OLD ’86 CROWN, CONTINUED                                         MARCH 12, 2012                                              


          I didn’t mean to mislead anybody into thinking that Ol’ ’86  was the only crown I had, and that I pretty much have all my pearlies.  No way — you now will get the real  picture.  My niece, Marcie, replied to last week’s tale — about her Mom (my younger sister, Vivian) was forever losing or misplacing bridges, or whatever, never recovering them to place under the pillow for the Tooth Fairy.  I got to thinking that the Tooth Fairy is probably smarter than I thought, and would know whether a tooth is the real thing or a fake. 

          I have been doing some sleuthing and gathering information on  our little family’s teeth, and how each of my siblings ended up with the fangs we were dealt. Now Dad, George Forster, son of Guadalupe and Marco Forster were mostly from Spanish, Mexican, and Indian descent, and he had a very good set, every one of them there, standing at attention, straight and great till the day he died at the age of 63 in 1943.  It would appear that Dad’s ancestors had the right stuff that teeth are made of.

          Let’s take a look at Mom now — Salome Moore, born to Charles and Charlotte Moore, immigrants from Merry Old England. They both had dentures, and Mom had lousy teeth also,  relying on bridges and the like.  Her partials started to go missing when she went to nursing home at 93.  I surmised that the bed linens were gobbling them up,  and the linens also gobbled up her hearing aids while they were at it.  So far, my hearing aids are hanging in there, but now I will try to keep track of them every minute.  It ain’t cheap when all this stuff disappears without a trace.

          My two older sisters, Beth and Sis, were daughters of Mom and her first husband, Emery Marshall, who was also the brother of Aunt Mae.

Emery passed away when Sis was 6 months old, so I have no way to know about his teeth, but judging from Aunt Mae’s, his would’ve been doomed.  Aunt Mae spent a lot of time with dentist trying to get a set of   dentures that fit — very small mouth.  So now, it follows  that Beth and Sis were also doomed with their tines.

          Sis was living with me inLaguna Beachwhen we drove over toFullertonto see Mom.  Sis was upset how her dentures were bothering her, and this bitching and gunching  was ongoing.  It was still going on when Bucky, the next door neighbor, stopped in when he saw my car parked out in front.   He had the mortuary located across the back alley, and when he heard Sis still on the subject of the falsies, he put his arms around her and said:  “Well, Sis,  why don’t we go across the alley — I’ve got a box full of those in the back room, and you can  go through them and possibly find a better fit.”  We cracked up!  

          Next down the line in siblings was Buddy, 10 years older than I, and Dad was his Dad too. Wouldn’t you know he had teeth, all of them –just like Dad?  He was laid to rest at the age of 81 —all teeth accounted for.

          So that leaves Viv and me — the last two bringing up the rear, so to speak.  I have already mentioned Viv’s trouble with her missing dental work, so down to me now.  I had a few extenuating circumstances along the way, starting with an episode in the 6th  grade.  We were at recess, and a bunch in line for the drinking fountain.  When I was bent over the fountain getting the stream of water, one of the boy kids in back of me gave me a good push, and my two front uppers collided with the fountain.  (Ouch, ouch, ooouh!)  As I look back, it could’ve been Lennie, and that’s why I unconsciously punched him out for his football that he had gotten for Christmas.  Anyway, I suffered in silence, did not tell the folks, the pain went away, and it was about 15 years later that the teeth started to darken.  Off to the dentist inSan Juan, who said he could do a job on them — not pulling them, but filing around the front edge and  sliding a cover on them.  With glue, of course.  We made a deal for his services.  We paid him with 2 bales of hay — he had a horse that had to be fed, and Aunt Mae had a barn full of hay. 

          The glue started to disintegrate, and one time when Aunt Mae and I took a trip on the train to Chicago, one of the caps came off, but thank goodness, it didn’t go missing.  This same thing would happen every once in awhile, so eventually they had to be pulled and a partial put into service.  Dentist inSan Juanno longer there, so no deal just cash on the line.

          Another circumstance was when the 4 lower front teeth were involved with the steering wheel of my car which was having an altercation with another auto at the time.  I was in my 50’s when this fender-bender took place.  With passage of time, the pain went away, so I left them alone.  About 10 years later, they started to bother me — so off to another dentist who had to pull them since they had been broken at the gum line — so that meant another partial.  It’s too bad the guy in Capistrano was gone because we could’ve made a sweet deal.  He could fix the teeth for free food and drinks at my restaurant, the Mexico Lindo … with the Mariachis serenading his family and friends.

          After that, I was plagued with having to have a few crowns here and there, and that meant Old ’86 was one of them.  What I can’t figure out is why Bud had the good ones, and the 2 girls (Viv and I) ended up in bad shape. Maybe it had to do with the male/female discrimination thing. I guess my investigation has to go along with the fact  that your ancestors have everything to do with the molars, the eye teeth, or whatever other stuff growing in your mouth.

          So now wish me luck.  I have the date with Dr. Mohler’s hygienist this coming Wednesday, and there’s probably going to be some fireworks. I’m going to stick to my gums  guns and leave my mouth alone to have some peace and quiet where ‘Olde ’86 used to be.



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