Frank and Frank: A Girl in the Shop

The last customer had been gone for nearly twenty minutes.
Outside, the winter wind swept along the sidewalk in front of the little two-chair barbershop across from the technical school. Business had been miserable throughout Kenosha. The barbers’ labor dispute had closed shops, frightened customers, and left men wondering whether they would have work the following week.
Inside, the two Franks sat in their barber chairs.
The older Frank owned the establishment. The younger Frank had only recently arrived, looking for employment after losing his own barbershop in a fire. He had been nearly broke when he walked through the door.
The older barber had given him an opportunity because his partner, Alex, was unable to work.
Neither man had much to do now except wait.
The younger Frank glanced toward the door.
“That young lady certainly had quite a story about Waukesha.”
The older barber nodded.
“That business about the little boy at the quarry?”
“That’s the one.”
The older Frank leaned back in his chair.
“Well, I can tell you a little more about that story. Or at least what I’ve always thought happened.”
The younger barber turned toward him.
“You know something about it?”
“I know people who knew the family. And I know what happened to the boy’s uncle. The rest of it, well, some things a man has to piece together for himself.”
“Go ahead.”
“Boy’s name was Emil. E-M-I-L. Seven years old.”
The younger Frank settled back to listen.
“His family came over from Serbia, around 1910. Settled up around Baraboo. His father had a brother named Joseph. They worked around the quarries and eventually got themselves onto a rented farm along the Baraboo River.”
“Serbia, you say?”
“That’s right. They came here thinking they’d have a better life. Same as a lot of people.”
The older barber paused.
“Now, that boy Emil was always hanging around his uncle Joseph. Followed him everywhere. If Joseph went out to the barn, Emil went to the barn. If Joseph was working around the farm, there was Emil, watching everything he did.”
“Sounds like they were close.”
“Very close. And that’s what made everything that happened afterward so terrible.”
The Raid at the Farm
“Back in September, Joseph was making liquor on that farm. Prohibition had only been in effect since January, but there were already plenty of people making their own.”
The younger Frank nodded.
“Especially with so many men out of work.”
“Well, on September eighteenth, two federal Prohibition agents came out there. Joseph apparently thought they were customers at first.”
“What happened?”
“They searched the place and found three jugs of liquor. Took them outside. Joseph got himself an axe and smashed those jugs to pieces.”
The younger Frank raised his eyebrows.
“Right in front of the agents?”
“That’s the story. One of them tried to stop him. Joseph turned toward him with the axe. The agent fired a warning shot, and when Joseph kept coming, he fired five more.”
“Good Lord.”
“Joseph was hit. From what I understand, he managed to get back toward the farmhouse, but he died from his wounds.”
The older barber stared toward the window.
“Now, those are the circumstances of the shooting as they’ve been told. What happened to the boy is another matter entirely.”
“Emil?”
“Yes. Nobody could find him afterward.”
The Missing Boy
“At first, his mother and father figured he’d run off frightened. Think about it. Seven years old, watching government men come onto the farm, hearing gunshots, seeing his uncle fall.”
“Could’ve scared him half to death,” the younger Frank said.
“Exactly. They figured he’d gone into the woods somewhere. Maybe hidden himself in a shed or run to a neighbor’s place.”
“But he never came back?”
“Not that night. Not the next morning. Not the day after.”
The older Frank shook his head.
“They searched everywhere they could think of. They asked neighbors. They checked the roads. Eventually they reported him missing.”
“Didn’t the authorities help?”
“Apparently not enough to find him. And you have to understand something. His folks were already frightened of the law after what happened to Joseph. They believed those same agents might know something about Emil disappearing.”
“You think the agents took him?”
The older Frank hesitated.
“I don’t know. I wasn’t there. But I’ve always wondered whether the boy saw something that frightened somebody.”
The younger Frank looked down at his hands.
“And then?”
“About a month later, somebody telephoned.”
