Steve Ennis and the 1964 Ford Falcon by Manny

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This is a sequel to: Simpler Times for the Ennis Family

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The horror of his nightmare made Mr. Ennis sit up ramrod straight in bed!

"What is it, honey?" Mrs. Ennis asked, awakened by the commotion.

"Oh, it was a terrible dream," Mr. Ennis panted. "I was sitting in a barber chair and the whole shop was ankle-deep in cut hair. My hair! A man dressed in a barber tunic was preparing to scrape my bald head with a straight-edge razor. And, here’s the real frightening part…the barber was Frank Smith, my supervisor!"

"That wretched man! I wish you could be free of his domineering attitude in the office, honey," Mrs. Ennis said in a sympathetic tone as she snuggled close to her husband.

Then, her hand began to explore his clipped nape.

"Well, things worked out in the end," Mr. Ennis laughed. "Frank was responsible for my return to a simpler life, to a time when men looked like men."

"I love your tidy, slicked look, honey," Mrs. Ennis purred as she touched the stiff strands on top that were still miraculously plastered to the side.

Mrs. Ennis pulled her waist-length hair from behind her and swirled it on top of her head.

"I’m going to call Marge Coulton and ask for some advice. She has the perfect bouffant. Not exaggerated or showy, and not too granny-like with tightly permed curls near the scalp. I may be looking very different by the time I put dinner on the table," she cooed in her husband’s ear.

That made Mr. Ennis turn hard as a bat, and he unleashed his virility.

After they both collapsed into a relaxed state, Mr. Ennis resumed the conversation.

"I had an idea about our son," he said.

"Steve seemed adamantly against any makeover when you tried to haul him to the barber shop yesterday," Mrs. Ennis noted dryly.

"Our son is growing up and needs to decide things for himself. But, I thought about tossing a big carrot into his decision-making process," Mr. Ennis said.

His wife giggled and let her hand stray in search of a massive carrot, but Mr. Ennis was still trying to recover. And, he was way too interested in his plan for Steve.

"Your father's dementia is so far gone; he shouldn’t be driving anymore. But, getting rid of that classic red convertible 1964 Ford Falcon would be a pity," Mr. Ennis explained. "And so…."

"….offering it to Steve if he gets a haircut. Oh, honey, that’s a wonderful idea!" Mrs. Ennis exclaimed, guessing the incentive.

Mr. Ennis smiled broadly, "To be precise, offering it to Steve if he gets a flattop like your father’s!"

"That is a wonderful idea. And, think how much fun he’ll have zipping around in the Falcon with Kenny â€" and perhaps two cheerleaders in the back seat! The boys wearing crisp, button-down collar shirts…" Mrs. Ennis was in full fantasy mode.

Mr. Ennis continued, "And, Kenny might help persuade Steve to shed the shag. The boys are very close and discuss everything. My guess is that Kenny had a bit of conversion experience yesterday when he took me to Mr. Lee’s. When we left the house, he was whining about having to wear his hair short. On the way there, he started to understand and even sympathize with his father’s rationale for the clean-cut look. And, by the time we left the shop, he was praising my new haircut and saying it was so much better that that ‘awful shag’ I had sported."

"Really? And you think Kenny will help persuade Steve to get a proper haircut, like yours? I mean, it’s almost down to his shoulders now. One of the cashiers at Kroger called him ‘miss’ the other day, Steve told me," said Mrs. Ennis. "Even HE seemed embarrassed about the incident, particularly since the man standing behind him in line chimed in and told him to get a ‘decent haircut’!"

"Tomorrow night at this time, Mrs. Ennis, I hope I’m fondling pert, permed curls," her husband said as he ran his fingers through her luxuriant drape of waist-length locks.

She giggled and then switched the focus back to Steve. "I’ll make a special Saturday breakfast when we get up; that might make Steve more receptive to your offer."

As the platter of scrambled eggs with hunks of apple-hickory bacon mixed in was being passed around the table, Mr. Ennis raised the topic of Steve’s hair very gently. The lad’s glossy mane of blond streaked with sun-kissed highlights was freshly washed and looked stunning in the morning light.

"Your mother told me about the incident at Kroger the other day," Mr. Ennis said, observing the lad’s hair and thinking all the high school girls probably envied it.

Steve flicked his hair away from his face.

He grimaced, "Yeah. Bummer."

Steve downed a few forkfuls of egg.

Then, he added, "It happened again this week, when Kenny and I were at the movies. I was entering the men’s room, and this attendant tried to direct me to the ladies’. He was my age, too!"

Mr. and Mrs. Ennis exchanged nervous glances. How to proceed?

But, Steve settled the issue himself by informing them, without any drama, "I’ve decided to cut my hair. Short. Kenny and I were chatting on the phone last night after that blow-up over you wanting to drag me off to the barber. He’s really changed his mind about short hair. I couldn’t believe how he was praising your new look, Dad. And to think he was always gushing about that mod-hairdo and those mutton chop sideburns."

