PC-GUY
1
[font=Arial,Helvetica]Monday, September 13, 2004[/font]
[font=Arial,Helvetica]By SUSAN PHINNEY
SEATTLE POST-INTELLIGENCER REPORTER[/font]
Charlie Hetrick says he's working to "put the fun back in funerals." But that might give you the wrong idea. He's not dressing in a clown suit and juggling at the funeral home door or suggesting champagne toasts in the chapel.
Hetrick, known to friends as "Outhouse Charlie," is making coffins -- in kit form for do-it-yourselfers or custom coffins designed to put you away with a smile on your face.
Want to spend eternity face to face with (depending on your age and stage) Brad Pitt, George Clooney, Jessica Simpson or Jane Fonda? A poster of your idol could be attached inside the lid. A favorite poem or artwork can be applied with a laser. A coffin interior may be wallpapered or painted a favorite color. The possibilities are almost unlimited.
Hetrick even has a model that comes with a new hammer and a packet of nails so friends can give the dearly departed an airtight sendoff. Hetrick suggests lid nailing can be part of the funeral ceremony.
Some of his clients order coffins early and put them to good use. One is currently serving as a glass-topped coffee table with
a model railroad running around inside. Another is outfitted as a bookcase. A full standing elk was carved on the lid for another client.
What started as a joke has become a business.
Hetrick and his wife, Willow, are historical re-enactors. That means they occasionally drop into the 19th century, head into the woods to live in tepees or tents, wear buckskins, shoot with antique muzzle loaders and participate in tomahawk-throwing contests.
"I'm a world-famous mountain man and a legend in my own mind," Hetrick says with a grin.
He may work hard on his fierce image, but in his flower-covered shirt -- a fabric perfect for a baby dress -- he's more teddy bear than grizzly.
While attending a mountain rendezvous, Hetrick decided to add a little humor to the games by putting out a flier advertising custom coffins. He got six orders.
He had been making coffins and small chests -- lidded wooden boxes he calls "heritage" or "plunder" chests -- as a hobby. Now it's his new career.
The big, bearded mountain man is a Port Townsend native and a University of Washington graduate (fisheries and biology) whose career path has segued from emphysema research to quality control in a fish-packing plant to contractor to coffin-maker.
"After triple bypass surgery in 2001, I decided to get out of the rat race," Hetrick explains.
That meant phasing out his construction business in King County and moving back to Port Townsend to focus on chests and coffins.
What's the difference between a coffin and a casket?
"Who makes 'em and what they cost," Hetrick responds in a flash.
And according to Webster's Dictionary, almost right. Although the words are interchangeable in common usage, when a casket is expensive, it's usually called a coffin.
Hetrick's models are usually assembled of white pine held together with 200 screws, each one plugged with walnut. Bottoms are reinforced with crossbars of oak. Less expensive models are nailed.
Some of his designs are for "hard to fit" clients. He says he gets requests for extra long (well over 6 feet, for example) or extra wide. And one had to accommodate about 400 pounds.
"People tend to flatten out when they're flat on the ground," he says. "I look at torsos these days in a different light than I used to."
Order a coffin kit and it comes in two phases. First comes pattern-making instructions and materials -- lie on your back with your arms crossed over your chest while someone draws your outline -- complete with a return mailing label. Return the pattern and a kit ($400) in the appropriate size will be sent. Wood is pre-cut and pre-drilled with assembly required.
Custom-built models range from $800 to $3,500, depending on size, wood and finish. According to Hetrick, funeral homes can't levy a service charge if you bring your own box.
"It's absolutely legal," says James Noel, executive director of the Washington State Funeral Directors Association."
But most funeral homes require the family to sign a waiver of liability in case something happens to the casket, if it's poorly manufactured or at a standard that doesn't allow for transporting the body safely."
Hetrick's humor extends to his workshop. Guests can sit in a barber chair or vintage theater seats. Walls are hung with 19th-century apparel, a specialty of Willow's. Her sewing machines and fabrics occupy the back of the building.
When she's not helping her husband sand, sweep, stain and finish his boxes, she's making custom clothing, tepees or tents. She says she has even been called Mrs. Outhouse, a moniker she doesn't seem to find offensive.
So how did Hetrick become Outhouse Charlie? It's a story he relishes telling. He grins, leans back in his chair and describes the day he was in a green fiberglass "Johnny on the Spot" model when it was hit by a 1968 Oldsmobile station wagon, a fake woody with a brown top.
The outhouse tipped over and out spilled Hetrick and what he calls "the blue wave." He says his friends were laughing so hard they didn't come to his rescue.
TO FIND OUT MORE
You can e-mail Charlie Hetrick at oouthousecharlie@aol.com. A Web site, www.outhousecharlies.com, will be up and running by the end of this month.
