Bruce’s Pipes
The pipes in this photo tell a story. I have a lot of pipes, but these four Peterson Pipes on the left hold a special place in my heart—and on my office rack—because of the man behind them.
About a decade ago, a new patient walked into my dental practice, his eyes set on preserving what was left of his natural teeth. He was on the search for a new dentist and was willing “to give me a chance.” He was frustrated with his previous dentist for telling him that he needed to pull his remaining teeth and convert to a full denture. He didn’t want to pull his teeth. He didn’t want to learn how to use a denture. So, he showed up asking for my opinion.
““My problem was that I was good at math, which meant I knew how to calculate where the ammunition would travel and land. My knowledge of algebra gave me a front row seat for battle.” ”
Well, that’s how I met him, but this isn’t a blog post about dentistry, it’s about the opportunity I was given to care for a man with a storied past. At the time, Bruce was 92 years old and the WW2 Veteran ball cap on his head told me everything I needed to know. It’s not everyday that you have the opportunity to meet or spend time with a WW2 veteran and I knew that regardless of whether he remained my patient, I wasn’t going to miss the opportunity to spend time with this man.
I asked him a little about his service and found out he was in the US Army. Bruce was a Staff Sergeant and trained as a forward observer for the 754th Field Artillery Battalion. He told me multiple times that his problem was that he was “good at math,” which meant he knew how to calculate where the ammunition would travel and land, so it gave him a front row seat for battle. He landed on Omaha Beach a few weeks after D-Day, where he reminded me the fighting was over and by that time the military had docks and roads. “We drove right up the beach and into France.” I knew from that first visit that I was going to love getting to know Bruce.
Staff Sergeant Bruce Bradley - Approximately 2016
So, where do the pipes fit in? During one of our appointments, the conversation turned to his love for pipe smoking, a hobby his former dentist had advised him against. Here, I decided to deviate from the usual script. I encouraged Bruce not only to keep his remaining teeth but also to relish his pipe-smoking. "At 92," I told him, "you’ve earned the right to enjoy your pleasures, whether that’s a pipe or candy for breakfast!"
I told Bruce to bring in his pipes and found out that he had a dozen Peterson pipes that he had purchased during his many trips to Ireland. After a thorough cleaning and polishing , I sent him home with a fresh bag of tobacco. He returned the kindness on his next visit, presenting me with a choice of any pipe from his collection. I initially declined, but Bruce was insistent. I hesitantly selected the most modest pipe, only to discover later that he had tricked me and left his entire collection at my front desk for me to enjoy.
So the pipes stay at my office on that rack in the photo. They are still Bruce’s pipes and everytime I smoke one, I think about him, his bravery, his service to our country and the life he lived. He has since passed away (with all the same teeth) and I miss his visits, but through these pipes, his spirit and stories linger in a puff of smoke.
Quietly making noise,
Fletch
