September 10, 2008

Rudy and the Dentist

2008 1525 page24 capY ANY MEASURE RUDY WAS OUTLANDISH. Although he dwelt in hippie territory, his uniqueness made it impossible to classify him as a member of any subculture. In the summer of 1970 Rudy had recently been discharged from the military, in which he served in Vietnam as a Green Beret, an elite group trained in reconnaissance, wilderness survival, and eluding the enemy far inside their lines.
 
Taciturn, sullen, reclusive, Rudy dwelt in a remote hollow tucked deep amid the coastal woods of northern Humboldt County, California. He had no neighbors for at least a mile in any direction, and no one knew exactly where his camouflaged hut was situated.
 
Unbelievable
Rudy made occasional forays into town in a rickety old pickup truck. Once when he spotted me hitchhiking, he stopped, and without looking at me, gruffly said, “Ride.” I couldn’t tell whether it was a command or an offer. Either way, I gratefully jumped into the passenger seat—until I saw how drunk he was. The alcohol fumes in the cab and the almost empty bottle of applejack by his side unnerved me. His erratic driving frightened me as he swerved from side to side on a winding two-lane road. When he seemed about to fall asleep at the wheel, I started talking, too loud, no doubt, to help keep him awake.
 
Rudy turned his head toward me for a moment. His deep-set eyes were almost hidden under his heavy, broad brow.
 
2008 1525 page24“Are you nervous about my driving?”
 
Untruthfully I answered, “No, but I thought you might be a bit drowsy, and a little conversation might help.”
 
“You want to get out,” he stated as a fact.
 
“Yes, I’d like to walk for a while,” I said. “It’s a beautiful day.”
 
Rudy put on a burst of speed. Terror shot through my veins. Moments later, when he sharply pulled into a wide turnout, I could hardly have been more relieved. I opened the passenger door and jumped out with backpack in hand. Rudy also got out, and with a howl smashed his wine bottle on the edge of the driver’s door. As he swung the jagged half of the bottle in his hand, I was certain he would attack me. But before I could run he flung the bottle to the ground, sprang back into the vehicle, and roared off.
 
That was my closest contact with Rudy, although I saw him at some hippie gatherings on rare occasions, where his bizarre behavior was cautiously endured. Even the burliest of hippies with sheathed hunting knives on their belts dared not tackle Rudy, fearing his reputed mastery of several martial arts and other exotic combat techniques.
 
Unforgettable
Not long after my nerve-racking encounter with Rudy, I went to a dentist in Garberville, California, for relief from some unendurable toothaches. Every molar in my head was decayed to the roots. Despite my lack of money, Dr. Frank Earl accepted me as a patient. He and his wife, Evelyn, eventually led me to Christ through their friendship, instruction, and practical aid, all extended without any hint of condescension. Their gracious ways won dozens of hippies, whom they called “hill children,” to Christ and church membership, two of whom became Adventist ministers. I’m one of them.
 
One day Rudy came unannounced into Frank’s dental office. He tersely stated why he was there and said he had no money for a down payment, but that he eventually would. Meanwhile, his teeth were hurting him severely. Through the intercession of Evelyn, the doctor’s receptionist and dental assistant, Dr. Earl saw Rudy. But the odor that came from Rudy’s unwashed body and clothing as he sat in the dental chair sent Frank reeling.
 
Nevertheless, Frank asked Rudy to open his mouth for an examination. One look into Rudy’s cavernous mouth sent the doctor from the room. He leaned over the sink in his laboratory, retching. Evelyn rushed to his side and gently asked, “Frank, what’s wrong?”
 
“His mouth,” Frank gasped. “His teeth are green, with a thick mossy coating; the smell is horrible. I can’t work on that boy.”
 
“Frank, sit down awhile,” Evelyn said. “I’ll see what I can do.”
 
He slumped into a chair and she went back to where Rudy sat still and glum.
 
“Rudy,” she said, “before the doctor can do an examination, you’ll have to brush your teeth. May I show you a technique for cleaning them?”
 
Rudy grunted and slid his bony frame from the chair. He followed her to a sink, where she gave him a fresh toothbrush and a tube of toothpaste. After she demonstrated what to do, Rudy silently brushed his teeth for about five minutes and went back to the chair. “Let’s see,” said Evelyn. “That’s fine. The doctor will see you in a few minutes.”
 
By now Frank had rallied his strength. He started probing around in Rudy’s mouth, but still had to contend with waves of nausea. He wished for all the world that he didn’t have to work on Rudy. Sensing the doctor’s disgust, Rudy abruptly sat up. He pulled a greasy sheet of folded paper from his shirt pocket, thrust it at the doctor, and said, “Read this.” Frank opened the paper and read:
 
“To Whom It May Concern:
 
“This is to introduce you to my son, Rudy. He is a young man with special challenges and needs. If the reader of this note, whether physician, lawyer, mechanic, or anyone else in service, will kindly meet his needs, I shall promptly pay your customary fees for all necessary services. Please call me collect to inform me of what services you intend for him, and your preferred method of payment.
 
“Sincerely,
 
“Solomon ———, Esq.
 
“Address and telephone number”
 
Frank said, “Excuse me, Rudy,” and left the room. Again he found himself leaning over his laboratory sink, only this time he wept.
 
“What is it, dear?” his wife asked, putting her hand on his shoulder. Silently he handed her the note. She read it.
 
“Are you able to go back in now, Frank?”
 
“Yes. That boy has a father who loves him. How can I turn him away?”
 
Evelyn pressed his hand. She photocopied the letter, and the doctor gently handed it back to Rudy. Over the next several months, Frank did all the restorative work necessary for his unusual patient.
 
True to his word, Rudy’s father promptly paid in full for his son’s dental care. Rudy’s total abstinence from bathing continued to present a challenge. But recognizing Frank’s change of feeling toward him, Rudy opened up more and more. He began to ask questions about health and spiritual truth. He showed a gratitude and gentleness of spirit to the Earls that none of us hippies had ever seen in him, for he had never seen any compassion from us.
 
Amazing Grace
I don’t know what happened to Rudy. But what happened to Dr. Earl as a result of meeting Rudy influenced him for the rest of his life to be a more humble, willing servant of God.
 
The God who set demoniacs free, who healed souls “vexed with evil spirits,” who bound up the wounds of people mortally struck by the calamities of life, is the same yesterday, today, and forever.
 
Rudy—repulsive, reckless, wretched, and perhaps more than slightly deranged—had a father whose love and care for him never failed. We, too—wretched, miserable, poor, blind, and naked, yes, and repulsive—have a heavenly Father by whose love we are ransomed, forgiven, healed, restored. And this blessing is freely extended to all, from the least to the greatest.
 
This world is full of wounded and isolated Rudys, some of whom are impeccably dressed in business suits and others in rags, or less. God is not silent or indifferent to anyone. Our heavenly Father has written to all humanity a series of letters, anthologized in one volume, whose constant undersong is “Turn to me and be saved, all the ends of the earth! For 
I am God, and there is no other” (Isa. 45:22).* And Jesus said: “Anyone who comes to me I will never drive away” (John 6:37).
 
Praise the Lord for His infinite mercy and love. “See what love the Father has given us, that we should be called children of God” (1 John 3:1)!
 
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*Bible texts in this article are from the New Revised Standard Version 
of the Bible, copyright ” 1989 by the Division of Christian Education of the National Council of the Churches of Christ in the U.S.A. Used by permission.
 
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Brian D. Jones is communication coordinator for the Mountain View Conference. He also pastors the Adventist church in Wheeling, West Virginia.

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