Death Benefit

At the funeral service, Ellen’s friends and coworkers were choked with tears when they saw the tiny casket. Deanne just couldn’t face the ordeal, and she told Ellen beforehand that she wouldn’t make it. Ellen understood, she said. She knew how Deanne felt about her godson. Deanne also knew that all of Ellen’s friends were rushing to support her at this tragic time.

Some of them, though, were puzzled at Ellen’s behavior at the funeral. To most onlookers, she appeared to be like any grieving mother who had just had a son snatched from her. Though she was stoic, cool, at times tears did run down her cheeks. But those who knew Ellen, noticed something odd. She seemed almost devoid of real emotion at the service.

To them, Ellen also deserved sympathy because the ex-husband had not met his obligation to provide child support, and the outlook for that to change was dim. No one even knew where to find him. Those who worked all day with Ellen didn’t even know that Ellen delivered pizzas at night, and had been doing it for almost six months.

A few days after the funeral, Dr. Graham, the medical examiner, would make a finding in David’s death. He ruled that the cause of death was sudden death of undetermined etiology following an apparent viral syndrome.

The inexplicable and sudden nature of Ellen’s tragedy inspired her friends at Andersen to raise a collection that would ease her burden. They had passed the hat, and handed Ellen a little more than $1,000 to help her with the bills. They were impressed by the resolve Ellen showed in making the arrangements, and in the way she managed to return to work almost without missing a beat. It was obvious she was making a valiant effort to hold herself together through this ordeal. Ellen would take a break, too, from her nighttime job, and she told Mike, the manager at Elicia’s, that she would be taking a couple of months off. He was sympathetic, as were the other deliverymen who had come to know Ellen. She was a hard worker who got along with everybody and fit in with the gang.

Was Ellen merely a stalwart, suffering heroine, though, or was she just devoid of feeling? At least one of her acquaintances got a glimpse of a more frightening side.

Lisa Schneider had been doing Ellen’s nails for the past three years. Ellen regularly made the drive out to Webster Groves, a pleasant suburb west of downtown, to Lisa’s nail salon. Often she booked several appointments in advance so that Lisa could give her a manicure every two weeks on schedule. Deanne had recommended Lisa, because Ellen had been going to a more expensive place, but they both agreed that Deanne’s manicures were better. So, no matter what condition her finances were in, Ellen always managed to find the twenty dollars Lisa charged.

Wrestling was the usual topic of discussion. Though Lisa knew next to nothing about the subject, she would listen politely as Ellen rattled on about this wrestler or that, about her latest trip, or about whether Ted DiBiasi, The Million Dollar Man, was interested in her. To Lisa, it seemed that Ellen had a bit of an imagination, but what of it? So what if Ellen fantasized about going out with wrestlers? A short, fat woman was not likely to have more realistic prospects come her way.

In fact, most of the time when Ellen had anything to say, it was about wrestling. Otherwise, she was a relatively quiet customer. So Lisa was surprised when Ellen came into the salon—on schedule—only a few days after David had been buried. First off, Lisa noticed that Ellen was acting as if nothing had happened. The manicurist didn’t say anything about Ellen’s demeanor, because she realized she didn’t have any real idea how such a death would affect someone. When Lisa said how sorry she was, she was shocked by Ellen’s response: “All I have to do is get rid of his toys.”

It was the kind of defensive statement someone might make if they were trying to shield themselves from some awful, unthinkable truth. Since there was nothing Lisa could think to say in response, she let it pass.

Paul and Teri Boehm had recently moved into the Sierra Vista Apartments in Tucson, Arizona, and were beginning to feel that they were getting settled for the first time in months. Since they had left St. Louis, only days after David had been born, they had lived in Dodge City, Kansas, and then in Grand Junction, Colorado. Upon arriving in Tucson, they had received help from city social services to get an apartment. Paul had just found employment making thermal windows for Robert Lee Industries, and it was important to get established: Teri was pregnant. They moved into the new apartment on November 1st, but had only had the phone hooked up two or three days when it rang the night of Monday, November 28th. They couldn’t imagine who would be calling.

“Who knows us here?” he said, looking at Teri quizzically.

“Nobody,” she said back.