The Anonymous Call
“The family received word from a man who wouldn’t give his name. Said their boy was at a park near a quarry in Waukesha.”
“Waukesha? That’s a long way from Baraboo for a seven-year-old.”
“That’s what bothered his parents. How would their little boy get all the way down there?”
“What did the caller say?”
“Very little, from what I was told. Just where to look.”
“Did they recognize his voice?”
“Nobody ever told me they did. But they suspected he might have been one of the federal agents.”
The older barber leaned forward.
“Now here’s something important. They didn’t believe their boy was dead. They thought maybe somebody had taken him away from the farm, kept him somewhere for a while, and finally turned him loose.”
“So they went looking for him.”
“Of course they did. They still believed he was alive.”
The Search in Waukesha
“They drove down to Waukesha and went straight to that park. Started asking everybody they came across whether they’d seen a little boy.”
The younger Frank listened without interrupting.
“They described him. Seven years old. Dark hair. Serbian family. Asked people walking along the paths. Asked anybody who looked as though they might have been around the place for a while.”
“Did anybody recognize him?”
“Apparently nobody could give them a useful answer.”
The older barber paused.
“But his mother wouldn’t leave. She was convinced he was there somewhere. Maybe sitting under a tree. Maybe frightened and waiting for somebody to come get him.”
“And they found him?”
“They did.”
The shop fell silent.
“Only he wasn’t alive.”
The younger Frank slowly lowered his eyes.
“Poor little fellow.”
“And here’s the strangest part. He was wearing fine clothes. Clothes his parents didn’t recognize. Not the sort of things he’d have been wearing around that farm.”
“Somebody must have dressed him.”
“That’s what I’ve always thought.”
“Did they know how he died?”
“Not that anybody ever told me. And I wouldn’t pretend to know.”
The older barber rubbed his chin.
“But imagine being those parents. Somebody telephones and tells you where your missing boy is. You drive all that way thinking you’re going to bring him home. Instead, you find him dead.”
Why the Parents Fled
“Now, this is the part that always troubled me,” the older Frank continued. “They didn’t stay there and start demanding answers.”
“Why not?”
“Because they were scared.”
“Of what?”
“Of whoever had made that telephone call. Think about it. Somebody knew exactly where that boy was. Somebody knew his parents would come looking.”
The younger Frank nodded slowly.
“And they figured the agents might be watching.”
“That’s what I believe. They’d already seen Joseph shot dead. They suspected those men had taken their boy. Now they’d found Emil dead in the woods. For all they knew, somebody was hiding among those trees, waiting for them.”
“So they ran.”
“They got back into their automobile and left. Didn’t go back to the farm. Didn’t even go back for their belongings, from what I understand.”
“Where did they go?”
“Kenosha.”
The younger Frank looked surprised.
“Here?”
“That’s right. A relative of mine knew people acquainted with that family. They were in a terrible state when they arrived. Didn’t have much with them, and they didn’t want anybody asking questions about where they’d come from.”
“What happened to them?”
“They stayed around here for a little while. Had some help finding a place to sleep and getting themselves settled. But Kenosha wasn’t exactly overflowing with work.”
“Not with Nash laying men off.”
“Exactly. Eventually they went up to Janesville. The automobile works there offered better prospects.”
The younger Frank nodded. Janesville’s General Motors plant had been operating for years, and the automobile industry offered the possibility of a fresh start, even during difficult times.
“Did they ever go back to Baraboo?”
“Not that I ever heard.”
The older Frank looked toward the empty chair beside him.
“Joseph was dead. Their little Emil was dead. They’d come all the way from Serbia to make a life for themselves, and in a matter of weeks, everything that mattered to them had fallen apart.”
“Terrible business.”
“It certainly was.”
The older Frank sighed.
“And that’s why I don’t believe that little boy simply wandered down to Waukesha on his own. Somebody took him there. Who it was, and what happened to him, I can’t tell you.”
