Schoenbauer Funeral Home

Let’s talk about death. No, really—let’s talk about Schoenbauer Funeral Home. It sounds grim, right? But stick with me. This place is honestly one of the quirkiest, most fascinating spots you’ve never heard of.

Where the dead get a second act

Schoenbauer isn’t just any funeral home. It’s a family-run institution with a legacy that’s both heartwarming and hilariously weird. They’ve been handling the “final farewell” for over a century. That’s a lot of casseroles and floral arrangements.

But here’s the kicker: they’re famous for their custom urns. We’re not talking boring brass boxes. Think motorcycle helmets, fishing tackle boxes, and one legendary urn shaped like a giant cheeseburger. Yes, a cheeseburger. Someone went out with a bun, patty, and a side of eternity.

Why? Because Schoenbauer gets that life is weird, and death should be, too. They let families pick urns that scream “this was me.” One woman had her ashes packed into a shotgun shell. Her husband said she’d “always wanted to go out with a bang.” I’m not kidding.

The “World’s First” embalming machine… in a barn

Okay, this is where it gets wild. The founder, Otto Schoenbauer, was a tinkerer. In the 1920s, he built a contraption in his barn that could preserve bodies better than anything in the city. It was basically a steam-powered pressure cooker for corpses.

Locals called it “Otto’s Secret Sauce.” Even the mayor showed up to watch a demo. Otto sat inside the machine for twelve hours to prove it was safe. Spoiler: he survived. But his hair turned green from the formaldehyde fumes.

That machine? Still in the basement. They call it “The Grandpa.” And yeah, tours are technically not allowed. But if you ask nicely and bring a six-pack… well, let’s just say secrets leak.

Coles Funeral Home On Schaefer at Nora Clark blog

The funeral that became a block party

This is the story that made Schoenbauer a local legend. In 1997, a man named Big Earl requested a “proper send-off.” He was a former rodeo clown. So they held the service at a beer hall. The casket was a keg.

Two hundred people showed up. The eulogy was a stand-up comedy set. And at the end, they launched his ashes out of a confetti cannon. The clean-up crew still finds little gray glitter pieces in that hall’s ceiling tiles. It’s a ghost. A fun, glittery ghost.

They now offer a “Party Package.” Includes a DJ, a photo booth, and a “Memory Toast” with your choice of whiskey or kombucha. Because why should the deceased have all the fun?

The secret we all want to know

So why is this fun to talk about? Because Schoenbauer proves that death isn’t just about sad music and black suits. It’s about living—even in the end.

Schoenbauer Funeral Home Montgomery, Minnesota

They have a wall of “Last Requests.” One says: “Play ‘Highway to Hell’ on repeat.” Another: “Bury me with my cat. He’s been dead for 15 years. He’s in the freezer.” Brilliant.

And here’s the punchline: business is booming. People drive from three states away to plan their own “Schoenbauer send-off.” They’re booking slots years in advance. It’s like waiting for a table at a hot new restaurant—except the main course is you.

Curious yet?

You should be. This place flips the script on a topic we all avoid. It’s silly, creative, and deeply human. So next time you drive past a funeral home, think about the cheeseburger urn. And smile.

Because if you can make death this fun, you’re doing life right. Pass the champagne.