Teri’s mother had located Paul and Teri through the Red Cross, and was arranging an emergency, operator-assisted, collect call. When he accepted, the operator said that Teri’s mother had called and asked that a message be given to Paul. He was informed of the death of his son and was told that he should get in touch with Ellen as soon as possible.

The three-hour telephone conversation that followed seemed to last a lifetime to Paul. Ellen told him what happened: “They ruled it as crib death.”

Paul didn’t know what to think. David was well beyond the crib stage. He knew that much, because he could count backward to add up David’s age, which was twenty-eight months. Paul wasn’t aware of the medical findings surrounding Sudden Infant Death Syndrome, which rarely strikes after nine months of age. Though Paul was still disbelieving, he had to swallow the news.

Then Ellen started asking about money. She told him that she didn’t have any money to bury him. Could the fact that he was a Vietnam veteran help in any way?

“Yeah, as a matter of fact—” Paul started to say.

“He’ll be kept at the funeral home for a while, until we come up with the money to have him buried.”

“Yeah, okay.”

“I know I can have him buried at Jefferson Barracks, because you’re a vet.”

“That’s right. Do that. It won’t cost you anything. Or probably very little.”

“I don’t want that,” Ellen said back.

“Why not.”

“Well, I have a very good friend …”

“Who?”

Ellen hemmed and hawed. It was a wrestler friend, she said. She never did tell Paul who it was. She just kept repeating the fact that this friend had lots of money, and he could help her out. Paul was getting tired of the whole bit.

“I don’t want to hear about some guy that’s got piles of money,” he barked, raising his voice. “David’s my son.”

The argument then circled some more, until Ellen finally made a flat statement that she wanted David buried in Trinity Cemetery.

“I have something to say about it,” Paul said heatedly. “It’s my son!”

In the end, Ellen did exactly what she wanted. She told the Gebken-Benz Mortuary, where David’s funeral was held, that he should be buried in Trinity Cemetery, south of the city. He would be placed in a treeless section at one edge of the cemetery that was reserved for young children. The gravediggers called it “Babyland.”

Though Ellen never said anything about being dissatisfied with the arrangements, she refused to pay the bill, which came to $2,348. It was the funeral home’s policy not to take any action against unpaid bills for at least a year. So, out of sympathy for the bereaved, the unpaid balance lingered on the books. And, in the weeks that followed the funeral, Deanne would press Ellen about dragging her feet about paying for David’s headstone.

Through her job Ellen had a $5,000 life insurance policy for each of her children. Such an amount was considered to be little more than a burial policy. The carrier that Andersen used for employee coverage, United of Omaha, had paid the claim for David’s death right on time.

So, between the $1,000 collected by her friends and coworkers and the $5,000 insurance policy, Ellen had more than enough to cover the funeral expenses and purchase a proper headstone. David’s medical bills had amounted to approximately $30,000, of which Mutual of Omaha paid all but $500. Instead, she had other plans for the money. In the early days of the New Year, she would take Stacy and Steven on a trip to Walt Disney World in Orlando, Florida. After that, she and Deanne would make another road trip. This time it wouldn’t be so far, only across the state to Kansas City.

It occurred in the third week in January. Ellen was still interested in Paul Ellering, the Road Warriors’ manager, who was staying at the Howard Johnson’s Hotel. Deanne was still a little puzzled by how well her friend was coping with the Thanksgiving tragedy. She knew about the insurance policy from work, and that there was a collection taken up for Ellen, but she was unaware that Ellen had walked out on the funeral bill, or that Ellen had tried to collect from another insurance company for David’s death.

But this was not a time to ask questions, or dig into someone’s finances. They were on the road, and Deanne knew that Ellen was troubled. Wrestling made her so happy. This was their great escape.

Teri Boehm, Paul’s new wife, was scheduled to visit her obstetrician on the Wednesday after Paul had talked to Ellen. She knew little more than he did about crib-death cases, but it seemed just as strange to her that a child who had passed a second birthday could suddenly die this way. She asked her doctor about it.

“Crib death at twenty-eight-months old. That’s impossible,” was what she was told. “There’s something wrong.”

Paul and Teri Boehm now knew that David’s “crib death” was certainly unusual, if not suspicious, but there was little they could do but accept Paul’s ex-wife’s explanation. Paul was in Arizona with his own problems. Ellen was in St. Louis. He certainly didn’t have the money to get back for the funeral. He would have to let it ride.