For several moments neither man spoke.
Then the bell above the front door rang.
The Unexpected Arrival
A young woman stepped through the doorway carrying a small traveling case.
She looked to be about twenty-two or twenty-three. Her dark hair was pinned beneath a hat, and she wore a heavy winter coat that had clearly seen several seasons of use.
“Is this Frank’s Barbershop?” she asked.
The older barber stood.
“That’s right. What can I do for you?”
“I’m looking for Frank.”
“Well, you’ve found two of them.”
The younger barber laughed.
The woman smiled.
“I’m Alex’s daughter.”
The older Frank’s expression changed immediately.
“Alex’s daughter? Your father said he might send you down, but I wasn’t expecting you today.”
“He told me you needed help.”
“Well, I did. But things have changed since your father and I talked.”
She set her case beside the waiting chairs.
“Changed how?”
The older barber gestured toward the younger Frank.
“I ended up finding somebody else. Somebody who better suits the shop. This is Frank. He’s an experienced barber, and he’s going to be helping me out.”
She looked toward the younger man.
“Pleased to meet you.”
“Likewise,” he answered.
Then she turned back toward the shop owner.
“Well, that’s fine. But I came all the way from Milwaukee because my father told me you needed somebody.”
“And I appreciate that. I really do. I’m sure Alex meant very well sending you down here. But I’m afraid there’s no position for you.”
“Well, I’d still like an opportunity.”
The older Frank shook his head.
“Young lady, I don’t think you understand. This is a men’s barbershop. It’s no place for a female.”
She raised her eyebrows.
“Why not?”
“Because men come in here to get their hair cut, get shaved, and talk about things men talk about. They aren’t expecting a young woman standing behind the barber chair.”
“I’ve heard men talk before.”
“I’m sure you have. But that’s not the point.”
“Then what is the point?”
“The point is that I’ve already found another barber. And besides that, look at everything going on around Kenosha with this union trouble. Shops are being shut down. Men are getting threatened. Your own father was attacked outside this very establishment.”
“I know what happened to my father.”
“Then you ought to understand why I don’t want you working here.”
She folded her arms.
“I understand you’re worried. But I’m not afraid of working in a barbershop.”
“You ought to be concerned about what’s happening around here. Alex came down to help me after the fellow I had working here died. He hadn’t been helping me more than a month when those men caught him outside the shop one morning.”
“And that’s why he sent me.”
“Well, he shouldn’t have.”
The younger Frank remained quiet, watching the exchange.
The older barber continued.
“Your father is laid up because of this labor trouble. I don’t intend to have his daughter getting herself hurt as well. And frankly, I don’t believe a young woman belongs in the middle of all this.”
She looked directly at him.
“Mr. Frank, I’ve been taking care of myself since I was a little girl.”
“That may be, but Milwaukee isn’t Kenosha.”
“No, but I don’t believe Kenosha has anything I haven’t already seen.”
The older barber gave a short laugh.
“Is that so?”
“Yes, sir.”
A Childhood in Milwaukee
The younger Frank finally spoke.
“Whereabouts in Milwaukee are you from?”
“The Third Ward, originally.”
“I’ve heard about that neighborhood.”
“Then you’ve probably heard some interesting things.”
“Was it really that rough?”
“It certainly could be. My parents came from Sicily, and there were people who didn’t particularly care for Italian families.”
The older Frank nodded.
“That neighborhood used to have quite a reputation.”
“It did. And my brothers were always getting themselves into fights.”
“How many brothers?” the younger Frank asked.
“Three older ones.”
“That must have been something.”
“It was. And they weren’t about to let anybody push their little sister around.”
She removed her hat and placed it on the waiting chair.
“When I was ten years old, my brothers started teaching me how to box.”
The older barber stared at her.
“Box?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Your brothers taught you how to fight?”
“They taught me how to defend myself. There’s a difference.”
