Monday, August 20, 2007

TRAVEL CUTS

It’s turned into a rainy Saturday afternoon here in Kelso, WA, where we’re spending the night before our RV Park reservation kicks in tomorrow in Chinook.

I just woke up from a nap and while washing my hands and face looked at myself in the mirror. Of course I had some lines on my face from my pillow but the most noticeable thing was my bad case of “BEDHEAD”. I grabbed my brush and did the best I could. You see I got a haircut the other day in Redmond.

Those of you who have known me for years will remember the days when no barber or barberess could touch my hair. It was the men’s hair salon or nothing else. Heck, the first time I worked for KNCO radio they had arranged an advertising trade with the styling salon located on the ground floor of the Holbrooke Hotel. All male employees were required to have their hair trimmed every single week. Joel Granados, the stylist, used some special technique, I don’t remember what it was called exactly, (the Roffler Method?) but I admit it looked great. In those days I wore my hair quite long on the sides and back—not as long as Kenny Rogers but pretty long. Why people working in radio think they have to look sharp and cool is beyond me. Who sees them? Well, I felt I had to look good. Looking back I think I’ve always felt that way. Today though, not so much.

I remember when I was 12 or 13 years old my mom gave me enough money for a haircut—not a haircut and an ice cream soda but just a haircut. I walked the four blocks to the barbershop waiting my turn while reading Detective Stories. When I finally got to sit in the big barber chair her said to me, “What’ll it be, sonny?” I replied, ‘A regular haircut with a SQUARE CUT. “You’ve got it,” he replied and set about giving me my cool, really in, really groovy, REALLY GEORGE, haircut. When he was done he spun the chair around and handed me a mirror so I could see the back of my head. Yup, there it was. My hair ended abruptly in a line straight across my neck. Oh, it was so cool. As I walked back home passed the ice cream shop I had no money to visit, I was sure everyone was looking at me and saying things like, "Look at that cool kid. He’s got the latest style haircut. Wow! It was great.

Home again, I walked in the back door—you never ever came in our house by the front door unless you were company—and found my mom in the kitchen baking something for desert. She briefly glanced at me and said, “That looks better.” As I passed her heading for my bedroom she shrieked, “What kind of haircut is that?” I tried to explain that it was the latest look, but she had instantly accelerated beyond listening. “If your father sees that he’ll think you’re becoming some kind of hoodlum. You turn around young man and get back to that barber shop and get that fixed.” I tried to explain that I had no money to get another haircut and she told me that was my problem. She wasn’t going to spend any more money on the head of a boy that would do something so stupid.

Fortunately, the old Italian barber was an understanding guy and he tapered the hair on the nape of my neck thus allowing me to avoid living on the streets for six weeks while my hair grew out—at least I thought that was a distinct possibility. My dad was a really strict guy given to using his belt and threatening things like something called Juvenile Hall where bad boys are sent.

You might think the story ended with the hair repair but my mom had to tell my dad about it anyhow. Unlike that father-son talk about other stuff dads are supposed to have with their sons that we never had, we sat in my bedroom where I learned about the significant financial impact on the family brought about by my need for haircuts and how important it was not to waste any of that money or we might all live on the streets. It was up to me to save the family by never getting a square cut again. Sort of like when Smokey Bear looks right out of the television screen and say, “Only you can prevent.” Oh, the pressure on a young psyche.

In high school as a wannabe jock and popular guy I was finally given the freedom of doing what I wanted with my hair, if I could afford it. I had a daily paper route back then that monthly paid me enough money to get my haircut twice. I could have had Nick the Italian barber cut it for about $5 but preferred the prestige that came with having a flat top haircut—with square cut—done at the Blue and Gold Barber Shop next to the campus of UCLA in Westwood, CA. Everyone knew that they were the only place anywhere that could make the top of you head so flat an airplane pilot could mistake it for an aircraft carrier. The closest thing today to my hair back then is the top of that hair worn by the red headed guy with the Ringling Bros. Barnum and Bailey Circus. Though no hair on my head was more than 3/8” long it daily received several ounces of rose pomade or butch wax. On hot days in the sun that stuff would melt and run down my face and neck but my haircut was so cool.

