In the very early '60s when I used to let my hair grow in front until I had bangs that touched my lips. Of course, when properly greased and pomped, you never would have known my hair length because it was parted on the side with both sides slicked up and in front.

But I remember going to the barber one October before school pics were to be taken. My mother had told the barber that she wanted my hair "cleaned up" for the pics. I had waited until 5:55 PM to go to the shop (he closed at 6:00) and the barber looked at me with disgust when I walked in.

He said, "Boy, you just made it." as he locked the door, pulled the shade and turned the "closed" sign toward the window. When I sat in the chair, the barber (roughly--he was really irritated that he was late going home for dinner, I guess) combed my hair straight down all around. It covered my face completely and hung a little bit over my ears and collar.

He took out his Andis Master clipper and with no guard started buzzing up my right temple and the hair to the skin fell off. He went all the way around with a tight taper and then started on the top with the shears. The first thing he did was cut my precious pompadour off by cutting my hair across my forehead at a sharp angle at the middle of my forehead--about four inches of hair fell. He then lifted up all the hair on top and took it down to about 2 inches.

When he finished, he realized that he had forgotten which side I parted my hair on (right) and had cut the bangs the wrong direction, i.e., the angle was cut so the hair on the left was longer then the right side (which would have been correct for a left-sided part). So, he took his shears and cut off the length on the left side, too, leaving me with very, very short hair in front.

I still have that school pic in which I look like a marine just out of boot camp--sides shorn to the skin and the top just barely long enough to lay down and the front just long enough to stand up a little bit in front with heavy wax on it.

The End