If you already read this story and want to read "As AndySees It" which was added 6/4/02 click here.

Living in the Country

by Chris Creemer

I live in the country of Australia. Like in the US, it is more conservative in the country than in the big cities. Even in the long-haired 70s, guys didn't wear their hair as long as their city mates.

So when my nephew Andrew came to stay with me in the late 70s after the break-up of my sister's marriage and his subsequent behavior, which included joyriding and other similar acts, it was no surprise to meet a scruffy longhaired, 16-year-old at the train station.

I should explain that I never have worn long hair. I keep my blond hair short and always well greased.

I looked at my nephew and knew he would find life a it little tougher on the farm than in the city. His mother wanted him to attend the local high school, so he was going to be busy.

He looked at me with disdain. He didn't want to be here in the country and he certainly didn't want to stay with his uncle. He could wrap my sister around his little finger but I was not going to put up with his antics and he knew it.

"Mate, you are going to be busy here. Your mom tells me you like riding horses, well you may get a chance if you behave and if you get your chores and school work done." I said, laying down the law from the start.

"And you are going to need a haircut." I added for good measure.

He just looked at me as if I was from another planet. His attitude did not impress me at all. He would need to understand that the rules had changed. His behavior had distressed my sister and added to the already difficult situation following the departure of his father, who had just left without any forwarding address or explanation. This behavior would end.

We jumped in the truck and headed back to the farm.

He sat sullenly in the seat saying little other than yes or no to my questions.

I showed him his room and gave him instructions that I expected it to be kept tidy and clean, a bit like I expected him to be!

He clearly resented being told what to do but he needed a little discipline and he would get it from me.

I told him to freshen up and come for dinner.

I remember we had a simple meat and potatoes meal that night. We ate in almost total silence. His resentment was palpable.

We went to bed early. I usually did anyway and we had to get up early the next day, which was Saturday so I could get some shopping done. And I decided to get Andrew's hair cut. The longer I delayed the surer I was that the issue would cause trouble.

The next day we were up by six and having made sure that Andrew had made his bed and tidied himself up we headed into town, about half an hour away.

First stop was the general store for some supplies and then I threw Andrew the line that his hair was going to get cut! He protested long and loud in the street, but to no avail. I ushered him into my mate Dave's barbershop and sat him down in the chair.

Dave's shop was your typical old style country barbershop. Just the type I like. No pretense, lots of old magazines, hair dressings in bottles and clippers!

"Dave, meet my nephew Andrew. I think we need to clean him up don't you?" I said with a smile and Dave just laughed.

"Sure thing. What do want kid?" Dave asked.

"Out of here!" came Andrew's answer.

Dave just smiled at me and picked up his clippers.

"Give him a decent short back and sides Dave." I said quickly and sat down to watch Andrew's transformation.

Dave went to work quickly. His clippers sheared away Andrew's long untidy brown locks. In no time at all a handsome 16 year old youth appeared from the mess.

Dave finished off the cut with a shave of Andrew's neck and sides and was about to release Andrew from the chair when I said "Grease him up Dave. I want him real presentable."

I could see Andrew squirm as the Brylcreem was oozed into his neatly cut hair.

Dave spread it through Andy's newly shortened brown hair. The white creem oozed through Dave's fingers as he worked the stuff into Andy's hair. He added more creem, greasing Andy's hair heavily and turning Andy's light brown hair dark and shiny. Then Dave grabbed a tin of pomade and added it to mix. Andy's hair gleamed as the stiff grease worked it's way into his hair.

Dave began to comb Andy's hair. Initially he combed it straight back. Andy looked like a 1920s film star. His head shone under the shop lights. Andy barely looked at himself in the mirror.

The young man had gone from hippy to decent looking youth. Andrew's hair gleamed for the first time.

Then Dave ran the comb down the right hand side of Andy's head and parted the hair, now heavy with grease. He combed the hair into a perfect part and picking up the scissors, finished off Andy's first greaser cut.

