I was driving in from Iowa heading to set up for the Switchback concert at FitzGerald’s nightclub in Berwyn, Illinois. The GPS alerted me to traffic on the interstate and said “I could save 11 minutes” by taking Roosevelt Road. Getting on to Roosevelt Road brought me right to the village of Westchester. And right past the dental office my dad worked at for over 50 years of his life.
I hadn’t been down this stretch of road in a long time, but I was surprised that the building my dad had the office hadn’t changed much. The sign was still there and of course, some other dentist’s name was on it. And I can only imagine that everything inside has been remodeled, upgraded and modernized from what existed when I would drive in with him from Woodstock to help assist occasionally by making silver amalgams and the like. My dad did a 140 round trip commute and would leave Woodstock early in the morning and would return later in the evening. He went through at least five cars I can think of during his time running his dental practice. My mother wanted him to move his practice, first to Wyoming and then at least to Woodstock. For a while he had a small practice there, set up too late in his career to really be viable. The truth is, my dad realized that he couldn’t leave where his practice was because the practice was vital to keeping all of us clothed, schooled and fed.
So as I drove past yesterday, I realized that his life made my life possible. I was driving from a show in Iowa, doing what I love to another show in Illinois in which I would have an audience come see me doing what I love. And what made it possible was the very nondescript, dull, 1950’s style building that was a tooth-mine in which my dad wearily toiled for decades.
He was great to his patients. My mother was irate that he wouldn’t increase his prices, but my dad was the sort of person who came from the Depression. How could he increase his prices for the same sort of working people that were his parents? It was something he compensated for by working longer hours with more patients. And, in doing so, that also affected his time around our family. It was a Catch 22 that I couldn’t fault him for. Driving past that building, with its low, flat roof and windows that gazed out onto busy and somewhat ugly Roosevelt Road with its mottled shops and muddled business signs must have felt more like a sentence and less a joyful choice. But it was a choice he made. As I drove past this time, I visualized a flow of finances that came out of that building and allowed me to go to college and pursue my musical career. And it was not only me but all nine of my siblings that benefited from his tireless effort working from that building.
A dull, nondescript professional building with overgrown yew bushes and non-stop traffic that roars by.
I felt sad as the insignificance of the building betrays the big sacrifice that my dad made for our family. A big sign, a historical marker of some sorts should be there, noting that Joseph McCormack spent years in this building, in the pursuit of raising a large family. That not only did he do that, but he was the local dentist that folks trusted and appreciated as he was fair. He was known as “painless Joe McCormack” because he was that good as a dentist. The sign would also have to say how he drove millions of miles in all weather. That his demeanor was humble, accepting of his decision to be a good dentist and a father.
It is fitting that my dad toiled out of a very nondescript, professional office building. His efforts gave me the freedom to do what I love to do. It is already a memorial to an amazing sacrifice to a man who led a bittersweet life. Who lived long enough to see and know that his sacrifice, his gamble did pay off. And, his sacrifice, like so many other fathers who have done the same, lives on in his children and grandchildren’s privileged lives. Maybe I need to drive this way a bit more often to nod in respect to the man who gave it all for me.
READ MARTIN’S OTHER BLOG HERE.