Steve glanced at his watch. "In fact, Kenny’s swinging by in five minutes to take me to Mr. Lee’s."

Mrs. Ennis put her hand gently on Steve’s. She cleared her throat discreetly and said, "Your father and I were talking earlier this morning about Grandpa’s convertible."

Steve’s eyes lit up. "I loved that car! I hope you’re not going to sell it!"

"No way!" Mr. Ennis said. "Now that I’ve got a 1964 haircut to match the car, I was thinking about keeping it for myself."

Mrs. Ennis pursed a little smile and took over, "But, if someone else were to channel Grandpa and his vintage look more closely…."

Steve’s eyes shifted about, unsure about what was being suggested.

"His vintage look?" Steve asked in a puzzled tone before the penny dropped.

His eyes grew wide and his overall expression flashed in anxious surprise.

"You’re not saying that if I get a flattop, I can have Grandpa’s car, are you?" Steve stammered.

"Precisely!" laughed his mother.

Steve jumped up from the table and ran into the living room where there was a framed photo of his grandfather as a middle-aged man. He looked at it intently â€" the deep pile with beveled edges, the perfectly flat top. The haircut and the car that came with it beckoned to him. Steve dashed into the foyer and gazed at his long locks in the mirror. No, he would not miss being referred to as "missy"!

Steve returned to the kitchen, all smiles. "I’m taking this photo to Mr. Lee’s! I hope he can copy Grandpa’s haircut exactly! Even if you’re not serious about the Falcon."

"We’re as serious as we can be," Mr. Ennis exclaimed.

"I think it’ll be easier for Grandpa to turn over the keys if he knows the car is going to you. Especially if he sees you sporting his signature flattop!" Mrs. Ennis enthused.

Kenny’s horn tooted in the driveway; Steve dashed to the door.

"Here’s $20 for the haircut, son. Give Mr. Lee or whoever cuts your hair a good tip," Mr. Ennis said.

As soon as he got in the car, Steve told Kenny about his plan and the prized 1964 red convertible Ford Falcon.

"I can’t believe you’re actually going to get a flattop," Kenny stammered.

He reached over and gently stroked Steve’s thick, flowing mane.

"Will you miss my hair?" Steve asked tenderly. Until recently, Kenny had been fixated on Steve’s lush locks.

"A bit, I think," Kenny murmured.

The two rode in silence.

Kenny glanced at himself in the mirror. Those awful ‘little boy bangs!’

"Show me that photo of your grandfather again," Kenny said when they were stopped at a light.

Kenny took a quick look at the magnificent flattop.

"I think it’s time I start deciding my own haircut," Kenny said defiantly, knowing well that his dad’s cardinal rule was the fathers, not sons, should determine hair length and cut.

"Matching flattops?" Steve asked hopefully.

"Will it be too awkward at school? I mean, there are already some tongues wagging that perhaps we are more than best friends," Kenny said, staring tenderly at his still-longhaired companion.

"I don’t care what people say," Steve said, sloughing off the concern. He was excited about both of them emerging from Mr. Lee’s barber shop with matching flattops.

The two lads were almost giddy as they pushed the glass door open and entered the shop.

"First, I brought in Mr. Ennis, and now I’m bringing in his son Steve," Kenny beamed as the two barbers greeted the two fellows.

"Looks like Steve is even more in need of a proper haircut than his pop was," Peter laughed.

"Which of you two can cut this exact haircut best?" Steve asked, showing the photo.

"That’s Mr. Clarence," Peter noted. "I’ve been cutting his hair since I started here 15 years ago!"

Peter pointed to his chair. "Up you go, young man! I love to give transformation haircuts, and this is going to be a big one!"

Steve smiled sheepishly as he climbed up onto the sturdy metal foot rest and watched himself in the mirror as he eased into the red upholstered barber chair. He flicked his mane to the side â€" it was almost long enough to be pushed back behind his shoulder.

Kenny mustered up his courage to defy his father. "I’m here for a haircut too," he announced.

"But today is not your usual day," Mr. Lee replied, quizzically.

"No, not for my normal haircut….but today I’m getting a flattop, just like Steve’s grandpa," Kenny stated.

Mr. Lee hesitated. He knew about Mr. Coulton’s strong opinions on the hierarchy between fathers and sons. How many times had the bossy man mouthed off to other clients when the caped son was explaining how he wanted his hair cut? ‘It’s the man’s duty to determine the boy’s haircut!’ Mr. Coulton would opine, vociferously and uninvited.

Peter asked Steve one last time if he was sure about the flattop before lifting the mass of hair at the nape and bringing the Oster clippers tight up the back of his head.

Mounds of shiny golden hair tumbled to the floor in torrents.

Steve shivered with fear and excitement. There was no turning back.

Peter took the clippers tight up the back a second time, manipulating the doomed flow with a comb as the shearing progressed.

"So, you liked your Dad’s tidy haircut?" Peter asked the caped lad.

"Well, it was a shock to see him with such short, out-of-fashion hair," Steve admitted.

"But here you are today!" Peter noted.

"Yep," Steve said, not being drawn in to explain.

"He gave you the ultimatum….haircut or else!" Peter suggested.

"No, my dad’s no Mr. Coulton!" Steve exclaimed. "To be honest, I’m a bit anxious what will happen when Kenny arrives home with an unauthorized flattop."

"Well, I’m glad to see Kenny taking control of his own appearance," Peter remarked. "Those bangs are for little boys, not teens!"

Just as he was making that remark, Mr. Lee was running the clippers across the comb, sending Kenny’s bangs to the cape.

"An end to your old look, Kenny," Mr. Lee beamed.

"And to your friend’s too," he added, glancing over to see more sheaves of shimmering blond hair pile up on the cape.

"What are you using on the sides?" Mr. Lee asked his colleague.

"A #1. Fairly short, but it will make a nicer contrast with the plush pile on top," Peter explained.

"Grandpa Clarence is going to be surprised when he sees me with his signature look," Steve said, watching his transformation with awe and wonder.

"Let’s get rid of this," Peter said, quickly combing the fringe straight down to cover most of Steve’s face.

Then, high on the forehead, the shears were employed.

SNIP, SNIP, SNIP!

The mighty forelock fell dramatically to the cape.

Steve squirmed nervously. His hair was getting shorter and shorter. The shorn look was jarringly different from the mod shag he’d cultivated so carefully over the past year.

But, then he thought about the red convertible 1964 Ford Falcon. Steve felt sad that his grandfather was going to have the keys taken away from him. But…he wasn’t responsible for the dementia. And, he thought how he could pitch in and drive Grandpa Clarence to the doctor or store or church. Sporting his new flattop! They would look so cool together in the car….or, him and Kenny, sporting matching tops!

Steve watched Peter closely as he started to take down the top. First the length was quickly lopped off with a pair of barber shears. Then the clippers came out for the precision take-down.

His hair seemed to be a few shades darker without those sun drenched locks. The shiny golden flow was gone and now he was being left with just an amber pelt on top. And it was plush! Peter beveled the sides nicely.

"Show me that photo of your grandpa again," Peter said.

He studied it momentarily.

"Yep, nailed it! What do you think, Steve?" the barber asked as he held up a hand mirror to show off the back.

The back was clipped almost to the scalp. He’d been transformed. There was no possibility but to accept and embrace his new look.

Steve smiled. "It’s perfect; I love it," he heard himself say.

"Do you want butch wax to keep it in place?" Peter asked.

Steve thought of himself at the wheel of the Falcon convertible.

"Sure," he replied.

"This Lucky Tiger will make it extra stiff and give it a nice shine," Peter said. "I recommend you buy some of this product and use it at home too."

Kenny’s haircut was also coming to an end.

"And, what about you?" Mr. Lee asked. "Satisfied with your new look?"

"For sure!" Kenny replied, although he still felt uneasy about the eventual confrontation with his father.

Steve was a bit taken aback at the amount of hair on the floor of the barber shop around the chair where he’d sat. The treasured sun kissed locks that had been the envy of almost every other boy in the high school…waiting for the broom, then the dustpan, then the waste bin, and ultimately the dumpster.

"Good riddance, kid!" Peter chirped as he observed Steve fixated on the cut hair.

Steve looked up and glanced at himself in the mirror. It might even have been Grandpa Clarence fifty years ago!

Kenny came over to admire the new flattop.

"I love them, our new flattops, do you?" he asked.

Again, Steve forced a smile. "Of course…."

He reminded himself about the 1964 Ford Falcon convertible.

"I wish there were some place we could have a bit of privacy right now," Kenny giggled as they walked to their car.

When they returned home, Mr. and Mrs. Ennis were ecstatic about the makeovers.

"And, while you were at Mr. Lee’s Barber Shop, I was at Grandpa Clarence’s," Mr. Ennis announced, holding up a set of car keys. "Why don’t you boys take it out for a spin?"

"Do you want to come with us?" Steve asked, feeling like he owed his parents at least the offer.

"No, honey," Mrs. Ennis said. "I have my appointment at the beauty shoppe this afternoon. Mrs. Coulton is coming with me!"

She imagined her waist-length hair being lopped off at the nape and then the perm rods being rolled painfully tight against her scalp. She would be the last of the Ennis family to make the definite return to simpler times!

"And I have to work on a new grooming policy for the office," Mr. Ennis explained. "The big boss was so happy with my haircut, he told me to draft a policy that all the men would have to follow."

Mr. Ennis let out a chuckle as he thought of his preening supervisor, Frank Smith.

"Point #1. No facial hair!" Mr. Ennis announced.

That huge mustache with those elaborate handlebars would be on the chopping block!

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