I Got a Crew Cut. Oops, I Mean a Rah-Rah - Dr. Ed Iannuccilli

I Got a Crew Cut. Oops, I Mean a Rah-Rah - Dr. Ed Iannuccilli

When I opened the door, I stepped on a floor of diamond-shaped tiles as intricately woven as a quilt. My barber shop smelled of lime, alcohol, soap, bath powder, and perfume.

I sat and, after careful magazine exploration, pulled out a National Geographic. “Lookin’ fer the nakid girls, Kid?” Arthur the Barber was quick to quip.

“Uhhh.” I closed the Geographic and picked up a Look.

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“Yer next. C’mon, kid.” I climbed on the footrest and slid into the soft red leather seat. My feet dangled. “How ya doin,’ Kid? Did you get promoted?” Arthur pumped the hydraulic chair.

“Good, thanks.”

“Whatsup?” He put tissue paper around my neck, snapped open a black and white striped smock and cinched it tightly with a large safety pin.

“Can I get a rah-rah today?”

“You mean a crew cut?”

“No, a rah-rah.”

“Does ya mother know?”

I thought of my conversation with Mom. “Your face is too small for that haircut. Those beautiful curls.”

“Dan is getting one.” That endorsed it. Dan was my best friend.

“I thought they called it a crew cut,” said Dad.

“Nope. It’s rah-rah.”

I awoke from that conversation to Arthur’s warning. “OK. Here goes.” I looked in the mirror at my curly hair. If I knew then what wistful was, that was my look. I closed my eyes.

Arthur slapped his bear’s paw on my head and, commando-like, ran the clippers. Done in a flash. “Take a look, Kid.” I opened my eyes. I could see a scar from where someone hit me with a rock.

Arthur unsnapped the safety pin, removed the cape, swirled and shook it like a matador, crumpled and tossed the tissue. “Not quite done, Kid.” He replaced the cape. Hanging alongside the chair was a flexible leather strop. He flipped open the razor with his right hand and held the strop horizontally and slightly bowed with his left. Whoosh, whoosh, he slid the blade along the leather with the speed of a huntsman.

The blade gleamed. “It’s a little warm.”  He lathered the soap, slabbed it on my neck and with ever so gentle top-to-bottom motions, shaved. It actually felt quite good, that is until he applied the clear liquid. I rubbed my neck and looked at my hand to see if there was any blood. None.

‘Ony stings fer a minute, Kid.”

With his soft brush loaded, Arthur sprinkled white powder across my face, nose and neck. Powder flew. Hair flew; much of it down my neck and shirt. No matter how much he fluffed that brush, he left ant-like hairs on my neck, and on those hot days, those bristles drove me crazy.

He rubbed my head with the paw. “All set.” I jumped off the chair, paid and skipped out. I looked around to be sure no one saw me and headed up the street where I met Dan. He did not have a rah-rah.

“I thought you were getting your rah-rah today?”

“My mother wouldn’t let me.”