Behold a Droll Horseman

This is my third and final farewell piece dedicated to Bob Horseman, who passed away in May at the age of 103. I first wrote a tribute to him when he requested to discontinue his regular monthly Dr. Bob section of the Journal. After his long tenure, he wanted to write occasional pieces. The second time I wrote something was a few years later, when he requested to retire completely.

To celebrate his wonderful, joyful life, we have collected several pieces that were written about Bob, his writing and the impact it has had on so many of us. This collection includes my editorial, “A Salute to Dr. Bob” from 2012. That is followed by a 2014 editorial by Editor Emeritus, Jack Conley, DDS, entitled, “It’s Time to Say Goodbye,” which includes an Editor’s Note as well. Finally, friend and contributor, Dan Jenkins, DDS, CDE, writes a tribute after a recent visit with Bob.

We bestowed on Dr. Horseman the title of Humorist Emeritus but perhaps his greatest legacy is this: one cannot contemplate Bob Horseman and all he has written without a spontaneous smile finding its way to one’s lips.

Bob lives on in our hearts and in the pages of this Journal. Check out the Journal archives if you would like to read more of his writings. Thank you, Robert E. Horseman, DDS.

Kerry K. Carney, DDS, CDE

Editor-in-Chief

Journal of the California Dental Association

A Salute to Dr. Bob

Kerry K. Carney, DDS, CDE

December 2012

Four years ago, I began research for my first editorial by interviewing the past few editors of the Journal of the California Dental Association. I asked them what changes they had been involved with during their tenures as editor and what advice they could give me. My immediate predecessor, Alan Felsenfeld, told me he was threatened with bodily harm should he ever discontinue the Dr. Bob section of the Journal and that I should take that to heart.

This was a common theme in all of the interviews. Each past editor wanted to make it clear that he had been in some way involved with finding, establishing, or institutionalizing the Dr. Bob column.

Robert E. Horseman’s Dr. Bob column is unique in dentistry. Jack Conley tells a story from a long time ago when he was attending an editor’s symposium at the ADA headquarters in Chicago. It seems the lecturer was critiquing various journals. Suddenly, the Dr. Bob column appeared on his screen. He asked the audience, “Whom does this belong to?” Dr. Conley raised his hand and was admonished by the instructor: “Never let him go! His sense of humor and his writing skills are golden.”

Dr. Bob appeals to many, many readers. Even my mother tells me, “I like the Journal, but I love Dr. Bob.”

Just last year, when it came time to suggest speakers for the 2012 American Association of Dental Editors meeting in San Francisco, honoring Dr. Horseman seemed a “no-brainer.” It would be a good opportunity to let other editors see that humor can add great value to an association’s peer-reviewed publication.

I immediately sent off an e-mail to Dr. Horseman to invite him to come speak and be honored at the AADE meeting. In return, I received the following explanation for his decision to decline.

My 15 minutes of fame arrives so late in my life I feel certain I can handle any attention that comes my way. Even though I am shy to the point of paranoia and modest with ample reason to be so, I am convinced I will not embarrass myself or my family should the spotlight of fame, however fleeting, pass over me. Or so I think.

When it was revealed that the 1990 Scientific Session of the California Dental Association to be held in San Francisco would be dedicated to me, it was like turning a 5 million candlepower klieg light on a mole. In a state of mounting hysteria, I try to comfort myself with the strong likelihood I will be struck down by some fatal illness or flattened by a bus before the big event.

All my life I have been content to remain in the shadows, to actively seek out those places where I would be least noted, like the back row of the lecture hall in dental school. It was that ploy that ensured my graduation. The committee responsible for determining eligibility for the event not only couldn’t find any detrimental things about me, they couldn’t even detect any evidence of my having been there for four years.

So it is that I find myself sharing the head table at the annual Sessions lunch with keynote speaker Willard Scott and certain dignitaries of CDA. Upwards of 300 people have paid good money to enjoy Scott’s address; and although his bulk is ample for me to hide behind, I am too petrified to make the attempt. For two hours prior to the luncheon, I have been pacing the floor in a demonstration of an anxiety attack complete with Cheyne-Stokes breathing that would have turned Woody Allen green with jealousy. My wife is an expert on the subject of anxiety. Having lived in a more or less constant state of it during our 64 years of marriage, she knows anxiety when she sees it. Tiring of watching me pace, she insists that I take one of her pills to calm myself down. This I do with gratitude, only to notice 30 minutes later that the medication has resulted in no detectable lessening of symptoms.

Flop sweat takes many forms. Perhaps my affliction calls for a more potent dosage. “Well, here then,” she offers, “take another tablet. It can’t hurt.”

This is true, it doesn’t hurt. In fact, as I sit here at the raised front table wedged between Willard Scott and the president of the association, I am feeling no pain at all. While the president drones on about whatever it is that we’re all here for, I discover I am having a little trouble focusing clearly on the crowd in front. I find if I support my head with both hands, hooking my thumbs securely back of my ears, the audience seems less fidgety. Even the waiters are moving slowly, as if engaged in a dry land version of synchronized swimming.

Into this peaceful setting, I hear my name announced. At least I think it’s my name. The president is looking expectantly at me, and there is a smattering of applause. This is mainly from the people who have come to hear Willard Scott and wish to get this phase of the program over as expeditiously as possible. I am experiencing some problem with my knees, but with a little assist from Mr. Scott, I find the lectern provides ample support if I grasp both sides of it with my arms and rest my chest against its slanted surface.

I have prepared a little speech, but somebody has substituted my notes with what looks like a laundry list written in Sanskrit. I beam a glassy-eyed smile in the general direction of the audience and deliver a monologue similar to what you would hear from a person with a speech impediment trying to dislodge peanut butter from his palate.

The crowd applauds wildly, knowing that finally the program can begin. I sit down abruptly, clutching a plaque that has somehow materialized in my hands. Both Mr. Scott and the president assist me in stabilizing my chair, the seat of which seems to have developed a 45 degree slant toward the floor. This flaw in the seat threatens to launch me smoothly right under the table until I have presence of mind to hook my chin on its edge. More applause.

Five hours later my wife, with help of a couple of wait-persons, had bundled me out a side door and back to our hotel. I am told that Willard Scott gave a warming presentation. I wish I had heard it. How he got through this without my wife’s help, I’ll never know. The thing is, I have 11½ minutes of fame still owed me. I hope nobody is going to insist I collect it.

We both agreed he had collected less than 25% of the fame owed him in 1990. However, understanding how painful the proposed tribute would have been for Dr. Horseman, I made another suggestion. What if we do a “virtual” interview? It could be scripted by Dr. Horseman with me acting as the interviewer and Dr. Dan Jenkins playing the role of Dr. Horseman. This he found more appealing so he submitted the following script:

Kerry: Good morning, Dr. Horseman. Thank you for meeting with us today. I know you have been very busy during your recent retirement – napping and critiquing daytime television.

Dan: Thank you for having me, Dr. Carney. Will there be a buffet?

Kerry: Perhaps later – after you’ve gone. May I call you Dr. Bob?

Dan: You may call me Dr. X.

Kerry: Why’s that?

Dan: In case there is any litigation; I want to remain anonymous.

Kerry: Is there anything at all you can tell us about yourself?

Dan: Sure. I was born at Bethany Hospital, Kansas City, Kansas, of poor but impoverished parents. It was a Wednesday morning about 10 as I recall …

Kerry: Uhh … Bob, could we fast-forward about 50 years or so – we’re running a little late. Your readers would like to know how you got started writing your column over 30 years ago.

Dan: Well, first I got some lined yellow paper. Came in a pad back then. Luckily, I already had a Ticonderoga H2 pencil left over from junior high school and a pocket knife to keep it sharp. I did a lot of erasing before I got my glasses, so I always had to have an eraser, preferably on the end of the pencil. Or you could …

Kerry: Sorry … I meant WHY you got started.

Dan: Short version?

Kerry: By all means! (looks at watch)

Dan: OK – in the late 1970s, a dental magazine offered a first prize of a free, expense-paid trip to Grand Cayman to the winner of a contest depicting some experience of the author’s choice. I submitted an account of my family’s six-year working holiday in Australia.

