THE STIFF IN THE CADILLAC
                   by Eugene Hutchinson Mallory 2


     I was a freshman in high school and out shoveling snow from
the driveway of the Andrews house, (our house) when Rex Miller
stopped by in his 1928 Chevrolet coupe and asked "You want to go
down town and see the stiff in the Cadillac at Pitsor's garage?"

     I was more than a little taken aback and even more
suspicious that Rex was trying to put something over on me.
Death was taken more casually in those days, but I was skeptical
of a dead man available for viewing in a public garage. Hampton
was definitely not Deadwood South Dakota in the 1880's. This was
1928.

     Rex had been a schoolmate of mine since kindergarten and
was not above deceiving me if he could, but he was in a position
to know about the death industry. His father, Thede (short for
Theodore) owned a hearse and drove for many funerals and was
well acquainted among our several undertakers. Rex in turn,
claimed knowledge of the arcane secrets of that somewhat
sinister trade.

     I had never seen a dead person except all duded up for a
brief appearance at a funeral.

     There was no way I was going to say I didn't want to go and
so give Rex the chance to say I was afraid to go and look the
dead in the face.

     I stuck my shovel in the snow and began to beat the snow
off my clothes and boots. All the Millers were fussbudgets and
Rex fussed over that car worse than a hen with one chick. Even
Rex's little dog had learned to wipe her feet before she came in
the house of car.

     When I thought I was clean enough, I got in. Rex flicked
off a nearly imaginary bit of snow and we were off to see the
wizard even if the wizard had a death's head face.

     If I had gone in the house to ask permission to go downtown
with Rex to see a dead man I wouldn't have got it, but being in
high school I didn't choose to ask.

     The Millers were respectable enough, but just barely. Thede
had never really worked. Several years before when I was more
innocent I had asked cousin Arthur "What does Thede Miller do?"

     "Why old Thede just does anybody he can" was the answer I
got.

     My friendship with Rex was well received in my house, but I
doubt if Thede would have been. Certainly the expedition to view
the dead stranger would not have been approved or permitted.

     Rex having his own car and a new one at that, may give the
idea that Rex was a pampered son of the rich. That was not so.
Rex spent far more time washing, polishing and fussing with that
car than driving in it. How much money Thede really had was a
deep secret, but it was enough to lend out at very high rates to
people who were afraid to face the marble counters and the
granite faces behind them at the bank.

     There were stories about Thedes collection methods, but I
had no knowledge of any of his customers turning up with two
broken legs.

     George Pitsor's garage was just across the alley from the
sheriff's house and across the street from the courthouse, but
we thirteen year-olds had no fear of driving up on our own. We
kids started driving as soon as we could see over the dashboard,
cars had dashboards you know, and the slow growers used a
cushion.

     Rex had been chattering away all the time I was making up
my mind and we were getting under way. There was not much to
tell but he sure made the most of it.

     The car had been found on highway 10, stuck in the snow. It
was empty except, and that was a large except, a dead man in the
passenger side of the front seat. He was well and rather
formally and expensively dressed. Hat, overcoat, scarf and dry
shiny shoes.

     He was a large, rather impressive man. His expression was
calm and peaceful and the eyes were closed. The finders thought
he was asleep, but soon found differently. He was frozen stiff.
It had been 10 below last night.

     The sheriff came and couldn't move him. What pockets could
be reached were empty. There was no registration the car, but it
did have Cook County Illinois license plates.

     The sheriff had the Cadillac and passenger brought in to be
thawed out for investigation.

     In spite of the snow piled around the streets Rex had
little trouble in finding a parking spot.

     We could see a gathering of sightseers through the plate
glass in the front of Pitsor's garage. We went in and edged our
way up to the attraction and there he was as advertised, but
more dignified.

     Rex was still going on how he must be a Chicago gangster
taken for a ride and left in a snow bank to freeze. It was cold
enough.

     The garage was full and warm as George could get it. Snow
was still dropping in chunks from the underside of the "death"
car as Rex kept calling it.

     I didn't believe all that gangster stuff, the dead man's
face was too bland and respectable. I did believe the man was
dead. The face was closed in some way, but even in life it was a
face that would reveal only what it's owner desired to reveal
and it's owner wasn't home anymore.

