We had just moved to a small town in southern Minnesota, where Dad had become the pastor of the little Baptist church. We didn’t know people yet, and had no contacts with doctors, dentists, and so on.
My dad had false teeth, just an upper plate. I don’t remember what had broken, but it needed to be fixed, as it was causing him quite a bit of discomfort. So he phoned one of the deacons, and the deacon’s wife answered the phone.