13 Things You’d Only Notice If You Visited A 1970s Dentist’s Office

Step into the time machine and brace yourself—because we’re heading straight into the wonderfully weird world of 1970s dentistry.

I recently found my mom’s old dental records, and let me tell you, nothing screams “yikes” like handwritten notes, faded X-rays, and a terrifying smiley tooth sticker. Back then, dental offices looked like someone decorated them while blindfolded at a shag carpet warehouse sale.

Picture wood paneling, avocado-green chairs, and Muzak versions of Bee Gees hits playing while you got your molars drilled. The equipment? Loud, clunky, and powered by what sounded like lawnmower engines. Anesthesia? Optional, apparently. And fluoride trays? Let’s just say they felt like punishment for eating candy.

Yet somehow, we survived—traumatized, maybe, but with relatively intact teeth. So buckle up and say “ahhh” as we revisit the slightly horrifying, oddly nostalgic era of 1970s dentistry—a time when tooth care came with sideburns, silver fillings, and a whole lot of noise.

1. Wood-Paneled Walls That Screamed ‘Sophisticated’

Nothing said ‘professional medical establishment’ in the 1970s quite like dark wood paneling covering every possible surface. My childhood dentist, Dr. Friedman, had his entire office decked out in this faux-wooden glory.

The walls absorbed both light and sound, creating that distinct mustiness that somehow made everything feel more serious. Paired with thick shag carpeting (yes, even in examination rooms – hygiene standards were… different), these wood panels created an atmosphere more suited to a basement rec room than a medical facility.

Sometimes they’d break up the wood monotony with framed prints of mountain landscapes or sailboats – artwork apparently ordered in bulk from the ‘Dentist Office Decor’ catalog that must have existed.

2. The Dreaded Spit Sink

Remember that porcelain bowl attached to the dental chair that filled with a slow, continuous stream of water? That, my friends, was the glamorous ‘spit sink’ – a dental fixture that’s thankfully gone the way of the dinosaurs.

After the dentist poked around with those metal tools, you’d lean over and release a foamy, pink-tinged stream into the bowl. No fancy suction tools here! The most unsettling part was watching your spit swirl around before disappearing down the drain with that distinctive gurgling sound.

Sometimes the water flow wouldn’t quite wash everything away, leaving evidence of previous patients’ dental adventures. Hand-held paper cups for rinsing completed this charming setup that would horrify today’s infection control specialists.

3. Waiting Room Magazines From Another Era

Long before smartphones kept us occupied, the 1970s dental waiting room offered entertainment via a stack of dog-eared magazines with publication dates that made you question their relevance. I once found a 1968 issue of Life while waiting for my filling in 1977!

These weren’t just any magazines – they were a specific genre of waiting room literature: Golf Digest (regardless of whether you played), ancient issues of Reader’s Digest with jokes that no longer landed, and the occasional National Geographic with all the interesting pages mysteriously torn out.

The most coveted finds were the Highlights magazines for kids, though they’d inevitably been completed by previous young patients, with all the hidden pictures already circled in permanent marker.

4. The Dental Drill That Sounded Like a Jet Engine

WHIIIIIIIIIRRRRRRRR! That high-pitched mechanical scream haunted my childhood nightmares. The 1970s dental drill wasn’t just loud – it was apocalyptically noisy, with a pitch that could shatter glass and nerves simultaneously.

Unlike today’s quieter, water-cooled models, these vintage torture devices ran hot and dry. You could literally smell your tooth burning as the dentist worked, adding another sensory horror to the experience. My dentist, bless his heart, would cheerfully shout over the noise: “Just a little more!” while I white-knuckled the chair arms.

The worst part? No headphones, no TV on the ceiling, no distractions whatsoever – just you, your thoughts, and that banshee-like wailing that announced to everyone in the building that someone was having a very bad day.

5. That Weird Paper Bib Chain

Fashion forward, it was not. The moment the dental assistant draped that tissue-paper bib across your chest and secured it with a metal chain, you officially entered patient mode. Unlike today’s disposable plastic clips, the 1970s dental bib featured a reusable metal chain that hung around your neck like some strange medical jewelry.

These chains were never quite cleaned properly between patients. They often retained a faint, mysterious dampness from the previous occupant of the chair – something I try not to think about too much even decades later.

The paper bibs themselves were absurdly small and ineffective, somehow always managing to leave your clothes completely unprotected from the inevitable splashes. Yet this ritual of having the chain fastened around your neck was the official signal that the dental adventure was about to begin.

6. The Mysterious Instrument Tray of Doom

Arranged with military precision beside the dental chair sat the most terrifying sight in the office: the instrument tray. Gleaming metal tools of various shapes and sizes – hooks, picks, mirrors, and mysterious implements that resembled medieval torture devices – all laid out for your viewing displeasure.

Unlike today’s practices where instruments often remain hidden until needed, 1970s dentists displayed their full arsenal right from the start. My dentist had a particularly unsettling habit of hovering his hand over the tray, dramatically considering which tool to select next, like a chef deciding which knife would best fillet a fish.

The tools themselves weren’t even that different from modern ones, but something about their presentation – steel against stark white tray, no plastic coverings or cheerful colors – made them exponentially more intimidating.

7. Groovy Dental Uniforms

Fashion in 1970s dental offices was a sight to behold! Female dental assistants often sported polyester pantsuits in shades of mint green or baby blue, complete with white orthopedic shoes that squeaked across the linoleum floors. My childhood dentist’s assistant, Cheryl, favored a particularly vibrant turquoise ensemble that matched her eyeshadow.

