How my father, Fort Worth’s ‘celebrity’ pediatric dentist, made his office a family
As a kid, I didn’t know people dreaded the dentist.
Everyone I knew loved my dad, pediatric dentist Bruce Weiner. Everywhere we went, we’d run into eager kids who’d scream “THERE’S DOCTOR WEINERRRRRR” — as they ran across Albertson’s, Angelo’s or Six Flags to hug him.
I thought my father was a celebrity. I still think he is — in Fort Worth, at least.
His office is a magical place where three generations of Fort Worth’s children and staff got more than dental care. There are lessons in the way my father ran his office — on hard work and saving; treating everyone with dignity; and creating shared experiences.
In 1977, my dad opened his practice across from Hulen Mall. He worked six-day weeks and traveled the city, to educate and spread the word. One of my earliest memories is sitting in the packed cafeteria at Mary Louise Phillips elementary, beaming as he demonstrated proper brushing with an oversized toothbrush.
Early on, the office was a family affair. My journalist-mom was the receptionist; my brother and I were put to work sterilizing instruments, setting up trays, and later, developing X-rays.
“I think I made more money babysitting, as far as cash flow, but from a young age he was teaching us to save for the future,” my brother, Mark Weiner, recalled.
We weren’t the only ones who grew up there. Loyal staffers stayed for decades, learning and living through hardship and joy, together.
In April, as my adult home, Queens, became the epicenter of the pandemic, my dad called to say he was retiring. On top of new safety protocols, he said, “I just can’t imagine not being able to hug or high-five my patients.”
COVID took lives and livelihoods, but it also robbed us of celebrations.
“I didn’t have a dad growing up,” Leticia Ortega said. “When I started working for your dad [in 1998], he taught me so many little things a father would teach a daughter.
“He’s the reason I got my first passport,” she continued, recalling yearly staff trips to Jamaica and Mexico, that — along with happy hours, parties, and communication seminars — contributed to a feeling of family.
“We could really talk to him,” said Sherry Reaves, his longest-tenured employee, dating to 1983. “I could say, ‘You’re being a real [expletive] today.’ And he’d go, ‘Am I?’... In a family, you can tell people what you really think without being disowned.”
For her 20th work anniversary, the boss sent Sherry and her husband to Hawaii. “Your dad always said it’s not about things, it’s about making memories.”
Hygienist Anne Ferguson recalled a darker moment. After her husband died, my dad took her to lunch, and asked, ”‘When are you coming back to work?”
“I said, ‘Oh Bruce, I can’t, I’ll just cry all day.’ He said, ‘Just come back one day and try it,’ ” she said. “And he was exactly right. Getting back to that family was the best thing I could’ve done.”
Just as staff members got what they needed, so did patients. He was known for treating the toughest cases.
“The whole city passed through, all these referrals,” said my mom, Hollace Weiner. “You saw the most scared kids,” children with a range of abilities, from all backgrounds. “We had families driving hours, from towns we’d never heard of. … He treated everybody; he didn’t ask if they could pay.”
Kids took away more than good-helper prizes. “Some learned not to be afraid of the dentist,” Reaves said. For others, “it mattered that he was interested in who they were.”
Patients keep in touch, invite my parents to graduations and weddings, return with their own kids and grandkids; some even went on to become pediatric dentists.
The office, Fort Worth Pediatric Dentistry, continues to see patients, under the care of Dr. Janell Plocheck. My dad will surely stop by and say hello from time-to-time.
“I’ll miss our talks,” said Ortega, who’s staying on, along with the rest of the staff. “I’ll miss seeing him each morning. You can’t help but smile when he walks through the door.”
This story was originally published June 19, 2020 at 7:03 AM.