Nash Girls: Change is the Air

By the autumn of 1917, the war in Europe was changing life in Kenosha, Wisconsin, in ways few people could have imagined.
The Nash automobile works was hiring women in increasing numbers. With so many men entering military service, factory jobs that had traditionally been reserved for men were becoming available to young women who had never dreamed of earning such wages.
For some, it was the opportunity of a lifetime.
For others, it was the beginning of financial ruin.
Twenty-four-year-old Vivian Mercer belonged to the second group.
Only a few months earlier, Vivian had believed herself to be one of the luckiest young women in Kenosha.
Her aunt, who had operated a successful beauty salon for nearly twenty years, had died unexpectedly after a brief illness. Vivian had been devastated by the loss. Her aunt had practically raised her in the beauty business, teaching her everything from shampooing and arranging long hair to cutting, curling, and maintaining the elaborate hairstyles fashionable among respectable women.
Vivian had completed her professional training and was qualified to work as a hairdresser. She had always imagined owning a beauty establishment someday.
She simply hadn’t expected the opportunity to arrive through the death of someone she loved.
Her aunt had left her the salon, its furnishings, equipment, and the goodwill of its customers.
There were four employees, all experienced young women, and the shop had an established reputation.
At first, Vivian believed she could continue operating it just as her aunt had.
She quickly discovered otherwise.
The first employee to leave was twenty-year-old Nora Bellamy.
Nora had worked at the salon for nearly three years, but when Nash offered her a factory position paying considerably more than Vivian could afford, she accepted.
“I’m sorry, Vivian,” Nora had explained. “But I can make more money at Nash in a week than I can here.”
Vivian had tried to persuade her to stay.
“Nora, you know the customers. You’ve got regular appointments. My aunt always treated you well.”
“I know she did. And you’ve treated me well, too. But I have to think about my future.”
Two weeks later, another employee resigned.
Then a third.
By the end of the following month, all four women had left.
Every one of them had gone to Nash.
Vivian was left alone in a salon that had once employed five women, including her aunt.
She tried desperately to keep the business operating.
She opened earlier, stayed later, washed her own towels, cleaned the floors, and handled every customer herself.
But there was another problem.
The customers were disappearing.
Some had gone to work at Nash themselves. Others had husbands or sons serving overseas and no longer wished to spend money on elaborate hairstyles.
And then there was the growing popularity of short hair.
Women who had once spent considerable time arranging their long hair were now asking for bobbed haircuts.
Vivian had been trained in the traditional beauty business. She knew how to create elaborate curls, fashionable waves, and carefully arranged styles.
She could cut hair, certainly.
But the extremely short bobs being requested by factory workers were something she had never particularly liked.
Her aunt had always believed that a woman’s long hair was one of her finest features.
Vivian had inherited that opinion along with the salon.
One afternoon, a customer asked her to cut her hair to chin length, with the back considerably shorter.
Vivian hesitated.
“Are you absolutely certain? You’ve got such lovely long hair.”
The customer nodded.
“I’m tired of pinning it up every morning before going to work.”
Vivian suggested a shorter arrangement that would preserve most of the length.
The customer shook her head.
“No. I want it cut off.”
When Vivian continued trying to persuade her otherwise, the woman gathered her handbag.
“Never mind. I’ll go to Frank’s.”
Vivian had heard that name repeatedly during the previous few months.
Frank’s Barbershop.
Located across from the Nash factory, it had become increasingly popular with women who wanted practical, short haircuts.
Vivian had never visited the place.
She had always considered barbershops establishments for men.
But apparently Frank had no objection to women sitting in his chairs.
And the women certainly had no objection to going there.
By October, Vivian was behind on the salon’s rent.
She had used nearly all the money her aunt had left her trying to keep the business alive.
Finally, one cold morning, she made the decision she had been avoiding.
She closed the salon.
She packed the curling irons, combs, brushes, scissors, and other equipment into boxes.
She covered the styling chairs with sheets.
Then she stood in the doorway, looking at the empty room.
Her aunt had spent nearly twenty years building the business.
Vivian had lost it in a matter of months.
She locked the door and began to cry.
An Unexpected Opportunity
Several days later, Vivian stopped at a neighborhood grocery store.
Behind the counter stood Beatrice Fenwick, an acquaintance who had known Vivian’s aunt for years.
