Lisa Davenport thought funeral directors were, well, a little creepy.They were reminders of death - a subject she, like many people, didn't want to think about.

Lisa was happily working in advertising when her then-brother-in-law began trying to set her up with mortician Jack Davenport. The men were serving together in the National Guard.

"I didn't want to meet him," she laughs at the recollection. "We have preconceived ideas of what a mortician is like, so I never wanted to meet him. I thought it was creepy."

"When I met him, I realized he wasn't creepy," Lisa said. "I truly believe he was called to be a funeral director. It's not really creepy because the main focus of the industry is helping grieving people."

The funeral industry is changing, experts say. More homes are owned by corporations and operated by union workers. But still, the main reason most people pursue a mortuary degree - many for their second career - is the desire to help those left behind.

Jack Davenport understands the misconceptions about the field, just as well as he knows the hidden truth that inspires many who make it their career.

When the Davenports bought their Barrington funeral home in 1996, a year after their wedding, Lisa already knew her advertising, administrative and people skills would help with the business.

But even some of the most basic aspects of funeral arrangement require certification. So Lisa went to Worsham College in Wheeling to learn how to do everything Jack knew how to do.

Preparation of the deceased involves everything from the family's selection of clothing to the process of draining the blood and injecting the embalming fluid through an artery - usually either on the side of the neck or at the top of the leg.

Lisa said she wasn't bothered by learning the techniques of the trade once she'd made the commitment. Getting herself to meet her future husband had been more difficult.

The life of a funeral director is around-the-clock and unpredictable. When the family goes out, Jack takes his own car as he doesn't want the girls' fun to end if he has to leave to start planning arrangements.

Jack Davenport grew up in rural Iowa, where more than a few of his classmates were killed in car accidents on the country roads during their high school years. In fact, his older brother was killed on the way to prom before Jack was born.

As a 10-year-old, he'd already visited the funeral home with his church's youth group to see how it worked. Rather than associating the funeral home with a source of sadness, he saw it as a place to find comfort and an outlet for grief.

He began working for the funeral home after high school, before joining the National Guard. He moved to Illinois in 1991 and finished mortuary college here.

"It definitely is a profession where you have to genuinely care about people," said Stephanie Kann, director of the mortuary science program at Worsham College.

She's found that a number of people pursue a mortuary degree for their second career, most often coming from a religious or medical background - like a chaplain, nurse or emergency medical technician.

Those following in their family's footsteps are no longer such a vast majority, either, with first-generation students now making up between 55 percent and 70 percent of the college. Students have ranged from 19 to 64 years old, but most are between 25 and 27.

Though the profession was once overwhelmingly dominated by white males, the number of women is steadily climbing, Kann said. She sees this as a natural progression of traditional female roles as caretakers and caregivers. Kann didn't know why, but the representation of minorities hasn't significantly grown.

Worsham College is one of only four mortuary schools in the state and 56 in the nation. There are usually between 110 and 125 graduates each year.

Only about 10 percent to 12 percent of students drop out between the beginning of the program and the end. In the '60s and '70s it was higher, largely because students weren't encouraged to volunteer at a funeral home before enrolling.

Starting salary for an apprentice is usually around $35,000, but can go up to about $56,000 as a licensed funeral director, said Graham Hills, founder of the G.L. Hills Funeral Home in Des Plaines.

The owner of a funeral home can earn anywhere from $80,000 to $200,000 a year, though the lower end of the range is by far the most common, he said.

A mortician should be someone who really enjoys a varied career and has a strong ability to relate to people, an inquiring, scientific mind and a little bit of ingenuity, he said.

The tireless multitasking a funeral director must do to arrange the selection of a casket or urn, print prayer cards, schedule a service, and fulfill such personal requests as creation of a video montage requires a special skill.

Time spent with a family making arrangements usually takes between 1¨ and 2¨ hours. The meeting usually begins with a collection of personal information before moving on to the details of the service and arrangements.

Growing up in Fox Lake, Hills originally dreamed of being a veterinarian. But while in high school, he answered an ad from the local funeral home looking for a boy with a driver's license who could wash cars and mow the lawn.

He'd only been there about two weeks, though, before owner Ken Hampshire asked him if he'd be comfortable helping transport the body of an overweight man who'd died at home.

With that as his starting point into the real business of the funeral home, Hills took on more and more tasks that eventually led to his decision to go to mortuary college himself.

He found himself one of the few people in his class who didn't come from a funeral home family. The fact he was later able to succeed at his own self-started business remains a point of pride.

McDonald, 23, has already worked around his uncle's funeral home for the past three or four years and is now pursuing his degree at Worsham College.

He said his initial reaction to his uncle's invitation was reluctance, but he has become more comfortable with the realities of the profession.

Hills said being a funeral director probably has given him a different perspective on death than most people have, forcing him to confront every day a subject many try to avoid.

When he recently went to Florida for the funeral of his second cousin, who was killed in Iraq, he cried because he was just a mourner like everyone else.

The only time in 26 years he's ever broken down on the job was over a woman who'd just lost her husband of 70 years. The thought that she had no idea of how to live her life without her husband broke his heart.

The Glueckert Funeral Home in Arlington Heights remains as family-owned as ever. Founder John Glueckert Sr., 71, had planned to retire May 1, but a heart attack April 18 brought his retirement forward a couple of weeks.

Like Hills, John Glueckert Sr. got involved with the business by working for the local funeral home in high school. At that time - 1952 - the Arlington Heights funeral home was owned by Richard Black and his wife, Betty.

John Sr.'s parents had a restaurant in the village, paving the way for him to follow in their footsteps. But he found his future as a mortician instead, earning his degree in December 1957.

After managing the funeral home of Howard Haire in the 1960s, John Sr. became his own boss in 1970 and moved to the present location on Arlington Heights Road in 1987.

"From the time I was a little kid, I was exposed to all aspects of the funeral business," he added. "But I still have a clear memory of the moment I knew I was going to do this for a living."

They drove through the darkness to find themselves outside the grief-stricken home. John Sr. quickly gave his son some pointers on what would be his first but not final contact with such a situation.

"He said, 'Stand there and don't speak,'æ" John Jr. remembered. "But while I was standing there, the daughter came over and just embraced me in a hug. It was the overwhelming feeling of being there when someone needs you.

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