Today, much of the industry is scurrying to adopt the Families First model. With more than 700 families served a year, it's the busiest funeral home between Windsor and Toronto. "He's a complete inspiration to me," says Crean. "I'm trying everything I can do to make our facility like his. " The Parent-inspired touches include flat-screen televisions, a website and a willingness to plan oddball services heavy in memorabilia, from bicycles to gardening tools.
But as Crean moves to modernize the operation, he's had to wrestle with the fate of the property where three generations of Creans laid out the dead. It's clearly been a difficult decision, and he's sheepish when he reveals it: "We're going to put up condos." Even with the steady clientele, the high-five-figure tax bill on the property had become untenable. So, pending city approval, the Creans are teaming up with a developer to erect a 11-storey condo building on the site, which is near the trendy Granville shopping district. The new arrangement space a few blocks away could soon be all that's left of Kearney Funeral Services along West Broadway. "Can you run a funeral home out of retail space in a high-rise?" says Crean. "We really don't know, but we'll find out. Our focus is to keep services affordable, and this is the only way we can see of doing that."
Ballooning property taxes aren't the only thing worrying independent home operators. Many in the industry have been anticipating a surge of dying baby boomers, but that has been slow to come. The three big killers out there—heart disease, cancer and strokes—aren't killing people as fast as they used to because of better health care and prevention. Add the fact that Costco and a host of cut-rate online retailers have recently jumped into casket sales, placing even more pressure on funeral homes that count on their casket margins for survival. What's more, good help is hard to find. Even in salary-rich Alberta, funeral directors and embalmers topped out at $49,700 last year, not the kind of income that will entice young people away from the oil industry or high tech. Companies like SCI at least offer commissions and cushy benefits.
Trevor, the youngster, is well aware of these challenges. "You take the random person from the street and tell them to go down to the morgue, some wouldn't do it for all the money in the world," he says. "Well, I'll do it for 15 bucks an hour. It's not about the money. Some of us just like helping people."
Like his father, Trevor had sworn to do something else with his life. Yet here he is, expecting to finish a two-year funeral home director's apprenticeship in June. This will give him all the gilded parchment he needs to take over one day—if he opts to. But he's thinking about quitting for a while so he can figure out his life. "Y'know," he says, staring at the empty wooden lectern at the front of the chapel, "my dad could have a heart attack tomorrow. Or my parents could step off the curb and get hit. We see the most freak accidents. But at least, if that was the case, I'd be prepared." And one more Crean would—reluctantly but resolutely—dedicate his life to death.
