURE COLUMN

Finding purpose in a 

college town

MUSIC VIDEO REVIEW

 “Give me the landscape of 

the moon,” Wolfmother’s lead 
singer, Andrew Stockdale, prob-
ably said. 
“Yes, give 
me the land-
scape of the 
moon and 
then give me 
a couple dif-
ferent outfit 
options. Give me a full-body 
cape to wear, but also give me a 
stereotypical ‘cool hipster rock 
god’ outfit to wear as well so 
that I can still have the option 
of maybe getting laid.” 

“We’ll work with the Star 

Wars hype that the world is 
still coasting on,” Stockdale 
said to his band. “Put the resi-
dent ‘hot girl’ in the video in 
something that the sci-fi nerds 
can masturbate to later. But 
let’s leave the viewer with an 
impression, however so small, 
that we understand and appre-
ciate feminism. So make sure 
you give her a sword of some 
sort to emphasize that under-
lying ‘strong female role’ that 
we hope to emulate.” 

And so the Princess Leia 

wannabe runs around the 
galaxy, lazily slashing into 
the sides of men in alligator 
masks. She is destroying them 
before she has to face the dark 

Galactic warlord who, armed 
with bushy goatee, looks like 
the opposite of a Sith lord. He 
looks like your neighbor down 
the street who waters his lawn 
too much. 

It’s so wildly entertaining in 

its simplicity, and it’s so dumb 
that it has done something 
right. So the Aussie band is 
either secured tightly to the 
Earth, or they are far, far away 
on the moon of their minds. 
With this music video, they are 
either brilliant or insane. 

With the inescapable notes 

of sexism and tinges of self-
obsession aside, Wolfmother’s 
newest music video for “Victo-

rious” off of their recent album 
Gypsy Caravan is an homage 
to the bad sci-fi movies of the 
1970s and ‘80s. The music vid-
eo’s director, Brother Willis, 
describes this tongue-in-cheek 
video as “a lost space movie” 
that is mysteriously found and 
popped into a VCR somewhere. 
It’s a groovy concept that 
manifests itself into an enter-
taining video. 

But the greatest reveal of the 

Wolfmother video? You can’t 
hide a bad, Muse-wannabe 
song behind the strangeness of 
a music video.

- AMELIA ZAK

UNIVERSAL

B

Victorious

Wolfmother

Dealing with loss 
in a youthful city

COVER STORY

SINGLE REVIEW

 Macklemore is a rapper 

who, in the past, has released 
songs about penises and thrift 
shop cloth-
ing. He 
has been 
dismissed 
as phony, ille-
gitimate and 
a sellout.

Regardless 

of Mackl-
emore’s 
reputation, 
he’s always 
been socially conscious. He first 
rapped about racial inequality in 
2005 on “White Privilege.” Now 
he’s back with “White Privilege 
II,” the second single from his 
upcoming album This Unruly 
Mess I’ve Made.

At times, Macklemore’s mes-

sage is rambling and repetitive. 
Choosing to make a song about 
such a culturally relevant issue 
is great, but the song is eight 
minutes and 45 seconds and the 
instrumentals are all over the 

place. The somewhat discom-
bobulated political statement is 
interspersed with soulful sam-
ples/dialogue and vocals from 
Jamila Woods, all complemented 
by typically piano-heavy produc-
tion from Ryan Lewis. 

Despite the blemishes, Mackl-

emore still has thoughtful com-
mentary. He acknowledges the 
cultural appropriation some 
might see in his music, saying, 
“You’ve taken the drums and 
the accent you rapped in / Your 
brand of hip hop it’s so fascist 
and backwards / That Grand-

master Flash’d go slap it, you bas-
tard,” and taking it a step further 
by reiterating his genuine inter-
est in making racial progress.

At best, he’s using his platform 

to bring more light to an impor-
tant social issue. At worst, he’s 
using such a serious matter to 
add to his success/street credit as 
a social activist and entertainer.

What results from his efforts 

may not be a well-executed 
attempt, but it is an attempt. And 
in times like these, in this social 
climate, that’s worth something.

- JOEY SCHUMAN

B-

White 
Privilege II

Macklemore

Macklemore LLC
MACKLEMORE LLC

DO YOU BUY UBERS FOR YOUR 

FRIENDS’ COURSE PACKS?

WE ALWAYS WILL.

E-mail ajtheis@umich.edu and katjacqu@umich.edu for 

information on applying.

