Fearlessly the fifth grader at the one-room schoolhouse flew at Tommy Navratil’s ankle, grasped it and threw the big, muscled 7th grade farm boy to the ground with a satisfying thud. The rough-and-tumble game of pom-pom tackle was played without pads or helmets and certainly without mouthguards. Too bad.
When I tackled Tommy that day, he went down, and so did my front tooth, right on his heel. When I put my finger where the hurt was, there was nothing but a big hole.
It would be a life-changing event.
Dr. Steen introduced me to the partial plate. He called it a flipper. I knew the kids would call it a false tooth, something I needed to be ashamed of and hide, lest the stigma and teasing follow me. My parents forbade my siblings from betraying my secret.
At first, I discreetly slipped the pink flipper into my lunchbox whenever eating. By seventh grade in town school I could eat with it still in place. But I had trouble sometimes with gum. One day Science teacher Peter Reque spotted me with the forbidden item and challenged me. Fearfully, I said “may I see you after class?” Stunned, he said yes and I tried to think of what I would say, trying to explain how bubble gum legally chewed in a previous class had got stuck. I shouldn’t have worried, he was remarkably forgiving when I uttered “partial plate got…” He was embarrassed and I skedadled hoping classmates hadn’t overheard.
My partial served all the way through high school, even at dances in Glenwood featuring the “Fabulous Flippers”. In college I retrieved my partial a number of times from the toilet after vomiting it out accidentally. At this institution of higher education I soon learned to remove it first.
I had the partial plate through the Army, no problem, by now my taste buds in my upper palate were shot from lack of use and smoking. Didn’t matter much, of course, dining in an Army mess.
It wasn’t until years later that I met Dr. Appledorn in Chaska. He was just setting up practice and said he could make a permanent bridge over the gap and I could retire the flipper. But he’d never done one like it before, he’d like to give it a try, and I would get it cheap, $800 if I would agree to guinea pig. I did.
He fastened the porcelain bridge with gold and was quite pleased with his work. The tooth lasted longer than his Chaska practice did. Last I heard he was somewhere like Faribault. I started using Dr. Mayerle and maybe 40 times during our continuous 50 year relationship, Jim has examined my mouth and proclaimed “Boy. I really like that bridge.” My new dentist in St. Paul loves it and said they don’t make ‘em like that anymore. I wrote to Dr. Appledorn to thank him and commend him but he never wrote back. I suppose by now he’s got a lot of those bridges walking around the country.
When I tackled Tommy that day, he went down, and so did my front tooth, right on his heel. When I put my finger where the hurt was, there was nothing but a big hole.
It would be a life-changing event.
Dr. Steen introduced me to the partial plate. He called it a flipper. I knew the kids would call it a false tooth, something I needed to be ashamed of and hide, lest the stigma and teasing follow me. My parents forbade my siblings from betraying my secret.
At first, I discreetly slipped the pink flipper into my lunchbox whenever eating. By seventh grade in town school I could eat with it still in place. But I had trouble sometimes with gum. One day Science teacher Peter Reque spotted me with the forbidden item and challenged me. Fearfully, I said “may I see you after class?” Stunned, he said yes and I tried to think of what I would say, trying to explain how bubble gum legally chewed in a previous class had got stuck. I shouldn’t have worried, he was remarkably forgiving when I uttered “partial plate got…” He was embarrassed and I skedadled hoping classmates hadn’t overheard.
My partial served all the way through high school, even at dances in Glenwood featuring the “Fabulous Flippers”. In college I retrieved my partial a number of times from the toilet after vomiting it out accidentally. At this institution of higher education I soon learned to remove it first.
I had the partial plate through the Army, no problem, by now my taste buds in my upper palate were shot from lack of use and smoking. Didn’t matter much, of course, dining in an Army mess.
It wasn’t until years later that I met Dr. Appledorn in Chaska. He was just setting up practice and said he could make a permanent bridge over the gap and I could retire the flipper. But he’d never done one like it before, he’d like to give it a try, and I would get it cheap, $800 if I would agree to guinea pig. I did.
He fastened the porcelain bridge with gold and was quite pleased with his work. The tooth lasted longer than his Chaska practice did. Last I heard he was somewhere like Faribault. I started using Dr. Mayerle and maybe 40 times during our continuous 50 year relationship, Jim has examined my mouth and proclaimed “Boy. I really like that bridge.” My new dentist in St. Paul loves it and said they don’t make ‘em like that anymore. I wrote to Dr. Appledorn to thank him and commend him but he never wrote back. I suppose by now he’s got a lot of those bridges walking around the country.
I still have that bridge. It’s right next to a natural tooth that is darkening with age and medium grind coffee. Not so the Appledorn porcelain false tooth. It’s the same color it was 45 years ago. The result is uneven oral shading which is starting to bug me.
Should I have my teeth whitened? At my age? Reminds me of the buying green bananas joke.
But it seems the least I could do to honor Tommy Navratil and that crushing life-altering tackle.