Dave let Andrew out of the chair. He emptied his cape full of Andrew's brown hair onto the floor and swept up the remnants of Andrew's 1970s haircut.

I jumped in the chair and ordered Dave to tidy me up, which he did with his usual efficiency and then said, "Dave, you better grease me up like Andy there. Plenty of creem, mate. I want it to really shine!"

I was enjoying this. Andrew just squirmed some more.

Dave did as he was asked. He picked up the bottle of Vaseline Hair Tonic and liberally sprinkled my already lightly greased hair. My hair was soaked in oil and grease as he added some creem and he again combed it straight back giving me a slickback look.

"Like it?" Dave asked.

I readily agreed and asked for more grease to make it extra shiny. Dave turned to the pot of pomade, a sweet smelling stuff called "Sweet Georgia Brown" and added a thick dollop of it to my hair. The loose hold of the Brylcreem was replaced by the stiff goop.

Dave asked me how I wanted it and I said I wouldn't mind a pomp for a change and Dave proceeded to comb and part my hair creating the combination slickback pompadour style, I still wear.

We left the shop and stepped back out into the sunlight. I looked in the window of Dave's shop. The sheen of my hair now matched that of my nephew's.

I caught Andrew admiring himself in the window as well. I didn't say anything but I knew that the change of attitude had started.

Over the next two years Andrew and I became great buddies. He quickly lost his city attitude and worked hard at his school work and farm chores.

He and Dave became good friends too. Each week Andy would go into town and get his hair cut.

Each morning, Andy would stand in the bathroom beside me as we greased and combed our hair.

The two of us would stand in front of the mirror just with our towels wrapped around our waists.

I would stand behind him with dabs of goo making sure he had heaps of creem in his hair and ensuring his DA was perfect. I often felt that this was the closest experience we had together

I would help him create the DA that he gradually adopted, and he would help create my pomp, often we would massage the creem or pomade into each other's hair until our hair was stiff and shone a real greaser shine.

The two of us would often compete for the shiniest hair. And on one or two occasions when Dave stayed overnight after a night of cards and beer, there would be three guys standing in the bathroom getting their hair well greased and generally fooling about as dollops of grease flew across the room.

Andy studied hard. He found his love of horses had turned into wanting to become a vet.

His hair has been kept well greased to this day and he succeeded in becoming a vet.

I put it all down to the change of attitude because of that first haircut at Dave's!

As Andy Sees It

My name is Andrew although most people call me Andy. When I was nearly sixteen my father split with my mother and just up and left us after years of fights, sometimes physical with my mother.

Maybe because I was brought up in difficult circumstances or for some other reason I found living with my mother difficult. I expressed it by getting into continual scrapes with schoolteachers and one occasion with the police for being in a stolen car even though I didn't know it had been stolen.

The result was my mother decided that I was too much of a handful and sent me to live with my Uncle Geoff.

My uncle was a real country man and at the time, the late 70's, he was like the rest of country Australia and was still locked in the 1950s or so it seemed to me.

I was typical of my generation. I had long brown hair in a bit of an afro look. I look at the pictures from the period and just laugh!.jeans with flairs, body hugging shirt and long frizzy hair! Style man, such STYLE!

My uncle seemed to be a disciplinarian. I remember when I arrived to stay with him he took one look at me and announced I was getting my hair cut!

I protested (didn't everyone in the 70's) but it made no difference so without much fanfare I found myself in the barber's chair of the barbershop run by my uncle's friend, Dave.

I remember my uncle telling Dave to clean me up and feeling the vibration of clippers up my neck for the first time in a very long time. It was such an odd sensation. My uncle was such a dominating character that I sat in the chair almost cowering. I began to take in the sights and smells of the old style barbershop.

It was like something out of a movie set in the 50's. There were posters for Brylcreem and Vaseline Hair Tonic and a pile of out of date magazines and the smell... a smell that was instantly sweet and overpowering, of a thousand haircuts, of powder and brilliantine all mixed with a heady dose of male bonding.