“Vivian! How are things at the beauty shop?”
Vivian sighed.
“There isn’t a beauty shop anymore.”
Beatrice stopped what she was doing.
“What happened?”
“I closed it.”
“Oh, Vivian. I’m sorry.”
“All four girls quit to work at Nash. And I couldn’t keep enough customers coming in to pay the expenses.”
Beatrice shook her head.
“That’s terrible. Your aunt worked so hard for that place.”
“I know.”
Vivian looked down.
“That’s what makes it so much worse. She trusted me to take care of it.”
Beatrice leaned across the counter.
“Now, don’t you start blaming yourself. Things are changing everywhere. Half the young women in Kenosha seem to be working at that automobile factory.”
Vivian nodded.
“I’ve thought about applying there myself.”
“Would you want to do factory work?”
“Not particularly. I’m a trained hairdresser. It’s the only trade I really know.”
Beatrice considered that.
Then she suddenly looked up.
“You know, I heard something that might interest you.”
“What’s that?”
“My brother-in-law knows one of the barbers who worked at Frank’s.”
Vivian frowned.
“Frank’s Barbershop?”
“That’s right. Across from Nash.”
“What about it?”
“Apparently the older fellow who worked in the middle chair isn’t there anymore.”
Vivian looked interested.
“Really?”
“Yes. My brother-in-law says he’s gone to work on a farm outside town.”
“A farm?”
“That’s what I heard. Apparently he decided he wanted to do something different for a while. My brother-in-law says he’s been working out there full-time.”
Vivian thought for a moment.
“So Frank has an empty chair?”
“As far as I know.”
Beatrice smiled.
“Why don’t you go ask him for a job?”
Vivian gave a nervous laugh.
“Me? Work in a barbershop?”
“Why not?”
“Because I’m a beautician.”
“And what does a beautician do?”
“Hair.”
“Exactly.”
Vivian shook her head.
“It’s not quite the same.”
Beatrice shrugged.
“Well, from what I’ve heard, Frank’s doing a tremendous business cutting women’s hair. And you certainly know how to use a pair of scissors.”
Vivian was quiet.
She had spent months watching her business disappear.
She had resisted the short-hair fashion.
She had tried to preserve the traditions her aunt had taught her.
And where had it gotten her?
An empty salon.
No employees.
And no income.
Perhaps it was time to stop worrying about what women ought to want and start listening to what they actually wanted.
“Maybe I’ll go talk to him,” she finally said.
Beatrice smiled.
“That’s the spirit.”
The Empty Middle Chair
The following morning, Vivian walked toward the Nash factory.
It was shortly after seven, and the streets were crowded with women leaving the night shift and others hurrying toward nearby businesses.
Across from the employee entrance stood Frank’s Barbershop.
Vivian paused outside the window.
Inside were three barber chairs.
Frank occupied the first chair, cutting a young woman’s hair.
At the far end, Eddie, the younger barber, was trimming a man’s hair.
The middle chair stood empty.
Several women sat waiting, some smoking cigarettes and talking about their shifts.
Vivian took a breath and opened the door.
The bell above it rang.
Frank looked up.
“Morning, ma’am. Come on in.”
Vivian stepped inside.
The shop smelled of shaving soap, hair tonic, fresh coffee, and cigarette smoke.
On the walls hung photographs of automobiles, motorcycles, and Frank during his Navy boxing days.
It was a very different atmosphere from her aunt’s salon.
But it was busy.
That was the first thing Vivian noticed.
Customers were waiting.
Something she hadn’t seen in her own establishment for weeks.
Frank finished trimming the woman’s neckline and removed the cape.
“There you go. Same as last time.”
The woman smiled.
“Perfect, Frank.”
After she paid and left, Frank turned toward Vivian.
“What can I do for you?”
“My name is Vivian Mercer.”
Frank nodded.
“I know who you are.”
Vivian looked surprised.
“You do?”
“Certainly. Your aunt operated that beauty shop for years.”
Vivian smiled faintly.
“Yes, she did.”
“I’m sorry to hear she passed away.”
“Thank you.”
Frank gestured toward a chair.
“Have a seat.”
Vivian sat.
Frank leaned against his barber chair.
“Now, what brings you over here?”
Vivian glanced at the empty middle chair.
“I understand one of your barbers left.”
Frank nodded.
“That’s right.”
“The older gentleman?”