A few of you—maybe only Judy—will remember when I was a real clotheshorse. I had 4 or 5 suits plus 3 or 4 sport coats, many pairs of slacks, lots of dress shirts, and 20 or 30 ties. There was even a time when we would go to the fabric store where I would choose swatches and Judy would make custom neckties. One of my favorites was the Campbell Soup tie. All of the suits and slacks were double knit polyester of course and the slacks had bell-bottoms. The sport coats were garish and definitely in style. My hair at that time as always razor-cut at the local styling salon. Today's wardrobe consists of about 50 tee shirts, 12 pairs of shorts, 3 pairs of washable leisure pants, and two pairs of rockports. At home there is one suit which probably no longer fits and a blue blazer left over from the yacht club days--I don't know what happened to the grey slacks that went with it, though.

After moving from the LA area to the mountains of northern California all that sort of went by the wayside. Levis and flannel shirts seemed so much more appropriate. My hair grew quite long and a beard sprouted on my face. I was a mountain man. When my hairs needed trimming however it was still at a styling salon.

Nowadays while living the RV lifestyle all of that has changed again. Now, since we always try to go where temperatures are mild, it’s shorts and tee shirts that advertise where we’ve been. Rockports on my feet and a haircut I get somewhere along the road. Haircuts are a crapshoot. In a strange town you’re hardly going to stop guys with nice looking haircuts and ask, ‘Where do you have your hair cut?’ You see a place with a sign that reads, “No appointments necessary. Walk-ins welcome,” and go for it. Yeah I know that super Walmarts have hair salons in them but I just haven’t been able to do that yet. Oh how I don’t like Walmart. I see RVs with signs on their rear end reading, “This rig stops at all Walmarts” and wonder, ‘why’? Those of you old enough to remember the Sears bargain basement will know what I mean when I say Walmarts have THAT SMELL. The smell came from the wieners rotating slowly on those silver rollers for day after day and the popcorn and everything else in the snack bar. That’s what Walmart stores smell like to me, and I only go there when it’s the only choice around. No, no Walmart haircuts for me. I’m a Nordstrom kinda guy. “Have a seat sir and we’ll have an executive shopper take care of you. We have a hair salon should you care to partake of it.” I’m a shopping and haircut snob, I guess.

The sign said, “Walk-ins welcome” so I walked in Redmond, OR. I should have gone the other way. Think about it for a minute. A busy hair salon must be a good salon. If they’re busy you’re going to need an appointment and they won’t take walk-ins. Isn’t that logical. Well, anyhow, the place was clean and smelled nice and the lady said, “Have a seat. What’ll it be today?” I told her I wanted a regular man’s haircut, quite short (I didn’t want to be looking for another sign soon). I told her I still wanted to be able to comb it, but feel free to use the clippers on the sides, and taper my neck—no square cut. There would be no razors involved in this shearing. She sprayed my hair with water and began buzzing away. With me looking in the mirror just a couple of minutes later (Joel Granados used to take 30 minutes minimum with that Roffler whatever) she asked if it was short enough. With wet hair stuck to my head it looked fine. Half an hour and 10 miles away later, when my hair had dried, I looked in a mirror and realized that the hair on one side of my head was much longer than on the other. My head is lopsided. To even out the effect I should carry my head leaning slightly to the left. It was probably the worst haircut I’ve ever had. My mom made me go back to the barbershop to get the square cut fixed and I should have gone back to the hair salon to have it fixed in Redmond. But I didn’t. It’s my new outlook on life. If the haircut is bad I can have it fixed the next time I get a travel cut. You see, by now, I’ve come to realize that no one is looking at me and saying, “Look at that man’s haircut. Isn’t it stylish and cool?

Ron

1 comment:

Shadowgrrl said...

That is the most awesome story ever!! The kidlett and I got the greatest kick out of hearing the story and reliving the past with you. Please please please.. I beg you... keep it up.

Your adoring and faithful fans,
The kid and kidlet