Part 2

The Power of a Smile to Change Lives:  Denny’s Story Part 2

“Why so glum, Mate?”  The Kiwi accent was a standard at Pub Night with the hot rod boys at the car shop.

Staring into his can of cheap liquid barley and hops, Denny replied, “Wife’s making me go to the dentist tomorrow.  I had planned to get a lot done on my Deuce chassis, but now my whole day’s shot.”

“Ah yeah, that’s rough.  Wives don’t understand the importance of these things, do they?”  Sharky’s observation brought on a unified sound of sympathy raised from the men hunched over the picnic table.  Coming from random walks of life, varying age groups, and a variety of countries, the one common bond that held the group together was their love for a fine vintage machine.  Sliding over another can of Milwaukee’s Best, the odd mix of car enthusiasts tried to cheer Denny up with stories of how wives had prevented the progress of hot rod history for the last 50 years.

“You should have seen how hopping mad my wife was when she found my Flathead V-8 stored in her guest bath tub.  It wasn’t like she was using it.”

“Well, mine made me take the hood of the car off the bed.  Where else would it be safe to lay it so the paint wouldn’t get scratched?”

“She hasn’t quit squawking about the time I cleaned the transmission in the dishwasher three years ago.”

The consolation continued for quite some time, each adding a greater injustice until it was evident that Denny was a victim of some global anti-hot rod conspiracy in the form of a dental appointment.  A lull fell upon the men as they pondered their motor misfortunes into their brews.

“So Mate, time for new dentures, eh?”  

The question shocked Denny to attention with its frankness.  “Uh, no...well yes.  But not really.  How did you know?”

“You’re classic, man.  No offense.”

Denny pondered what that meant.  “Classic” was a compliment when applied to a car.  “Classic” when describing a guy with dentures seemed grim.  People could tell he wore dentures?  That was something he'd never considered.  He wondered if it was an insult or a mercy that his buddy had mentioned it.

Sharky continued his thought to fill the odd silence.  “Had to get mine replaced because my face was looking too caved in.  My mouth had changed so much in ten years that my dentures were too short for me.  Made me look like Popeye.  Got my smile restored and refurbished a few years ago along with my ’51 Merc.”  A general appreciation went up from the boys over the two-toned Mercury with flush-fit fender skirts.  “Between that car and a new wolf-smile, I caught a lot of attention that year at the March Meet.”  They all chuckled together at the memory.  The awkward moment passed.  Still Denny was struck with the idea that maybe his old dentures were making him look older than he deserved.  He certainly didn’t want to be readily identifiable as a denture wearer to the average joe.  

Changing the topic to admiring a newly hot-rodded Caddy headed for the Bonneville Salt Flats for Speed Week, the boys at Pub Night fell into a comfortable discussion intent on keeping Denny’s focus on something other than his dentist appointment the next day.  This technique of masculine cheer seemed to work quite well for the next few hours.  Paula was more than a little upset at the condition in which her husband arrived back home after being dropped off by the designated driver. As long as he could make it to his dental appointment the next day, she would keep her mouth shut.

Denny’s Story Part 1 Denny’s Story Part 3