“Yes. He’s working on a farm now.”
Vivian nodded.
“Someone told me about that.”
Frank smiled.
“He decided to try his hand at farm work. He’s been out there for a while now, and I don’t expect him back anytime soon.”
Vivian took a breath.
“Well, I was wondering whether you might need somebody to replace him.”
Frank studied her.
“You want to work here?”
“If you’ll give me the opportunity.”
He looked at her carefully arranged shoulder-length hair.
“Vivian, how old are you?”
“Twenty-four.”
“And how long have you been cutting hair?”
“Several years. My aunt trained me, and I completed my professional schooling. I’ve been working in her salon since I was young.”
Frank nodded.
“And you’ve been running the place since she passed?”
“I tried.”
“What happened?”
Vivian explained everything.
The employees leaving for Nash.
The declining business.
The customers requesting short haircuts.
And finally, her decision to close.
Frank listened without interrupting.
When she finished, he folded his arms.
“Well, I’ll tell you something.”
Vivian looked up.
“What’s that?”
“You’ve got experience. That’s worth something.”
She smiled slightly.
“Thank you.”
“But there’s something you need to understand about this place.”
He gestured toward the waiting area.
“These girls aren’t coming in here to have their hair arranged into fancy styles.”
“I understand.”
“They want short hair. Some want it cut to their chins. Others want their ears showing. Some want the backs tapered close enough that they don’t have to worry about hair hanging down their collars.”
Vivian nodded.
“And I’m willing to do that.”
Frank studied her.
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
“Because I don’t want somebody sitting here trying to talk every woman out of the haircut she came in for.”
Vivian blushed slightly.
“That’s exactly what I was doing at my aunt’s salon.”
“And?”
“And I lost customers because of it.”
Frank nodded.
“Well, at least you’re honest.”
Vivian looked toward the middle chair.
“I want another chance, Frank. I thought inheriting my aunt’s salon was going to be the beginning of something wonderful. Instead, I watched everything fall apart.”
She paused.
“I’m willing to learn whatever I need to learn.”
Frank smiled.
“All right. Let’s see what you can do.”
A Young Woman Who Needed Help
Before Frank could say anything else, the front door opened.
A young woman stepped inside.
She was nineteen years old, with a tired expression and a worn handbag.
Her name was Dorothy Kessler.
Frank recognized her immediately.
“Dorothy! Come on in.”
She attempted a smile.
“Morning, Frank.”
“You’re not working today?”
Dorothy shook her head.
“No.”
Frank noticed her expression.
“Something wrong?”
She looked down.
“They fired me.”
Frank straightened.
“Nash?”
She nodded.
“Yesterday.”
“What happened?”
“I couldn’t keep up with the production rate.”
She sat down.
“They moved me to another station, but I couldn’t keep up there either. The supervisor said they couldn’t keep paying somebody who wasn’t producing enough.”
Frank shook his head.
“That’s unfortunate.”
Dorothy looked close to tears.
“I tried, Frank. I really did.”
“I believe you.”
“I just couldn’t move fast enough.”
Vivian listened quietly.
Frank pulled a chair closer.
“Now, what are you going to do?”
Dorothy shrugged.
“I don’t know.”
She hesitated.
“My husband is overseas, and I haven’t heard from him in weeks.”
Frank’s expression softened.
“Still in France?”
Dorothy nodded.
“Yes.”
She opened her handbag and removed a folded letter.
“This came from another soldier in his unit.”
Frank accepted it.
The letter had been written by a young man from Racine who had known Dorothy’s husband before the war.
He explained that the unit had been moved to another location and that several men had been separated from their original company during a period of confusion.
Dorothy’s husband had been among those transferred.
The writer hadn’t seen him since.
There was nothing in the letter confirming that Dorothy’s husband had been killed or wounded.
But there was also nothing reassuring her that he was safe.
“He used to write all the time,” Dorothy said quietly.
“Sometimes twice a week. And now nothing.”
Frank handed the letter back.
“Have you received any official notice?”
Dorothy shook her head.
“No.”
“Then don’t assume the worst.”
“I know. But I’ve got this terrible feeling that something happened to him.”
Her voice trembled.
“I keep imagining that he’s lying somewhere over there and nobody’s told me.”
Frank rested a hand on her shoulder.
