by Mike Mahan
The sheep’s head was tame compared to the pickled maggots we had one time or some kind of insects that resembled limousine roaches. I would try anything, and to this day I will eat what is put before me and eaten by others, no questions asked.
I loved visiting Sam in Oakland, not far from Tampa, Florida, where he had his permanent home. Uncle was often there, even when his wife was still alive and staying in Miami to be near her children. After her death early in my tenure with Uncle and Sam, Uncle lived primarily at Sam’s home. In Oakland, I would often help with chores related to food preparation. They loved to make guava jelly, and I would help them cook it and put it up in pint jars. When I went there at Christmas, I was pressed into service harvesting oranges and grapefruit in their large backyard. We would put them in crates and ship them to family members, friends, and organ customers. Uncle would send me up the ladder to pick the fruit, and he would sit in a metal glider below the tree and have me toss the fruit down to him. He would throw up his hands and catch the fruit as deftly as a professional baseball player. One day I picked a rotten grapefruit from the tree, and I can’t say why but I was suddenly possessed by the devil. Rather than throw it away, I threw it with more force than necessary down to Uncle, and when he caught it, it exploded all over him. I immediately was sorry I had done it, knowing that Uncle could have a terrible temper. I held my breath for his reaction. He said, “Goddamnit, Michel, if I had been in the tree and you on the ground, I’d have done the same thing.” Now, there is one prince of a man, I thought.
Both Uncle and Sam loved great restaurants, and they spared no expense in getting the best food, especially in large cities like Savannah, Atlanta, and Gainesville. In the early fifties when I was driving for Uncle, we left Montevallo about mid-afternoon headed for Tallahassee, Florida. We hadn’t gone but a few miles past Montgomery when Uncle crossed his arms over his massive stomach and promptly went to sleep. After a bit he fell into his usual rhythm of sleep sounds, blowing air out of his mouth with a poof, puff, puh . . . poof, puff, puh. At sundown, just as we were going across the ridge into Troy, Alabama, Uncle woke up. As usual he rubbed his eyes and asked, “Goddamnit, Michel, where are we?”
“Troy,” I answered.
“Have you ever eaten at Antoine’s in New Orleans?” he asked abruptly.
“No, sir,” I answered, knowing what he had in mind. He was willing to drive way out of his way for a good meal, and I had heard him sing the praises of Antoine’s many times.
“Get out the map,” he said.
“But, Uncle Chick,” I said, “that’s a long way and we have to meet Sam in Tallahassee tomorrow.”
“Goddamnit, Michel, I don’t need to be reminded of that. But we’ve got time. We can make it. Turn this car toward New Orleans. We gonna eat at Antoine’s.”
And I obeyed, getting us into the Crescent City about 3:00 in the morning. We checked into the Monteleone, and I fell out exhausted. We pulled ourselves out of bed in time to go to lunch, and what a lunch: oysters Rockefeller, trout marguerie, bread pudding with whiskey sauce, the whole works. It was worth the effort. Then it was off again to Tallahassee. We arrived almost a day late, but Sam had taken care of whatever needed to be done there.
Sam and Uncle did not mind spending big bucks on food, but the rule of the road was order anything you want but you have to eat all of it. Once at the Floridian Hotel in Gainesville we ordered jumbo fried shrimp and all the extras, and try all I could, I could not eat the final shrimp on my plate. The next day I left with Sam for a job in Savannah, and when we checked into the DeSoto Hotel I had a package waiting for me. Uncle had packaged up that uneaten shrimp and sent it with the message, “Goddamnit, Michel, eat your shrimp.” I wrapped it right back up and mailed it back to him. That began the mailing back and forth of that shrimp for the entire summer. But it was never mentioned afterwards.
