Cecil Soil Magazine

Hair Cuts with Herb by Ed Belote Sr.

Herb Benjamin has been cutting hair in the town of North East, Maryland for more than forty-five years. His barbershop (just off the side of his tackle shop) has become a landmark, and all who visit appreciate Herb’s affable, witty personality. Getting a cut at Herb’s is like stepping back in time; almost like being in Mayberry – the friendship and laughter beckon you to come back for more. Push open that squeaky screen door – come on in and listen…

Summer 2005: All about heads...

It was one of those rare times—a late Saturday morning when Herb’s wasn’t crowded. Herb’s son Mike was cutting hair in the adjoining room when I came in.

“Should have been here earlier, Ed, we had a good bunch in here,” said Herb.

“I know Herb. Been finding it tougher and tougher to get into gear lately.”

Mike finished up Mr. Charles Haley’s cut and the satisfied customer stopped to chat with Herb on his way out.

“See ya on the crab line,” Herb said.

“Yeah, I like to take my pots down to the Eastern Shore,” said Mr. Haley. “If the water is a little rough I can still do some crabbing with those pots. I started going down there with my father in the late sixties and then he passed away, so I stopped for a while and crabbed up here. I didn’t catch nothin’ up here,” he said.

“Well, we had a couple good years here,” remembered Herb.

“You gotta wait until August, September in this area,” explained Mr. Haley.

“The crabs will follow the brine. The crabs up here are dull looking – not enough salt in the water. Salt water crabs are bright red, orange and blue.”

Heads nodded in agreement. Of all the heads in Herb’s shop, though, there is one that always dominates the room…a huge 10-point American Whitetail buck horn-mount. This rack is so massive that everyone who sees it agrees they have not seen one bigger. Bolted to its plaque is a short steel cable affixed to the wall.

“So nobody will steal it, Herb?” I asked.

“Heck no,” replied Herb. “So that it doesn’t fall and kill one of my customers sitting under it!” Then he launched into a story.

“That deer was killed in 1944,” Herb began. “He was killed by a black gentleman on Camp Chesapeake, which is now called Bowers Conference Center. If my memory serves me right, his name was Mortimer Ford.

“Cliff Ellory was home from the war and was raking leaves in his yard, when Mr. Ford excitedly approached him and said, ‘I seen the biggest buck there ever was… on Camp Chesapeake.’

“Mr. Ellory replied, ‘Why don’t you shoot that big deer, Mortimer?’ and Ford replied, ‘I don’t have a gun big enough to kill that old boy.’”

Herb explained how Mr. Ellory’s father gave Mr. Ford three 12-gauge pumpkin ball rounds and assured him that ‘this will do it.’

“Three days passed,” said Herb. “And Mr. Ford called and said, ‘I got him, come on over and check him out.’”

“To make a long story short,” continued Herb, “Mr. Ford gave Mr. Ellory’s father the horns and kept the meat for himself. By and by he brought the horns here and asked if I wanted to put them in my shop. I said, ‘Sure, as long as they belong to you…and you can take them back anytime you want.’

“Well, a year or so passed,” said Herb. “And he came back and said, ‘My brother-in-law wants to make knife handles from them horns,’ and he took them.

“It about broke my heart, but those horns belonged to him. I was elated when a few weeks later he appeared in my shop with those horns intact. He explained to me, ‘I just couldn’t saw ‘em up…you keep ‘em, Herb.’”

Someone quipped, “Did they have a deer hunting season back in 1944?”

With a smile, Herb quickly replied, “I’m not sure…you have to remember it was 1944; everything was rationed for the war effort and that meat was very important to his family. People liked to eat, even back then.”

“We can talk about this now,” continued Herb. “Because the two primary individuals aren’t around — Mr. Ford and the Game Warden.”

Everyone in the room smiled and nodded in agreement.

Spring 2005: Customers play the name game...