     About this time George Pitsor came out and said "You kids
get out of here. It's no place for you."

     It was no use arguing with George. He was small, but
mighty, so we got. We weren't very happy about it, but felt
better when the rest of the sightseers followed us out of the
door.

     The rest of the story takes place over in the courthouse in
the sheriff's office and as I wasn't there I have had to
reconstruct it. My information is strictly small town grapevine,
but I did know the people and the times.

     The story began to unravel when a stranger walked in and
said "I had to abandon my car yesterday in the blizzard. I've
been told you might know where it is."

     The stranger looked astonishingly like the frozen one over
in the garage.

     Sheriff McNames was a tough old bird and he managed to
answer coolly enough, "We took in some cars when they plowed the
road. Can you describe it please?"

     The man could and did.

     The sheriff asked for the license plate number, confident
he wouldn't get it.

     The stranger said "I'll have to look it up. I just bought
the car in Chicago."

     He produced the license number and transfer papers to Mr.
J.G. Bullard of Charles City, Iowa.

     The sheriff looked over the papers.

     "You are Mr. J.G. Bullard?"

     "I am and I need my car."

     Sheriff McNames had had enough evasion. "I'm afraid I
cannot release that car. There is someone in it."

     Bullard gave a little sigh and said, "Yes, I know. It's my
partner. He was also a cousin of mine."

     The Sheriff answered, "You had better tell me what business
you and your partner were in and why he is frozen in that car
and you are here asking for the car. Did you leave him out there
to freeze to death?"

     "He didn't freeze to death. He was already dead. We had an
undertaking business in Charles City.

     McNames was getting aggravated.

     "I've heard about silent partners, but driving around the
country with dead partners requires an explanation. Tell me what
you have been up to since you bought that car. You are
considerable out of your way to go to Charles City from
Chicago."

     "We went to Chicago to buy the car. We needed it to haul
the families around to the cemetery and the like. We got a good
deal. It's used just a little, but we get Iowa plates on it
nobody will know and they like big showy cars for funerals.

     We came back by Waterloo to show the car off to friends in
the business and have a little reunion. This gets a little
embarrassing."

     "Only half as embarrassing as leaving a dead body around in
my county, but I'll help you out. You bought some big city booze
back with you and had a wild party with those friends in
Waterloo. That's in Black Hawk, this in Franklin County and it's
none of my business. I don't give a damn about that."

     Bullard took up the story.

     "We brought some booze back all right. The party was just
going good. There were six of us all in the business. Well, with
no warning at all Cousin Bill, my partner, you know, gave a kind
squawk and went head down on the table. Dead as a coffin nail.
What a mess.

     The Sheriff came right back, "I would think so, five
undertakers drunk as skunks and one dead one full of Chicago
whiskey. You sure he was dead?"

     "Yeah, dead people are one thing we know about, and such
good whiskey and we were just getting into the feel of a good
time."

     Sheriff said, "Must have been good stuff. It only killed
one of you. I can guess what you did next, but you better tell
me."

     Bullard swallowed hard and said "It seemed like a good idea
at the time. We were at our friends place of business. We just
took Cousin Bill back to the work room and embalmed him on the
spot, set him up at the table and went on with the party."

     The Sheriff shook his head "I like a party as well as
anybody but I don't think I'd be up to partying with you
fellers."

     Bullard said "I'll admit I was kind dubious about the whole
thing myself. Next day I was scared to look at old Bill, for
fear we had bungled the job, but he looked grand, better than I
did. People say we look alike, but I never could see it. We
wasn't as drunk as you think, I guess. But, if I could get him
home there would be no trouble. His ticker has been on the fritz
for quite a while. Doc told him not to go on this trip. Doc
would sign him off if I could just get him home. So I set him in
front and off we went. If it just hadn't snowed. Another good
idea gone wrong.

     Sheriff McNames picked up his phone, the old fashioned
stand up kind with the receiver hanging on the side and got
George Pitsor on the line.

     "Say George you know that Caddy you got over there. You can
release it. I'm sending the owner over." A moment of silence.
"Yes, release that too. We've been snookered. I'll tell you
about it when they're gone. Give me a call when they're on their
way, but get them going now. They are going to a funeral."

     When George called back to report the Sheriff asked "You
sure which one was driving George? Those two are a little
spooky."