Fifth Friday at Manny’s – Ken’s Crewcut by Manny

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I had been eagerly counting down the days to Fifth Friday, putting an "X" through the calendar number at the end of each workday.

My barbering juices were primed and flowing as I flipped the sign on the door of Manny’s Barber Shop to "open". It was Friday, March 29th - Fifth Friday had arrived!

We had experienced an exceptionally early spring, and the temps were approaching a summer-like feel. Throughout the week, several of my clients had asked for their lengthy bulk of winter to be cropped short. I sensed that today quite a pile of shorn hair would be swept to the back of the shop by closing time.

Fifth Friday was the periodic treat I gave myself to cut loose and give an unsuspecting thatch of hair a thorough scalping! The "lucky" man could be a regular or a complete stranger. That said, two things that did not change: 1) the targeted locks were lush and glossy, and 2) the haircut was always a LOT shorter than client requested.

There was nothing I loved more than to watch the nervous jitters as the piles of cut hair grew on the cape during the transformation. Another treat was to watch the reaction when the mirror was held up in back to display the aggressive scalping.

Generally, my "FF" candidates were left speechless, simply nodding their recognition that the haircut was over. A few mouthed off a pre-programmed, "yes, looks good." Only once had there been a very negative reaction where the man stormed out vowing not to return. Ever! I shrugged….it had been worth it!

I had just finished brushing and admiring my own showy mane of shoulder-length, chestnut-colored hair with fiery auburn highlights when I saw a fancy burgundy-colored Lincoln pulling into the shop’s small parking lot. It was Ken Francis, a leading community and business leader! And did he ever have a great head of hair! He would be my Fifth Friday treat â€" no waiting necessary throughout the day, wondering who it would be!

I watched Ken checking out his hair in the window reflection of his car before moving toward the shop. Oh, how elegant he looked in his expensive suit and tie - shades of a young RFK.

"Morning, Manny," Ken said cheerfully as he entered the shop. "Caught you right at opening!"

"The early bird gets the worm," I laughed, giving him and his hair the once over as he removed his suit jacket.

My, was it ever grown out and bulky! In the back, his locks dangled over his dress collar….and, in front, his floppy, wavy forelock was more prominent than ever. With a massive bulk, it swooped over and then fell across his forehead and over his left brow like a crashing tidal wave. On the sides, his bulky hair lapped over the top of his ears.

I had never taken the clippers to Ken before. When he first became my client, he had been specific about a scissors cut. Thinning shears had been my secret weapon to keep Ken’s bulky waves in check.

But, he had never specifically said ‘no clippers’…more like he preferred scissors and a longer business cut.

I decided Ken would be facing away from the mirror for his first experience with the clippers running tight up through his nape. My hand would be clamped on his head, moving it firmly into a bowing position.

As Ken approached the chair, I swiveled it around.

He seemed a tad surprised, but smiled politely and climbed up onto the foot rest before dropping comfortably into the upholstered leather. Facing away from the mirror was not the norm in my shop. Except on Fifth Friday!

I shook open a clean white sheet and cast it, pulling it snuggly around the neck and fastening it closed with a sturdy metal clip.

I brushed the thick mane of glossy brown hair and smoothed it down slowly and carefully with my hands. The silken feel was amazing!

"How long has it been since your last cut?" I asked innocently.

"I know, I know. It’s been too long! So much travel and general busy-ness. I couldn’t put things off any longer. That’s why I decided to come in now, at the beginning of the day. The hair had to be cut today," Ken explained.

"Like you noted, it’s overly long and bulky. Unmanageable, almost. Something shorter?" I suggested.

I combed the forelock down, and it fell to below Ken’s eye.

"I get your point!" Ken chuckled, trying to flick the forelock out of his eyes.

I decided to start with the forelock. How short did I dare cut it? It was at least five inches long…and, factoring the waviness, probably six inches.

I took the comb and gathered the forelock up, combing it a few times and examining its full glory. How dense and full of body it was! But, it was doomed as I held it captive between my fingers and primed the shears.

Quickly, very quickly, I took the shears and snipped it off!

CRUNCH, CRUNCH. The steel blades were like a guillotine on the heads of Louis XVI and Marie Antoinette!

Down to a mere inch in length a chopped the forelock!!

It fell to the cape with an almost audible thud! OUCH!

"There, that’s better," I suggested.

Ken blinked in a startled manner, but remained silent.

The quick assault on the forelock fired me up. Looking at the bulky length lying on the white cape made me want to take off even more of Ken’s nice hair.

Then, I felt him squirming a bit.

Ken tried to look down at the cut lock, but I urged him to, "Sit up, please."

He complied meekly.

Then I whacked off another prime lock from the top and sent it down to the cape.

"Wow, my hair had gotten long," Ken noted in a somewhat raspy, strained voice.