For over six years, I worked for Uncle and Sam, often living with Sam and his family. I became so proficient in the organ business that I thought I’d make it my profession, and I became Sam’s bound apprentice. When I started to Auburn, Uncle suggested that I major in engineering, which would be quite useful to me in the organ business. After struggling two quarters with the math courses, I shifted to music, and Uncle said he reckoned that would have to do. I enjoyed my time in the music department, holding a band/work fellowship that paid tuition in exchange for work for band director Dave Herbert, along with other duties. I also played with the Auburn marching band, the concert band, and the ROTC band. As I neared graduation, Sam came to me and offered me the entire territory north of Dothan, Alabama, but I had become so intrigued with the idea of being a concert bass player that I turned him down. It made him very angry, and for several years he did not speak to me.
After my ill-fated trip to Cincinnati and my conclusion that my career would not be in music, I had to face the same thing about the organ business. By then Uncle had died and Sam had retired, and large organs at theaters and other public places were a passing thing. The work was just not going to be there. But I must say that I have never regretted that time I spent with Uncle and Sam. My interest in the organ has certainly remained. In 1967, I was reading ads in the Birmingham News when I saw an ad for a used pipe organ in Selma at the Presbyterian church. I called about it and found it was an original E. M. Skinner installed in 1923, and when I saw this jewel I knew that it would be perfect for my church, the First Methodist Church of Montevallo. The church bought it. It needed a great deal of work, and with my growing dental practice I did not have time to restore it. Although Sam and I had been estranged since I turned down his job offer, I decided to call him to see if we could get him to restore the organ. Without hesitation, he said yes, and he came to Montevallo and did the job, staying with Linda and me on and off for over a year. After that, he returned to Montevallo for an annual visit. Sam died around 2000, but I still communicate with his son Johnny about once a year. Some tie to these vital people in my life has seemed necessary to me.
The demands of my profession of dentistry have not allowed me to use much the skills Chick and Sam taught me. But since I worked those years with them, very few days have passed that I have not thought of one or the other of them, and I am convinced that the skills and values they taught me can be seen in how I respect my tools, in how I attend to minute details in order to achieve quality work, and in the respect I have for those I serve. All of that came from Uncle and Sam.
Afterword
After receiving my bachelor’s degree in music education in 1956 and having realized that the two career avenues I had expected to follow, one music and the other organ building, were no longer realistic choices, I faced the challenge of deciding what course my life would take. In August of that year I married Carol Clark, a fellow Auburn band member, and we returned to Montevallo, moving into an apartment in the basement of my parents’ home on Shelby Street. In 1957, my daughter Miki was conceived and born. Unfortunately, the marriage to Carol didn’t last, and Mother and I took on the responsibility of helping to raise Miki.
Ralph Sears, who gave me a job in the Public Relations Department at Alabama College, generously allowed me to take courses while working, and I found myself moving away from the arts, filling in science courses I had not taken at Auburn. I was especially encouraged by Dr. Paul Bailey, head of the biology department, and I received a second B.S. degree in biology and chemistry. Later, Dr. Bailey, who headed the College’s summer science institute, arranged for me to take master’s degree courses in those summer institutes, and I received my master’s in biology and chemistry in 1961. I was now ready, I thought, to go job hunting.
Dr. L. C. “Foots” Parnell, an OB/GYN who had grown up in Montevallo, suggested that I consider a career in drug sales, and later he recommended me to Upjohn Drug Company. I applied, and they flew me to Atlanta for an interview—my first time to fly. They offered me a job, which I readily accepted, and I moved to Columbus, Georgia, c
alling on drug stores, doctors, and dentists in western Georgia and eastern Alabama. I worked very hard at the job and won awards for my sales. Among those I called on was a successful older dentist in the small town of Roanoke, Alabama. For the first time I found myself greatly attracted to dentistry as a vocation.
Arriving in Columbus, Georgia, I immediately joined the Columbus Symphony, and at the first fall rehearsal I found myself sitting across from a beautiful brunette who played violin. This was Linda.
