One of the touchy points I had when I was a kid was my haircut. My Mother was raised in the depression, she didn't believe in paying something for nothing so when I got a haircut, I got a haircut. A brush cut that took two weeks to heal. "Did they cut your hair from the inside ?" my friends would jibe. Kids can be cruel. I gave as good as I got so it didn't scar me for life. But I wanted longer hair.My Mother was adamant she wasn't going to pay for a trim that would have to be repeated in a couple of weeks. This was the sixties after all and I wasn't old enough to drop out, grow my hair and join the counter-culture. Hope, however, springs eternal. I am by nature an optimist, the glass is half full. Unfortunately for me it was half full of some blue liquid that had combs in it on the counter of our local barber. Our local barber was George at Clarke's Barbering and Hair Styling, then in the K-Mart Plaza. You might be forgiven if you thought George's last name was Clarke. It isn't. Remember Arnold's on "Happy Days"? run by a Japanese guy? His name wasn't Arnold either, he just didn't change the sign when he bought the business. Well George wasn't cheap, he bought the business from his Uncle and kept the name as an homage to him. George's last name is Wotten and he is that kind of guy. He still cuts my hair when I am in Dartmouth, mind you there is a lot less of it these days as there was 40 years ago. George is the kind of guy that can stay in business for more than four decades in the same spot, while giant retailers came and went around him. He has character and character endures.
Unwittingly, however he was about to play a role in one of the greatest treacheries in the history of the planet earth! Oh, all right , in my mind anyways. It began on a warm spring day, my brother and I had just come home from a pick-up baseball game. Dashing in the back door we threw our ball gloves onto a shelf that didn't look like it would hold one more piece of our stuff. We kicked off our shoes and made our way to the fridge which held a glass juice jug full of cold tap water. We had aluminum glasses in our hands that had once held peanut butter. The water was ice cold and the glasses were soon refilled. I loved those glasses as humidity would form on their cold surface and the water tasted even better. "You're having your bath tonight, your Father is taking you to get haircuts tomorrow." "Awww Mom!" we replied in harmony. "Not a haircut!" I added. "It's getting warmer, you'll be more comfortable"She chimed, calling from the living room where she was ironing. My Mother ironed everything, even the dust cloths. "they stack better." she would say. Putting our empty glasses on the counter Larry and I put on our best hang dog faces and walked into the living room with faces down, dead men walking, like prisoners on the way to the gallows. "I don't want a haircut, it isn't even hot yet!" "When you pay for the haircuts you can decide when to get the haircuts!" My Mother added. Fateful words she would later regret. But that was for the future. For now the game was on, and the game was to try and do the impossible talk my Mom out of doing something. It had never been done but then Everest had never been climbed before Hillary and Norgay got there. Sorry guys but Everest is like a mole hill compared to changing my Mother's mind about a haircut. Still they got knighted, didn't they? Oh well, no guts no glory. I decided to take the north face for my assault on the summit.
"I heard it's going to be a very cool summer, maybe it's not a good idea to get a brush cut." "You have a hat." my Mother replied.Mothers have a nasty habit of looking at things with a logical view that baffles nine year- olds. She turned over the sheet she was ironing and looked at me raising an eyebrow as if to say, the ball's in your court. I decided to go for the fence, to play the ace , the card that every kid held up his sleeve in every argument. I didn't want to do it but here goes; "Paul Sampson's Mom let's him grow his hair down to his shoulders!" There, I had done it! I had played the Ace and she would have to fold her hand. Paul's Mom and Dad let him do just about anything he wanted. He lived a kind of feral existence, wandering the woods that still surrounded suburbia in the late sixties. He went through people's garbage pits (some folks still burned their garbage). He found arrowheads and animal skulls, he went to bed when he pleased and was about as dirty as a boy could be. In nine year old circles he was a God. Oddly enough for a kid that wore the same clothes for a week, seldom bathed and waded through other people's garbage, he was never sick. It was like he had built up an immunity to everything.
In my mind I had connected with the ball and I could see it rise high in the sky in a great arc. I had implied that another Mother might offer me more reasonable terms. I rejoiced in the moment. the feel as the ball meets the sweet spot, as it jumps from the bat and in one pure motion the bat and the ball are weightless and the ball changes direction instantly, effortlessly. the ball soars and seems to hang for a second. And in that second my Mom stepped in. "Well I guess you better see if Paul's Mom has a spare room! Under this roof little boy's have short hair and little girl's have long hair." I watched as the ball curved and went out of bounds. Strike one.
I had lost a battle, but not the war, not yet. I decided to retreat in good order. Never let them see you run. I retreated to the room I shared with my brother. He was already there, reading a comic book. "Any luck?". "Well...." "I knew it. You're wasting your breath." I would have evoked the immortal phrase "Oh yeah, says you." but I was lost in thought. I sat on the edge of my bed and watched the sun dip below the top of my school.I would sleep on it. I would start fresh in the morning.
The next morning, freshly scrubbed and suitably dressed we sat down in our little kitchen for breakfast. Time for round two. Time to try a different route to the summit. A night's sleep had cleared my head and I now realized that events were building a momentum of their own. What was my goal here, I reasoned? To entirely avoid a haircut? No. My goal was to have longer hair. Was there a way to have a haircut and still have longer hair? Genius! I was sure that this was how the greatest inventions in the history of human kind had been conceived. Comic books, chewing gum and hockey cards, these cutting edge inventions that changed humanity forever must have been conceived in just such a fashion. For crying out loud! Hockey cards even came with chewing gum! How much more proof does one need of the existence of God. How else could so inspired an idea have come about if there was not the hand of God involved. I was deeply humbled that I had been singled out for so great an inspiration.
"Hey. Mom..." I started. "Save your hay" My Mother replied, busy buttering toast "I'm not a horse."Ouch, a faux pas. "Sorry, I was just wondering if I might ask you a question?" Mom stopped buttering in mid stroke. Her maternal radar was at work. The Distant Early Warning system, supplied to all females at birth and activated when they go into labor for the first time was already scrambling. Triggered by the biggest tip off a child could give. I was using the Queens English. When kids stop using contractions and slang Moms know something is up. I had also asked permission to ask a question., something I never do. "What is it?" Mom asked her voice a blueprint of suspicion. " I have to get a haircut, right""Yes" "But it doesn't have to be a brush cut r, right?" "I suppose..." she said without much conviction.
Now this is the point where I made my first real mistake. First that is if you ignore the fact that I challenged my Mother in the first place. Rule #1 in the nine year-old handbook should read: Do your homework. Always do the research first. Never walk into anything without knowing the consequences. And so I sowed the seeds of my own betrayal. "How about I get a different haircut, not a brush cut?" I had a huge self satisfied grin on my stupid face. Shooting fish in a barrel would seem like an extreme sport compared to this. "Sure," said my Mom, without the slightest trace of guile or deceit in her voice. "How about a crew cut?" Crew Cut? I had not even considered the name of another hair cut, I had only ever had one hair cut my entire life. A crew cut sounded pretty good, right? One of the crew, what kind of crew I had no idea. Pit Crew? That could be cool. So I agreed. I walked into George's Barber Shop, with it's lighted barber pole rotating outside with a huge smile on my face. I was still so enamored with my victory I didn't even glance up during the ten minutes or so that it took to cut my hair. When you are nine the barber does not hold a mirror up behind your head and ask you what you think. You aint paying the cheque. He looks at the only voting member here, not me not my brother not my Dad. My Mom. She seemed pleased. That was my first clue. I was already out of the chair and too short to look in the mirrors here. I shot across the hall where the tailor was at work. He had a map of his native Italy on the wall and right beside it a full length mirror for checking hemlines.
Staring back at me from the mirror was a bald white kid with a flat head. A FLAT HEAD! Oh No! My brother was howling with laughter as he ascended into the chair. My Dad had a sly smile, but my Mom was grinning ear to ear as I returned from the tailor's. I had a date to play ball this afternoon. "Well it is a different style." my Mother said wryly. "A deal's a deal." I added defeated. Dad roughed my hair . I was really no worse off, I guess. I still had a hat. My hair grew fast in those days. And true to her word when I got a paper route and later a part-time job and paid for my own haircuts she let me grow longer hair. To my chagrin it was curly and wavy and kind of effeminate. I took to wearing my hair short out of choice, by the time I reached high school. Not a brush cut but short.
Like I said I still get George to cut my hair when I am home. He hasn't changed, still quick to smile, loves a joke. I don't have a whole lot of hair to cut anymore but I keep it short. Lots of skin on top though. Oh well, I still have a hat!
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