MEMORIES

It is very peculiar how memory works–or doesn't work. More and more of late I have headed off to some room in my apartment or the church only to ask myself upon arrival, "What did I come in here for?" My train of thought frequently seems to lose its caboose. And yet there are other things from years ago that I remember with clarity.

A few nights ago I began re-reading the first Sherlock Holmes novel, A Study in Scarlet. (No, I haven't forgotten the story. I'm reading it because I admire Sir Arthur Conan Doyle's craftsmanship.) In the first chapter, Dr. Watson is taken by his friend Stamford to the laboratory at St. Bart's Hospital in order to introduce him to Holmes. Watson describes the scene. "Broad, low tables were scattered about, which bristled with retorts, test-tubes, and little Bunsen lamps, with blue flickering flames." Immediately, my mind was taken back at least fifty years to the first time I ever saw a Bunsen burner (as we Yanks call it.) The office of Benard Rabin, D.D.S.

Dr. Rabin was our family dentist. In some ways he was a quite up-to-date professional. He was one of the earlier users of fluoride treatments to protect teeth. He knew about it because he was an officer in the Naval Reserve (a full commander by the time I left his care) and had participated in the government trials. In other ways, however, he was quite old-fashioned. One wall of his office was dominated by a huge dental cabinet that held his instruments.

It looked like it could have come from the 1920s or even the 1890s. He never used novocaine when filling teeth. I remember by first session when him when he explained that when he drilled teeth to fix them, the cavity bugs would bite. If it hurt too much, I was to raise my hand and he would stop for a while until the bugs let up.

His office was in the Uptown Bank Building. That's the picture of the building at the head of the blog. The building went up in 1929 when the Uptown development was at it's peak. The depression came, and the neighborhood was never the same. By the 1960s it was an area you would avoid at night. I vaguely remember the magnificent banking area on the main floor with the high ceiling rising two stories and open to the mezzanine level above. When I was first brought to the building, it was served by cage-like elevators manned by operators. Eventually these were replaced with automatic elevators which cause no end of problems for Grandma S. who would NOT ride in an operator-less elevator. She would climb nine flights of stairs to our Physician, Dr. Mark, who was in the same building as Dr. Rabin.


It was Dr. Mark who recommend Dr. Rabin to us. There was quite a difference between the two office suites however. By the time I remember Dr. Mark (who "brought me into the world" as they say), he was in solo practice and thus had two examining rooms, his own office (with dozens of elephants on the top of the filing cabinets), and a waiting room. Dr. Rabin when I first remember him shared his suite with two other medical people, M.D.'s as I recall. There was a large waiting room with a big window at the end, furnished with chairs of no particular style or era. I seem to remember some of the chairs were covered in green leather. A secretary's desk stood near the door. Although sometimes a secretary was hard at work typing away, the ear pieces of an old stenograph stuck in her ears, it was just as common for the room to be empty, and the secretary to appear when the outer door opened causing a chime to ring.

A door set at an angle in what would have been one of the corners of the waiting room led to a dark, interior corridor off of which were several offices. Since Dr. Rabin's was the first of the offices, I never ventured further down the hall of mysteries, nor did I want to. It was always creepy, but became even more so after the other medical people moved out leaving darkened offices down the hall. Dr. Rabin remained, using only the waiting room and his own small office. There was a tiny, tiny office, just big enough for a desk against the wall and some filing cabinets. It was rarely lit by more than a flourescent desk lamp which cast spooky shadows on the wall. Then one came to the small room with the dental chair looming like a medieval torture device. At least the room had a window in it, but escape would have been nine stories straight down. Behind the dental chair was another room, about the size of a closet in which the dentist did mysterious things. The only thing I can remember in there was a small grinder. Very menacing.

I haven't yet explained about the Bunsen burner. Just as you entered the corridor of terror there was a tiny laboratory. It was nothing more than a counter, shelf with various chemicals, and a burning Bunsen burner with its eerie blue flame flickering. Sometimes there would be a very short woman working in the lab–she would also serve as receptionist–but often the lab was unoccupied. I have no idea what fiendish experiments went on in that room, but it added to the ominous atmosphere.

How strange that I can remember this scene in such vivid detail. But try to remember whether the filler for the gas tank is on the left or the right side of my car? Not a chance.

Hope all your memories are pleasant. May the Lord God bless you on your way and greet you on your arrival.

Wayne

2086