The year of 1962 would hands-down be the most important of my life, both professionally and personally. On February 20, 1962, I had an epiphany. I was riding down the highway toward Opelika, Alabama, listening excitedly to the big news of that day: John Glenn was orbiting the Earth. I stopped on a hill and listened to every word about this important event. What an achievement, I thought, and it came to me that I too could do something greater with my life. I knew without a doubt I did not want a career as a drug representative, and with equal clarity I knew that I did want a life as a dentist. I turned the car around immediately and drove back to a pay phone at the Dairy Queen in Opelika. I got the number of the University of Alabama Dental School in Birmingham from information and excitedly deposited my coins and dialed. I was directed to the registrar, Mrs. Bridges, and I asked if I could come and talk to her about going to dental school. She agreed, and I told her I’d be there in three hours.
Carol Clark Mahan in 1956. A majorette at Auburn, my first wife, and Miki’s mother.
On arrival, I was directed to Mrs. Bridges’s office. She asked about my background and said that I seemed to have the proper pre-dental studies. Then she asked if I had taken the National Dental Aptitude Exam, which I had not. I asked when it would be given, and she said the following Saturday. I said I wanted to sign up, and she said that it was too late, that the forms had been submitted for all applicants along with a $25 exam fee. I asked if she could call and see if I could be added to the list. She replied that she had never done it before, but she would give it a shot. She called them and they said, “Yes, sign him up,” and I sent the fee.
Mrs. Bridges suggested that I also might go see the head of the admissions committee, who I later found out was called “Happy Jack” Clapper, as he never smiled. He was not at all impressed with me. In fact, he told me that he didn’t think I had what it took to go to dental school or to be a dentist. I told him that I didn’t know whether I would go to the dental school at the University of Alabama, but I was determined to go somewhere. Later Mrs. Bridges gave me a list of dental schools in the country, and Linda helped me get out application letters to a number of schools, including Harvard, Tufts, Tennessee, Emory, and Meharry. In those days, all applications required a photo, and I received a very nice letter from the admissions officer at Meharry saying perhaps I was not familiar with the fact that they were a black dental school.
I took the exam on a Saturday morning and was told to expect results in two weeks. After a week Mrs. Bridges called and asked if I could meet with the admissions committee on the following Wednesday afternoon. I took that to be a good sign. I arrived dressed very professionally and was escorted to a very sterile room. I sat down before at least ten committee members. After asking generally about why I wanted to be a dentist, they asked me about my job at Upjohn. One person asked me to talk about one drug that I was now detailing, and I chose to speak about a new drug called Monase because I had just read up on it and had memorized the information for my sales spiel. Without a shred of a note, I detailed the drug fully for the group, and I must say they seemed impressed. The only other question they had was about how I would pay for my dental studies. Without knowing for sure, I said confidently that I would borrow the money for the first year from Central State Bank in Calera, which in the end I actually did.
In the living room of Linda’s parents’ Sylvania, Georgia, home, on September 1, 1962, when Linda Chambers and I were married, witnessed by Sandra Lowe as matron of honor and my dad as best man. Reverend Jim Summerford performed the ceremony.
The confidence I felt on leaving that meeting was soon validated when I received a letter from the Alabama School of Dentistry. I was very nervous about opening the letter so I waited for Linda to get home from teaching music in the public schools of Columbus. She opened it and found I was admitted to the program. I told Upjohn I would be leaving, and they generously let me continue to work that summer.
The other reason 1962 was a pivotal year for me was that Linda, although she didn’t literally ask me to marry her, said that if our relationship was to continue it must include a marriage ceremony. That summer she was working at Brevard Music Center, and I went up early in the summer and agreed to her proposal. The next thing I knew the wedding date was set. I returned to Brevard several times that summer, including three days before camp ended and five days before our wedding. We packed up Linda’s Simca and headed back to Sylvania, Georgia, where her parents, a public school principal and a librarian, lived. The car broke down on the way to her home, and we had to spend the night on the road. When Linda called her mother, she said it was okay but added, “I hope you have separate rooms.”
After the “I do’s” were over on September 1, 1962, we spent our honeymoon night at the Holiday Inn in Macon, Georgia. On Sunday, September 2, we stopped in Columbus and loaded all of our possessions in Miki II, a boat I owned. We arrived in Birmingham that night in the Upjohn company car, pulling the loaded boat. We moved our things into a new student housing unit on the UAB campus that would be our home for four years. Monday, September 3, was Labor Day, and on Tuesday, September 4, I entered dental school.