“Dorothy, the mail coming from overseas can be delayed for all sorts of reasons. And if his unit was moved, that could explain a lot.”
She nodded.
“I hope you’re right.”
Frank looked at her grown-out bob.
“Now, did you come in for a haircut?”
Dorothy managed a small smile.
“Yes. I wanted it cut shorter.”
“How much shorter?”
“Quite a bit. I don’t want it touching my collar anymore.”
Frank glanced toward Vivian.
Then he smiled.
“Well, I think we might be able to help each other this morning.”
Vivian looked puzzled.
Frank turned toward her.
“Vivian, this is Dorothy Kessler. Dorothy, this is Vivian Mercer.”
The women exchanged greetings.
Frank continued.
“Vivian’s looking for a position here. She’s an experienced hairdresser, and I’d like to see what she can do.”
Dorothy nodded.
“All right.”
Frank looked at Vivian.
“Here’s what we’re going to do. You take Dorothy over to the middle chair and give her the haircut she wants.”
Vivian looked surprised.
“Right now?”
“Right now.”
He smiled.
“I’m going into the back room to make a few telephone calls. I want to see whether I can help Dorothy find another job.”
He gestured toward the chair.
“And this will be your opportunity to show me what you can do.”
Vivian nodded.
“I won’t disappoint you.”
Frank smiled.
“Just give her a good haircut.”
Vivian’s First Haircut at Frank’s
Vivian led Dorothy to the middle chair.
It felt strange standing behind a barber chair instead of one of the styling chairs in her aunt’s salon.
The equipment was different.
The surroundings were different.
Even the customers were different.
But the scissors were familiar.
And Vivian knew how to use them.
She fastened a clean white cape around Dorothy’s neck.
“Now, tell me exactly what you’d like.”
Dorothy studied herself in the mirror.
“I want it shorter than last time.”
Vivian lifted the hair at the back of her head.
“How short?”
“Well above the collar.”
“And the sides?”
“I’d like my ears showing.”
Vivian nodded.
“Would you like the back tapered?”
“Yes. Quite short.”
Vivian smiled.
“All right.”
She combed Dorothy’s hair straight down.
The previous bob had grown unevenly, with the back extending onto her collar and the sides hanging below her ears.
Vivian began by establishing the new length at the back.
She lifted a section with her comb and carefully cut away several inches.
The hair fell onto the white cape.
Snip.
Snip.
Snip.
Dorothy watched in the mirror.
“Goodness. That’s a lot of hair.”
Vivian smiled.
“You said you wanted it short.”
“I do.”
Vivian continued working.
She shortened the back, then began blending the hair upward toward the crown.
Her scissors moved confidently.
For all her reservations about short hairstyles, she had never lacked technical ability.
Her aunt had been an excellent teacher.
And Vivian had been a very good student.
She simply hadn’t been willing to embrace the changing fashions.
Now she was.
She reached for a pair of hand-operated clippers.
“Would you mind lowering your head?”
Dorothy leaned forward.
Vivian placed the clippers against the lower nape and squeezed the handles.
Click-click.
Click-click.
The short hairs fell away.
She worked carefully, gradually tapering the neckline upward.
The clippers required a steady hand and consistent pressure, but Vivian quickly became comfortable with them.
When she finished, she brushed away the loose hair and examined the taper.
Then she returned to her scissors.
“All right, Dorothy. Let’s take care of the sides.”
She combed the hair down over Dorothy’s right ear.
“Do you want the ear completely uncovered?”
“Yes, please.”
Vivian began cutting.
Several inches of hair fell away.
She shaped the side into a neat line, leaving the hair slightly longer toward the front.
Then she moved to the left.
As she worked, Dorothy began talking.
“My husband always liked my hair long.”
Vivian smiled.
“Did he?”
“Yes. Before he went overseas, it was almost halfway down my back.”
“That’s quite a change.”
Dorothy laughed softly.
“He told me I shouldn’t cut it.”
Vivian smiled.
“Men can be rather particular about that.”
“He said he wouldn’t recognize me when he came home.”
Her expression changed.
“If he comes home.”
Vivian stopped cutting.
She looked at Dorothy in the mirror.
“You don’t know that he won’t.”
Dorothy nodded.
“I know.”
“Then don’t convince yourself something terrible has happened.”
Dorothy looked down.
“It’s hard not to worry.”
“Of course it is.”
Vivian resumed cutting.
