The Funeral King of Tupelo: Funeral Director Steve Holland Steals the Show in Netflix Crime Saga

Spoiler alert: This article contains lots of details about the Netflix series Kings of Tupelo: A Southern True Crime Saga, but honestly, even if you read this and then watch the show, you’ll probably still have questions. Trust us. It’s …. a LOT.

The official Netflix synopsis of The Kings of Tupelo: A Southern Crime Saga simply does not do this three-part documentary justice. “In this bizarre true-crime tale, an Elvis impersonator’s conspiracy theory sets off a feud that spirals into an attempted presidential assassination,” Netflix teases. Talk about an understatement. As it turns out, there is so much more to the story — and most of it will be of great interest to deathcare professionals. (Shout out to ASD’s Jess Ferren for the tip!)

In fact, everything that happens between the explanation of Tupelo, Mississippi’s truly disturbing adoration of Elvis impersonators and the envelope of deadly ricin powder sent to President Obama is all about body donation programs, funeral homes, and funeral director Steve Holland — who, in our humble opinion, is the real star of the show.

Holland, who has been in the funeral business for more than 40 years, owns Holland Funeral Directors, with one location in Okolona, Mississippi and another in Tupelo. And to give you a preview of Holland’s larger-than-life personality, here’s how he describes his Tupelo facility in Kings of Tupelo:

“This was the largest nightclub/beer joint/speakeasy called the Western Connection; many of the locals called it the Western Infection or the Western Erection, and mom just almost died when I suggested that we buy this devil’s project and convert it to the Lord’s work.”

Holland is outrageous, outspoken, and right at home among Kings’ cast of characters, which includes conspiracy theorist and Elvis impersonator Kevin Curtis, Curtis’ family members, local  authorities, and the Elvis-loving people of Tupelo.

The show details how Curtis, while performing janitorial duties in the morgue of a local hospital, finds a refrigerator full of body parts — including the “barcoded severed head” of a guy Curtis had supposedly seen in the ER waiting room the previous night. Believing he’s stumbled upon a global conspiracy of underground for-profit body-part sales, Curtis begins what he calls a “one-man crusade to spread the word about this billion-dollar industry that no one knows exists.” He even drafts an anti-body-brokering bill that he hopes will be introduced to the Mississippi House of Representatives. 

What Curtis discovers, though, is that the representative to whom he is directed — the “only man in Mississippi who could make [the bill into] law” — is none other than local funeral home owner Steve Holland. Holland served the 16th district from 1985 to 2020, passing legislation supporting organ donation as well as proposing a bill to change the name of the Gulf of Mexico to the “Gulf of America.”

Curtis becomes convinced that Holland is involved in and covering up the body-selling conspiracy — despite the fact that Holland actually wrote the original guidelines for his state’s completely legal, above-board, and not-for-profit organ and body donation program. So what did Holland do when he received Curtis’s proposed bill?

“When I read Kevin’s House bill the first thing I thought was, ‘Another fool lives in my district.’ He’s just frickin’ totally insane, I mean he’s in outer space,” Holland says in Kings as he symbolically rips a piece of paper to shreds. “Ladies and gentlemen, House bill 3361 is totally stupid. It’s garbage, It’s trash. But it is safe to say that if Mr. Curtis’ brain was for sale, it would be worthless.” 

Nope, Holland is not at all shy about saying what he really thinks, and no topic is off limits — including his chosen professions of politics and deathcare. Here are just a few of the unforgettable gems Holland shares in Kings of Tupelo:

• “If I had been born in 1776 I would have been the leader of the f*****g Revolution; I would just castrate the opposition.”
• “Truth be told, I could f*** a bull moose on the south steps of the Lee County Courthouse and gain ten percent of the vote.”
• “Yessir, I’m the Mississippi undertaker; I’m the taxidermist for humankind.”
• “I see everybody in this county, one way or the other.”
• “I am a freaking unbelievable embalmer.”
• “I’m claustrophobic so that’s the first reason I’ve never liked caskets, and beyond that they go in the ground. Try disinterring one of these that’s been in there 10 years. Huh — you’ll change your mind about spending $3,000 for one then.”

In one segment, Holland answers the phone at his funeral home, responding to the caller with, “We can have it here, at the church; we can have it at a bar, a whorehouse; it really don’t matter where you wanna have it — just make sure your undertaker’s invited.”

Later, as Holland shows off his memorabilia-covered “Elvis wall” and the embalming room, someone calls to him from out of the camera’s range, to which Holland replies, “Oh, we’ve got a body? Three? Yeah, we better get outta here. Oh, it’s Gladys? I know she had the diabetes.”

Now, these aren’t all the Holland-isms we’re treated to during the three-episode saga that is Kings of Tupelo, but you get the idea. While some may think that Steve Holland isn’t exactly the most appropriate person to represent the deathcare profession to Netflix’s nearly 300 million subscribers, we think he’s perfect for this particular role — which isn’t a role at all, but the surreal reality of his life and career. If nothing else, he adds a little humanity and humor to the perceived deadpan demeanor of directors. We can see how, as Holland says in Kings, he truly “puts the fun in funerals.”