They Got Me, Part 2

So, my once and only experience as a grifter happened way back in the mid-50s (1950s, not 1850s). It wasn’t pre-meditated; it was mostly an unintentional attempted grifting of passion.

One minute, my grade school buddies and I were focused on some serious wiffleball over-the-line competition, but in an instant everything changed. We heard the music and got the message: some chocolate chip on wheels was headed our way. And I had a quarter in my pocket.

Feeling the power of community, friendship, and money, I stepped up with, “Four cones please.” Remember, the time frame is the mid-1950s. The Dodgers weren’t even an LA thing, and a quarter could go a long way. Not for the last time, Dad came to my rescue. Within seconds, I escaped jail time and more importantly, embarrassment among my peers. And four 8-year-olds walked away wearing smiles and favorite flavor ice cream mustaches.

Later, Dad would save me again. After a Q1 GPA of 2.13 at Cal State, LA, we had a talk and an agreement; I also had a warehouse job. Three and a half years later, I was a dental student. My lessons regarding trust and value were just getting started.

And reflecting, I find it interesting the way things change and how awareness can become crystal clear on direct personal experience. Having attended public schools and California State University, Los Angeles ($39 for quarter #1) in the company of National Merit Scholars and working people with families respectively, dental school taught me not to assume. When I learned that the price of four years of USC dental school (location of They Got me, Part 1) equaled the cost of a new home for my parents, the guilt hit me hard. When I learned the four years was light on mentorship, adult feedback, and mostly focused on my passing the State Board exam, I realized you don’t always get what you pay for.

In January 1976 (mid-Disco), following about a year of being an associate dentist, I took a shot into the future and opened my own scratch dental practice. And dad was there helping me again…until he died before my eyes on March 6. My big brother and marketing director since I could stand and wear a USC T-shirt at the same time, had passed away while I applied to dental schools. My family was just Mom and I now.

The next twenty years were short on trust and growth for me and dentistry. I loved the people, preserved my sense of humor, and threw dramatic tennis temper tantrums. I was there for my mom no matter what. Trust, outside of family and office manager Diane, made the Holy Grail look like a neon billboard. Being a tooth repair guy wasn’t floating my boat.

In 1996, my team of two and I ventured all the way up to Canmore Alberta Canada for three days that changed our lives. I was closing in on B-day #50 and hadn’t been in a plane since I was twelve, hadn’t left LA county for training, and had never used my passport, period. Everything we learned was important and hadn’t been part of dental school curriculum. When I returned, I got a stink eye from Mom that quickly turned into a reflection of my smile.

Just like my childhood, I’d never trade the 26 years that followed, even for grandpa’s 6’5” growth spurt I knew was just around the corner throughout most of my delusionary youthful years. I used to think, who could I trade in to be 6’5?”

Dentistry and I were both finally growing up! I began restoring teeth and they looked natural; I wasn’t even tempted to call the Pope campaigning for a legit dental miracle. My team grew within a joyful culture and beyond the four walls and out into the community. We expanded our services. We invested in technology; I invested in people. We made dentistry fun. We gave trust to create it. We thrived. But ugh, I left out the past three years, plus two.

Covid-19, January 6, the fires, and 2025 chaos would easily qualify as 6’5” trade bait and oh how amazing that would be. Just think, a towering and dominating serve and volleyer at the Senior Tennis Abraham Lincoln & Over level. I can dream.

Covid-19: Little to no human contact. We wore masks, gowns, shields, booties, doo-rags, and laser goggles (gowns?) And it’s no wonder some team members, patients, and golfers seemed to transition to schizophrenia or intermittent passive-aggressive syndrome. Trust took a hit.

January 6, 2021. We have a Covid-19 vaccine but no cure for treasonous stupidity. The buffalo head shaman tours the Capitol, and another tourist takes a dump on Pelosi’s desk. Pro-law enforcement gun fanatics attack the capitol police and get a hankering to string up the VP. WTH. “Ope, there goes gravity” …and oodles more trust (I’m a major fan of Eminem’s Lose Yourself.)

And like November 2024 was yesterday, 77 million Americans voted in a Presidential candidate who sold golden bibles, watches, and sneakers during the campaign; he’d later mostly be remembered for blurting out “They’re eating the dogs” for no apparent reason during a national debate. As I type, the economy is in the toilet, allies are making a break for it, farmers are going broke, immigrants are flipping off the Statue of Liberty. Ope, there goes … the First Amendment. “I can’t get no satisfaction” and who the hell wants to get close to masked enemies who are paid by us?

And you’d think, under the circumstances, I’d be on high trust alert, right? But nope, in an emotional moment of friendship and community, I chose to trust an outta state person of interest who promised my best friend and I that she could help us gain California Bureau for Private Postsecondary Education (BPPE) licensure and a couple of exemptions to train Dental Assistants in the fourth largest economy on the globe for only $12,000. After many decades following my single unintentional grifting, I got grifted back.

The got me, part 2. They got me again. But no nightmares this time; we’ve been rescued by Golden state competency and a BPPE two-step. We got this.

Next up, the USA. C’mon, make America great again, like in 2008.