As Herb was cutting Scott Holmes' hair, an elderly gentleman, with the help of two canes, entered the shop. Herb stopped cutting and quickly reached to help, saying, “Let me take your coat.”

“Go ahead,” said the gentleman. “But I want it back when we're done.” Someone in the room quipped, “He tried to get mine that way too – you gotta watch ole Herb.”

With my writing pad at the ready I asked this gentleman his name. Everyone was laughing at the coat jokes, so I had a difficult time hearing. He pronounced it twice before I asked him to spell it.

“J-O-H-A-N-N-E-S,” he spelled.

I then asked him what his first name was.

“That is my first name,” he replied.

Everyone laughed so hard that I couldn't hear a thing, but I pressed on.

“What's your last name?”

“Sten.” And he spelled it out, “S-T-E-N.” After a brief pause, he said, “But you can call me Jo.” Spontaneous laughter erupted anew.

I started to get the feeling of déjà vu-as if I was watching the old Abbott and Costello skit, “Who's On First.” I could sense suppressed laughter as I focused my attention on a young fellow sitting next to Jo.

“And what is your name?” I half-heartedly asked. The suppressed laughter didn't stay suppressed very long.

“L-O-N-N-I-E S-T-E-V-E-R-N-A-G-L-E,” he spelled slowly, getting a laugh at every letter. Then he added, “I was 14 years old before I could spell it,” which really brought the house down. Above the din I heard Herb yell out, “You're not going win this one, Ed.”

“Don't worry Herb,” I threw back, “I'm not asking for any more names.” The fellow next in line said, “Aw shucks, I was going to tell you that my name is…Bill, just plain Bill.” With that the name game finally ended – I think we got everything out of it we could.

Scott Holmes climbed out of the chair and paid for his cut. Lonnie evidently was waiting on his buddy, and they prepared to leave together. Like everyone that leaves Herb’s, there are friendly “pleased-to-have-metchas,” and “good-byes.” People sincerely appreciate their time in Herb's – it's more than just a haircut.

Mr. Sten had some difficulty climbing into the chair of honor. Herb helped him by taking his canes, one by one. “With these two canes, you would never believe I was on the High School basketball team,” said Mr. Sten, changing the subject to sports.

“Herb, did you show Ed those baseball cards you got under glass there?” Herb motioned me over and I had a look at them.

“Most of them are of Wayne Franklin, a local boy,” said Herb. “He pitches for the San Francisco Giants. This kid never got a swelled head – he comes in here all the time. He is as level-headed a young man as you'll ever find. I think he lives in Rising Sun right now.”

After showing me the cards, Herb commenced to cutting Mr. Sten's hair.

“This is a 'problem head' I got here,” said Herb. “Every time I make a cut, a few wild hairs pop up.”

“My hair has always been a problem,” said Mr. Sten. “I would look at Chester Patchell's hair and say, 'Why can't I have hair like that?' - he had a perfect head of hair.”

“Aw, your hair is thicker than Chester's and didn't go as white,” offered Herb.

Someone quipped, “You guys sound like a bunch of women fussing over your hair.” Everyone joined in laughing and Herb settled it by saying, “The truth be known, there really isn't much difference – we all want to look good.”

After a bit, things toned down somewhat and Mr. Sten had the floor.

“I like your magazine, Ed, and Herb's reminds me a little of that barber shop in 'The Andy Griffith Show,' but I think Herb is a much better barber than that guy in Mayberry. All the years I watched it, I never seen a single hair get cut.”

With his 'problem head' looking a lot better, Mr. Sten collected himself, paid Herb, and with the help of those two canes, (one of which was a 5 foot staff) headed for the door. His departing words were, “I'm headed for the street…I mean streetscape.”

The streetscape project in North East is cannon fodder for a lot of the merchants and residents there. Herb good-naturedly pokes fun at it – like the time he received a promotional life-sized cardboard cutout of a fellow fishing. With a big grin on his face, Herb rushed out the door with it and yelled to the streetscape foreman, “Hey! I got some extra help for ya!”