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.