That summer Linda had gotten a job teaching strings for the Jefferson County school system making $261 a month. Our rent was $70 a month so we had to learn quickly how to live very frugally. If it hadn’t been for my mother, dad, and sister, we probably would have starved. Each Sunday afternoon we picked up or they delivered manna from Mother.
In 1964, while I was in my junior year of dental school, we bought Montebrier from Ruby Lee Latham, but it was not suitable to live in until we finished renovating it in August of 1966. It needed lots of work, and I obtained a loan from Merchants and Planters Bank in 1965 to begin restoring and renovating. We lived on Shelby Street with my parents for a month before the work was completed.
In 1966, I began my dental practice in the Medical Arts Building on Salem Road in Montevallo. Birmingham Trust was known for lending money to doctors and dentists getting established, and I borrowed my start-up money from them. I remained in this office for years, though my dream was to have an office on the banks of Mahan Creek. I finally began building there in 1976. Along with a friend, Ward Tishler, I went to Tennessee to scout out log cabins to incorporate into the new building. Near Sneedville, I found the Mahan cabin, which was built in the 1700s by my great-great-great uncle. That became the center of the Mahan Creek Dental Arts Building in Brierfield. I continued to practice half-time in Montevallo and half-time in Brierfield for a number of years, finally moving full-time to Brierfield. On March 3, 2006, the office caught fire, but luckily much of the log cabin was not destroyed.
Dentistry in the Yucatan. First came the kids, then the women and mothers, and if they did o.k., the men and fathers gathered their courage and walked up. Linda is on the left wearing a white coat, and I am kneeling in the center.
In establishing myself as a dentist in my hometown, I had several objectives. Most importantly, I wanted to provide state-of-the-art dentistry to my patients. To do that I knew that I would need to keep up with changes in the profession. Although I joined a number of professional organizations, two were the most important. Delta Sigma Delta International Dental Fraternity offered numerous opportunities for learning and serving, and in 1984 I was designated as Supreme Grand Master, the chief executive officer of the international organization. There, I co-founded the special projects committee, which sent undergraduates to work with Mayan Indians in Mexico
. I myself did dental work with the Mayans in Yucatan from 1976–84.
The other organization that has provided me many opportunities for professional development has been the Pankey Institute, founded forty years ago. I have served in its mentor program since 1998.
As a dentist in Montevallo, I did not wish to limit myself to my professional endeavors. I wanted to be a fully participating member of the community, just as my father had been. Like him, I focused on working in fire suppression and prevention. I became a volunteer fireman in 1956, and I served as fire chief 1971–91. As with dentistry, I joined firemen’s local and national associations to learn all I could to help protect lives and property in our town. For most of my life, I have also been an active member of the First United Methodist Church, serving on the administrative council and working with the music program.
Music has in many ways always been my greatest love. When Linda and I came to Birmingham, we both played in the Birmingham Symphony. Later, Linda was a founding member of the Red Mountain Chamber Orchestra, and subsequently I joined it. We were members until 2011. Much of my musical activity, however, has related to Dixieland, ragtime, and jazz, and I have played with several groups, most recently with Chuck King and Friends. I feel fortunate to have been able to support many worthy causes in the area through my music.
Another great passion has been history. I have served on the boards of local, state, and national organizations and was particularly active as a member of the Alabama Historical Commission from 1984–2004, serving as its chairman in 1992. I received a gubernatorial appointment to the Alabama Historic Ironworks Commission, which manages the Brierfield and Tannehill Ironworks Historical State Parks. I have also served on the Cahaba Trace Commission. Since 1968, I have participated in Civil War reenactment activities. Linda and I were named charter co-chairmen of the Live-in-a-Landmark Council of Alabama in 1975. My love of old houses led me to participate in national work with the National Trust for Historical Preservation and the Historic House Association of America.