For as long as I have been alive, I have always been intrigued by hearses and car-based ambulances. As a child I knew Cadillacs were fancy cars for the well-to-do, and so their association with hearses made sense, even before I knew how hearses were made. Cadillac ambulances, however, were a whole different story. Ambulances from my childhood were always large, boxy vans or truck based rigs… Fords, Chevrolets, and the occasional Dodge. Naturally when I was exposed to Cadillac ambulances (probably first through a very well known movie franchise) I became forever enamored. The dichotomy of a service vehicle based on a luxury car was not lost on me even at an early age, and my little budding car enthusiast heart was captured.
Eventually I’d come to own my first hearse in 2005, an orangish-copper colored 1969 Cadillac Miller-Meteor Classic Duplex. It was a combo car—a hearse with a jump seats in the back for attendants—used for funeral service or for transporting patients to the hospital, because back then rural funeral homes also sometimes doubled as the local ambulance service.
Like many first project cars, the Miller-Meteor needed more work than I had the space, skills, equipment, or budget for. And while I consider myself having failed that car, it taught me a lot about coach built vehicles and kept me invested in learning about the funeral industry and emergency transportation—so called professional cars or “procars”—from the late 1970s and earlier.
Unfortunately I was never able to rehab the big ‘69. Today it sits at my brother’s house slowly rusting into eternity and its fate is not likely to ever change, lest I come into a large amount of money.
The ensuing years of identifying as a procar owner but without a coach to drive left me feeling a little like an imposter, fated to appreciate them and to occasionally write about them, but with very chance of owning another. Even in my adult years, with my adult money and a place to call my own, the timing never seemed to be right.
It was only upon visiting a local car meet the week before my 40th birthday that I ran into a longtime acquaintance from the procar world who pointed me in the direction of a very recently retired funeral coach—a 1996 Cadillac Superior Crown Sovereign. The pictures of this car were promising, so I immediately contacted the owner and scheduled a visit to his funeral home in Lafayette, located in the northern section of the Highland Rim of Tennessee, about 55 miles away.
From a practical standpoint, the last thing I needed was an additional car in the driveway. Since I have begrudgingly returned to the office for work and am cursed by an unavoidably long and tortuous commute, the most ideal extra car would be something fuel efficient. A 25 year old coach-built car with a thirsty V8 doesn’t a practical commuter make and the business case I’d need to present to my pragmatic spouse was a difficult one, at best. I settled on the never-before-attempted-in-my-marriage buy-now-seek-forgiveness-later approach. After all, I’m about to turn 40. If not now, when?
I drove up to Lafayette to inspect the car, which turned out to be in excellent condition for a funeral vehicle that had been in service for a quarter-century. There was some wear in the usual places, but much less than I was expecting, probably owing to the car’s 47,000 odometer reading and an owner who seemed to genuinely care for the cars that his business depends on. The owner and I agreed on a purchase price and I returned home to gently let my husband know I’d be buying a hearse and that while I was open to questions, my general position on the matter was non-negotiable. It was mostly a success.
The next day I returned with cash in hand to take possession of the beautiful coach. The long drive home was one of nervous excitement, and the fulfillment of a decades-long dream to own a funeral car that I can enjoy.
My plan for this beauty is simple… fix what is broken, missing, or incorrect, and maintain the car in its original and dignified state just as it left the factory so many years ago.
