Recently, I got a much-needed haircut. My wife likes the way Bonnie styles my hair because she cuts it short. You see, there isn't nearly as much hair on the top of my head as there used to be and my bride has a curious philosophy that if your hair is thin on top and you have it cut short, it actually looks like you have more.
Most men try to patch their thinning thatch with some version of the dreaded combover. So far, I haven't resorted to an extreme combover, but suffice it to say I have tried to arrange what hair is there to my best advantage.
Eventually we reach a stage where it all becomes pointless and the reality of our plight begins to take hold. So now when I sit down in the chair, I utter those dreaded words, "Bonnie, cut it short."
While driving home, I pondered my new and improved look and had a flashback to my childhood days in the '50s when I had a full head of hair. There were two barbershops within biking distance of our home. There weren't any Bonnies working at these establishments. They were barbers named Buck and Slim. When I needed a haircut, my dad gave me 50 cents and told me to "get my ears lowered."
Today, when I need a haircut, I call in advance and make an appointment.
Back in the '50s, only girls made appointments at their beauty shops. The guys simply went to the barbershop and waited their turn. I often wondered how Slim kept track of who was up next, but somehow he did. Slim's shop had two other barbers and the barber you got depended on which chair was empty when it was your turn.
You never knew until you arrived at the shop how long you would have to wait. Saturday was the worst day and in the summertime it was always hot. There was both a front and back entrance to the shop with screen doors and everyone hoped for a cross breeze as they sat sweating and awaiting their turn.
Few businesses had air conditioning back then. If you had an extra dime, you could buy a bottle of Coke out of the vending machine in the back room and have a cold drink while you waited.
Shortly after the school year started, some of the boys and a few men began to sport a new hairstyle called the "flattop." The first time I saw a kid with a flattop was in the school lunchroom. I marveled at how his hair stood straight up and looked like a hairbrush turned upside-down. It was so even and looked like it might make your head feel cooler on a hot summer day.
As weeks passed, I began seeing more of these unusual haircuts and began to wonder how I would look with one. When two of my best buddies joined the trend, I knew it was time give it a try. I asked them how they got it to stand up straight, and they showed me the cans of Butch Wax and little rubber brushes that they carried in their jean pockets. The Butch Wax reminded me of axle grease.
The anticipated day arrived and I hopped on my Schwinn and headed for the barbershop. Because of school, I had to go on Saturday and the place was crowded. Eventually it was my turn and I was happy that I got Slim, the flattop expert. As I climbed into the chair, I boldly announced to everyone within earshot that I wanted a flattop. With a curious tone in his voice, Slim asked, "Are you sure?" I just replied, "Let's do it, Slim."
With my back to the mirror, I couldn't see what was going on as my hair tumbled into my lap and down to the tiled floor. Eventually Slim applied the thick Butch Wax, made a few minor adjustments and spun the chair around so I could look at my new haircut for the first time.
I was horrified! I looked like a chipmunk!
Not wanting to hurt Slim's feelings, I said it looked great and quickly exited out the back door of the shop.
Pedaling my bike down the sidewalk, I prayed I wouldn't meet anyone who knew me. My mind was a blur trying to think of how I would ever be able to go to school on Monday. I imagined the certainty of total humiliation as I sauntered down the halls going from class to class knowing the girls would probably laugh and stare.
Maybe I could pretend to be sick until it grew back.
Mothers have a way of calming a member of their brood and my mom was no exception. I did go to school on Monday and somehow survived the day. Nobody laughed or stared, and thankfully this incident didn't necessitate the need for any long-term therapy sessions.
Even with the Butch Wax and my special brush, I never was able to get my hair to stand up straight like the other guys did.
Eventually, my hair grew back, and I now know that this experience was just another bump in the road of life while growing up in the good old '50s.
Ed Hungness and his wife owned their cottage on Fife Lake for six years before moving there after his retirement in 2005. He can be reached at edhungness@yahoo.com. For more of Ed's columns, log on to record-eagle.com/edhungness.
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