[font=Arial,Helvetica]SEATTLE POST-INTELLIGENCER[/font]
[font=Arial,Helvetica]By SUSAN PHINNEY
SEATTLE POST-INTELLIGENCER REPORTER[/font]
Charlie Hetrick says he's working to "put the fun back in funerals." But that might give you the wrong idea. He's not dressing in a clown suit and juggling at the funeral home door or suggesting champagne toasts in the chapel.
Hetrick, known to friends as "Outhouse Charlie," is making coffins -- in kit form for do-it-yourselfers or custom coffins designed to put you away with a smile on your face.
Want to spend eternity face to face with (depending on your age and stage) Brad Pitt, George Clooney, Jessica Simpson or Jane Fonda? A poster of your idol could be attached inside the lid. A favorite poem or artwork can be applied with a laser. A coffin interior may be wallpapered or painted a favorite color. The possibilities are almost unlimited.
Hetrick even has a model that comes with a new hammer and a packet of nails so friends can give the dearly departed an airtight sendoff. Hetrick suggests lid nailing can be part of the funeral ceremony.
Some of his clients order coffins early and put them to good use. One is currently serving as a glass-topped coffee table with
a model railroad running around inside. Another is outfitted as a bookcase. A full standing elk was carved on the lid for another client.
What started as a joke has become a business.
Hetrick and his wife, Willow, are historical re-enactors. That means they occasionally drop into the 19th century, head into the woods to live in tepees or tents, wear buckskins, shoot with antique muzzle loaders and participate in tomahawk-throwing contests.
"I'm a world-famous mountain man and a legend in my own mind," Hetrick says with a grin.
He may work hard on his fierce image, but in his flower-covered shirt -- a fabric perfect for a baby dress -- he's more teddy bear than grizzly.
While attending a mountain rendezvous, Hetrick decided to add a little humor to the games by putting out a flier advertising custom coffins. He got six orders.
He had been making coffins and small chests -- lidded wooden boxes he calls "heritage" or "plunder" chests -- as a hobby. Now it's his new career.
The big, bearded mountain man is a Port Townsend native and a University of Washington graduate (fisheries and biology) whose career path has segued from emphysema research to quality control in a fish-packing plant to contractor to coffin-maker.
"After triple bypass surgery in 2001, I decided to get out of the rat race," Hetrick explains.
That meant phasing out his construction business in King County and moving back to Port Townsend to focus on chests and coffins.
What's the difference between a coffin and a casket?
"Who makes 'em and what they cost," Hetrick responds in a flash.
And according to Webster's Dictionary, almost right. Although the words are interchangeable in common usage, when a casket is expensive, it's usually called a coffin.
Hetrick's models are usually assembled of white pine held together with 200 screws, each one plugged with walnut. Bottoms are reinforced with crossbars of oak. Less expensive models are nailed.
Some of his designs are for "hard to fit" clients. He says he gets requests for extra long (well over 6 feet, for example) or extra wide. And one had to accommodate about 400 pounds.
"People tend to flatten out when they're flat on the ground," he says. "I look at torsos these days in a different light than I used to."
Order a coffin kit and it comes in two phases. First comes pattern-making instructions and materials -- lie on your back with your arms crossed over your chest while someone draws your outline -- complete with a return mailing label. Return the pattern and a kit ($400) in the appropriate size will be sent. Wood is pre-cut and pre-drilled with assembly required.
Custom-built models range from $800 to $3,500, depending on size, wood and finish. According to Hetrick, funeral homes can't levy a service charge if you bring your own box.
"It's absolutely legal," says James Noel, executive director of the Washington State Funeral Directors Association."
But most funeral homes require the family to sign a waiver of liability in case something happens to the casket, if it's poorly manufactured or at a standard that doesn't allow for transporting the body safely."
Hetrick's humor extends to his workshop. Guests can sit in a barber chair or vintage theater seats. Walls are hung with 19th-century apparel, a specialty of Willow's. Her sewing machines and fabrics occupy the back of the building.
When she's not helping her husband sand, sweep, stain and finish his boxes, she's making custom clothing, tepees or tents. She says she has even been called Mrs. Outhouse, a moniker she doesn't seem to find offensive.
So how did Hetrick become Outhouse Charlie? It's a story he relishes telling. He grins, leans back in his chair and describes the day he was in a green fiberglass "Johnny on the Spot" model when it was hit by a 1968 Oldsmobile station wagon, a fake woody with a brown top.
The outhouse tipped over and out spilled Hetrick and what he calls "the blue wave." He says his friends were laughing so hard they didn't come to his rescue.
TO FIND OUT MORE
You can e-mail Charlie Hetrick at oouthousecharlie@aol.com. A Web site, www.outhousecharlies.com, will be up and running by the end of this month.
[font=Arial,Helvetica]SEATTLE POST-INTELLIGENCER[/font]