Male dentists typically wore short-sleeved dress shirts under their white coats, often revealing impressive forearm hair and the occasional gold watch. No one wore gloves for routine examinations – that safety precaution didn’t become standard until the AIDS crisis of the 1980s.

The most distinctive uniform element was the dental assistant’s cap – a stiff white origami-like creation perched atop a carefully maintained hairstyle, serving no practical purpose whatsoever except to announce: “I am a medical professional, despite this outfit that makes me look like I could be serving ice cream.”

8. The Wall-Mounted X-Ray Machine

Radiation safety wasn’t exactly priority number one back in the disco era. The X-ray machine of the 1970s was a hulking wall-mounted contraption with a long, articulated arm that swung around to position next to your face like some kind of mechanical praying mantis.

The dental assistant would drape a lead apron over your torso (never mind protecting your brain) and then – here’s the kicker – would LEAVE THE ROOM entirely while pressing the button. Nothing inspired confidence quite like watching your caregiver flee before the machine activated.

The film itself came in sharp-edged cardboard holders that cut into your gums while you bit down, making you wonder if the X-ray was actually the least painful part of the procedure. After developing, the dentist would clip these tiny films onto a light box, squint dramatically, and inevitably discover something expensive that needed fixing.

9. The Novocaine Needle That Wasn’t Hidden

Modern dentists perform a clever sleight-of-hand to keep their needles out of sight until the last possible moment. Not so in the 1970s! My childhood dentist would prepare the novocaine syringe right in front of me, drawing up the medication from a glass vial while I watched in mounting horror.

The needle itself was significantly larger than today’s versions, and dentists made no attempt to disguise what was coming. “This will sting a little,” Dr. Peterson would announce cheerfully, while holding up what appeared to be a harpoon designed for small whales. The preparation ritual was performed with all the subtlety of a Broadway musical.

To make matters worse, the topical numbing gel used before injections was barely effective and tasted like bananas gone horribly wrong – a flavor that still triggers my dental anxiety four decades later. The entire experience was a masterclass in psychological torture.

10. The Receptionist’s Scheduling Book

Long before digital calendars and automated text reminders, dental appointments were managed via a massive, leather-bound scheduling book that sat open on the receptionist’s desk like some ancient tome of wisdom. Mrs. Goldstein, our dental receptionist, guarded this book with her life.

Your next appointment was written in pencil (never pen!) on the sacred pages, and you’d receive a small appointment card with the date scrawled in barely legible handwriting. Miss your appointment? You’d get a stern phone call – no automated system, but a very real conversation with Mrs. Goldstein expressing her deep disappointment in your life choices.

The receptionist’s desk itself was a fortress, usually protected by a sliding glass window that would open only when she deemed it appropriate. Her domain also included a mysterious pegboard system for billing that somehow translated into the amount you owed.

11. The Communal Rinse Cup Dispenser

Mounted on the wall beside every 1970s dental sink was a contraption that would horrify modern germaphobes – the communal paper cup dispenser. This cone-shaped stack of tiny waxed cups was dispensed with a twist of a chrome knob, delivering a thimble-sized vessel for rinsing your mouth.

These cups held approximately three sips of water, requiring multiple refills to clear away the distinct taste of fluoride treatment or the gritty tooth-polishing paste. The worst part? Everyone used the same water faucet to fill their cups, touching it with their post-dental-work hands.

Sometimes the dispenser would malfunction, either refusing to release a cup or suddenly ejecting a dozen at once in a small paper avalanche. The dental assistant would sigh, scoop them up and – I kid you not – stuff most of them back into the dispenser for the next patient’s use. The 1970s were not a time of abundant waste or abundant hygiene.

12. The Ceiling You Memorized

Before TVs were mounted above dental chairs, patients of the 1970s had one form of entertainment during procedures: staring at the ceiling. I could still describe in perfect detail the acoustic tile pattern above my childhood dentist’s chair – 47 dots per tile, arranged in concentric squares, with a water stain in the corner that vaguely resembled Abraham Lincoln.

Sometimes you’d get lucky and the ceiling would feature a poster – usually a kitten hanging from a branch with the caption “Hang in There!” or perhaps a hot air balloon scene intended to transport you mentally away from the drilling happening in your mouth. These posters were invariably faded from years of fluorescent light exposure, with curling corners secured by yellowing scotch tape.

The light fixture itself was another focal point – a rectangular fluorescent box with a plastic diffuser panel that housed the occasional dead insect, providing macabre counting games during longer procedures.

13. The Tooth-Shaped Treasure Chest

After enduring the horrors of dental work, 1970s children received their reward: access to the legendary tooth-shaped treasure chest! This plastic container, inevitably colored dental-white with red or blue accents, contained the cheapest assortment of toys known to mankind.

I once braved a double filling just to select from bouncy balls that didn’t bounce, plastic rings with gems that fell out immediately, temporary tattoos that washed off before you got home, or combs so flimsy they bent when touching actual hair. The holy grail was the rare appearance of a balsa wood glider – worth at least two fillings in trade value among neighborhood kids.

Despite the objectively terrible quality of these treasures, the ritual held immense importance. The dental assistant would solemnly present the chest, and you’d deliberate your choice with the seriousness of selecting a college major, momentarily forgetting your numb face and traumatic experience.