Paul
The first thing Margaret Balistrieri noticed when she stepped through the factory gates that Monday morning was the noise.
Somewhere beyond the brick walls of the Nash Motors plant, heavy machinery hammered against steel. Motors hummed, belts turned, and the occasional metallic crash echoed through the buildings. Men in work clothes moved purposefully between departments, while a smaller number of women made their way toward the entrances carrying lunch pails and handbags.
For years, Margaret’s husband, Joseph, had described the sounds and smells of automobile manufacturing. He had worked at the Kenosha plant since the days when it belonged to the Thomas B. Jeffery Company, before Charles Nash took over the operation.
Now Margaret was about to become part of that world herself.
She adjusted the collar of her blouse and instinctively reached toward the back of her head.
Her hand found nothing but short hair.
She smiled.
Only two days earlier, her dark brown hair had reached nearly to her waist. On Saturday afternoon, she had walked into a Kenosha barbershop and asked the barber to cut nearly all of it off.
She wanted a short bob, with the hair ending around her ears, the back neatly shaped above her collar, and a soft fringe across her forehead.
The barber had been astonished. He had suggested a simple trim, then a shoulder-length cut, before finally accepting that Margaret knew exactly what she wanted.
She had enjoyed a cigarette while he worked, watching in the mirror as enormous lengths of dark hair fell around the chair.
Joseph had hardly recognized her when she returned home.
“Well, Margaret,” he had finally said, “I suppose there’s no putting it back now.”
“No,” she had answered cheerfully. “And I wouldn’t want to.”
Now, standing outside the Nash factory, she felt more certain than ever that she had made the right decision.
She took a breath and went inside.
The personnel clerk directed Margaret to a department where smaller automobile components were inspected and assembled before being sent elsewhere in the factory.
A foreman named Mr. Harris introduced her to the work.
She would begin by sorting metal fittings, helping assemble small mechanical components, and checking finished pieces for defects.
“Keep your hands clear of anything moving,” he warned. “And don’t reach across another person’s station.”
“I understand.”
He glanced at her hair.
“At least we won’t have to worry about you getting that tangled in anything.”
Margaret smiled.
“That’s exactly why I had it cut.”
At the neighboring bench stood a woman who appeared to be a few years younger than Margaret. She had pale blue eyes and an enormous quantity of auburn hair arranged in a heavy coil at the back of her head.
“You’re the new girl?” she asked.
“Margaret Balistrieri.”
“Evelyn Parker.”
They shook hands.
Evelyn’s eyes immediately traveled toward Margaret’s haircut.
“Oh, my goodness.”
Margaret laughed.
“What?”
“Your hair. It’s so short!”
“Yes, it certainly is.”
“I’m sorry. I’ve just never seen a woman wearing her hair quite like that.”
“Well, now you have.”
Evelyn smiled.
“I rather like it.”
Throughout the morning, Margaret noticed Evelyn glancing toward her whenever they had a moment between assignments.
Margaret suspected she knew why.
By midmorning, the factory had grown warm.
When the break whistle sounded, Evelyn showed Margaret to a small room where several women were eating sandwiches and drinking coffee.
They sat across from one another.
After a few minutes, Evelyn leaned forward.
“Margaret, may I ask you something?”
“Of course.”
“Did you really have all your hair cut off just for this job?”
“Most of it.”
“How long was it before?”
“Nearly to my waist.”
Evelyn’s eyes widened.
“And now it’s barely below your ears!”
“Not even that in the back.”
Margaret turned her head.
Evelyn leaned closer, studying the carefully shaped bob and the short hair exposing Margaret’s nape.
“My goodness. He really did cut it all off.”
“He certainly did.”
“Wasn’t it frightening?”
“A little, when he made the first cut. But once I saw how much easier it was going to be, I was delighted.”
Evelyn reached toward the enormous coil pinned against her own head.
“You wouldn’t believe how much trouble this gives me.”
“How long is yours?”
“Almost to my hips.”
“That’s a lot of hair to manage.”
“It takes forever every morning. And these pins! I must have twenty of them in my head.”
Margaret laughed.
“I used to know that feeling.”
Evelyn studied her again.
“Did your husband mind?”
“He was surprised.”
“Surprised?”
“He looked at me as though I’d come home wearing somebody else’s head.”
Both women laughed.
“But he wasn’t angry?”
“No. Joseph knows I can make decisions about my own hair.”
Evelyn lowered her voice.
“My mother would have a fit.”
“Does your mother brush it every morning?”
“No.”
“Does she wash it?”
“No.”
“Does she spend all that time putting it up?”
Evelyn smiled.
“No.”
“Then perhaps she doesn’t need to be the one deciding how long it should be.”
Evelyn laughed, but Margaret could see that the remark had made her think.
