- Joined
- Jul 27, 2010
- Messages
- 30,543
It was December 23rd, 1972 when my Dad said "boy, you need a haircut."
We climbed into the two-toned green F-150 that still smelled new inside. I leaned against the truck door and anger kept me as far away from Dad as I could get. It was Southern California in the early 70's, and long hair was in. Dad pulled the truck into a spot near the front of Harv's. The barber pole was painted with red and blue stripes, which passed by my peripheral vision as I walked through the open door. The floors were covered with white square tile, upon which sat bright red barber chairs lined up on the right. Empty chairs for patrons lined up on the left, as I walked by them. At the end of the shot gun styled space, Harv's thin frame leaned against a barber's chair, while watching the small color set mounted in the corner. I stared at the white tiles as I walked toward the chair, and the sounds of the game grew louder.
The 1972 AFC Divisional round game between the Raiders and the Steelers was on the television. Harv said hello and gave his seat a quick wipe with the smock which he'd wrap around me before the deed. Dad must of told the 8 year old me that Harv's arm tattoos meant he was an ex-con, because that's not something that I would have naturally thought. Harv wore an old side swept hairstyle, aided with Brylcream. The wall across from me was covered with mirrors, so I could watch the crime in real time.
"Give him a good haircut," said my Dad.
Yeah, I knew what that meant: a crew cut. The sides of my head would be shaved with a little left on top. I would be getting into more than one fist fight over that haircut in the coming weeks, I was sure. I felt the razor plow into my hair, making my scalp feel cool where it was suddenly bare. I watched it for a while in the mirror across from me, until I heard screams of a crowd coming from the television. Harv stopped his assault, as we watched Terry Bradshaw's desperation pass bounce off a player, coming back five yards to be plucked near the ground by Steeler's RB Franco Harris. Franco ran the ball past desperate defenders to the end-zone for an apparent TD, winning the game in the final moments.
It was amazing. That NFL moment was the subject of an hour long special program on the NFL Network, with the retired players arguing about the games outcome. Without the play, I would never have remembered that moment in the barbers chair with a friendly ex-con from Texas. Harv's Barbershop would be gone a few years later. That two-tone green F-150 truck with a brand new 4-Star Camper would be rolled and totaled on Route 66 in the Summer of '73. My Dad died about 12 years ago, but a small moment with him connected to the Immaculate Reception.
It's funny how the brain works.
We climbed into the two-toned green F-150 that still smelled new inside. I leaned against the truck door and anger kept me as far away from Dad as I could get. It was Southern California in the early 70's, and long hair was in. Dad pulled the truck into a spot near the front of Harv's. The barber pole was painted with red and blue stripes, which passed by my peripheral vision as I walked through the open door. The floors were covered with white square tile, upon which sat bright red barber chairs lined up on the right. Empty chairs for patrons lined up on the left, as I walked by them. At the end of the shot gun styled space, Harv's thin frame leaned against a barber's chair, while watching the small color set mounted in the corner. I stared at the white tiles as I walked toward the chair, and the sounds of the game grew louder.
The 1972 AFC Divisional round game between the Raiders and the Steelers was on the television. Harv said hello and gave his seat a quick wipe with the smock which he'd wrap around me before the deed. Dad must of told the 8 year old me that Harv's arm tattoos meant he was an ex-con, because that's not something that I would have naturally thought. Harv wore an old side swept hairstyle, aided with Brylcream. The wall across from me was covered with mirrors, so I could watch the crime in real time.
"Give him a good haircut," said my Dad.
Yeah, I knew what that meant: a crew cut. The sides of my head would be shaved with a little left on top. I would be getting into more than one fist fight over that haircut in the coming weeks, I was sure. I felt the razor plow into my hair, making my scalp feel cool where it was suddenly bare. I watched it for a while in the mirror across from me, until I heard screams of a crowd coming from the television. Harv stopped his assault, as we watched Terry Bradshaw's desperation pass bounce off a player, coming back five yards to be plucked near the ground by Steeler's RB Franco Harris. Franco ran the ball past desperate defenders to the end-zone for an apparent TD, winning the game in the final moments.
It was amazing. That NFL moment was the subject of an hour long special program on the NFL Network, with the retired players arguing about the games outcome. Without the play, I would never have remembered that moment in the barbers chair with a friendly ex-con from Texas. Harv's Barbershop would be gone a few years later. That two-tone green F-150 truck with a brand new 4-Star Camper would be rolled and totaled on Route 66 in the Summer of '73. My Dad died about 12 years ago, but a small moment with him connected to the Immaculate Reception.
It's funny how the brain works.
Last edited:
