THE HAIRCUT

Today for some unknown reason, I ruminated about the question - Are kids today more concerned about how they dress, how they look then when I was a teenager?  The senior citizen in me wants to say, “Yes indeed…what’s this world coming too…girls never wore makeup until they were in high school, if then!”  But the reality is, when I think about it, nothing has changed that much except kids today use influencers on the internet as their models - we used Photoplay magazine and TV commercials between numbers on Bandstand to check if we were keeping up with the “styles”.  And to be honest, in my day when the girls in my school were accused of spending too much time on their hair - the boys did too.  And then I think about the haircut…

…Football season had finally come to an end and I could let my buzz cut (unlike today we players kept our hair short to fit inside our helmets.  Long hair was hot.  But today that doesn’t seem to matter - maybe the helmets are bigger?

I skipped a few weeks of our  bi-weekly haircut trip to the barbershop with my grandfather to let my hair get long enough to make a change.   I had to make a very important decision  - I had to pick a haircut from the big poster on the wall of Mr. Ianello’s shop. (A kid’s haircut was $1.50 and adult’s were $2.50 plus an additional 50 cents if they wanted a shaved neck and hottowel. Today I go every two months and spend $20 bucks for a five minute styling with an electric razor. Our “old country” Italian barber only used scissors and a straight razor.  His one modern device was a small machine that shot out a glob of hot shaving cream.)  I trusted the sign because in bold letters it proclaimed that the bunch of examples were the “Modern” styles.  Pop went first so instead of reading one of the 10 year old Field & Stream magazines from the table-top dog-eared library of men’s waiting room diversions, I pondered the sign imaging which style was right for me.  Ah vanity, vanity - it does view the world through foggy glasses.

I evaluated each choice.  Crew cut & butch - definitely out of the question.  All the “contoured” ones were definitely much too old looking.  The forward combed “boogie” was much like an “auto-shop” guy - I was a “college prep” major.   (Plus, it reminded me a lot of the Bandstand South Philly regulars in their pointy shoes and pegged pants.   tooFinally, I narrowed it down to a flattop or flattop boogie, the only difference was it had sideburns and longer side combacked.  The barber called, “Next” and the moment of truth had arrived.  “Waddilitbee?” Mr. I asked with his thick accent.  I asked, “Do many kids get the flattop boggie?”  “Some,” he responded.  “But I think it is not so good - a real flattop or nothing is better.”  I caved and utter”Flattop”.  And he began by skinning off all the hair on the sides of my head and then to my amazement he waxed my hair straight up and too a wide flat comb-device and put it on the top of my head and clipped the hair to a perfectly flat flattop.  “We guarantee that our flattops are perfect”, he announced.   He then said to my Grandfather, “Herb he needs this wax-stick to make his hair stand up. It ain't gonna do it on it’s own.  It’s a dollar extra but it will last for a long time.”   I said, “Pop I’ve got a buck left from my allowance.”   And he replied with a chuckle, “Keep you money, but don’t say I never gave you anything.”  (Growing up my grandfather loaned me lots of money that I never repaid - wish I could now.)  The barber then gave me a quick lesson in proper waxing and brushed my neck with his ancient badger hair brush.

And sporting my new look I left home and spent much of my evening checking in my new hairdo in every mirror.  The next day my era of waxing began.  And it was as easy as it looked nor was it as much fun as I expected - the wax melted and ran down my forehead in gym class.  By the end of the first week the wax was plastered to my scalp like a hat and even shampoos with my mom’s most expensive stuff only budged a little of it.  After a couple of weeks it started to create flakes that look like a terminal case of dandruff.  And then I got an idea - the forward combed flattop boogie wit da D.A. in the back was going to be my next coiffure experiment.  But that’s another story.

FIRST DATE

Chatted with an old friend today,  a friend I hadn’t communicated with for a long time – but one I  had thought of many times – and  then I was back 50 years standing in the high school cafeteria line…

…As chance would have it, or fate depending on your mood, “she” was in line right next to me.  I had been “eyeing” her for weeks but never had the courage to even say “Hi”… and then I heard myself say, “You’re in History class after me , right?”  (I needed some work on my ice-breaker lines)  She turned and replied, “Huh?"  I just gazed at her.  I wasn’t thinking about what to say; I was thinking she was a real blond with blue eyes that sparkled.    I responded brilliantly, “Hi…ah…I'm Calvin.”  (insert dumb laugh)  “I know who you are, you work in the student store with my best friend.”  I stuttered, “I do?”  My face was hot and I think she was blushing too.  

Now that we had made our way to the grand array of institutional food - it was time to choose.  Kathy picked a salad and an apple.  I wavered between mystery meat goulash and chicken fingers, and settled for chicken, it came with fries.  I also pick up my daily piece of chocolate cream pie.  We paid and started for separate tables of friends,  Kathy turned and said, “You actually eat that?”  (Laughing)  She turned away and our encounter was over.  I sat a few tables away with my best friend.   “How’d it go with the blond sophomore?”  Bub asked when I sat down.   “Ok, I guess…?"  Then we ate in silence as the lunch period was thirty minutes but it took twenty to get the food!

That week I had encounters with Kathy (I had learned a brief profile from her friend Marilyn) as I timed my place in the lunch line with hers.  Once I saw her in the hall at her locker – #214.  But we never spoke more than a few words each day in the MHS gym/café.

And then on the first play of my next football game I dislocated my arm and football came to a jarring halt for me for a month  – but this gave cupid the chance to work his wily ways.  I was “smitten” indeed for the first time.  Monday, after that painful game I got in my place behind Kathy, but this time I wore a sling.  She turned, clucked her tongue and muttered, “Football, why do you guys do this?”  Always quick with the repartee, I said, “Oh I don’t know…?"  We got our food and Kathy said, “Stay right there, I’ll be right back.”  She picked a table and came back and carried my tray and for the first time we ate together.  As our friends looked wondering what was up.  That day we began what was to be a wonderful romance.  A few days later walking her to class I had the courage to ask if she would like to go to the movies (the mandated first date for every high schooler). She surprised me with – “Yes,  but I will have to ask my parents, I don’t know if I will be allowed to go out with a senior?  I'll call you tonight.”  She looked worried.  That made me worry.  I hadn’t anticipated a hurdle  – but I hadn’t dated a “younger woman” either.  Matter of fact, I hadn't really ever “dated” – I danced with, went to parties with, even kissed a few girls – but having a real girlfriend would be a first for me.  That night after I tussled with homework, including a quick reading of the first stanzas of the Evangeline, I sat by the phone.  My mom came by with a knowing smile, “Waiting for her to call?”  “Yup,” I mumbled.  After a few minutes, that seemed like hours, I picked up with only half a ring – it was K and she reported that her parents said OK - but only after they had inquired about me through a MHS teacher friend Miss C, my student store teacher/boss; the most dreaded algebra II teacher of all time.  (Ms. C was a stern, typical older teacher who wore her hair pulled back so tight that she couldn’t blink – but that’s another story.)  K continued, “Miss C said she knew your mom and that you would be a gentleman, unlike the many heathens she taught.”  That endorsement did the trick for Kathy’s dad, a former teacher himself - and we were on our way to the Levoy Friday night show, with one caveat, K had to be home by 10 PM ON THE DOT!

Friday finally arrived.  I waxed my crew cut and splashed on some of my dad’s Old Spice – "You better get a little “action” Rob, our football captain, advised me, “ Your a senior...If you don’t get to ‘first base’ on your first date you are not a man.”  (And I now realized why K’s parents needed to  know my “rap sheet” before allowing their daughter to ride alone in a car with just anybody.)  Speaking of cars, I had to borrow my grandfather’s ancient car because it had an automatic transmission because I still had an immobilized arm with two more weeks to go before the cast was removed.   I carefully drove to K’s door.  Her father opened, looked me up and down, as only a father of a daughter can do – his look gave me the silent treatment I learned to use many times later in life – “violate my daughter and you will pay dearly.” 

The movie is a perfect first date romantic comedy – Greyfriars Bobby.  The perfect setting, perfect musical track, perfect plot.  Perfect.  And the age-old ritual soon began.  A dance as old as life itself – the male of the species mating dance.

It would begin with me trying to hold her hand – but what if she pulled away?  What if she didn’t feel "that way" about me?  I feared the prescribed first step the most and didn’t try a grab even though her hand rested so close between us.  An armrest akin to the great wall of China.  Bobby the cute Cairn continued the cute yapping on the flickering screen.  “I’ve got to do it soon of the movie will be over,” I said to myself – and I decided that I would make thee move when the glowing clock over the side exit door hit 8.  I had 11 minutes to sweat.   At 7:58 I dried my palms on my pants and then I made a major change in tactics – I decided not to go for her hand; I was going for broke.  I would skip the usual first stage and go for stage two - I would put my good arm around her  (even though this was a major breach of dating protocol) – I was going to dare it no matter what the outcome.  At precisely 8:PM I did a countdown in my head and then nonchalantly placed my arm on the back of her seat.  Nothing.  No flinch.  No jerk away in disgust.  She just sat and munched some popcorn.   I inched closer to her shoulder, careful not to actually touch her – not yet it was far too soon for that.  After what seemed like an hour, I lightly touched her shoulder.  To my amazement, Kathy melted against me – she grabbed my hand and pulled my arm down in a wonderful side to side hug.  She turned and looked me in the eye for a long time – and we just smiled.

I had pursued her for almost  a month and now she had finally caught me!