Margaret took a cigarette case from her handbag and offered Evelyn one.
Evelyn hesitated, then accepted.
Margaret struck a match and lit both cigarettes.
“Did you smoke while the barber was cutting it?” Evelyn asked.
“I did.”
“Right there in the chair?”
“Right there.”
“What did he say?”
“He seemed more concerned about cutting a woman’s hair than about the cigarette.”
Evelyn laughed.
“He kept asking whether I was certain,” Margaret continued. “First he suggested a trim. Then he suggested cutting it to my shoulders. I finally told him that if I wanted a trim, I wouldn’t have come to a barbershop asking for a bob.”
“What happened then?”
“He gathered my hair at the back and cut through it.”
“Just like that?”
“Just like that.”
Margaret held her fingers apart to demonstrate the thickness.
“It took several cuts. When he finally got through it, he was standing there holding this enormous length of hair.”
“What did you do?”
“I looked at it, took another puff of my cigarette, and told him to keep going.”
Evelyn laughed so hard she nearly dropped her cigarette.
At the neighboring table, an older woman named Mrs. Collins shook her head.
“I can’t imagine cutting my hair that short.”
Margaret smiled politely.
“Then you shouldn’t.”
“Women have worn long hair for generations.”
“And I wore mine long for years. I simply decided I was finished with it.”
Mrs. Collins returned to her coffee.
Evelyn watched Margaret with growing admiration.
“You really don’t care what people think, do you?”
“I care when it matters. But I don’t see why a woman should spend her life being uncomfortable simply because someone else prefers the way she looks.”
Evelyn fell silent.
Then she reached up and began removing the pins from her hair.
One came out.
Then another.
And another.
Finally, she released the remaining pins, and her thick auburn hair fell down her back in a tremendous wave.
Margaret stared.
“Evelyn!”
“I told you it was long.”
The hair reached nearly to Evelyn’s hips.
Mrs. Collins turned.
“My heavens! Put that back up before the whistle blows.”
“I will.”
But Evelyn was studying Margaret.
“What if I did it?”
“Did what?”
“Cut my hair.”
Margaret smiled.
“Then you’d have short hair.”
“No. I mean really cut it. Like yours.”
“Are you serious?”
Evelyn looked down at the auburn hair lying across her lap.
“I think I am.”
For the remainder of their break, the two women discussed the possibilities.
“Did he use scissors or clippers?” Evelyn asked.
“Mostly scissors. He used a comb to shape the back and cut it close around my neck.”
“Did he cut bangs?”
“Yes. I asked him to.”
“I’ve never had bangs.”
“You might like them.”
“What if I don’t?”
“They’ll grow.”
When the whistle sounded, Evelyn hurried to twist her hair back into its heavy coil.
It took several minutes to secure it.
Margaret simply stood, smoothed her skirt, and put her lunch pail away.
Evelyn noticed.
“See? That’s what I mean. You’re ready to go, and I’m still putting this dreadful hair up.”
“Then perhaps you ought to do something about it.”
Evelyn looked at her.
“Would you come with me?”
“Where?”
“To the barbershop.”
“When?”
“After work. Today.”
Margaret raised her eyebrows.
“Today?”
“If I go home and think about it all evening, I’ll lose my nerve.”
Margaret smiled.
“All right. I’ll go with you.”
“But promise me something.”
“What’s that?”
“If I start getting frightened, don’t let me leave.”
“I’ll encourage you. But if you truly change your mind, that’s your decision.”
Evelyn nodded.
“Fair enough.”
The afternoon seemed to pass slowly.
Every time Margaret looked toward Evelyn, the younger woman was touching the heavy coil at the back of her head.
Sometimes she smiled.
Sometimes she looked worried.
By the time the final whistle sounded, Evelyn was almost bursting with nervous excitement.
They collected their belongings and stepped into the late-afternoon Kenosha sunshine.
The streets were busy with factory workers making their way home.
Evelyn walked beside Margaret, repeatedly touching her hair.
“I can’t believe I’m actually doing this.”
“You haven’t done anything yet.”
“I know. That’s the frightening part.”
The barbershop was several blocks away.
When they arrived, Margaret recognized the wooden door and painted lettering on the front window.
BARBER SHOP — HAIRCUTS, SHAVES, TONICS
She opened the door.
A bell rang overhead.
Inside, the shop smelled of shaving soap, hair tonic, tobacco smoke, and freshly swept floors.
Two men waited on a wooden bench while another sat beneath a striped cape.
The barber looked toward the door.
Then he recognized Margaret.
“Well, I’ll be!”
“Good afternoon.”
“You’re the young lady who had me cut off all that hair Saturday.”
“That’s right.”
“Still happy with it?”
“Very.”
“Well, that’s good to hear.”
Margaret stepped aside.
“I brought you another customer.”
The barber looked toward Evelyn.
“Good afternoon, miss.”
“Good afternoon.”
“Just a trim?”
Evelyn glanced at Margaret.
Margaret said nothing.
This was Evelyn’s decision.
Evelyn swallowed.
“No. I want it short.”
“How short?”
Evelyn pointed toward Margaret.
“Like hers.”
The barber stared.
Then he slowly lowered his scissors.
“Another one?”
Margaret laughed.
“Apparently, you’ve started something.”
When the barber finished with his male customer, he brushed off the chair and invited Evelyn to sit.
Evelyn removed her hat and began taking the pins from her hair.
The barber watched with increasing astonishment.
One by one, the pins came loose.
Finally, Evelyn shook her head, and her enormous auburn hair tumbled down her back.
“Good heavens, miss. How long have you been growing that?”
“Most of my life.”
“And you want it cut like hers?”
“Yes.”
He looked toward Margaret.
“Are you certain you haven’t been talking this poor girl into something?”
Margaret shook her head.
“She’s made up her own mind.”
Evelyn sat straighter.
“I have.”
The barber sighed.
“Well, it’s your hair.”
He fastened a clean striped cape around her neck.
Her auburn hair spilled over the back of the chair.
Margaret took a seat where she could watch.
The barber began brushing Evelyn’s hair, dividing it into sections and carefully combing through its remarkable length.
Then he gathered the bulk of it behind her head.
“Last chance, miss.”
Evelyn closed her eyes.
For several seconds, she said nothing.
Then she opened them.
“Cut it.”
The barber lifted his scissors.
Snip.
The blades bit into the thick auburn hair.
He repositioned them.
Snip. Snip.
Evelyn gripped the arms of the chair.
Margaret watched as the barber worked through the heavy bundle.
The final strands gave way.
Suddenly, the barber was holding an enormous length of auburn hair in one hand.
Evelyn gasped.
“Oh!”
He held it where she could see it in the mirror.
“Well, there it goes.”
Evelyn stared.
Then, unexpectedly, she began laughing.
Margaret laughed with her.
“How does it feel?”
Evelyn reached toward the back of her head.
“It’s gone!”
“Most of it,” the barber replied. “We’ve still got plenty of work to do.”
The barber laid the severed hair on the counter and returned to his chair.
Evelyn’s remaining hair hung unevenly around her shoulders.
He began cutting it shorter.
Long auburn pieces slid down the cape.
He worked first around the back, carefully bringing the length upward toward the nape of her neck.
Then he trimmed around her ears.
Evelyn watched every movement in the mirror.
At one point, she reached for her handbag.
“Margaret, would you hand me my cigarette case?”
Margaret smiled.
“Certainly.”
She brought the case over.
Evelyn selected a cigarette and placed it between her lips.
Margaret lit it for her.
The barber chuckled.
“Now you’re doing exactly what your friend did Saturday.”
Evelyn took a puff.
“Perhaps that’s why she was so calm.”
“Well, keep your head still when I’m cutting around your ears.”
“I will.”
Margaret returned to the bench.
Evelyn sat quietly, occasionally lifting the cigarette away from her lips as the barber worked.
The shop filled with the soft clicking of scissors.
A steady shower of auburn hair fell onto the cape and floor.
The barber gradually shaped the haircut into a rounded bob, slightly fuller at the sides and closely fitted at the back.
He combed a section forward over Evelyn’s forehead.
“Would you like a fringe?”
Evelyn looked toward Margaret.
“Do you think it would suit me?”
“I do.”
Evelyn nodded.
“Then yes.”
The barber carefully cut the front into a short, even fringe.
Several little pieces of auburn hair drifted down onto Evelyn’s nose.
She wrinkled it.
Margaret laughed.
“You’re beginning to look like a different woman.”
Evelyn studied herself.
“I hardly recognize myself.”
The barber continued refining the shape.
He worked around her ears, shortened the back another fraction, and used his comb to check that the sides matched.
Finally, he brushed the loose hair from her neck.
“All right, miss. I believe that’s it.”
He turned the chair slightly toward the mirror.
Evelyn stared.
Her long auburn hair was gone.
In its place was a beautifully shaped short bob, ending around her ears, with a rounded outline and a neat, closely trimmed nape.
Her new fringe framed her blue eyes.
She lifted both hands to the sides of her head.
“Oh, Margaret.”
Margaret stood.
“Well?”
Evelyn smiled broadly.
“I love it.”
The barber removed the cape.
A remarkable amount of auburn hair lay on the floor around the chair.
Evelyn stood and turned toward Margaret.
Margaret stepped closer to examine the back.
“It’s lovely.”
Evelyn reached behind her head.
