Some dig their jobs more than others

Photos by Ryan Lely

Seasonal circumstances mandate at least one Halloween groaner in an article that references entombment of the dead. Here goes: There are few vocations graver than that of cemetery supervisor. Such is the title of Alan Willbergh, who has worked in Sonoma’s municipal cemeteries since the early ‘90s under the aegis of the City of Sonoma’s public works department.
Willbergh is a man of stature with a kind smile and the well-worked hands of someone who has made a career of balancing nature and man’s designs upon it. He speaks of his work with a deferential tone and, though there are no burials at the time of our interview, a residual empathy lingers in his voice, an echo from the 1,400 burials, including cremations, that have come under his professional purview.
Throughout, Willbergh has approached his work with respect, unlike the dark-humored depictions of gravediggers that persist in the annals of literature. These shovel-carrying wags most often answer mortality with mordant humor, as in the fifth act of Shakespeare’s “Hamlet,” in which the gravediggers trade witticisms: “What is he that builds stronger than either the mason, the shipwright, or the carpenter?” After some pithy exchanges, the answer finally comes: “A grave-maker. The houses that he makes last till doomsday.”
Unlike Shakespeare’s caricatures, Willbergh takes a compassionate tack, one that gives the notion of workplace “transparency” special meaning.
“The best comments I ever get are, ‘Were you there?’” explained Willbergh, who puts a premium on having a relatively imperceptible presence during a service. “I should be invisible. We do our job, we have nothing to do with their service. That’s up to the families.”
The oft-uttered phrase “six feet under” is something of a misnomer according to Willbergh, who says the legal burial depth is closer to five feet. Caskets are deposited into concrete containers, which are 32 inches deep. The walls of the containers are each about two inches thick, including the lid, which is topped with at least 18 inches of dirt. He recalls his first burial vividly – it was nearly his last. At the time, the notion of preparing a burial plot for another person nearly overwhelmed Willbergh.
“I came back and told my boss I’d never do another one. ‘I won’t do it!’” he recalled. “Then, you just learn to distance yourself. I guess you maybe get hardened to it. After all this time, it’s become abstracted. You can’t get involved, you know? You’d go crazy,” Willbergh added.
To help the cemetery staff avoid dwelling too heavily on the somber aspects of their jobs is a personal and professional mandate to always keep the needs of the deceased’s family foremost in their minds.
“Our main focus is the family, and we try to service them, and if we can’t, then we’ll find a way to do it. We’ll get somebody to service them,” said Willbergh, whose department often receives positive feedback from grieving families. “It makes me feel good because we’re here to service the families. They want to know exactly how the process works, how we do it – then we tell them. With their flowers, we put them out and do all that. They’re hurting at the time. They’re in a world of hurt.”
The acknowledgement that Willbergh receives from the families of the deceased notwithstanding, his vocation will sometimes lead to an awkward moment in social situations.
“It’s tough, because sometimes you go to a party and you say you work for public works. Then someone will ask, ‘What do you do for public works?’ ‘Well, I work for the cemetery.’ As soon as they hear that, they take three steps back! It’s like you’re a ghoul,” Willbergh said with a chuckle, then added, “They don’t want to know anything about it.”
Understandably, Willbergh sees his work differently. “It’s just like working at a big park. I mean, we do more maintenance than we do burials. We do everything. Mowing, tree trimming, hedging, blowing, fixing potholes, whatever.”