It’s the middle 1930s and I’m a patient in a dentist’s chair in Philadelphia. The tools of that day are primitive. I’m not at all sure about the dentist, Dr. Larry. He’s my mother’s sister’s boyfriend. Not sure if this visit is a freebie, but I’m the guinea pig.

My father and young Doctor Larry are standing beside the chair in which I’m seated. There’s a window opposite my chair that overlooks a busy avenue. A shade is drawn half-way but I can still see what’s going on outside. My father and the doc cannot see what I see because they’re way too tall to see the sights beyond the drawn shade.

I’m a seven-year-old kid, cowering in the dentist’s chair. I am terrified. Doctor Larry reassures me that "this won’t hurt," but nothing he can say will allay my fears.

What these two big guys don’t understand is that my fear is not of the dental play-toys, but of what I see through the window -- from my little kid point of view.

What I see across the street is the 30-foot granite wall of Eastern Penitentiary. Atop this wall is a gun tower with two prison guards armed with long guns.

Remember, this is the Thirties and gangsters are running rampant all over our country. The movies mirror society and I’m imagining the likes of George Raft, Humphrey Bogart and Broderick Crawford scampering over the walls and holding gunfights from within Doctor Larry’s office.

To this day I’m a ’fraidy-cat when it comes to the dentist. Almost every day I hear Bill Benton on the radio talking about a dentist and Bill guarantees: "He will not hurt you!" Every day I’m trying to muster up enough courage to give this painless dentist guy a try.