“But you’ve got to keep living your life while you’re waiting.”
Dorothy considered that.
“I suppose you’re right.”
Vivian combed another section into place.
“My aunt died only a few months ago.”
Dorothy looked surprised.
“I’m sorry.”
“Thank you.”
Vivian continued.
“She left me her beauty salon. I thought it was going to be the greatest opportunity of my life.”
“What happened?”
“All four of my employees quit to work at Nash.”
Dorothy looked at her.
“Really?”
Vivian nodded.
“And then the business started falling apart.”
She smiled faintly.
“So here I am, trying to get a job myself.”
Dorothy laughed.
“Well, at least you know how to cut hair.”
Vivian smiled.
“Let’s hope Frank agrees.”
She continued trimming.
The scissors clicked steadily as she shaped the hair around Dorothy’s left ear.
Then she returned to the back, carefully checking the transition between the shorter neckline and the fuller hair above.
She used the comb to lift small sections, cutting away any uneven ends.
Finally, she picked up the hand clippers again and cleaned the lower neckline.
Click-click.
Click-click.
The sound was surprisingly satisfying.
Vivian stepped back.
“Well, let’s see.”
She examined the haircut from the front.
The sides were neat and symmetrical.
Dorothy’s ears were exposed.
The back was closely tapered, while the crown remained full enough to comb smoothly into place.
Vivian made several final adjustments with her scissors.
Then she carefully cleaned the neckline with a razor.
She brushed the loose clippings from Dorothy’s neck and shoulders.
“There.”
Dorothy turned her head.
“Oh, I like that.”
Vivian picked up a hand mirror.
“Here’s the back.”
Dorothy examined it.
“That’s exactly what I wanted.”
She smiled broadly.
“It’s so much shorter.”
Vivian laughed.
“It certainly is.”
Dorothy touched the hair around her ears.
“And it feels wonderful.”
Vivian felt a wave of relief.
She had done it.
She had given a woman the short haircut she requested without trying to persuade her to keep it longer.
And the customer was delighted.
Frank’s Telephone Call
While Vivian worked, Frank was in the back room.
He sat beside the telephone and asked the operator to connect him with the Hudson automobile dealership.
Frank knew the manager, Walter Hensley, through his interest in automobiles.
His Hudson Super Six had become something of a favorite topic between them.
When Walter answered, Frank got straight to the point.
“Walter, it’s Frank.”
“Frank! How’s that Hudson running?”
“Like a dream.”
Walter laughed.
“I figured you’d say that.”
“Listen, I’ve got a favor to ask.”
“What’s that?”
“I’ve got a young woman here who just lost her job at Nash.”
“That’s unfortunate.”
“She couldn’t keep up with the production rate. She’s a good girl, but factory work just isn’t her strong suit.”
Walter listened.
“What kind of work is she looking for?”
“Something steady. She’s got a husband overseas, and she needs the income.”
Walter was quiet for a moment.
“Well, we might have something.”
Frank leaned forward.
“What have you got?”
“Our office is getting behind on paperwork.”
“How so?”
“Sales records, service orders, customer files, invoices. All the usual things. We’ve got more business coming through than the office can comfortably handle.”
Frank smiled.
“Sounds like you need a file clerk.”
“That’s exactly what we need.”
“Would she have to know much about automobiles?”
“Not particularly. She’d need to be able to read, write clearly, organize papers, and follow instructions.”
Frank nodded.
“I think she could handle that.”
“It wouldn’t be a particularly exciting job.”
“She doesn’t need exciting. She needs steady employment.”
Walter laughed.
“Fair enough.”
Frank continued.
“Could you interview her today?”
Walter considered it.
“Send her over this afternoon.”
“Excellent.”
“Now, Frank, don’t promise her anything. I still need to meet her.”
“I understand.”
“But if she’s dependable, and she can handle the paperwork, I imagine we can find something for her.”
Frank smiled.
“I appreciate it, Walter.”
After hanging up, he took a piece of paper from the desk.
He wrote down the dealership’s address.
Underneath, he added:
Ask for Mr. Walter Hensley. Office position. Interview this afternoon.
He folded the paper twice and slipped it into his pocket.
Then he returned to the front of the shop.
The Inspection
Frank emerged just as Vivian was removing the cape from Dorothy’s shoulders.
He stopped.
“Well now.”