Kerry: And you won?

Dan: Yes.

Kerry: Why?

Dan: Who knows? I think my article was the only one submitted. The magazine later went out of business, hinting that I may have I abused the “all expenses paid” part of the prize. The California Dental Association Journal tried a similar stunt in the early ’80s.

Kerry: Stunt?

Dan: Yep, the new feature was called “Your Turn,” and dentists were invited to submit short articles on any subject of their choosing. Apparently that’s what editors do when they can’t think of anything else.

Kerry: And you won another trip?

Dan: No. But the editor at the time offered to put my name on the masthead as a “contributing editor.” I didn’t know what a masthead was, let alone a contributing editor, but it sounded impressive until I discovered it was a synonym for pro bono.

Kerry: It is impressive. My name is on it.

Dan: So are the janitorial staff and the guy who goes for coffee. Have you ever been offered a free trip to the Caribbean?

Kerry: Shall we move on? Where do you get your ideas for articles?

Dan: I steal them from reliable sources like National Enquirer, alter the facts, rearrange the paragraphs and aim for 900 words.

Kerry: Why only 900?

Dan: Because that’s the amount of space the advertising department left us.

Kerry: Has that been a problem for you?

Dan: Not at all. This is supposed to be a humor column. Dentistry is not a funny profession like coal mining or, say, landfill compacting, so the entire spectrum of dental humor can be covered in less than 200 words. The rest of the allotted space is filler and big cartoons.

Kerry: Did you ever try writing about anything other than dentistry?

Dan: Yes. I wrote a scientific treatise about bugs once.

Kerry: Was it well-received?

Dan: I got a “cease and desist” letter from the manufacturers of RAID. Then a coalition of bugs and entomologists wrote in saying they knew where I lived and would be right over.

Kerry: How many articles have you had published over the last 32 years?

Dan: If you mean original articles, four. The other 385 are minor variations of those with the assistance of cartoonists Dan Hubig and the late Charlie Hayward, who actually earned a living doing this sort of thing.

Kerry: How long do you think you can get away with this?

Dan: Indefinitely, although somebody at CDA made it harder by changing the feature name from “Your Turn” to “Dr. Bob.” I am Dr. X since a disclaimer appeared in the year 1994 after numerous complaints.

Kerry: What disclaimer? I don’t remember any disclaimer.

Dan: It was before your time, Kerry, like polyvinyl and automatic transmissions. The waiver stated: “Ed. Note: In an effort to quell recurring threats by lynch mobs and like-minded literary critics, the Journal issues this disclaimer: There is no such person as Robert E. Horseman. This is a nom de plume chosen by staff members who are forced to take turns writing this column each month as a condition of employment. Let us hope this puts the matter to rest.”

Kerry: Hmm – I’ve never been required to do that.

Dan: That’s because you’re the editor-in-chief. You can get into enough trouble on your own.

Kerry: Well, thank you, Dr. X, for this illuminating visit.

Dan: Thank YOU! Remember – this never happened. When do we eat?

Dr. Horseman is a friend, colleague, wonderful writer, and a treasure for the Journal, CDA, and the world of dentistry. I join our readership in hoping to be able to continue to enjoy the world from his point of view for a long time to come.

It’s Time to Say Goodbye

Jack Conley, DDS

February 2014

The above phrase has been utilized by this writer on two previous occasions on the pages of this publication in years past. It is time for me to bring it forth once again to salute an icon whose work has been immensely important to the Journal!

Dr. Bob Horseman’s column first appeared in the Journal in 1979, meaning that this is the 35th year, spanning part or all of five decades that we have had the opportunity to read the work of a man who will undoubtedly forever hold the title of dentistry’s finest humor writer.

I recall receiving inquiries from other dental editors back in the 80s commenting that they had unsuccessfully tried to run humor columns in their publications and expressed the hope that we could supply the formula that made Bob Horseman’s writing so successful with the Journal readership. I was never able to supply a good answer, except to comment that the colorful word pictures he creates with unusual names and storylines provide a brand of humor that doesn’t offend. Publication staff members have always said that he has his own special language.

