Funeral Singers
When you think about it, you don't have any control over what goes on at your funeral.
Margaret Louise Alcorn died on August 8, 1991, at the age of 30. Two days later, her funeral was held at the Walnut Grove church of Christ. I didn't know Margaret personally, but I sang at her funeral. It was a strange way to meet someone.
It all started that February when Margaret confronted a woman named Lana Curry in a trailer park in Mt. Vernon, Kentucky. Lana had been dating Margaret's father, and there were rumors she'd been cashing his social security checks. To this day, the truth remains elusive.
Tempers exploded during that confrontation. Someone—probably Margaret—fired a gun, and a bullet hit Lana's 6-year-old daughter, Elvira, who was sitting in a nearby car.
Lana sped off to the Dixie Boone Motel—a seedy place where you'd half expect to find a front desk tended by Norman Bates. Elvira never made it to a hospital. Elvira, the only innocent person in this story, died in the Dixie Boone Motel parking lot as her mother looked on in horror.
That night, the police charged Margaret with murder. Not long after, her husband, Freddie, found himself behind bars as well. He was accused of tampering with the gun, which was illegal, but he fulfilled his vow "to have and to hold … till death do us part." It turns out, death would come quicker than anyone expected.
Margaret was tried for Elvira's death, which ended with a hung jury. By the following summer, Lana had moved on to a much younger man named Michael West. Lana convinced him to avenge the death of her daughter. One day, Michael walked into the Family Dollar where Margaret worked and shot her—once in the head. Then again. Five times in all. By the time it was over she had three bullets to the head, two to the abdomen, and one to the chest. He was nothing if not thorough.
This is where I stumbled into the story. My dad was a long-time preacher dad held a gospel meeting—you might call it a revival—that week at Walnut Grove church of Christ, where Margaret had become a member. I was 16 years old that summer when dad took me on that road trip. I didn't know I was living my life in real-time or how fast it would pass.
We arrived in town just before the funeral. We checked into the Dixie Boone Motel, the same place where Elvira had died just months earlier. The clerk told my dad about the murders. "That woman," he said, referring to Margaret, "murdered that child. She died in my arms. She got exactly what she deserved."
There's something eerie about someone saying that, especially a man who had held a dying child. But as much as his words carried weight, I'm glad God gets the final word.
Since Dad was a preacher, we were asked to sing at Margaret's funeral. I can't remember what hymn we sang, but it was probably something like The Sweet By and By. The kind of song you sing slowly, with as much sorrow as you can carry in your voice.
How would things turn out if little Elvira had survived? Maybe Margaret would still be alive. Lana and Michael might be living out some ordinary, all-American love story. Maybe, but I would not have bet on it.
We'll never know if Margaret pulled the trigger that day, but I do know that firing a gun into a car full of kids leads to no good end. God forgives all sins, but some come with an earthly price too.
Regardless, when you think about it, you don't have any control over what goes on at your funeral.
