The Way It Was ...
by Joe Morgan


Hair -- as worn by the old publisher

We all know about Samson and his tonsorial problems. Most of us modern types don't sit around and shake too much about losing our strength in this manner, however. May be we should be more worried.

In anticipation of the well publicized lack of sensitivity displayed by military barbers, I invested in a short but stylish crew cut. I felt that it would surely meet all critical standards while still leaving some hair on the sides. The first day I was informed, "Get a haircut, Cadet!"

A year later along with wings came sideburns and at my first overseas location in the Aleutians I found hair heaven. There was no barber and for five delightful months I just sat around and grew hair. Upon being transferred to our squadron unit at Kiska I was told: "Get a haircut!"

As fate did its mysterious thing, the regular barber had been transferred the day before. As was the Navy way, he had sold his tools to a Boilermaker 3rd Class who longed for a new career. Guess who was the recipient of this first effort? Right again, lucky me.

I wish that this spectacular event had been photographically preserved for the full dramatic effect, but I was peeled on the sides, hacked on top and I had at least ten tape patches from the dispensery over my neck wounds. Oh well, it eventually grew out ... and girls weren't a problem out there anyway.

I made it through the rest of the war with only three minor incidents of being put on report for needing a haircut. Not too many officers were shaggy enough to get caught as hair didn't have too big a priority with the Shore Patrol.

Apparently I had learned my lesson as I spent the next thirty years neatly conforming to society's norms with a Princeton Cut for young businessmen. This was kind of a long crew cut that would never get anyone on the "report."

Finally during the County Sesquicentennial in 1971, a touch of the old rebellion gripped me and I started a mustache. As the walrus model blossomed on my lip, the hair on the top had to necessarily follow. There's nothing as quaint as one without the other.

Now, at last, in spite of various detours I've come full circle and am back with my original shaggy look. But what happened to the red? Seems as if the Lord is my hair-dresser. I have the new frosted look and I don't have to spend a penny keeping it up.

The "Instant" Officer's Club
The Gourmet ...
The Pink Belt ...
Redheads and Sol Don't Mix