Maybe it was the atmosphere or maybe it was because at some unconscious level I wanted the approval of my uncle, I don't know, but as Dave snipped and trimmed and cut my hair I felt as if something was changing in me. Maybe it was because someone cared enough to want me to look good and that someone was spending time to make sure I did. I honestly do not know.

Dave's strong hands made resistance futile in any case. He quickly created short back and sides and left the top long enough for a side part.

In my teenage innocence I was becoming subliminally aware of the maleness of the experience.

When my uncle told Dave to "grease" me up, I was ready to take that step to gain approval of not only my uncle but strangely, Dave as well.

I can still remember the feeling of the goo as Dave massaged it into my hair. The coolness of the creem on my scalp felt strange and as Dave added more stuff before beginning to comb the creem in, my head felt really different.

I can still feel that comb parting and shaping my hair turning my newly shorn hair into a shiny mass shaped with expertise into a greaser's pompadour. (I actually now have the comb and scissors … Dave gave them to me many years later.)

It was strange, but the more Dave trimmed and shaped the more I wanted it to be slicked and shiny. I don't know if he noticed, but was pushing my head around in his hands to get the maximum grease into my hair.

When Dave finished off by putting one final dollop of some very stiff sort of goo into my hair I couldn't believe what I saw in the mirror. I had gone from a shaggy 70's teenager to a sharp looking 1950s man.

I really didn't want Dave to finish. I wanted his big hands rubbing grease into my hair, and massaging my neck and scalp and perhaps subconsciously, something else. When finally he pulled the cape away and I saw a huge pile of frizzy brown hair fall onto the floor I knew that my life had changed and changed for the better.

My uncle jumped into the chair after me, and although he didn't seem to need a hair cut to me, Dave snipped and clippered away and then as I watched almost in awe as Dave's hands again went to work adding grease to my uncle's already heavily greased hair. I watched, mesmerized, as Dave's big hands worked the creem into my uncle's hair.

My uncle has blond hair and the grease turned it a golden colour. His shortish pomp was immaculate as he climbed out of the chair that day.

As we left the shop I checked out my image in the window. My uncle caught my eye and smiled knowingly at me.

He knew that I would be keeping my hair short and greased in the future without him having to insist on it.

In fact over time our mornings became a game as we shaved and then turned attention to our hair.

I would try and out grease Uncle Geoff and he would try and out shine me!

I still can remember one time when as I was still new to grease. We stood nearly naked, with only towels ‘round our waists. My uncle dipped his hand into the Brylcreem jar, and standing behind me with one hand on my shoulder, added a heap of goo to my hair. He told me that I needed to be extra slick from then on.

It was a lesson I learned... and that final extra dollop became a ritual for me and my uncle!

When Uncle Geoff’s friend Dave would come up to the farm for the weekend the bathroom ritual would be even more fun. The three of us would stand in the bathroom greasing each other’s hair and generally fooling around.

Dave always brought his scissors and comb and I would get a shearing before Dave would give me an extra special greasing. He would bring some special goo that seemed to extra shiny and heavy.

He and Uncle Geoff would sit me down after dinner and Dave would trim my hair and then massage the stuff in.

He would comb my hair straight back and then add more of the goo or Brylcreem and then play around until he and Uncle Geoff were happy. Usually I would end up with a pompadour or a heavily slicked parted style or slickback.

I loved the way Dave’s hands would grip my head and push the creem into my hair. The feeling of grease oozing through his hands and my hair, right down to my scalp and the way his comb would shape and adjust my front hair into style he and Uncle Greg wanted. I would be required to keep my hair like that until my next haircut.

When my uncle first introduced me to grease he had Dave give me short back and sides, but when my uncle felt I was grown up enough he decided I should be trained to wear a full DA but training me and my DA ...well that is a story for another time...

The author can be reached at: ceebee@alphalink.com.au

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