Her fingers found the short hair at her nape.
She rubbed it gently.
“I can’t believe how short it is.”
“That was the idea.”
Evelyn laughed.
The barber handed her a small mirror so she could inspect the back.
She turned from side to side.
Then she looked at the enormous severed length of hair lying on the counter.
“May I keep that?”
“Certainly.”
He wrapped it neatly in paper.
Evelyn paid him and accepted the package.
As the women prepared to leave, the barber looked toward Margaret.
“I suppose you’ll be bringing another one tomorrow?”
Margaret smiled.
“That depends.”
“On what?”
“On how many women at Nash decide they like our haircuts.”
He shook his head, amused.
“Well, if this keeps up, I may have to start learning a few more ladies’ styles.”
Evelyn laughed.
“You’d better.”
Outside, the evening air felt cool against Evelyn’s newly exposed neck.
She stopped on the sidewalk.
“Oh, my goodness!”
Margaret turned.
“What is it?”
“The breeze!”
Margaret laughed.
“I know.”
“I’ve never felt it like that before.”
Evelyn lifted her hand to the back of her head again.
For several moments, she simply stood there enjoying the sensation.
Then she looked toward the barbershop window.
“Do you think people will stare?”
“Probably.”
“Do you think they’ll laugh?”
“Some might.”
Evelyn considered that.
Then she smiled.
“Well, let them.”
Margaret nodded approvingly.
“Now you’re beginning to understand.”
The two women started walking.
Their short hair moved gently in the evening breeze.
Evelyn suddenly laughed.
“Margaret?”
“Yes?”
“What do you suppose my mother is going to say?”
Margaret thought for a moment.
“Probably something very similar to what Joseph said when he saw mine.”
“And what was that?”
“That there’s no putting it back now.”
Both women laughed all the way to the corner.
The following morning, Margaret arrived at Nash shortly before the beginning of her shift.
She was putting away her handbag when she heard someone call her name.
“Margaret!”
She turned.
Evelyn was approaching, smiling broadly.
Her auburn bob had been freshly brushed, and she wore a small hat that sat neatly over the new style.
“Well?” Margaret asked.
Evelyn laughed.
“My mother nearly fainted.”
“Oh, dear.”
“She asked whether I’d lost my senses. Then she asked what my father would think. Then she asked whether I intended to go around looking like a boy.”
Margaret shook her head.
“And what did you tell her?”
“I told her I intended to go around looking like Evelyn Parker, only with less hair.”
Margaret burst out laughing.
“Good for you.”
They walked together toward their department.
Several women were already gathered near the workbenches.
Mrs. Collins looked up.
Then she stopped speaking.
Her eyes moved from Margaret to Evelyn.
“Evelyn Parker!”
Evelyn smiled.
“Good morning.”
“What on earth have you done?”
“I had my hair cut.”
“I can see that!”
Another woman stepped closer.
“Let me look at the back.”
Evelyn turned.
The woman examined the neatly trimmed nape.
“My goodness. That’s awfully short.”
“Yes,” Evelyn replied happily. “Isn’t it wonderful?”
A third woman approached.
She had dark blonde hair arranged in a thick braid wound around her head.
“Where did you have it done?”
Evelyn and Margaret exchanged glances.
Margaret smiled.
“At a barbershop a few blocks from here.”
The woman studied both haircuts.
“Was it expensive?”
“Not terribly,” Evelyn answered.
“Did it hurt?”
Evelyn laughed.
“Of course not.”
The woman touched the heavy braid at the back of her head.
“I’ve been thinking about doing something different with mine.”
Mrs. Collins threw up her hands.
“Oh, don’t tell me you’re going to cut yours off too!”
The younger woman shrugged.
“Perhaps I will.”
Evelyn looked toward Margaret.
Margaret looked back at Evelyn.
Neither said a word.
They didn’t have to.
The morning whistle sounded.
The women returned to their stations, and the familiar sounds of the Nash factory filled the building once more.
Margaret began sorting the day’s first batch of metal components.
Beside her, Evelyn leaned over and whispered, “Do you suppose she’ll actually do it?”
Margaret smiled.
“I wouldn’t be surprised.”
Evelyn laughed softly.
“That poor barber.”
“What about him?”
“He thought you were the only woman in Kenosha who would ever ask for a haircut like that.”
Margaret glanced toward the other women working along the benches.
Some wore their hair in heavy coils. Others had elaborate arrangements of pins, braids, and scarves.
A few were still looking curiously toward Margaret and Evelyn.
“Well,” Margaret said, returning to her work, “perhaps he was mistaken.”
And somewhere in Kenosha, a barber who had spent most of his career trimming men’s hair had no idea that two young women from the Nash automobile factory were about to bring him an entirely new kind of business.
