The tooth and nothing but the tooth

Looking for something fun to do? Here’s an idea: Take a pen or black magic marker to the photo of me that accompanies my column in the Reporter's print edition. Carefully black out my left front tooth. You’re not defacing the photo. You’re updating it.

That exact tooth broke off, in its entirety, just last week. I’m still not sure how it happened, but the result is that now when I grin, even the Three Stooges would fall down laughing.

The upside? I can suck in an entire bowl of noodles while barely opening my mouth. I can talk and whistle at the same time. And with a neighborhood Halloween party coming up, I’m set to go as Alfred E. Neuman.

I also have a temporary lisp. As a result, I am telling friends that our next governor will be either “Kwhith-tine Gweg-waah or Dino

Rothi.”

It’s amazing how such a small change in a person’s noggin – a tooth the size of, well, a tooth – can so entirely alter the facial landscape. Take a photo of, say, supermodel Heidi Klum and eliminate one of her front teeth. All of a sudden she goes from goddess to cloddess. Do the same to a picture of Einstein and he doesn’t look so smart any more. More like Frank Einstein than Albert.

Have you ever seen a portrait of Abraham Lincoln grinning a toothysmile? Me neither. Ditto for Thomas Jefferson, John Adams and most every other president up until the 20th century. In fact, while he was minister to the Netherlands in 1871, Adams contracted pyorrhea. Thus, long before he became part of American history, his teeth already had.

When George Washington took the oath at age 57 as our first president, his natural teeth didn't accompany him to the ceremony. They were gone. As a result, the reception afterward featured mostly soup and pudding. Schoolkids used to be taught that Washington had wooden teeth, but that’s not true. After all, Washington had enough to worry about. He didn’t need the risk of termites too. In fact, he had custom-made dentures fashioned from the ivory of walrus tusks. He may have been our first and only president with a mouthful of scrimshaw.

There are lots of photos of Teddy Roosevelt grinning. His smile was more like a happy snarl, especially as he was gearing up to go shoot a bear or a moose. Sarah Palin might have approved.

Presidents after Teddy didn’t smile much with open mouths until FDR, who used to clinch a cigarette holder in his teeth – a very cool look that you don’t see much these days.

John Kennedy had a nice smile, but Richard Nixon’s seemed to take a lot more effort. Still, he did seem to have a full set of teeth, which is more than I can say at this writing.

At this moment, I’m reminded of every mean joke I ever heard as a kid: “Is that your face or did you block a kick?” “He has only three teeth, and he got one of them when he joined the Elks.” “He has summer teeth. Summer in his mouth, summer in his pocket.” “Did you hear about the guru who refused Novocain? He wanted to transcend dental medication.”

When I was kid, our family dentist always let us pick from a special drawer he had filled with candy. That ensured that I’d leave happy, but would almost certainly be returning again, too. The candy-giving dentist is long retired, but I’m going to a different one who promises he can replace my missing tooth. Frankly, I don’t care if his name is Dr. Gagger, Drewel or Payne, I’m looking forward to my appointment and a return to what passes for

normalcy. I loved the old western-movie character actor, Gabby Hayes, but I never aspired to look like him.

Afterward, the dentist says, he wants me to stay for a teeth cleaning. I said that would be fine, but I’d prefer to have the cleaning done first. That way I might qualify for their 31-teeth discount.

Pat Cashman is a writer, actor and public speaker. He can be reached at pat@patcashman.com

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