
DATE: Wednesday, May 14, 1997               TAG: 9705140104

SECTION: DAILY BREAK             PAGE: E1   EDITION: FINAL 

SOURCE: BY AKWELI PARKER, STAFF WRITER 

                                            LENGTH:  216 lines

BREAKING NEW GROUNDPERRY AND VIVIAN THOMASSON DO FUNERALS DIFFERENTLY - INCORPORATING JAZZ MUSIC, A BRIGHT DECOR AND A FLAMBOYANT DESIGNATED HUGGER.

IT'S A COOL Saturday afternoon in Chesapeake, and a sizable, well-dressed crowd is buzzing out on the sidewalk. A Lincoln limousine rolls up to the curb. Heads turn.

From the gleaming black car steps a woman of Amazonian stature. A crown-like hat with leopard spots balances atop her head. The towering headpiece augments her already impressive height, while a matching stole draped over her shoulder completes the aura of royalty.

The diva is Vivian Thomasson, arriving not at a fashion show, but a funeral.

Later, inside the church, the mood is anything but funereal. Tambourines jingle, and jubilant mourners - taken over by the Holy Ghost - shimmy in the aisles. Were it not for the casket front and center, you might not realize that someone had recently died.

Perry G. Thomasson, Vivian's husband and manager-owner of P.G. Thomasson Funeral Services in Virginia Beach, likes his funerals that way - different.

He calls it the ``new style'' of funeral directing.

At viewings, the Thomassons eschew dark chambers and somber organ music in favor of brightly decorated rooms and light jazz. Funerals - not known for their high excitement level - become hand-clapping, foot-stomping ``home-going services.''

P.G. Thomasson breaks with tradition in other ways as well. Where most funeral homes are handed down from one generation to the next, Perry stared his own with a loan from his parents.

In addition to parting with industrywide tradition, the company has broken Virginia's funeral service color barrier, performing a number of ``crossover'' services for families of different races - an old but unwritten no-no in the South until a few years ago.

The Thomassons' approach - from Vivian's grand entrances and her threads to their color-blind policy - has gotten the upstart company a frosty reception from established black funeral homes in the area, their primary competition.

At 6-feet, 215 pounds, 32-year-old Perry looks like he'd be more at home in a football huddle than hunched over corpses. His beefy hand engulfs the palm of anyone on the receiving end of his handshake, and a set of broad shoulders alludes to his high school days of shot putting and throwing the discus.

An astute businessman with an insurance license, real estate license and three college degrees, he matches the brawn with brains.

If he didn't, he says, the business would quickly go belly-up.

``At one time you could be an uneducated person and do it,'' he says.

``There weren't too many requirements - 30 years ago you could take a weekend seminar. But it's become highly regulated.''

The soft-spoken funeral director had worked at other mortuaries, including a stint with his great uncle John in Louisa County. But he chafed at what he considered stagnant, uninspired industry practices that gave short shrift to customer service.

Even Uncle John's operation was too stifling.

So Perry got a $60,000 loan from his parents two years ago to run his own company, his way. He settled on a residential-looking facility on Bonney Road - it used to be a lawyer's office.

Since Perry and Vivian started the company two years ago, they've been upending the conventional rules of the business to woo a market that more established homes have come to take for granted.

Increasingly though, watchdog groups' attacks on the industry as overpriced and overmarketed are leading many consumers to shop around for their post-mortem needs.

The business lesson isn't lost on Perry.

``People want something extra these days,'' he agrees.

Vivian - the ultimate people person - is a big part of that.

Perry and Vivian got married in September 1995 after a three-year courtship. ``I had a two-piece white suit with a lace collar,'' recalls Vivian of their wedding. ``A real pretty, classy suit with gold buttons.''

On the way to the chapel, Perry's pager went off. It was a death call - a 101-year-old lady just died in the nursing home.

``We were able to get married,'' he says, adding ``it was a quick ceremony and `back to work.' It was quite a honeymoon.''

It's hard for people not to like Vivian, a 5-foot-9, green-eyed bombshell who's always available to console grief-stricken survivors with a hug and adopt family members as her own. A model in her earlier, jet-setting days, she was often mistaken for Tina Turner. Looks aside, Vivian says she has an empathic gift when it comes to helping customers deal with the wrenching pain of losing a loved one.

``Sometimes people ask, `is she really for real' or `is she really sincere?' '' says Vivian, who doesn't hesitate to embrace customers or hand out a mint-filled hankie when the tears inevitably start to roll.

She assures that her overtures are genuine.

``I love my families,'' she insists.

To prove it, the couple offers limousine pick-up for wakes and funerals, and sends a ham or turkey to the bereaved. Vivian relies on informal business networks - friends from church, family and associates - to provide customers a comprehensive package.

Her friend Tully Wood plays organ and belts out powerful gospel solos. Acquaintance and local hairdresser Rosie Saunders does customers' final coiffures.

Friend Elbert Lewis ushers mourners and lends a theatrical flourish at graveside services.

