PHILADELPHIA — History's broom has swept away the names of the fallen Revolutionary War soldiers responsible for Jacob Knorr's cabinet shop becoming a coffin factory on an October day in 1777.

Some were British redcoats, others American patriots fighting under Gen. George Washington. They clashed in the Battle of Germantown, just up the cobblestone road from Knorr's firm. From that day forward, the shop found its liveliest business in handling the dead.

Today, humans have found more efficient ways to kill each other, and the world has changed in other ways: AIDS and cancer, not croup and consumption, are the killers people fear.

But death remains death, and the corner cabinetmaking firm that became Kirk & Nice Funeral Home--the mortuary that bills itself as America's oldest--is still burying Philadelphians, both renowned and little known.

Through all those lifetimes, all those thousands of funerals and tears, the way Americans view life's end has evolved as much as the nation itself.

"The funeral itself hasn't changed. It's the people who have changed," said General Manager Joseph J. O'Keefe Sr., leading Kirk & Nice through its first year ever under non-family ownership.

Jacob Knorr opened his cabinet shop in 1761, and initially coffin-making represented only a sliver of his furniture business. But on Oct. 4, 1777, the Battle of Germantown turned the fledgling community into a killing field.

Washington's forces lost the conflict, and Knorr's shop was commandeered by British soldiers. He built caskets for many of the 650 revolutionaries and 550 loyalists who fell that day.

"More coffins were made that day than any day before or after," Kirk & Nice records say.

For the next two centuries, the business--which evolved into a full-time mortuary--was passed down. A Knorr married a Nice, and in the mid-1800s, an apprentice named Kirk was promoted to partner. It remained in the family until being sold last year.

Today, the interior of Kirk & Nice--rebuilt more than once after fires and decay--is boastful of its history.

The bright, spacious anteroom is decidedly unfunereal. The expected chandeliers and candelabra are supplemented by unexpected touches. Grandfather clocks stand in every corner. A grand piano sits nearby, and one table holds an old Victrola and antique cylindrical records. Happy paintings and old documents adorn the walls.