The younger Frank smiled.
“I boxed in the Navy.”
She turned toward him immediately.
“Then you know what I’m talking about.”
“I certainly do.”
“My oldest brother started teaching me how to stand properly. Then he taught me how to hold my hands up and protect my face. The other two worked with me on throwing punches.”
“Did they teach you footwork?” the younger Frank asked.
“Every day. They used to make me move around the yard until my legs were ready to give out.”
The younger Frank laughed.
“Sounds like they knew what they were doing.”
“They did. And they didn’t take it easy on me just because I was their sister.”
The older barber shook his head.
“I can’t imagine a father letting his ten-year-old daughter learn to box.”
“Well, my father wasn’t particularly happy about it. But he knew what was happening in the neighborhood.”
“What was happening?”
“Other children were picking fights. Sometimes boys older than I was. And my brothers weren’t always going to be there to protect me.”
The younger Frank nodded.
“So they figured you ought to know how to protect yourself.”
“Exactly.”
“And did you ever have to use what they taught you?”
She smiled slightly.
“More than once.”
From the Third Ward to Mitchell Street
The younger Frank leaned against his barber chair.
“Did your family stay in the Third Ward?”
“No. We moved over toward Mitchell Street.”
“That’s a Polish neighborhood, isn’t it?”
“Mostly Polish, yes.”
“How’d that work out?”
She laughed.
“Not particularly well at first.”
“Why not?”
“Because we were Italian. We moved from one neighborhood where people didn’t always welcome us into another neighborhood where some people didn’t want us either.”
The older Frank looked interested despite himself.
“Your father couldn’t find a place around Brady Street?”
“Not one he wanted to pay for at the time. He found a place near Mitchell Street that he could afford, so that’s where we went.”
“And you kept getting into fights?” the younger Frank asked.
“Sometimes. Not everybody was unfriendly. We made some good friends there. But there were certain families and certain boys who seemed to think we didn’t belong.”
“What did your brothers do?”
“Kept teaching me.”
“Still boxing?”
“Of course.”
She grinned.
“By the time I was fourteen, I could give my brothers a pretty good workout.”
The younger Frank laughed.
“I’d have liked to see that.”
“Well, maybe someday you will.”
The older barber cleared his throat.
“I certainly hope not in my establishment.”
She turned toward him.
“Don’t worry. I don’t go around starting fights.”
“Glad to hear it.”
“Eventually we moved over toward Brady Street. More Italian families there. Things were easier for us.”
“And you stopped boxing?” the younger Frank asked.
“No. By then I enjoyed it.”
“Can’t blame you.”
The older barber studied the young woman for a moment.
“Well, I’ll say one thing. You’re certainly not what I expected when Alex told me he might send his daughter.”
“What were you expecting?”
“Some quiet little girl who’d come down here, take one look at this place, and decide she’d rather go back to Milwaukee.”
She smiled.
“Then I suppose I’ve disappointed you.”
“Something like that.”
No Place for a Woman
The older Frank walked toward the front window and looked out at the street.
“Listen, young lady. I don’t doubt that you’ve had a difficult time growing up. And I don’t doubt that your brothers taught you a thing or two.”
He turned around.
“But this is still a men’s barbershop. And with everything going on around here, I don’t think it’s a good place for you.”
“I have cosmetology training.”
“I understand that.”
“I know how to cut hair.”
“Women’s hair, perhaps.”
“Men’s hair, too.”
“There’s a difference between working in a beauty salon and standing behind one of these chairs.”
“I know there is.”
“And the customers might not take kindly to having a woman cutting their hair.”
“Then why not let them decide?”
The older barber sighed.
“Because I’m the one responsible for this business.”
“And I’m asking you for an opportunity to show you what I can do.”
He looked toward the younger Frank.
“You see what I’m dealing with?”
The younger Frank smiled.
“She certainly seems determined.”