Dorothy smiled.
“What do you think, Frank?”
Frank approached the chair.
“Turn your head a little.”
Dorothy turned right.
Frank examined the line around her ear.
“Other way.”
She turned left.
He checked that side.
Then he moved behind her.
“Put your chin down.”
Dorothy lowered her head.
Frank examined the taper.
He lifted the hair with his comb, checking the blend between the short neckline and the fuller crown.
He examined the hairline.
Then he checked the balance of the sides.
Vivian stood quietly beside him.
She knew exactly what he was doing.
He was inspecting her work.
Not simply looking at whether the haircut was attractive, but checking whether it had been done properly.
Frank ran the comb through the back once more.
Then he stepped away.
“That’s a very good haircut.”
Vivian smiled.
“Thank you.”
Frank nodded.
“Nice clean taper. Both sides match. And you’ve left enough length on top that she can comb it without any trouble.”
He looked at Dorothy.
“How do you like it?”
“I love it.”
Frank smiled.
“That’s what matters.”
Then he turned toward Vivian.
“Well, Vivian, I think you’ve earned yourself a job.”
She stared at him.
“You’re serious?”
“Certainly.”
He gestured toward the middle chair.
“If you want it, it’s yours.”
Vivian looked at the chair.
For a moment, she couldn’t speak.
Then she smiled.
“Frank, I don’t know what to say.”
Frank glanced toward the waiting area.
“Well, you can start by getting another girl into that chair. We’ve got customers waiting.”
Vivian laughed.
“You mean right now?”
“Of course, right now. I wouldn’t have offered you the job if I didn’t need somebody working.”
He extended his hand.
“Welcome aboard.”
Vivian shook it.
“Thank you. I won’t disappoint you.”
Frank nodded.
“Just remember one thing.”
“What’s that?”
“The women decide how short they want their hair. Not us.”
Vivian laughed.
“I believe I’ve finally learned that.”
From the far chair, Eddie called out.
“Well, it’s about time we had somebody around here who knows how to cut women’s hair.”
Frank looked over.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
Eddie grinned.
“Nothing at all.”
The women waiting for haircuts laughed.
Vivian found herself laughing with them.
For the first time since her aunt died, she felt that perhaps things were finally beginning to improve.
The Folded Piece of Paper
Frank turned back toward Dorothy.
“Now, young lady, I haven’t forgotten about you.”
Dorothy looked up.
“You haven’t?”
Frank reached into his pocket and removed the folded paper.
He handed it to her.
“Here’s an address.”
Dorothy unfolded it.
“The Hudson dealership?”
“That’s right.”
She looked confused.
“What am I supposed to do there?”
“Ask for Walter Hensley. He’s the manager.”
Dorothy looked at Frank.
“Why?”
“Because I just spoke with him.”
Her eyes widened.
“About me?”
“About you.”
Frank leaned against the barber chair.
“They’ve got an opening in the office. Mostly filing paperwork, keeping customer records organized, handling sales documents and service orders.”
Dorothy listened intently.
“It’s nothing terribly heavy, and you won’t have to stand at a machine all day trying to keep up with production.”
She smiled faintly.
“That sounds wonderful.”
“You’ll have to be careful and dependable. But I think you can handle it.”
Dorothy looked at the paper again.
“Do you really think he’ll hire me?”
Frank nodded.
“I think you’ve got a very good chance. He wants to interview you this afternoon.”
Dorothy stared at him.
“Today?”
“Today.”
“But I haven’t got anything nice to wear.”
Frank smiled.
“Go home, put on your best dress, and head over there.”
He glanced toward Vivian.
“And thanks to our new barber, you’ve already got yourself a fine haircut.”
Vivian smiled.
Dorothy touched the short hair around her ears.
“I suppose I do.”
Frank became serious.
“Now, Dorothy, I can’t promise you the job. Walter has to make that decision.”
“I understand.”
“But I wouldn’t send you there if I didn’t think you had a chance.”
Dorothy looked down at the folded paper.
Then her eyes filled with tears.
“Frank, I don’t know what to say.”
“You don’t have to say anything.”
She stood.
“I was beginning to think I was going to lose everything.”
Frank shook his head.
“You’re not finished just because one job didn’t work out.”
Dorothy wiped her eyes.
“And if my husband doesn’t come home—”
Frank interrupted gently.
