One of the keys to gaining status among your peers when attending Samuel Morse Junior High School was, as revealed previously, to wear the latest fashions. For boys that meant going to Johnny Walkers, or at least The Colony Shop at Capitol Court. However, equally significant in establishing and maintaining popularity was the need to wear your hair properly. Unlike clothes, which you would grow out of or wear out in six months to a year, hair grew rapidly and needed to be cut every two to three weeks. An adolescent unaware of how his physical appearance affects his ability to win friends and influence people might have chosen to let a barber within a mile radius of the school cut his locks for somewhere between two or two and a half dollars. However, being aware of the impact such decisions played in my young life my choice was predicated upon the vast knowledge of contemporaries, such as Ron, who were connoisseurs with impeccable taste. Having such insight could lead to only one conclusion. To get my hair cut it was necessary to make an appointment, cajole my, or one of my friends’ parents into driving, or take a bus trip with several transfer points, to the east side of town where on Oakland Avenue sat Imperial Barbershop. Not only was this the perfect place for a teenager to get his haircut, but one could lay odds that if The Four Seasons came to play Milwaukee and Frankie Valli decided they needed haircuts before the show Tony and Frank Lococco would be cutting their hair. It was said that Tony, the younger and more popular brother owned the shop, but I never hesitated to get an appointment with Frank believing to this day that each was an excellent craftsman. There was a third artisan, Bob. With his tall broad frame and blonde hair he had no conspicuous Italian blood, and despite this flaw, was popular with some kids largely because his sense of humor was always full tilt and his haircuts rivaled his colleagues. Upon entering this establishment for the first time it was quickly evident a certain sound usually associated with barbershops was missing. No electric hair clippers were used. My first scissors cut cost me four dollars plus the obligatory half dollar tip making it more expensive than a pair of levis. Ducktails had lost favor during this period of time and the tapered look was just too much like the haircuts mothers gave their sons when they were little. What the Lococcos specialized in doing was tailoring the hair at the back of the neck with just enough taper to avoid a bowl-cut appearance and to produce a look at the bottom of the hairline known as a shelf. They did this by putting down the scissors and finishing the cut by carefully laying a track of hot foam from one sideburn up over the ear and across the back to the other sideburn. Then, strapping a straight edge the number of times needed to hone a blade sharp enough to remove the stubble beneath the foam they would move metal across skin without drawing a single drop of blood. All the while, they would be joking around with each other or with any customer who cared to join in the conversation. Subject matter ranged from the sexual preferences of wives and girlfriends to whether or not Dominic Frinzi, a local lawyer, politician and customer would run for governor. A smattering of profanity was tossed in here or there, but never enough to seem vulgar. If the haircut was not enough to bankrupt my shrinking assets there was the necessary investment in the circular plastic hairbrush with tiny rubber nubs that glided through your scalp and the sweet smelling pomade that made sure your hair stayed in place. It was definitely worth the trip. Your comments are appreciated.
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