New Haven Register (Sunday) (New Haven, CT)
Kibbitzing with Carl helps columnist overcome barber phobia
It was about 45 years ago, at the height of the time when young American men kept their hair long as a political statement of rebellion, that I stopped going to barber shops.
I just didn’t trust barbers. I had some bad experiences with old square guys who didn’t dig my long locks and ignored my plea: “Just take a little off. Don’t scalp me!”
Maybe my parents paid them off.
Anyway, around 1972, when I graduated from college, I decided I would let my friends or girlfriends cut my hair instead.
How did that work out? Not so great for a while, I can now admit. My longtime hometown buddy Earle first volunteered to help me out, in exchange for free beer.
I thought that was a fabulous deal. And so he sat me down on a chair in his parents’ backyard or inside, depending on the weather, and took a pair of scissors to my head while drinking Rolling Rock or whatever I had purchased for him.
We went on like this for a few years, even after I moved away for jobs in Washington, D.C., Nashville, Tenn., and New Haven. Whenever I came home for a visit, I’d buy a six-pack and head over to see Earle. I thought I was looking swell.
But I have a dim memory of meeting a young male hairstylist at a party in Nashville. He stared quizzically at my hair. And he told me: “I could fix that for you.” (I declined his offer and stuck with Earle.)
After I arrived in New Haven in 1977, I noticed an attractive young lady who, like me, was a reporter for the Register. I didn’t realize she was looking at me, too, checking me out. And this, she later told me, is what she was thinking: “Nicelooking guy. But that hair!”
She was able to overlook this, however, and accepted my proposals for dates. Once we started spending a lot of time together, she said, “I think you need a new barber. How would it be if I cut your hair?”
I accepted, and Earle was out of a job. As it turned out, my girlfriend was, and is, a skilled haircutter and even “hairstylist.” She told me she could “shape” my hair, unlike Earle. And she didn’t require any beer.
She has been cutting my hair ever since. We have been married for 34 years. Think of all the money I’ve saved by not going to barber shops! And my hair, I firmly believe, has looked good.
But when my cousin announced he would be getting married on Sept. 8 in Vermont and asked me to be a groomsman, my wife said: “Why don’t you go to a barber and get a professional haircut for this special occasion?”
Well, I resisted, of course. That old “don’t trust a barber” prejudice resurfaced.
But then I thought of Carl McManus, the longtime (53 years!) barber at Phil’s Hairstyles in New Haven. I have written about him occasionally because he’s a colorful character, beloved by his customers, and great fun in conversation.
Carl, who is now 75, once told me he got into barbering because when he was a young man he visited a barber shop on an errand and noticed: “The atmosphere was very friendly, the kibbitzing back and forth with the customers.”
Yes, Carl is great at kibitzing. I know that’s one thing I’ve missed out on by not going to a barber: the local gossip, the back and forth between the cutter and the customer.
When I walked into Phil’s Hairstyles on Wall Street last Monday and proposed to Carl that he cut my hair after 45 years of my staying away from barbers, his eyes lit up. “That would be great!”
I returned Tuesday, expectant but a little nervous. I did trust the man, but ...
“What an honor and a pleasure!” Carl said as I walked in. I asked him to go easy on me, not to take off too much. He understood.
I must say it was an honor for me, too. These are the hands of a man who has cut the hair of Yale presidents and actors Hal Holbrook, Eli Wallach, John Lithgow and Richard Dreyfuss when they were in town for Long Wharf Theatre shows.
And it was a pleasure, as well, once I relaxed into the experience. The water spray, the blow-dryer; this I hadn’t had for many moons.
“This is a real treat!” Carl sang out as he cut, and it was a treat for me.
Of course, we had to kibbitz about baseball. Carl is a passionate fan of the Red Sox and I am equally devoted to the Yankees. I grudgingly remarked his ballclub is looking unstoppable this year. He grimaced and said he wasn’t sure about that.
“You don’t forget ’78,” he said, a Bucky Dent reference that made me smile. “It’s embedded.”
When I asked Carl for his honest opinion on what he had thought through the years as he looked at my head, he said: “A beautiful head of hair! I like long hair. Look at mine!”
He added, “Your wife, she cuts your hair very well! I’m impressed. I might even put her on here.”
After about 10 minutes, Carl said, “We’re winding down here. I’m not going to take too much off. You’ll still be recognizable.” (He was true to his word.)
“OK!” he said a few minutes later. “It’s starting to look like you got a haircut. Now this is the way Randall Beach is supposed to look!
I liked the look. Afterward, while walking around town, I felt rather studly.
I might even do this again sometime.