To those who know him, Bob always has downplayed the achievement of his work. For example, in 1994 he was quoted as saying “There has not been a single recorded instance of dental humor since 1917.” We have also been asked, “How did you find Bob?” I certainly can’t take credit, as Bob started his run four years before I came on the scene as editor. It is fair to say Bob found the Journal. He served as a rotating contributing writer in a column entitled “Your Turn,” authoring three to four columns a year. When I became editor in 1983, I was faced with somewhat of a dilemma several months after I was appointed. Current readers who were active in CDA at the time will recall that CDA, then located in Los Angeles, by vote of its Board of Trustees, was about to relocate to Sacramento. I met with Cissie Cooper, who was then director of communications and sessions for CDA. She explained that the managing editor and assistant managing editor had decided not to move to Sacramento. Compounding that, the previous editor had departed five months prior, and the staff had been running the publication by utilizing everything in inventory. The only remaining item in inventory at that time was one Horseman column! Obviously, I would have my work cut out to solicit material. Cissie suggested that Dr. Horseman, whose columns had been very popular, might be recruited to contribute a column every month.

Soon after that meeting, I went to the journalism school at the University of Missouri in Columbia Mo., to attend an ADA New Editor’s Workshop. The first afternoon after lunch, our group of neophyte editors was stationed in a warm seminar room, with lights out and a carousel projector humming. Our instructor was a respected journalism professor. Every editor had previously been requested to send in sample copies of their publications for him to review. He would then evaluate everything from the layout of the journals, to the cover graphics and the editorial material. Then he would show the group a slide of one of these publication features and provide a critique of each.

About 30 minutes into the session, I was startled by a very directive question … “Who does this belong to?” As I recovered from a reduced level of consciousness induced by my lunch, I stared forward at the image projected on the screen. In the upper left corner of the screen there was a column heading that read “Your Turn.” At that moment, I realized that it was a page from the Journal. Somewhat timidly, I raised my hand in response to the question. Even in the relative darkness of the room, I could see him staring directly at me as he emphatically continued, “Don’t ever … I repeat, don’t ever let this writer get away from writing for your publication.”

Superlative descriptions on Bob Horseman’s column started to flow. “Is he a dentist the professor asked. Dentists typically can’t write with this skill!” He appeared even more in awe when I responded that yes, Bob Horseman was indeed a practicing general dentist. He then went on to describe the skill, styles and techniques that made this column a meritorious piece of journalism. I already knew that readers had recognized that Bob’s columns were special and in an outpouring of unreserved praise, a respected journalism professor had confirmed it. The Journal had a treasure who has continued to have no peer in the world of dental publications.

Bob’s writing has been special because his columns have often taken the everyday challenges of being a dentist, including the stresses, the requirements and regulations that govern our practices, and has infused them with wit and colorful characters. Where else can you find a cast of characters such as Dudley Krautzmeyer, Dr. Bobby Jo Fallopian, Verdegris Gruenstik, Raja Gigi or King Tooth, Waldo Braunsweiger, Derek Cudlipp, Dr. Sal Ammoniac or Wilfred Fish, to name a few? I am certain that characters like these have given many a dental colleague an emotional lift after a particularly difficult patient or a tempestuous day in the dental office.

It is important to note that there have been a few people who have helped Bob Horseman make “Dr. Bob” the institution that he is. I refer first and foremost specifically to the late Charlie O. Hayward who gave “Dr. Bob” and his band of characters a unique and colorful artistic presence for many years. Also, six outstanding managing editors during Bob’s tenure who have applied the finishing touches each month to his columns should be recognized.

Bob Horseman has achieved respect in our profession, not by numbers of meetings attended, by a list of positions held or by clinical techniques developed, but by impact of the written word. In person, he comes across as quiet and unassuming and is highly respected by those of us who know him. Despite the quiet demeanor that I have observed whereby he doesn’t particularly like to be in the public spotlight, he has demonstrated that he can rise to an occasion. Such was the case in 1990, when the San Francisco CDA meeting was dedicated to Bob in recognition of his prior contributions. While I was not present at the luncheon when he was honored, I heard from many individuals that Bob’s comments and humor at the podium that day outshone NBC TV personality Willard Scott who was the keynoter at that event.

Bob Horseman has made a unique and unselfish contribution to his profession through his long-term commitment to provide us with humor, particularly about things and themes that are either dental related or of interest to dentists. No one has done it better, and no one has probably ever done what he has done for so long. It has been a substantial time commitment to write his columns, particularly during the years when he had an active general dental practice. Over the years, his column has brought countless requests to the staff for reprint approval and testimonials from readers have attested to the esteem in which his contributions are held.

He’s entered his ninth decade according to my imperfect calculations, and he has decided that it is time to retire Those of us who have been responsible for developing a professional journal that provides a unique balance of material every month that has appeal to all of the readership, are particularly grateful to Bob.

It is often said that no matter how valuable a person is to his or her organization or cause, he or she can be replaced. However, in this case, Bob Horseman’s contribution has been unique and so longstanding, that we doubt that a replacement will ever wield a “pen” with the same unique skill.

Robert E. Horseman, we will all miss you. You are a “dentist journalist Extraordinaire!” Thank you for your unique and dedicated service to the Journal and to your profession.

We extend our best wishes for a fulfilling retirement.

Final Rest for a Legend in JCDA History – Robert E. Horseman, DDS

March 11, 1920 – May 13, 2023

By

Dan Jenkins, DDS, CDE-AADEJ

103 years plus a few months were how long this world was blessed by Dr. Bob’s existence among his fellow humans. It is said that the hyphen between the dates of our birth and death are our lives – the hyphen for Bob Horseman should be a very line-long one! Robert E. Horseman was born in Kansas and his family moved to California when he was 6 years old. His father had wanted to be a dentist himself. Bob fulfilled his father’s dream and more.

During his time during dental school at USC World War II was taking place and he joined the Naval Reserve. He also took flying lessons for fun. After graduation he worked as an associate in Whittier, CA waiting for his orders. A friend of his, a pilot in the Marine Corp, suggested he become a pilot in the Marine Corp. Bob said he switched to being a pilot with the Marine Corp as he thought they only flew in and out of airports – not off of or on to underway aircraft carriers. Eventually he learned that the Marine Corp pilots also had to learn to take off and land on aircraft carriers and then found himself on an aircraft carrier on his way toward Japan. Between California and Hawaii, the war ended and Bob decided to make a career out of dentistry and not as a US Marine Corp fighter pilot!

Bob said that 1947 was the best of his 100 years in his long life – he met and married Claire. Within the next few years their children, Julie, Jill, and Dr. Jeffrey arrived while Bob built up his dental practice in Whittier. In 1971, disenfranchised with the social changes of the 1960s in the US, Bob and Claire decided to move to Australia after attending the World Dental Conference in Brisbane in 1969. He set up a new practice and taught at the dental school there. Jeffrey graduated from the University of Western Australia dental school.

In 1976 a dentist friend in Whittier had back problems and asked Bob to return and take over his practice – so, ever-adventuresome Bob and Claire returned to Whittier.

After a time, Bob must have been looking for some extra money as he saw an advertisement for a writing contest in 1976 – he entered an article on Perth, Australia – and, he won! In 1981 he submitted an article to the JCDA. It was accepted and published. He said then, they asked for more; and those articles did not cease for almost 40 years. When they ceased it was much to the disappointment of the JCDA readership. Some members routinely sent those articles to friends who practiced outside of California at their request.

Doctor Robert Horseman’s articles were not just an article of humor. His comments of his thoughts not only educated many of us – they uplifted our spirits and relieved the pressures of practicing that only dentists know about. We all have missed his column of wit and wisdom since they ceased. But, some of those who had the honored privilege to meet and chat with him will always miss his words combined with his facial expression and the glint in his eyes when he hit his “punch line” of a story.

Many thousands of CDA members are appreciative to Dr. Horseman’s family for their sharing time the time on earth he spent working on his writing.

I wish to express my heartfelt condolences to Bob’s family in their loss of a true hero of a man in the military, a hero in dental health care, and a hero in publishing – I’m certain he was a hero of a family man as well.