Haircuts

My dad was a stickler for men having short hair. Some of my earliest memories come from trips to the barber. I grew up in Flint, Michigan and downtown we had a Barber College. At one time you could get a 25-cent haircut from the beginners or splurge and for twice that amount and let the advanced students cut your hair. 

Every other Saturday, we would head downtown and get a ‘Regular’ haircut. The exception to this was summers. The last day of school we traveled to the college and I would get a “Butch” haircut. For this they would shave your head down to just peach fuzz. 

Once I turned sixteen, he no longer enforced the rule and for my birthday that year I was allowed to let it grow out. The guiding factor then was when dad mentioned it appeared that there was a lady singing the men’s part in the church choir, it was time for a cut.

What made these trips most memorable was the event following the haircut. Across the street there were two Coney Islands; US and Mikes. A Coney Island is somewhat like a family dinner, only their specialty was a Kogel brand hot dog, served on a steamed bun with coney sauce, onions and mustard. 

The unknowing will call coney sauce chili. Nothing is farther from the truth. Coney Sauce has no beans, has different spices and is served dry. 

Now both of these downtown restaurants had pool tables in the back and served beer. Dad would sit me at the counter, order us each a coney and himself a beer. While I ate my coney he would take his beer and coney and play a game of pool while he consumed them.

My mother, raised in Flint since she was five, never ate a coney. Next to these fine dining establishments were a set of railroad tracks where the wine’os, hobos and bums hung out. My grandfather had told her that was where they got the meat for the coney sauce; unlucky drunks who had been run over by the train. 

Roy Richard
October 2023