His motto: "YOU PLUG 'EM, I PLANT 'EM" prety well sums up the man: ever the realist, he's all business.
Ever engaged in the desperate struggle to stay solvent in a local situation devoid of natural resources, i.e.,
a citizenry that stubbornly clings to the habit of inhaling and exhaling, his is not an envious lot.
His sales specials, lay-away plans and other promos are legendary, as are frantic competition for clients
with the overlooming buzzards.
Does relax occasionally with a "tall, cool one with a twist of formaldehyde" at the saloon.
Claude's irrepressible gravedigger, the "big divots" are his canvass, "stiff city" his milieu and soil-slinging
Wimble bunks in the old Hockensacker mausoleum, but is fiercely pro-sodbusting when it comes to interment.
Is occasionally forced to moonlight in live bait selling and the septic tank interment.
His ambition: to be drafted by a major cemetary scout, and get a crack at making the Gravedigger and Ghoul
Hall of Fame.