“Don’t start planning your life around something you don’t know has happened.”
She nodded.
“All right.”
“Go get yourself that interview.”
Dorothy smiled.
“I will.”
She turned toward Vivian.
“And thank you for the haircut. I really do love it.”
Vivian smiled warmly.
“You’re very welcome.”
Dorothy carefully folded the paper and placed it inside her handbag.
Then she hurried out the door.
A Different Kind of Business
After Dorothy left, Vivian quickly swept the hair from around the middle chair.
Frank nodded toward the waiting area.
“All right, Vivian. Let’s get another customer in there.”
A young woman with long brown hair raised her hand.
“I’m next.”
Vivian smiled.
“Come right over.”
The woman settled into the middle chair.
Vivian fastened a fresh cape around her neck.
“Now, what can I do for you today?”
The woman smiled.
“I want a bob. Quite short, actually. My sister had hers cut here last week, and I decided it was time I did the same.”
Vivian picked up her comb.
“How short would you like it?”
“Just below my ears in front, and quite short in the back. I don’t want it touching my collar.”
Vivian nodded.
“I can certainly do that.”
She began combing the woman’s long hair into sections.
Frank watched for a moment before returning to his own chair.
Eddie glanced over from the far station.
“Looks like we’ve finally got all three chairs working again.”
Frank nodded.
“About time, too.”
Vivian began cutting.
Several inches of brown hair fell onto the cape.
For the second time that morning, she was cutting away a considerable amount of long hair.
But this time, there was no nervousness.
She had a job.
She had a chair.
And she had customers waiting.
As she worked, Vivian thought about what she had witnessed earlier.
She had been cutting hair for years, but she had never seen anyone do something quite like Frank had done for Dorothy.
He had found a customer a possible job while she was getting her hair cut.
Vivian had grown up believing that a beauty salon should be a quiet, refined establishment where women came to have their appearance improved.
Frank’s place was different.
It was a gathering place.
A place where factory workers talked about wages, supervisors, automobiles, the war, and whatever else happened to be troubling them.
And sometimes, apparently, it was a place where a young woman could walk in unemployed and leave with a haircut and a chance at a new life.
Vivian smiled to herself.
She thought she was going to like working here.
Good News from Hudson
It was nearly closing time when the bell over the door rang again.
Vivian had continued cutting hair throughout the day and was finishing another customer’s neckline.
Eddie had finished his last haircut and was cleaning up his station, brushing hair from his tools and wiping down the counter.
Frank was straightening the equipment around his own chair.
Dorothy came through the door.
Her cheeks were flushed from the cool evening air, and she was smiling so broadly that Frank immediately knew something good had happened.
“Well?” he asked.
Dorothy could barely contain herself.
“I got it!”
Frank broke into a grin.
“You got the job?”
She nodded excitedly.
“Mr. Hensley hired me!”
Vivian looked up from her work.
“Oh, Dorothy! That’s wonderful!”
Dorothy hurried toward Frank.
“He asked me about my schooling and whether I could keep records and organize paperwork. Then he showed me the office.”
Frank laughed.
“Sounds promising.”
“He said they’ve got more work than they can keep up with, and they need somebody dependable.”
“And what did you tell him?”
“I told him I could do it.”
Frank nodded.
“Good answer.”
“He said I can start Monday morning.”
Dorothy was practically trembling with excitement.
“It’s daytime work, Frank. I won’t have to work those long factory shifts anymore.”
“That’s good.”
“And he said if I learn the work and do well, there may be other opportunities later.”
Frank smiled.
“Well, there you go.”
Dorothy suddenly stepped forward and threw her arms around him.
“Thank you!”
Frank laughed in surprise.
“Now, now. I didn’t hire you. Walter did.”
“But you made the call.”
He gently patted her shoulder.
“All I did was open a door. You’re the one who has to walk through it.”
Dorothy stepped back, wiping tears from her cheeks.
Vivian smiled at her from behind her customer’s chair.
“And you look lovely with your new haircut.”
Dorothy laughed.
“I feel like an entirely different person.”
Frank leaned against his chair.
“Have you heard anything more about your husband?”
Dorothy shook her head.
“Not yet.”
Her smile faded slightly.
“But I went to the post office this afternoon and asked about the mail. They told me letters from overseas can be delayed for all sorts of reasons.”
Frank nodded.
