A Seed in the BIG APPLE

A couple of months ago De and I had to go to New York. It wasn’t a holiday; we had to attend two graduations and the christening of our latest grandson, all in a single month. We behaved like a couple of tourists, took photos of everything, went to a number of Broadway shows and raved about Central Park, a jewel in the heart of NYC. But I’d like to mention a single event that reigns supreme in my memory.

About two weeks into our stay at the Beacon Hotel I happened to chip a tooth. Some friend advised me to visit a dentist they heard about in Lower Manhattan. He was well known because he’d been there for some years…and didn’t charge the earth. De and I made an appointment and trotted down to see him. His name was Sidney I. Berger DDS (Implants, Prosthetics and Cosmetics). The whole wall of his waiting room was completely covered with plaques: every dental qualification you’ve ever heard of, including at least two PHD’s and numerous citations from universities. In fact the only thing missing was a Nobel prize for dental surgery…I felt in very safe hands.

Finally he entered the room (no nurse in sight) and came over and shook my hand. He was tall, with a mop of grey hair, but his teeth were out of this world…they were perfect, snow white and all thirty two in place. Then I recalled the award for implants.

His equipment was primitive and very basic but the drill was fine, although a squirt of WD40 would have helped a bit. Quite out of the blue he asked:
    “How old are you?”
    “Eighty…”
    “I can remember when I was eighty…”
I sank further into the antique dental couch…and still no nurse.

We joked about the memories of the second world war and distant retirement. But then came his pet subject: Photography.
    “They don’t do photos the way we did them.”
I agreed, just for peace sake…besides, he was still brandishing the drill in his shaky right hand. But my façade of interest became infectious and before long he invited De and I to view his photographic collection and slide room…a BIG mistake. The slides were a standard I discarded when I turned eighteen and the original camera was nowhere to be seen (like the dental assistant). After fifteen minutes of slide agony we paid our bill and beat a very hasty retreat.

A few days later I was back in his chair while he ground, buffed and polished what should have been completed during the first visit.