Last week my friend Sharon drove out to the Dorothy Page Museum in Wasilla, Alaska and sent me these pictures. Within that museum is a recreation of my grandfather’s dental office. I didn’t actually have any pictures of this installment so it was a great thrill to receive these pictures.
The dedication (pictured above) reads as follows:
Dr Lee L. McKinley
Dedication
This re-creation of Dr. McKinley’s dental office in Butte is dedicated to his efforts in pioneering “Bush” dentistry and his selfless commitment to the people of Alaska.
For over 40 years “The Flying Dentist” faithfully practiced his profession throughout the entire state serving people from all walks of life. It has been said that Dr. McKinley would often render services free of charge for those who’s circumstances called upon his generosity.
In the early 1950’s, he was also instrumental in adopting legislation that limited the power of the State Dental Board thus allowing more dentists to practice in Alaska.
As a youth, Lee McKinley was one of four sons of an Arkansas meat peddler. It was his fathers faithful devotion to good will and hard work that would eventually create a solid foundation in each boy. Individually the boys sought public service in the fields of dentistry and medicine. All four have become professionals in their respective fields.
From this early beginning, Lee McKinley entered college on probation as he was without a high school diploma. Undaunted by the work that lay ahead, he pressed on to graduate and practice dentistry in Detroit in 1934.
By the mid-forties, Dr. McKinley and family became disenchanged with the city life. With his son Blake and another youngster, Dr. McKinley loaded up a Hudson pickup and started out for Alaska.
Thus began the illustrious service of Dr. Lee McKinley in Alaska.
We are honored to create a tribute to such a fine man that gave so much of himself to the people of Alaska.
(A complete history of Dr. McKinley is available through narrative and video tape in the museum archives)
And here’s a bonus photo of the Matanuska Valley from Wasilla
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This is my contribution to Candid Carrie’s Friday Foto Finish Fiesta
Several months before my Dad passed away, my parents moved from their giant 6 bedroom house with no view to a tiny 2 bedroom apartment with this view.
Last August we had a family reunion in this little apartment with Mom, Dad, 5 siblings, 2 spouses and a herd of grandkids. We repeated the reunion in October for Dad’s funeral. Both occasions I marveled at this view.
At times I was frustrated that the old giant house was sitting empty waiting for a buyer while we were packed like sardines in this tiny apartment. But mostly I was thankful. I was so thankful that my parents were able to find this little apartment close to the hospital and Dad’s work. I was thankful that my parents no longer had to worry about taking care of the old house and that they were not knocking around alone in that big empty space. I was thankful my brothers and I get along well enough we were able to enjoy hanging out in the apartment together. Mostly I was thankful that we even had the opportunity to spend this time together.
Looking at that view reminds me of a time in my life where I was acutely aware of enjoying this moment right now. Not looking forward to something in the future, not happily remembering something from the past. Now.
When my Grandfather moved to Alaska in the 40s, he needed to find a house big enough to hold his wife and seven children, and pronto. The Matanuska Valley had been colonized in the 30s as part of the New Deal. My Grandfather bought a nice little Colony House on a hefty bit of acreage from a family that just wasn’t able to cut it as colonists (nothing against that poor family, but winters in Alaska were probably a bit more than they had bargained for).
Then he set about expanding the house to make it big enough to fit his kids.
It turned out plenty big.
McKinley Farm
The picture above shows my Grandparents and mom with her brothers and sister. Notice the airplane out the window to the left. Grandpa was a dentist and he used that to commute to work in Anchorage. He would also fly out to the bush villages to treat the villagers, often for free.
The fireplace was built with river rocks. The second floor windows on either side of the chimney (below) were close enough to reach out and get a good toe hold on the chimney, yet far enough away that falling was a very real possibility. Of course, I know nothing of this because I would never consider sneaking out of the house.
The lower roof, right above the ground on the picture above, covered the cold room. Aside from being a dentist and a politician, my grandfather was also a very skillful butcher (that’s how he worked his way through college.) We didn’t just have a cooler for keeping meat, we had an entire 400+ square foot cold room. We didn’t mess around when it came to meat.
In my mind, the crowing jewel of this home was the swing set.
It was the reason my friends came to play at my house. And on hot summer days, we would drag a water hose to the top of the slide and turn it in to a water slide.
(That’s me in front with the braids)
My Dad took the following pictures from the top of the slide, then pasted them together. The two little buildings behind the van were very important as well. The white building was the chicken coop and the little log building beyond that was the pig pen.
I lived in that house for most of my childhood. It was a pain to clean, we lived in the delta between two glacier fed rivers so the fine dust of glacier silt was always passing through the walls. Vacuuming and dusting were never ending chores. As was mowing the lawn.
And lest you think it was a mansion of some kind, I want to be clear that the bedroom walls were plywood, and we woke up many times to find frost on the inside of our bedroom walls. Oh, and the roof leaked so much when it rained or the snow melted that walking down the hall was an obstacle course of buckets and drips. I miss that house.
My family sold the house a few years back and since then it has fallen into disrepair. It looks so sad now.
The men outnumber the women in Alaska by something like 2:1, so you’d think the odds of finding a good man were pretty good. I had to move to Washington to find a good man. Women in Alaska have a saying about finding a man: “The odds are good, but the goods are odd.”
Am I biased against Alaskan men? No, some of my favorite men, including my 4 brothers, are from Alaska. But I will be the first to tell you that they are truly odd.
My brothers, Alex and Tim, are stranded somewhere in the middle of nowhere Canada.
They left Alaska Thursday morning in a U-Haul vacuum packed with my Mother’s possessions and headed South to the Seattle area. The trip can be made in three days if you have two drivers and don’t stop to sleep. That is also provided you are driving a vehicle that has been maintained a little better than a U-Haul.
This little adventure has netted the boys so far (on separate occasions): brake lights out, engine light on, lost power, fuel line failure, lost second gear, RPMs won’t go over 200. Responses from U-Haul have included repeatedly hanging up on the boys and one assistant manager stating that U-Haul doesnt pay him enough to drive out there with a new rig to swap them out. They did finally send a tow truck so now I’m hoping they’ll get moving in the right direction.
Apparently we’re not the only one to have trouble with U-Haul. A quick google search came up with a list of sites like this:
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The dedication (pictured above) reads as follows:
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