“That’s true.”
“And I suppose I just have to wait.”
“That’s all you can do for now.”
Dorothy looked at him.
“But at least now I have something to keep me busy while I’m waiting.”
Frank smiled.
“Exactly.”
She looked around the shop.
“I don’t think I’ll ever forget what you did for me today.”
Frank shook his head.
“Just do a good job over there.”
“I will.”
“And when your husband comes home, bring him in for a haircut.”
Dorothy’s eyes filled again.
But this time, she smiled.
“I will, Frank. I promise.”
Two New Beginnings
After Dorothy left, Vivian finished the haircut she had been working on.
She brushed the loose hair from her customer’s neck and removed the cape.
The woman examined herself in the mirror.
“Oh, that’s lovely.”
Vivian smiled.
“I’m glad you like it.”
The customer paid and left.
Vivian began sweeping the hair from around her chair.
Frank was putting away his tools when she approached him.
“Frank?”
He looked up.
“Yes?”
“I wanted to thank you again.”
“For what?”
“For giving me a chance.”
He smiled.
“You earned it.”
Vivian glanced toward the middle chair.
“I suppose I did.”
She paused.
“You know, when my aunt died, I thought taking over her salon was going to be the greatest opportunity of my life.”
Frank listened.
“I thought I could continue everything she had built. I thought the employees would stay, the customers would keep coming, and eventually I would have a successful business of my own.”
“And now?”
Vivian smiled faintly.
“Now I realize I was trying to preserve something that was already changing.”
Frank nodded.
“Times are changing.”
“Yes, they are.”
She looked at the scissors and hand clippers resting on her station.
“I spent months trying to convince women to keep their hair long. And when they started asking for something different, I refused to listen.”
Frank smiled.
“Well, you listened today.”
Vivian laughed.
“I certainly did.”
She walked over to the mirror and examined her own shoulder-length hair.
Frank noticed.
“Thinking about something?”
Vivian smiled.
“As a matter of fact, I am.”
“What’s that?”
She reached up and touched the pins holding her hair in place.
“If I’m going to spend my days cutting all these women’s hair short, perhaps it’s time I had mine cut, too.”
Frank grinned.
“Now that would be something.”
Vivian laughed.
“My aunt would probably have a fit.”
“Maybe.”
Frank smiled.
“But it’s your hair.”
Vivian looked at herself again.
“Perhaps one of these days.”
Frank nodded.
“Whenever you’re ready.”
Outside, the evening shift was beginning at Nash.
Women hurried toward the factory gates, their coats buttoned against the autumn chill.
Some had long hair tucked beneath their hats.
Others wore the increasingly familiar short bobs that had become popular among the women working at the automobile plant.
Vivian watched them through the window.
Only a few months earlier, she had considered those short haircuts a threat to everything her aunt had built.
Now they represented her future.
She had lost the salon.
She had lost the employees.
She had lost the business she had hoped would make her independent.
But she had not lost her ability to work.
And she had not lost her chance to begin again.
That morning, two young women had walked into Frank’s Barbershop uncertain about their futures.
One was a twenty-four-year-old former beauty-shop owner who needed employment.
The other was a nineteen-year-old factory worker who feared she had lost both her livelihood and possibly her husband.
By evening, both had something they hadn’t possessed that morning.
Hope.
Vivian had a new chair, a new employer, and a chance to rebuild her life.
Dorothy had a new haircut, a position waiting at the Hudson dealership, and something positive to occupy her thoughts while she waited for news from France.
Eddie finished cleaning his station and put away his combs and scissors.
Frank glanced toward Vivian.
“Well, you’ve certainly had a busy first day.”
Vivian laughed.
“I think I’ve cut more hair today than I did during my last two weeks at the salon.”
Frank smiled.
“And you’ll have plenty more to cut.”
Vivian looked toward the middle chair.
“I hope so.”
Frank switched off the lights in the back room and reached for his coat.
“Well, Vivian, I’d say you’ve earned your place here.”
She smiled.
“Thank you, Frank.”
He opened the door for her.
“Welcome to Frank’s Barbershop.”
Vivian stepped out into the cool Kenosha evening.
She had arrived that morning hoping someone might give her a chance.
Instead, she had spent the entire day doing the work she loved, in a busy shop where her skills were needed.
And for the first time since her aunt’s death, she was looking forward to going to work.

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