Many years ago,
when Bryans Road was a hamlet, barely a whistle stop on the way to the bigger,
more important town of Indian Head. I
lived in a small neighborhood called South Hampton Village. It was the early 1960s, the side roads were
barely paved, the shoulders were dirt, people mowed their own lawns and dogs
ran freely from yard to yard.
The house
across from the Davies was for sale and word was that a young couple had bought
it – a beautiful woman and a dark, handsome man who was some kind of
dentist. I imagine my parents’
conversation going something like this:
“He’s a
Dentist?" “Yes.” “You mean a Dentist, Dentist?” “YES!”
For you see, we
were not a Dentist kind of a neighborhood, let alone a Dentist, Dentist kind
neighborhood. Fathers (and some mothers) worked at the Naval Base,
or the Safeway, or the gas station, some ventured into DC and worked at places
like the FBI. How was a Dentist going to like it here in South Hampton Village?
We need not have
worried. Although I (with my flair for drama) likened the Gigueres to F. Scott and
Zelda Fitzgerald, they settled in quite nicely.
They lived in the house and Dr. G. set up his office and began to see
patients. It was the most significant
event of that year and for some years to come.
(And no doubt written up in the Charles County Leaf…)
I believe Joan
Hardy, who lived in the house that would eventually be Mama Sally’s, was the
first kid I knew to have an actual dental appointment. I was able to get the full scoop on this Dr.
Phil, as the kids called him. She was
quite smug as we settled down behind the Rhododendrons where we could easily
spy on the coming & goings of the Dental Office.
“How was
it?” I demanded, “Did it hurt?” “Nope, not one bit,” reported Joan. She proceeded to tell me about the little
white paper bib they pinned on her and the shiny porcelain bowl next to the
dental chair that had a constant stream of cold, clear water. “I spit in it.” she said. “NO!” I exclaimed. “Yes.”,
she said, “He told me to, right after he
said we’re almost done here, and the rest of your tooth is gravy.’’ “GRAVY!” I shouted.
Now I was
intrigued beyond words. She had a tooth
so bad it resembled gravy? “Let me see this tooth,” I said. (Bossy, even then.). Joan obligingly opened her mouth, where I spied
a neat little silver dot in the middle of a perfectly normal looking
molar. I was impressed. If this man, this Dentist, this Dr. Phil,
could take a tooth the consistency of gravy and shape it into a normal looking
tooth with a tiny speck of silver, I was ready to sign on.
Many years
later, when I was Dr. Giguere’s Dental Assistant, I heard him say many times,
to many children and adults alike, “Okay, we’re almost done here and the rest
is gravy…”
Now whether
that is some New England or Vermont expression, I don’t know. But, to two little
girls growing up in Southern Maryland, gravy was a loose, watery, substance
that you poured over potatoes and you certainly didn’t want your tooth to
resemble anything remotely like that.
Dr. G. and Rava
settled in – they were our friends and neighbors. Soon, along came Sally, closely followed by
Suzy and even though they eventually moved out of South Hampton, they were
still our’s. We had claimed them and
they were our’s -- forever.
I mean after
all, Blanche Neil worked for Dr. G, so did Gladys Harris, as did my Mom, Dottie
Gates and eventually so did I. And what
a deal I got. When I was a senior in
high school he said, you work for me in the afternoons after school, learn the
job of assisting and you can have a job every summer after college and during breaks. Seemed like a good deal to me.
It
was. He was an incredible boss. He was patient, kind, and generous and what I
remember and appreciate most was, he treated me like an adult. He was always doing favors for working folks,
booking patients before regular hours.
Of course, being young and eager to work, I’d come in early and work
with him so these folks could get their dental work done and get to their jobs on
time. Many an early morning we’d stand
in the kitchen of the office drinking coffee and smoking cigarettes
(Hey, it was the 70s!). He’d talk to me, ask me about school, who I
was dating, where I planned to transfer after I got an Associate Degree. He told me
about his under graduate work at the University of NC at Chapel Hill and about
staying up all night to study at the Tufts’dental school. He was always straightforward with me about working
hard and finishing school.
Last summer,
after not seeing him for some years, my sister and I drove down and spent an
afternoon with him, Rava and Sally.
And I am here
again today, to thank him again, and to say to his lovely wife, his daughters, their spouses,
his grandson, his granddaughters and everyone here, he did a lot for all of
us, and he had a wonderful life! And
I’ll just say, we are almost done here,
Dr. Philip E. Giguere, and for you -- the rest is Gravy.
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