Paul Sauve drives a sparkly blue 1968 Cadillac Superior Hearse with whitewall tires and vinyl stickers that read 'Time’s Up Funeral Home' and 'Dead Sled Morgue.' Inside the glove box are silver bullets, garlic, holy water and a wooden stake to ward off any kind of “evil spirits.”
This isn’t the start of a Stephen King novel. It’s real life for the Guelph resident, who has a love for the macabre.
Sauve bought his 21-foot-long hearse, Esmerelda, in 2012 after having it blessed by a priest. As far as he knows, he’s the only (recreational) hearse driver in town.
He first fell in love with funeral coaches while living in Los Angeles in the 1990s, working for a transport company.
At the time, his drive of choice was a Harley.
One night they took their bikes to see Motorhead in San Juan Capistrano, California.
“We thought we were pretty cool,” he said. “And then these guys show up in a flat black hearse” with smoke pouring out the windows.
It was from the 1950s with a rounded roof and a silhouette of Charles Manson on the back window that said ‘Charlie don’t surf.’
Sauve was stunned.
“At that moment, I said, 'I got to get one of them,'” he said. “I had my Harley for over 20 years, and then it was just like, everybody’s got one. When I met them guys in San Juan Capistrano, that sealed it.”
The allure is largely that hearse coaches are so unique and rare, but Sauve has always been a Cadillac guy as well (he sports a Cadillac tattoo on his arm).
Sauve is a member of the Black Widow Hearse Club, founded in Toronto with over 5,700 members on Facebook. There are only about 10 members in total who meet regularly though, including Sauve.
Some in the club have as many as six or seven hearses.
Full of goths, gear-heads and lovers of the macabre, the club gets together every so often for barbecues, a jaunt to the beach or for ice cream at Dairee Delite in Brantford. They occasionally organize car shows in cemeteries or outside funeral homes.
“Before I got a hearse, you’d never see me in the cemetery after dark,” he said. “But I have no fear of it now. I could sleep in the cemetery.”
Since buying Esmerelda, he’s become fully infatuated with hearse culture. Inside his living room (or faux funeral home) a casket with Looney Tunes’ Porky Pig saying ‘that’s all folks’ sits in front of a massive five by eight poster of Frank Zappa. In front of that sits a ‘kneeler,’ a piece of furniture typically used during prayer, often placed in front of the casket for Catholic funerals.
A murder of decorative crows watches from the other side of the room, filled with miniature hearse models, skulls and life-size posters of Ozzy Osbourne and Led Zeppelin.
It’s no surprise he’s also a fan of Rob Zombie – the song Dragula was inspired by the coffin car driven by The Munsters.
Neil Young even drove a hearse; his song ‘Long May You Run’ is an elegy to his hearse and first car, affectionately named Mort.
Though an unusual choice, people often approach Sauve to let him know how cool his ride is; it was even featured in a film.
Years ago, he was driving Esmerelda around when a woman started following him. She was directing a film called ‘The Space Between,’ and wanted his hearse to be featured in it.
The woman was Amy Jo Johnson, known for her role as Kimberly Hart on ‘Mighty Morphin Power Rangers.’
But the process took at least 12 hours, and they weren’t all that gentle with the windows, which he said are irreplaceable.
It turned him off of the film experience.
He won’t be calling the Ghostbusters any time soon either.
“They ruined a ‘59 Eureka. They just trashed it for the film,” he said, referencing the characters’ iconic car.
“Eureka is top of the line, the ultimate hearse. They never cheaped out on anything. Others would have cotton curtains, Eureka mohair. They were cream of the crop, but they went out of business,” he said.
Sauve’s own favourite is the Cadillac Superior because it has a rounded roof.
“At one time, these were ambulances,” he said. “There were no cube van ambulances, they were Cadillacs. And the arc roof really helped (to give) room in the back.”
Typically when a hearse came from the factory it would just have the front clip before going to the coach builder. They tend to have heavier brakes and “beefed up” steering.
“They’re called commercial chassis at that point,” he said. Then the coach can be turned into one of three things: a limo, an ambulance or a hearse, with the back end changing depending on the use. Some, like his ‘68, are designed to be both a hearse and ambulance, usually for small towns that couldn’t afford both.
His hearse, however, is fitted with a casket-turned-sound system in the back.
His second hearse was from the mid-90s, what he says is one of the last years for “good” newer models.
“They don’t make hearses like they used to,” he said. “Ninety-four, 95 and 96 had the Corvette-style 350 LT-1 engines, two dual exhaust, and they were full size cars, rear wheel drive. Nowadays I think mostly front wheel drive.”
Things started to go downhill in the 1980s with the oil embargo, he said, because they started making them smaller.
But he got rid of it after it started “doing all kinds of haunted shit,” like the lights turning on by themselves.
Since they aren’t widely made, finding replacement parts is near-impossible.
The back windows have two options: landau bars, which are curved, or limo style, which are more rectangular and go all the way to the back.
The windshields are about five or six inches taller than what you’d find on a regular Cadillac, and hard to replace.
Unfortunately, they also tend to need a lot of love.
“There’s always something,” he said. “You just gotta be patient.”
