Painless Parker and the Bucket of Teeth

He pulled teeth in the middle of the street while a marching band played behind him. He claimed to make dentistry painless—and got sued for saying so. But instead of backing down, he built a dental empire and changed his name to beat the system. This is the bizarre true story of the man who turned dentistry into a circus: Painless Parker.

If you live in the United States, you’ve grown up seeing ads for prescription drugs and medical procedures. They’re on TV. On billboards. In your social media feed. You’ve seen commercials where someone is running through a meadow while a soft voice whispers side effects that include loss of appetite, blurry vision, and spontaneous nose trumpet. Totally normal, right?

Except—it’s not.

The United States and New Zealand are the only two countries in the world where direct-to-consumer pharmaceutical advertising is legal.

Nowhere else can companies advertise prescription drugs directly to patients. In most countries, that kind of thing is heavily regulated or banned outright. But here? It’s big business.

How big?

In 2023, pharmaceutical companies in the U.S. spent nearly $9 billion on direct-to-consumer advertising. That includes TV spots, print ads, online campaigns—you name it. And that doesn’t include hospital ads, dental chains, or those slick brochures at your local urgent care.

So how did we get here? When did healthcare become a product with jingles, logos, and celebrity endorsements?

Well—today’s story is about a man who, in the late 1800s, was already doing all of that. Before commercials. Before healthcare regulations. Before toothbrush jingles. He was out there turning dentistry into a circus—literally.

His name was Painless Parker, and he might’ve invented modern medical marketing before the rest of medicine even realized it was an option.

Edgar Randolph Parker was born in 1872, in New Brunswick, Canada. As a young man, he moved to the United States and studied dentistry in Philadelphia. But once he graduated and opened his practice, he ran into a problem—a big one.

No one wanted to go to the dentist.

And honestly, who could blame them? In the late 1800s, dental procedures were primitive, painful, and borderline traumatic. Anesthetics were inconsistent. Equipment wasn’t standardized. And the sound of a hand drill wasn’t just annoying—it was terrifying.

Parker realized that to survive in the profession, he’d need to do something completely different. So, he took a bold step.

He created a character. A brand. He became “Painless Parker.”

And he took his practice to the streets.

Instead of waiting for patients to come to him, he brought dentistry to them—with a horse-drawn wagon, a brass band, and a promotional flair that felt more like a circus than a clinic. He’d pull into town with banners flying and music playing, set up in public squares, and offer live tooth extractions—right there in front of crowds.

His secret weapon? A liquid anesthetic he called “hydrocaine.”

Now, it’s likely this was just a mix of cocaine or novocaine—both legal and commonly used at the time. He’d inject it with a very large syringe, usually while holding it up in the air for dramatic effect. It made a point: This will make it painless. Whether it worked perfectly or not didn’t matter—people believed it did.

And the proof? His most famous prop:
A bucket full of extracted teeth, which he proudly displayed to anyone skeptical of his success.

According to Parker, he once extracted 357 teeth in a single day. That number is probably inflated, but the point is—people were lining up to be treated.

And here’s where the story gets even more interesting. At the time, organized dentistry was still trying to clean up its image. The American Dental Association wanted to distance itself from the era of barber-surgeons and shady traveling dentists. They were pushing for higher standards, better ethics, and a more professional public image.

Parker was the exact opposite. And by the way – that’s right, the American Dental Association existed back then. We’re talking about the 1890s and the ADA was founded in Niagara Falls, NY in 1859.

He was loud, theatrical, and unapologetically promotional. He advertised in newspapers and handbills—something most dentists didn’t dare do. The ADA considered him a fraud, even though he was a licensed dentist.

The American Dental Association eventually sued him—specifically for using the name “Painless.”
They argued that no dental procedure could be guaranteed painless, so advertising that way was deceptive. 

So what was Parker’s solution?

He changed his legal name to Painless Parker. Problem solved. Seriously. That’s how he got around it. 

But here’s the twist—while Parker’s methods may have been flashy, he wasn’t just a showman. He was also a visionary in how healthcare could be marketed. And he wasn’t done yet.

He had bigger plans.

When Painless Parker realized his street act was catching on, he took things to the next level.

He launched what became known as the Painless Parker Dental Circus.
And yes—it was exactly what it sounds like.

The show traveled town to town. A combination of dental treatment and vaudeville. Parker was joined by assistants, jugglers, costumed performers, and yes—still that brass band. Crowds would gather. Patients would be treated right on stage. And dental care became part of the spectacle.

In a way, he was creating something that wouldn’t become normal for another century: a branded, franchised healthcare experience. By the 1920s, Parker had over 30 dental offices spread across multiple states. He employed dozens of licensed dentists, trained in his techniques and working under his brand.

Think of it like the 1920s version of a dental chain—except with a marching band and a guy yelling “Step right up and get your tooth pulled!”

And he wasn’t doing this under the radar. He was openly challenging the profession’s gatekeepers.

He once wrote a book about his experiences called “The Early Adventures of Painless Parker”, where he detailed how traditional dentistry had failed to reach the people who needed it most—and how his method succeeded by meeting people where they were. It’s not exactly subtle, but it paints a picture of someone who saw dentistry not just as a profession, but as a performance.

Here’s something that’s easy to miss:
Parker wasn’t working in a time of clear regulations and healthcare laws. The field of dentistry was still evolving. Licensing varied by state. Standards were inconsistent. And public trust in dentists was low. In some towns, Parker’s clinics were the only option people had.

He helped remove stigma. He normalized going to the dentist—even if it was during a street performance.

And maybe that’s his most lasting contribution.

Today, Parker is remembered as both a cautionary tale and a folk hero. Dental schools still mention him when teaching professional ethics. And if you ever find yourself at the University of the Pacific’s dental museum, you can actually see his famous tooth bucket. It’s there. Still full. Still weirdly impressive.

He passed away in 1952, but his legacy lives on in ways that modern medicine is only just starting to fully appreciate—especially when it comes to branding, outreach, and the patient experience.

So the next time you see a dental billboard or a smiling cartoon tooth mascot, remember:
The guy who started all that was once playing trombone while pulling molars in a town square. The Internet Says It’s True.

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