* * Dick Horne knew everybody

Richard “Dick” Horne knows everybody. Or at least he once did, and he misses those days. He is the Chairman of the Board of a family business called Horne Funeral Services, a company that just about everybody in the Christiansburg area will at one time interact with.

He met me in his office on the second floor of his facility on North Franklin Street, escorting me down the hall with a noticeable limp from a knee he destroyed while firefighting years earlier. He’s a heavy man with a gentle manner.

“I grew up in the family business. It was founded in 1870 by a Mr. Leckie. They lived beside the old location on East Main downtown.”

He described in detail all the businesses on that one side of one block of the street, the location of the current police department. In addition to the funeral home, there was a bank, a grocery store, a shoe store, a dress shop, an appliance store, a florist, an ABC store, a jeweler, an office supply store, and a department store. All of this is gone now.

“The old funeral home (building) is still there; it looks like a house,” he told me. “It was built in 1808 as a residence for a Dr. Anderson. It has been remodeled and added on to. We’ve been here at this location for almost 30 years.

“Dad came to work for a Mr. Richardson in the 1940s. Dad in 1972 eventually bought him out. My son, Brian, is the new manager and President. I was active in the business fifty years from 1965 until 2015.

“My family has always been community minded. My dad was captain of the rescue squad. He instilled this ethic in me. He was a top-notch fellow. He was active in all community things, like the community Chest. He was President of the Lion’s Club. He belonged to the Masons. I’ve tried to follow his lead, joining the Rescue Squad, the Fire Department, the Lions Club and Masons.

“We primarily serve Christiansburg, Riner, Pilot, Shawsville, some of Elliston, Ellett, Alleghany Springs. We have a competitor in Blacksburg, but we do some business with Blacksburg folks.

I said, “This is not a business that can be outsourced to China.”

He chuckled and said, “No. Locally we are fortunate that we don’t have conglomerate-owned funeral services. There is one in Roanoke. There are some nationally-based companies, but we don’t have any here in Montgomery, Floyd, or Pulaski Counties. The conglomerate in Roanoke, Lotz, has 1000-1500 locations nationwide.

“Our challenge is to stay ahead of that. We don’t have trouble or arguments with competitors. We get along with all of them.

“Why do you think more people haven’t gotten into the business?” I inquired.

“Well,” he admitted, “It’s not a real popular business. By the nature of it, people don’t want to deal with death and dead people. People think there’s lots of money in it, but there’s not.

“Overhead is high. Our morticians have gone to college and have advanced training. They make $45,000 to $50,000 annual salary, and more with more experience.

“We do embalming and cremation. The traditional funeral is embalming with the body present. You can have a cremation with the body present. Or you can have a direct cremation where the ashes are disposed of. We are about 20% cremation, 80% embalming. Cremation is growing.”

He talked fondly about the community feel that his hometown of Christiansburg used to have. “In my childhood there were mostly locally-owned and family-owned businesses. Most of them are gone now, sad to say. Decades ago, everybody knew everybody else. Families knew families. I knew everybody who ran businesses in town. I could walk from one end of Main Street to the other and walk into every store and I knew every owner. I knew the attorneys and judges in the courthouse, and I called them by name. I knew everybody and everybody knew me. It was a wonderful way to grow up.

“It’s not like it is today. I don’t know lots of families I serve here. Main Street is gone. Everybody is (shopping) at the mall, and I don’t know anybody I see there when I go.

“When we were downtown, I knew every policeman. Every minister. Every doctor. They were all friends. I knew everybody. That was a better world, at least for me. If I ever moved from here, I’d move to a smaller place. And I’d walk up and down the street and try to meet everybody.”

“We all have an expiration date. How do you want to go?” I asked.

“I want to be buried. I have a plot picked out and paid for,” he chuckled.