Looking Back: Depression-Style Dentistry
I've been inspired by moontoad to write down some memories about my grandparents. This is the first one that came to mind.
During the Depression, my grandfather, who was a Methodist pastor, did some work at the Newberry Ave. Settlement House near Maxwell St. in Chicago. My mother remembers hearing stories about this era in my grandparents' young lives. When I asked her about the name of the place, she said, "Oh, that would be Newberry House." Then she added, deadpan, "There were a number of exciting events that took place there."
This particular incident happened around 1936, probably while my grandmother was expecting my uncle George. My grandfather had come out of the building and was getting in his car, when a man got in with him and held him at knifepoint. He didn't ask for money or food. He asked my grandfather to pull one of his teeth. Apparently it was so painful that he was desperate to have it out. My grandfather managed to calm him down, and then took him the the Northwestern University dental school for some free dental care.
This story makes me think several things. First of all, I praise all that is holy for modern dentistry. Second, I thank goodness my family and I can afford it. And third, this guy must have been addled with pain, because how do you threaten someone while he's pulling one of your teeth? The dynamics of that just boggle me.
I also think about my grandfather in this situation. Scared, because being threatened by a pain-crazed person holding a knife is always scary. But my grandfather was a good talker, and even more importantly, cared fiercely about every human being on the planet. I'm sure that he wanted to help that unfortunate man just as much as he wanted to make himself safe, and that kind of desire can come through when words fail.
When I was little, sometimes my grandfather intimidated me with his intensity. He believed in treating all of God's creatures with respect, and wasn't shy about voicing his opinions and taking people to task when they caused suffering, or even just ignored it. He could be difficult to talk to, because he would rather have you care than be comfortable. But I'm proud of him for not taking the easy path, for being so genuinely interested in others no matter who they were. I don't always live up to his example, but because of him I try, and that is important to me, a way to stay connected with him.
During the Depression, my grandfather, who was a Methodist pastor, did some work at the Newberry Ave. Settlement House near Maxwell St. in Chicago. My mother remembers hearing stories about this era in my grandparents' young lives. When I asked her about the name of the place, she said, "Oh, that would be Newberry House." Then she added, deadpan, "There were a number of exciting events that took place there."
This particular incident happened around 1936, probably while my grandmother was expecting my uncle George. My grandfather had come out of the building and was getting in his car, when a man got in with him and held him at knifepoint. He didn't ask for money or food. He asked my grandfather to pull one of his teeth. Apparently it was so painful that he was desperate to have it out. My grandfather managed to calm him down, and then took him the the Northwestern University dental school for some free dental care.
This story makes me think several things. First of all, I praise all that is holy for modern dentistry. Second, I thank goodness my family and I can afford it. And third, this guy must have been addled with pain, because how do you threaten someone while he's pulling one of your teeth? The dynamics of that just boggle me.
I also think about my grandfather in this situation. Scared, because being threatened by a pain-crazed person holding a knife is always scary. But my grandfather was a good talker, and even more importantly, cared fiercely about every human being on the planet. I'm sure that he wanted to help that unfortunate man just as much as he wanted to make himself safe, and that kind of desire can come through when words fail.
When I was little, sometimes my grandfather intimidated me with his intensity. He believed in treating all of God's creatures with respect, and wasn't shy about voicing his opinions and taking people to task when they caused suffering, or even just ignored it. He could be difficult to talk to, because he would rather have you care than be comfortable. But I'm proud of him for not taking the easy path, for being so genuinely interested in others no matter who they were. I don't always live up to his example, but because of him I try, and that is important to me, a way to stay connected with him.