“Determined? She’s been here ten minutes and already argued with me more than Alex did in a month.”
The young woman laughed.
“Father always said I was stubborn.”
“He wasn’t exaggerating.”
She picked up her traveling case.
“Look, Mr. Frank. I didn’t come all this way expecting you to give me something for nothing. I came because my father told me there might be an opportunity. I’ve spent time learning how to cut hair, and I want to make something of myself.”
The older barber listened.
“I know you’ve already hired Frank. I’m not asking you to send him away. I’m asking you to let me prove I can be useful.”
“Useful how?”
“Cutting hair. Helping around the shop. Learning anything I don’t already know.”
“And what happens if the union fellows start causing trouble again?”
“Then I’ll deal with it the best I can.”
“This isn’t a boxing match, young lady.”
“I understand that. And I’m not looking for one.”
The younger Frank spoke up.
“She has a point.”
The older barber turned.
“What point?”
“She’s not asking you to promise her a job. She’s asking you to give her a chance.”
The Same Chance Frank Received
The older barber stood quietly for a moment.
Then he looked at the younger Frank.
“You know something? When you first came walking through that door looking for work, I didn’t know whether you were worth a damn as a barber.”
The younger Frank laughed.
“That’s true enough.”
“You told me you’d lost your shop in the fire and needed work. But I wasn’t about to hire somebody just because he said he knew how to cut hair.”
“No, you weren’t.”
“So what did I do?”
“You gave me a customer and told me to show you what I could do.”
“Exactly.”
The older barber turned toward Alex’s daughter.
“Well, maybe I ought to do the same thing with you.”
Her expression brightened.
“You mean it?”
“Don’t get too excited. I haven’t offered you a job.”
“I understand.”
“But I’ll tell you what. The next customer who comes through that door, if he’s willing to let you cut his hair, I’ll give you the same opportunity I gave Frank.”
She smiled.
“That’s all I’m asking.”
“And I’m going to watch every move you make.”
“That’s fine with me.”
“If you can do a proper haircut, and the customer is satisfied, maybe we can work something out.”
“And if I can’t?”
“Then you go back to Milwaukee knowing I gave you a fair chance.”
She extended her hand.
“That’s a deal.”
The older Frank shook it.
“Now don’t make me regret this.”
“I won’t.”
The younger Frank smiled.
“Well, it looks like we’ve got ourselves another barber to try out.”
“Not yet,” the older Frank corrected. “We’ve got ourselves a young lady who thinks she can cut hair.”
“And box,” she added.
The younger Frank laughed.
The older barber rolled his eyes.
“Yes, and box. Heaven help the poor fellow who complains about his haircut.”
She laughed along with them.
Then she opened her traveling case and began arranging her tools.
The older Frank watched her for a moment before returning to his chair.
“One more thing,” he said.
“What’s that?”
“If you do get a chance to work here, you’re going to have to understand that the customer comes first. Doesn’t matter what he looks like, where he comes from, or how much hair he’s got left. You give him the haircut he asks for.”
“I understand.”
“And no arguing with the customers.”
She smiled.
“I’ll do my best.”
The younger Frank looked toward the owner.
“That’s about the best promise you’re going to get.”
The older barber chuckled.
“I suppose so.”
For the first time since entering the shop, Alex’s daughter felt she might actually have a future there.
She had come down from Milwaukee expecting to work in her father’s place. Instead, she had found that another man had already taken the position.
But she wasn’t going home.
Not without showing them what she could do.
Outside, the cold January wind continued blowing through Kenosha. Somewhere down the street, another business had closed its doors because of the labor trouble.
Inside the little two-chair barbershop, however, the older Frank had agreed to something he never imagined he would.
He was going to let a young woman demonstrate that she could cut a man’s hair.
The younger Frank was curious to see what would happen.
Alex’s daughter was ready.
And all three were waiting for the next customer to walk through the door.

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