The Dirty Fingers of Street Dentists

Chris Gratien, Georgetown University

A dental procedure from 15th century an Ottoman surgery manual Şerefeddin Sabuncuoğlu. Of course, there is a wide gap between the 15th and 19th centuries, but from the looks of this image, the comfort factor for street dentists patients might have been similar.

BOA, ZB 603/19 (18 May 1325)

It was May of 1909, and the Ottoman Empire had just implemented its second constitution, ushering in a new era of liberty and progress. The new government busied itself with many reforms, including in the area of public health. This document concerns one such reform: the banning of street dentists.

An arzuhal coming from a person whose name is hard to read but looks like "Marklavyora" requested that the Ottoman government put an end to the longstanding practice of street dentistry in Istanbul. The report from the local police department states what might seem like the obvious perils of seeking the assistance of open air dentists who "roam around in the markets pulling teeth and giving treatments" to patients in the middle of the street. Not only were street dentists "exposed to dust and dirt in the street, spreading disease as they put their fingers and the forceps in their hands into everyone's mouth without cleaning them (parmaklarını ve elindeki kertepeni bila tathir her kesin ağzına ithal ile telkih-i emraz etmekte)", but they were blocking the flow of traffic. Thus, in the name of maintaining public health and safety, this practice was absolutely forbidden once and for all.

OTTOMAN DENTISTRY UPDATE - 24 JULY 2014

Recently, I came across a short account of a tooth-pulling in the Ottoman Empire, and as I could scarcely find reason to publish a second article on street dentists in the blog, I decided to append it to this original post. The account comes from W.J. Childs, a British man who traveled across Central Anatolia by foot on the eve of the First World War. The following scene took place in the small frontier town of Hamidiye (modern-day Ceyhan) in the eastern portion of the Çukurova plain in the Adana province. Childs had been traveling east from Adana with the British Consul in order to see the progress of German construction on the Baghdad railway and in particular, a large tunnel being constructed in the Amanus Mountains. They were held up in the town of Hamidiye due to severe spring rains that made conditions too miserable to continue forward. As they passed the time in the damp and darkness of the small town, they were met by an unexpected visitor:

"While I was on the balcony the same afternoon a man came across the khan-yard, walking with dignity and indifference to the rain, as one conscious of importance, conscious also of being watched. He wore a red fez and long black buttoned-up boat, into the pockets of which his hands were thrust; on his feet were heavy shoes that could be slipped off and on like clogs. He climbed the steps, and as he drew near scrutinised me narrowly, and asked if I was the English Consul.

His manner was deliberate and consequential when I said I was not, and asked what he wanted. He replied that he had come to draw a tooth for the Consul, and with professional pride swung one hand out of his pocket and displayed an instrument that I eyed with respect, though scarcely able to refrain from laughter. It was a pair of dental forceps, a foot long, heavy, rusty, dirty; with a similar instrument I had once seen a native horse-doctor wrench a tooth out of a horse’s jaw. I had heard of no proposal to call a dentist; indeed my friend was lustily singing “Widdicombe Fair” at this moment, and making the khan re-echo with the doings of “Old Uncle Tom Cobley and all”; and I told the dentist he had made a mistake. But he was certain been sent for to draw the Consul’s tooth; and to come through the rain on such a rare mission and then find himself the victim of a mistake was more disappointment than he could express.
And then I remembered that Ibrahim [their kavass] had complained of toothache, though making light of any such small thing, as became a kavass. He was called, and at the sight of his swollen face the dentist’s eyes gleamed, though there was still regret that the Consul was not the sufferer. A group of interested spectators soon gathered to watch the operation now to take place. Ibrahim was placed on a low stool on the balcony; the dentist spent some time in making sure of the right tooth; this matter satisfactorily settled, he struck an attitude, holding himself a little way from the patient. Suddenly he flourished his instrument, executed a sort of rush upon Ibrahim’s mouth, and before I thought he had got a hold flung the tooth on the floor with an inimitable gesture of skillful completion. If the instrument might have been better, nothing was wanting in expertness and strength and on the part of the operator." - W.J. Childs, Across Asia Minor on Foot, page 367

This account does nothing to contradict the prejudices of his contemporaries in Istanbul towards the hygiene of Ottoman street dentists. However, lost in the description we had taken from the original Ottoman document in this post was the artful craft of these pioneers of dentistry.

filth

fingers