Shave and a Haircut..Two Bits!

Ken's Barber shop was the one of the many barber salons we had in this neighborhood growing up. Ken's was a “real” barbershop loaded with grizzled old guys who fought in WW2 and Korea. A friend of mine once said a barbershop isn't one unless there were pictures of WW2 battleships all over the walls. I'll add to that. Barbershops were barbershops if they were a “Men’s only” club on Saturdays. I swear, half the guys I saw in there while I was waiting to get my haircut were there just to hang out and shoot the shit.

Ken, whose last name I never did know, had a craggy face, accented with the reddest, bulbous nose you ever saw. He sported black rimmed 1950's eyeglasses that perched pretty high on that mountain of a nose. The guy had the forearms of a longshoreman. They were hairy as hell, covered in tattoos and muscular. This guy looked like he carried bricks his whole life. I found out later that he was a Marine who nearly died in some battle on a rainy Pacific island during the war. That would explain the tattoos.

Every Saturday, my Dad would take us kids there for the same military buzz cut. The haircut was tight and low on the sides, allowing the scalp to nearly show through. “Whitewalls” is what the military called that. The hair on the top of my head was cut but longer than the sides so I could swoop it across with a comb. I looked like any Waffen SS officer.

As we sat there, the place was full of cigarette and cigar smoke. Paced every two chairs was a floor standing ashtray that had a little mountain of crushed out butts. The guys in there just talked and talked and talked about subjects I knew nothing about. Hey, I was five years old then! I do remember Vietnam was a huge subject, sports and something about the then operational Narragansett horse race track that was just down the road.

Then it would be time for my turn. I hated the fact that Ken put a booster seat on the chair as it made me feel even more like a little kid. For once I'd like to sit in the chair like everyone else did. No go.

He was a friendly guy I’d have to say. I didn't give him a ton of trouble either as haircuts didn't spook me at all. I was “easy” he used to say. Barbers love to talk and I got the same questions each week.

“How is school?” “Good.” “Did you ride your bike this week?” “Yes.” And if it were close to Christmas, “Are you being good for Santa?” “Yesssssss” I'd say.

Since I was easy and a “good boy,” I always got the Bazooka Joe piece of gum. Ok, I guess sitting still for ten minutes was worth it.

What I couldn't stand about haircuts then, and the same gripe I have about them now, are those little hairs that fall down your back and stick into your skin like fiberglass to sting and itch. I'd come home from the shop and peel off whatever shirt I had on to replace it. That brought Mom out of the woodwork bitching that “it's STILL clean...put it back on!” Ugh...

I wore those military hair cuts till I'd say...1974. For some reason, my Mom took over the job of getting the boy's hair cut and she wasn't too keen on sitting in Ken's...it was a Men's Club after all. She then started to take us to a new place, a real salon called Calabros.

Calabros, had the cheeziest Spanish décor. Orange plush carpeting, paneled walls with pictures of Bull Fighters and Conquistadors on them. The business smelled funny too. The odor I found out later was incense burning. It also had a stereo system constantly playing disco and 70's mainstream rock music. This was cool at least!

The owner/operator was this look alike of Bjorn Borg the tennis player. This guy was as wiry and healthy as any tennis player could be, and yes he played tennis. He sported Barry Gibb's hairstyle. The longish hair that was piled and feathered. I eventually came to like him as he didn't smell like rubbing alcohol like Ken did. I guess I figured out why Ken's nose was as bright as a beet after all those years. Mr Calabro, who was probably in his late 20's then, wasn't an alcoholic, but a pot head. You couldn't really smell that and probably explained the incense he burned in there.

My brother got his first job from Calabros. Mr Calabro hired him to walk his Irish Setter three times a week for what was then, pretty good money. My brother came to find out that Mr Calabro, was gay. Apparently Mr Calabro was very open about his life and offhandedly told my brother. Now, at the age of 10, I had some worldly experiences, via TV and the news, and I heard about the gays but NEVER “knew”one.

I told my Mom about it and she took it in total stride. “He's the only one who can do my hair right.” Was her response.

So when I went back for my next haircut, I sat there and studied him. “So, this a gay man” I said to myself. The funny thing was that he was the same guy I knew before the news. He was the same Bjon Borg/Barry Gibb. And he didn't ask me the same damn questions every time I went either.

The last time I went to Ken's barbershop was due to Calabros being closed for nearly a month, with Bjorn taking a month long vacation in Greece I heard. I guess this guy had money as well. So, one day I had to get my hair cut and that would be at Ken's.

When I went in, I had nearly shoulder length hair at the age of twelve and I thought it pretty cool. Well, it was then. When Ken got me into the chair, I told him I wanted a “haircut” and he nearly beamed and said “Atta boy!” I remember to this day him saying that. I kind of surmised why he was happy about my choice later.

I got the same Waffen SS haircut he had given me at five. I think Ken, being from that old conservative bent, was more than happy to shave all that hippy hair off my head. “Yes!” he may have thought, “This boy has returned to our kind and is an 'American' again.”

You know after I saw what he had done, I hated it.

I paid him and went home and everyone I ran into was shocked by the transformation.

It took a good half a year to grow my hair back out.

Ken's business slowly faded I was told. I then heard he had medical problems that stemmed from his not-so-hidden drinking. One day, walking home from school, which always took us past Ken's, we found it closed. I had no idea where he ended up after that.

Calabros, still is in business to this day. Though I haven't been there in years as I'm not paying $40 for a damn haircut.

 

This, is the hair cut i had when i was five!