Things About My Carol: Part 3: "The Barber and the Bald Guy"

Have you ever had difficulty correctly using the terms irony or ironic? Sometimes we describe something as ironic when it should be more accurately described as a coincidence or maybe a paradox. I've been known to get it wrong.

A party band in which I was once a member played at an outdoor family-type event where there were some goats (and a llama) nearby in an encircled fenced area. (I have no real explanation as to why any band was asked to play nor why there were animals present.) They had put several paper signs all around the fence that said "Do Not Feed the Goats" which I only noticed as I watched a goat eat one of the signs. I think that falls under the category of irony. Maybe not.

Did you know that in order to be a barber (among other professions) you must be licensed? In the State of Georgia, you must either graduate from a legit barber school or you must apprentice under the supervision of a Master Barber. If you choose the apprentice route, you're required to complete 3000 hours of apprenticeship. That's the way my wife Carol did it. (Both tracks require passing the state exam to get your license.) She apprenticed under Bill Devore, who was a well-known barber in Augusta, GA. Sadly, he passed several years ago. Under Bill's supervision, Carol completed her required hours of training and passed the exam. 

Yes, my Carol was a Master Barber.

She set up shop in a booth at the Bushwacker Men's Hairstyling, which is now long gone. Carol had a great clientele and a successful business. No surprise.

After my divorce, two of my friends, Skip and Fred, started talking to me independently about a year into my new, unintended bachelorhood about this gal in whom they thought I might be interested. She happened to be both guys' barber (or stylist as it was called back then.) I thought it a bit strange that two non-colluding friends were telling me, more than once, what a good fit Carol and I might be. When I asked Skip, who happened to be married to my ex-wife's sister, why she would be someone I'd be interested in he said, "she'd be perfect for you... you're both short and you both scuba dive." Really? I guess I should go propose right now.

About a year later I did meet Carol and we did start dating and we did, soon thereafter, get married. Skip was apparently correct. But it didn't have anything to do with stature or scuba.

In those days, most guys were wearing their hair a bit longer and styled. A typical haircut first involved getting your hair shampooed, then cut with scissors rather than clippers, then blown dry and styled, and even having a bit of hairspray applied to keep your full hairstyle looking good. I think this relatively new type of men's hair cutting/ styling was called the Sebring method, named after the famous LA hair stylist, Jay Sebring, who was tragically murdered by the Manson family in 1969. Men had longer and bigger hair back in the 70s/ 80s.

Early on in our dating, Carol asked me who did my hair. I told her and she said, "well, don't feel like you have to stop going to Harold... I don't really want to cut your hair." Hmmm. I wasn't expecting the unsolicited rejection. I was actually looking forward to maybe getting free haircuts! After a couple months she told me out of the blue in an annoyed tone, "I don't like the way Harold cuts your hair.... he leaves it too short on the sides." I told her that she should cut it then. So she did. But, as she was blowing it dry I could feel her pulling my hair with the brush as if she was trying to stretch my hair. Finally I asked her what she was doing. She said, "you've got weird hair on the sides... I swear I didn't cut it this short... I think it shrunk!"  I guess Harold wasn't so inept after all. I guess I just had weird hair.

Dec 1982 I think...shortly before marriage

(This was about when "we" decided that I should no longer wear my hair over my ears.)

How good was it though that I married my own personal barber/ hair stylist? Just think of the convenience and all the money I would be saving!

I married a barber and too soon went from weird hair to no hair. The barber and the bald guy.

I think that's irony right there.

From high school bangs to bald went by quickly

Epilogue:

A few months before Jessica was born, Carol retired from barbering. Standing on her feet all day, the other stylists' cigarette smoke (yeah, people smoked everywhere back then,) getting occasional cuts to her fingers, and finding little daggers of snipped hair imbedded in her skin was a toll that she no longer wanted to pay. Plus, she wanted to stay at home with our firstborn. The cries of lament from so many of her customers caught her off-guard. Some begged her to reconsider. A few offered to come to our house for haircuts. Some said they would pay double the normal fee. So many guys loved Carol as their barber. People still comment to me after all these years (39 years ago) how much they loved sitting in Carol's chair. I'm not even sure the main reason was the quality of the haircuts they got. I think they just enjoyed the time they got to spend with her, if only for a half-hour or so.

I get it.

Go to Main Blog Page

Click here to subscribe to my blog