Olesinski sweeps a circle around the child's marker, making sure it's clear when the backhoe starts shoveling two tons of dirt and stone into the adjacent grave. The final resting place of a woman who was in her 90s is covered in a few minutes.

"I don't just sit in the office and push papers," says Olesinski, 30, of Penn Hills, supervisor of funerals and burials at the sprawling Allegheny Cemetery in Lawrenceville.

Olesinski oversaw more than 400 burials last year. He likes the job because much of his work is outdoors. It lets him put organizational skills to work, fulfills a professional calling and gives him a sense of helping others in some of their darkest hours.

"Really, when it comes down to it, this work and the funeral homes, we do sell products, but it's also a special service we provide for the families," he says.

Aiming to be a funeral director, Olesinski studied at the Pittsburgh Institute of Mortuary Science and received a bachelor's degree from Point Park University in pre-professional studies for funeral services.

His parents had managed a cemetery while he and his older sister were growing up, and he started learning aspects of the job as a teenager. The job at Allegheny Cemetery, where his father once held the same position, is a natural fit for him, says Tom Staresinic, superintendent of the cemetery. He hired Olesinski in 2001.

"There was very little I had to teach this kid," says Staresinic, 54, of Stanton Heights. "I like to say he's a typical Central Catholic graduate: You tell him once, and he knows what to do."

Allegheny Cemetery, a nonprofit opened in 1845, covers 300 acres of pastoral hillside. Fifteen miles of roads meander through slopes where more than 120,000 dead are interred in graves, crypts and urns. It's the burial place of Stephen Foster, Lillian Russell and other notables, including 22 past Pittsburgh mayors.

About 100 acres are available for future graves, meticulously mapped out in sections, quadrants and lots. Most days, it's a very busy place, says Staresinic, recalling one Christmas Eve when the staff handled 11 services.

On a recent blustery morning with temperatures in the mid-20s, Olesinski engages the four-wheel drive on his 2002 Dodge Dakota -- "My mobile office. I have everything in it: my toolbox, my maps" -- and drives to a spot where a metal frame with nylon straps, the lowering device, sits on a wooden platform over an open grave.

Strips of green outdoor turf surround the set-up, with cocoa-colored mats making a path to the road. After an inspection, Olesinski concludes everything is in order for a graveside service.

"You're always on your toes," he says. "Like today, we have two funerals at the same time. The estimates of times of arrival are just that -- estimates. You never know whether the preacher or priest is going to go longer or if they are going to hit traffic. They may say they're going to get here at 12:15 but they might show up at a quarter to 12 or 1 o'clock. "

Each group of mourners deserves special treatment, he says.

"We might have eight funerals in one day. We're thinking of everything we've got to get done. But for that one family, the most important thing they're worried about is just that one: their mother, brother, father, whatever. You take care of each family separately, because they all have their needs and wants."

Cemetery workers encounter a wide range of emotions, says Dan Wadsworth, 48, of Shaler, one of Olesinski's crew.

"We've seen it all," he adds.

The profession requires keeping yourself on an even keel, Olesinski says.

Dealing with grief on a daily basis generally doesn't trouble him, although there have been exceptions, he says. After his wife Christine gave birth to their first child in September, a daughter named Kiersten, some emotions spilled over.

"Right after she was born I had a slew of baby funerals. That was kind of tough."

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