A slick craving lead to a slick career for this ole Dannyboy

by GreaserDannyboy

My cousin Jimmy owned his barbershop not to far into town from my granny's house. I didn't realize I had the crave for slick hair until going to Jimmy's shop for -- sometimes just a chat -- or a super slick fade haircut. The fashion all the young men were sporting then was the slicked D.A. It was the late 60s in a rural American town in Mississippi.

It was sometime after going for a visit that he actually cut my hair, but often wanted him to, but waiting for him to ask if I wanted a haircut. I would stay with granny sometimes and would kill time walking several blocks to his shop. I was around 13 then. I had dark, thick, coarse auburn hair then. Of course being a teen and a country boy, my hair was my last worry -- Didn't care anything about grooming it.

I was at my granny's house when the phone rang. It was Jimmy. He told me if I would come down to his shop and spend the evening with him, cleaning up his shop, he would give me a free haircut for my deeds. I agreed. When I arrived to his shop there were several 18 year old boys getting their senior graduation haircuts, all with pretty long hair, around two to three inches all over. For them, they sported a slicked Elvis look, without the sideboards -- as I called them then. I was sorta ashamed to work around them cleaning up the shop, because they looked so much better groomed than I did.

I finished cleaning the shop, and put a quarter in the Coke machine, and sat in the corner just chillin, watching him cut and grease the dudes hair. It was interesting to me how he could make a well groomed boy look like a shinny penny. He had talent in his hands.

The time came for my turn, after all the customers were done. It was closing time so he turned the closed sign forward to the street, and closed the blinds. He ask me if I was ready to get a haircut. I agreed and hopped in the chair. It was still warm from the last customer. My hair was something like an inch all over, very coarse, fuzzy like, dirty, unkept, a just don't care look. I was sitting there wondering what he would do to my hair, hoping it would be very short. However, I was wrong.

He loved country music, Loretta Lynn was his favorite. His radio was tuned to the back woods country music, the drinking and loving songs. He smoked but not in front of customers. But he lit one while he gathered up this tools to cut my hair. He ask my how I wanted it, or did I want him to do what he thought looked good. I told him to cut it like he wanted to.

Man!!! That was the best I think I ever felt in my 13 years. It was then and there I realized I had the greasy hair fetish, but didn't have a clue what a fetish was then.. Anyway, I felt very good, and all googly. I experienced something that felt very good and thought my jeans I would explode. Talking about squirming.... I did it. I tried to hook the heels on my boots over the foot rest to keep my legs still. That didn't work so I just relaxed and let it happen.

He cut just the tips on top, front, and cut more off the sides and back. He peeled the nap and over the ears very close.

After the cut, he turned the chair facing the mirror on the opposite wall. I could see him getting towels, a brush, comb, and a bottle of green and red, (separated in the bottle) hair oil, and a tube of "Island" grease. He wet a towel, placed it in the warmer. Then squirted a good amount of hair oil in his palm and messaged it all over my prickly and fuzzy hair. At the time my hair was dark auburn. Then he pulled out the "hot towel" and wrapped my scalp for a minute or so, then put another one, and then another to dry what he could off my hair. He brushed the hair straight back, side to side, forward, and ended up messing it up.

Then came the grease. I don't know how much he applied then, but it felt like a cup. I had never felt so much grease on my noggin in my life. He combed it straight forward, and parted it in the crown back to the nap. Parting it on the left side, and pulling the front backwards for the flip. I had never felt so handsome. My hair shined like a brand new penny.

He left for his storage room, which was the bathroom, where he kept all his supplies, brought a bottle of the green and red hair oil, and a large tube of Island grease. He taught me how to keep my hair groomed, and gave me tips that ole unkept me needed to know -- leaving the shop with weak knees and two pockets holding the oil and grease he gave me. After that day, I remained his customer, paid him a dollar and 25 cents a cut. (The price then)

I became his assistant in his shop, on Monday, Wednesday, Friday and Saturday evenings after school. He taught me just by my watching him cut with clippers, comb and scissors, and of course the grease came a must.

It's been many years since my introduction to barbering. I now cut hair and use grease if asked. I have 12 regular customers that come to my home for a cut, and I never got my license. There's not a day goes by that I flip a channel and fight the remote to check a passing channel of a nice haircut with shinny strands. Nearly wreck watching a man with a greased doo walking on the sidewalk.

My favorite websites are rockabilly sites. I got my first tat at 23, and at that time was a born-again greaser to the max. (Sadly, I gave myself an all over buzz cut recently) I HATE IT. The rockabilly style is what Jimmy gave the older customers, with tons of grease piled on their black, gorgeous hair.

I have a word to say to the balding out there. Never give up on your grease just because of going bald. Grease, tonic, Vaseline -- anything you prefer is the main goal to satisfy your on thirst. I will be a greaser as long as there is ONE strand of hair on top of my head. It will be greased, curled up on top of my head with pride! I love greasing my hair, primp for hours -- I like trying new brands of different hair grooming products. And I guess the best thing I like to do, is fill my hair with AGS 40wt grease, smush it down, comb it again, and have the plastered look -- sitting in the sun feeling the grease melt down my back into the collar of my shirt, swimming knowing the do won't disintergate, going to bed and getting up the next morning for more grease.

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