"But, I’m going to take good care of you! You’ll leave here looking like a million bucks â€" a new man. A nice short crop will allow you more time between cuts. How’s that strike you?" I asked.

Ken smiled weakly. "Good, I guess."

"Lots of my clients are asking for shorter cuts these days," I noted, scissoring off more length from the top.

It felt wonderful to clear away the lush growth of hair where it was longest. Before I was through with Ken, he would be getting a clipper-over-comb crewcut!

"This heat," Ken commented, "I can see why."

He seemed resigned to the way all the length on top was being snipped off. But, how would he handle the clippers?

I knew Ken was an avid sportsman, and he needed to be distracted from the drastic haircut.

"How about those Wildcats? Did you see the game last night?" I asked.

On cue, Ken began a long monologue about the excitement in the sixth inning when the home team came from behind with the bases loaded for a homer.

As he chatted on, I reached for the clippers.

The hair at Ken’s nape was so plush and long.

I gently nudged it forward as he was talking.

Ken, complied and bowed his head while he babbled on about the game.

A muffled click set the Oster’s humming. I didn’t wait.

In an instant, the #0 blade was moving up through the nape, clearing away the plush growth and leaving a naked swath of stubble and scalp.

YIKES! It was going to be short up the back!

I eased up a bit and took the clippers up through the crown.

Mounds of his lovely, shiny brown hair fell to the cape and my feet as I flicked the clippers away from his bowed head.

I did a second drive, almost forgetting to remark on Ken’s commentary about the game.

"They’re going to have a great season, I suspect," I said, as I examined the aggressive taper I had just inflicted on unsuspecting Ken.

"You bet your bottom dollar!" he crowed.

"You can sit up straight," I told Ken. "Your hair is so bulky on the sides. How about we tidy you up around the ears?"

This time, I held the clippers where he could see them.

I could see that Ken was leery of the clippers. It was hard to know whether he was aware they had stripped the back to a military length.

"Uh, um," he stammered.

But, before he could say anything, the clippers were employed and came up behind his ear, tight around the top. The drive ended with me flicking a massive shorn clump into the cauldron of hair in his lap.

"Are you leaving me any hair?" he asked, stupefied.

The hour of truth had arrived!

"Not that much," I laughed, feigning a joke that told the truth. "It’ll be short and practical."

I transitioned into a clipper-over-comb mode.

With each movement, more of his glossy hair hit either the cape or the floor. Steadily, I took the length down shorter and shorter and shorter.

Nothing on his head was over an inch when I finished clipping.

Ken looked younger with the tidy brush cut I had given him.

I took the shears to his short bangs and snipped them off near the hairline.

SNIP, SNIP, SNIP.

There! He was sporting a classic crewcut!

I admired my work! It had been a perfect Fifth Friday surprise makeover.

"I hope you like this new shorter look, Ken," I said, as I swiveled the chair around.

He was speechless!

"Remember that unruly mop and all that hair in your eyes?" I chuckled. "History!"

I showed him the back.

"How’s this length for you?" I asked.

"Well, it looks fine. Good, even. But, I didn’t, I hadn’t…uh," he stammered.

Out came the duster to detract from his awkward reaction.

I whisked it about the ears and over the face.

"Look at all that hair!" he finally said as he stared at the cauldron of hair which had collected in his lap.

"You like it? Or perhaps not so short next time?" I asked, a bit apprehensively.

"Show me the back again," he said.

I held up the mirror.

He studied it closely.

"It’s tapered to zero in back," I explained. "Your thick hair does really well cut very short, I think."

"I guess it’ll be a matter of getting used to it," Ken said with resignation in his voice.

I carefully removed the cape, careful to not allow any of the hair to fall on his nice suit trousers.

He stood, and took out his wallet to pay.

"No, please. No payment. I sensed you’re not happy with the haircut," I insisted, imaging where that comment might lead.

"No, I am! Really!" Ken replied. "Here, take it!"

He thrust a $20 bill toward me.

"Are you sure?" I asked. "If you’re not satisfied…."

Ken looked at himself in the mirror and felt his shorn head for the first time.

He fondled the clipped nape and smiled.

"Love the feel," he said.

Then his eyes locked on my shoulder-length tresses.

"What about you, Manny?" he asked. "When are you going to get a decent haircut?!"

My face reddened.

"That’s what I keep asking myself," I said, flicking my long hair around.

"You could use a crewcut yourself," Ken laughed as he went to the hall tree for his suit jacket.

By force of habit, he lifted his hand to mop his forelock from his face â€" and laughed when nothing turned out to be dangling down toward his eyes!

"Shoot, I just might like this length, Manny. You’re a great barber, you know that?" he asked.

"Thanks, Ken!" I replied.

He paused and fished out his wallet again. Out came a second $20 bill. "Here, find a barber. Get a crewcut, like mine!"

It was such a tempting thought…..

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