BATESVILLE DAY: THE CRAFT OF CARE

 

You may be wondering: from where do many mortuaries purchase their funeral caskets for public resale? Why—Batesville Casket Company, of course. Founded in 1884 in Batesville, Indiana, the company began as the Batesville Coffin Company before adopting its more familiar name. Once a month, rain or shine, their truck arrived at Pierce Brothers Central Services in Los Angeles (720 W. Washington Boulevard), a ritual I came to refer to as Batesville Day.

June, 1982. The driver always backed his truck discreetly to the rear loading dock at “720” Central Services, careful not to startle the mortuary’s neighbors. Inside, six to eight of us—young, strong, and half competitive, waited for the heavy work. That crew usually meant Tony, Jeff, and me, the first call drivers, along with Mario and Bob from casket deliveries. Between us, we could move just about anything.

Each casket could weigh up to three hundred pounds, and the unloading was part choreography, part endurance test. Inside the Batesville truck, three levels of aluminum rollers held ten to fifteen caskets apiece. A built-in forklift-like device, mounted to the truck walls, allowed the driver to lower the middle and top levels down to the hydraulic platform at the rear.

When a casket hovered just above the platform, one of us would roll a wheeled aluminum cart—our casket mover—beneath it. The driver lowered the casket onto the cart, and the platform descended smoothly to the ground. From there, the work became ours.

Tony usually called out the rhythm—“Watch your fingers!”—as Jeff and I guided each casket off the platform and into position. Mario, methodical as ever, would already be stripping away the outer layers of bubble wrap and Styrofoam, while Bob stacked the plywood crates to the side for disposal. The rest of us followed in sequence, unwrapping, inspecting, and checking for flaws.

Each new Batesville casket came wrapped in layers of protective materials—bubble wrap, plastic sheeting, and thick Styrofoam corners—all secured inside a snug plywood crate. The casket key, taped neatly to the lid, came off first. Using it, we unlocked the two lids, one for the head, one for the foot, and tested them twice, listening for the smooth movement of the hinges. We checked the lining, the polish, the metal finish. And no, despite the temptation, none of us ever climbed inside. Our boss, Mr. Pickett, was watching carefully.

Once inspected, the casket was locked, covered, and wheeled into the aluminum storage rack—thirty-five slots wide, gleaming under fluorescent light. Our goal was always the same: to clear the truck quickly and send the Batesville driver back on the road. From start to finish, the process took thirty to forty-five minutes, a small but mighty act of precision and muscle.

In the early 1980s, the average Batesville casket cost between $1,100 and $2,700, a significant investment for a family, and often the single most expensive part of a funeral. Today, that range runs closer to $2,000 to $5,000, with custom models reaching much higher. Protecting these products wasn’t just company policy; it was respect for the people and the purpose they would one day serve.

I remember looking forward to Batesville Day. It broke up the rhythm of mortuary driving—those long hours spent collecting the deceased or staffing funerals, and gave us a rare chance for camaraderie. Tony and Jeff would tease each other about who could move faster without a scrape, while Mario and Bob turned unpacking into a well-rehearsed dance. Amid the clang of aluminum rollers and the hiss of hydraulics, there was laughter, muscle, and quiet pride in doing the job right. We all wanted to impress Mr. Pickett.

It’s a funny kind of intimacy, the kind that comes from handling something both industrial and sacred. A casket, after all, is the vessel for someone’s final appearance in this world.

 

Caskets and Coffins: A Brief History

 

A casket has four sides; a coffin has six. The six-sided coffin—diamond-shaped at the shoulders—was favored in the 1700s for keeping the body snug and easier to transport, especially during wartime. By the early 1900s, the rectangular casket had largely replaced the old form, seen as more dignified and easier to produce. The word coffin itself comes from the Old French cofin, meaning “basket,” and entered English around 1380.

Beneath the earth, a casket often rests within a burial vault, a concrete or reinforced concrete box designed to protect it from collapse or intrusion. Vaults first emerged to deter grave robbers, who once prized the valuables, clothing, and even the bodies themselves. Over time, they became symbols of preservation rather than protection.

When I think back on those mornings at 720 Central Services, the rhythmic clatter of rollers, the scent of new metal and oil, Tony’s sharp whistle cutting through the air, I realize that Batesville Day wasn’t just about restocking inventory. It was a quiet ritual of care, a moment when strength and reverence met.

Every month, the truck came. Every month, we unloaded, inspected, and stored. And every time, as the Batesville driver pulled away and the echo of the loading dock faded, I felt the same small satisfaction: in the work, in the teamwork, and in the knowledge that even the routine tasks can hold meaning.