From my weekly journal, Okie Without Borders

Growing up Okie in East L A,

It was February 1964. Hundreds of barbershops suddenly go out of business. Shut down almost over night. My goodness why? Did they run out of ‘Butch wax?’ Holy cow, or did the barbering schools shut down leaving no available recruits to replace the aging and retiring barbers? Well then, what?
Pleas, please tell me why!

Just hold on! I will cover that important point in just a moment. But, let me mention this first. As an Okie child growing up in Los Angeles, I go way back to the first time I could possibly remember anything. Back to the first time My Okie dad started cutting my brother’s scruffy Okie hair and mine. I had never visited a real barbershop up until I was age 12. Yes, I had not witnessed the insides of an authentic men’s hair cutting salon up until that time. And, that time was 1956 back in Wilson Oklahoma north of the Red River.

My hair was professionally cut for the first time during a whirlwind summer trip back to Wilson. My mom and dad’s Okie hometown and birthplace. But anyway my dad took me to a local barber on Main Street.

So after all was said and done, my haircut and neck shave back then cost “six-bits.” Yes, the white frocked, mustachioed, and tobacco chewing barber asked me for six-bits as payment in full. Six bits? Having never done business with a real Okie barber, I looked to my dad for clarification. Son, here, give the man seventy-five cents,” my dad advisedly grumbled. Certainly was a big important lesson in barbershop protocol. After all, my only hair cutting experiences had been limited to conscripted backyards clippings and salad bowl over the head trimming. Certainly an event I never volunteered for. “Son, let’s do this now while I have these clippers in my hand. Sit now!” Kerr-plunk!

However, as time slowly passed, once I had ventured through the horrific initiation of home barbering, I graduated to a new level of “Hair styling.” I gladly went on to our nearby East L A hair cutting shop. I began to appreciate the touch of a professionally trained hair-cutting guy. So, after that point in my barbering experience, it was all over but the clipping. I was hooked on real barbershops. It was a magical, mystical passage in to a new world of reality. So, what brought me back again and again to the barbershop? Well, besides paying closer attention to teen girls, it was definitely the curious looking and alluring barbershop magazines. Colorful, slick back publications of anatomical and scientific intrigue. I read magazines of adventure and mystery. Such as Argosy, Field and Stream, Popular Mechanics, and some other magazines I wish not to discuss here. Well, My goodness, why else risk skin puncture or razor cut if typical barber shop magazines were not on site. Nonetheless, It was a veritable library of boys would be boy’s fellowship and secrecy. No girls were allowed. It was an all male cave.

In spite of my late introduction to store bought barberism, my dad still insisted he must cut my hair. But, I resisted. I didn’t like his military chair side manner. “Stop wiggling. Look down. Hold your head up straight son! The same unyielding treatment I experienced even when I wasn’t even getting a haircut. Pretty much the same handling administered to our backyard chickens. Chop and pluck.

I certainly preferred instead, the licensed and professional barber and his easy-going chair side manner. Most barbers would just gently push and tilt your head down or up as if adjusting a rear view mirror. Just point and clip. As easy as that.

None the less, as I continued my visits to our local barber shop in L. A. It quickly became apparent to me, I needed to drum up some work to pay for my expensive hair cut habit. A haircut in my little hometown back in southern California was more than six-bits. Wow! Instead, it was two times six-bits. As I suddenly discovered the four white-frocked barbershop quartette were union shop barbers. Yes, a whopping buck and a half for a cut. I’m sure that was one of the main reasons barbers went out of business in February 1964. It was too darn expensive! Well, maybe.

But not really, here is the real reason barbers closed their shops in 1964. One word. Beatles. The Fab Four. For sure the music and hair trend setting Liverpool quartet who came to America without the benefit of a decent and proper haircut. Moppy, floppy hairstyles. A hair-do that swept the nation like hair on fire. A hair presentation lacking in moral rectitude. Just a shameful display of too many tresses on the noggin and not much good judgment.

Yup. That was the reason for sure. Long disgraceful flyaway hair. Need I say more? Barbering has never been the same since. Now a days, it is most hard for me to find a good barber. Few and far between. Super cuts just doesn’t cut it. Please bring back my magical, mystical Barber Salon. But, on second thought, I now have very few follicles for a reasonable barber to trim or arrange.