Morgan, Vivian's son from a previous marriage, even takes a break from the books at Hampton University on weekends to lend a hand.

Perry estimates the market rate for one extravagant service they did at $10,000. It included embalming, viewing, a premium casket, limo service, pallbearers, soloist and the obligatory turkey, to name a few things. Perry says he did it for $4,000.

Nationwide, the average funeral costs $4,600. Perry says he averages around $3,200.

One funeral attendee wondered how they stayed in business at such firesale prices.

``I don't have any real overhead,'' explains Perry. The only people on payroll are himself and Vivian. Everyone else in their employ works on contract.

For instance, there's family friend Bernard Simons Jr., who also serves as a catch-all ``adviser'' on things ranging from legal matters to the haute couture.

A muscular man with an immaculate, pencil-thin goatee, Simons evokes style with his collection of derby hats and dapper, double-breasted suits.

When the bald-headed fashion guru suggested making leopard-spotted accessories a part of the P.G. Thomasson uniform, it raised a few eyebrows. But everyone trusted Simons' judgment - he's perhaps as well-known for his level-headed business sense.

The result: surprisingly non-gauche, silk ties for the men; and a regal, leopardskin hat by Oscar de la Renta with matching stole for Vivian.

The leopard accessories were a hit.

Simons describes the look as ``elegant, but not flashy - but nice.''

This night Perry isn't concerned about elegance - wearing a smock, surgical gloves, jeans and sneakers as he gets ready to embalm a 60-ish woman. The atmosphere is casual, with Leno cracking jokes on a television in the corner. A runty Simba peers from the Lion King wall clock above the door.

Perry admits to being a bit squeamish when he took the scalpel to his first dead body at age 27.

``You're afraid at first because you think you're going to hurt them,'' he explains.

``But you get used to it. Now I could do it and eat a sandwich.''

Most of the funeral home's clients are picked up from area hospitals or directly from the families of the deceased, which means the Thomassons have to be ready at a moment's notice.

It also means creating tensions with competing funeral homes in the area, Vivian concedes.

Feeding that competition: Virginia has more than twice the number of funeral homes needed to keep up with the death rate, according to the Funeral and Memorial Societies of America, a consumer advocacy group.

Those business-driven tensions can manifest themselves in personal rivalries, or in a race to get a body.

With Vivian's striking looks, head-turning fashions, and Perry's directorial extravaganzas, some competitors accuse them of going over the top.

She and Perry admit there's no love lost between them and local competitors.

``They keep an eye on me,'' says Vivian, but adds, ``I can't go around looking dead just because the people are dead.''

When asked about P.G. Thomasson's operation, a manager at Community Funeral Home in Norfolk simply replied, ``Hmmmph. I have no comment.''

Other black funeral homes in the area were also reluctant to talk about the business.

A.A. Tucker, a black funeral home director in Petersburg, chalks it up to competition.

``Virginia Beach - that's a very competitive area,'' says Tucker, who's been in the business for more than 30 years.

``They run a fine, professional organization,'' he says, adding that he was impressed enough to use some of the Thomassons' new ideas in his own operation.

Simons defends the business' avant-garde approach as simply keeping current. ``This is the '90s now,'' he says. ``You don't always have to present a dark and gloomy feeling - we're uplifting.''

Bernard Wiggins agrees. P.G. Thomasson handled his daughter Marlinda's funeral after she died of lupus a few months ago.

``They will go a little bit out of the way,'' says Wiggins, of Norfolk.

``It was beautiful, all my co-workers thought it was beautiful,'' he says of the elaborate affair - it involved a Lincoln Town Car stretch limo and the singer Wood - that P.G. Thomasson orchestrated.

``We had conversations about it two days in a row.''

With a shoestring advertising budget, they've depended until recently on such conversations to spread the word about their work. But Perry says it seems they've finally reached a critical mass on the strength of those referrals, and business has never been better. They just got done taping a TV commercial.

Despite the success, the ever-humble Perry says he's not letting his head get too big.

``Arrogance is something that I don't want to have as a part of this business,'' he says. ``Death can come anytime.'' He realizes that just because he's Death's middleman doesn't mean he won't some day be on the other end of the business. ``Death can come anytime. You can be a funeral director or anything.'' ILLUSTRATION: Color pictures by TAMARA VONINSKI

Perry Thomasson, co-director and mortician of P.G. Thomasson Funeral

Services, puts the finishing touches on the make-up of Marlinda

Wiggans before her evening wake at the funeral home.

Vivian and Perry Thomasson at Roosevelt Memorial Park after

presiding over the ``Celebration of Life'' for William Lee Cherry.

Wearing her trademark leopard prints, Vivian Thomasson hugs a

mourner after the ``homegoing service'' for Marlina Wiggans.

Vivian Thomasson watches as her husband Perry puts the finishing

touches on the make-up and facial sculpting of a client before his

wake.

One of the personal touches the Thomassons bring to their funeral

services are hand embroidered handkerchiefs for the mourners. Vivian