This third month of the year was acting like the lion it was supposed to be.
That wind was whipping about, forcing ol' Morgan to turn his coat collar up as he made his way to his trusty Olds. Of course, ol' Morgan had his lid positioned tightly on his crown. There still is enough of a crop of hair growing to keep ol' Morgan's ears from freezing.
Seems it was about this time of the month back in 1958 that the Morgantown area got hit with a last lick of winter that folks around here have talked about this century and probably will continue to recount it into the next. That was when 50 inches of snow fell on our area and really kept us off the porch.
Some folks remember that they had to pass through a tunnel to get into the Elverson National Bank. That notorious bit of Route 10 that goes over the mountain on the way to Honey Brook was closed down, and special plows were called in an attempt to open up one lane.
Well, as ol' Morgan navigated that same stretch of Route 10, there were the remnants of some last remaining snow piles and drifts still holding on in shaded areas but probably not for much longer as the mercury begins to rise into the 40s more days than not. Ol' Morgan even spotted a couple fields that had been plowed in the last day or two. It is time to put ol' Morgan's heirloom snow shovel into storage? Maybe, and maybe not.
Every six week or so, ol' Morgan makes the trek to have his ears lowered, as some people would say. Others would say he'd be off to the hair stylist.
Ever the fashion plate, ol' Morgan settles into the chair and answers the stylist's questions as to how he would like to have his hair done with, "Keep it full, not too much over the ears.' The crop, even though it's thinning out a bit, still manages to come in with a good enough harvest, much to ol' Morgan's delight.
As he sat for the stylist, after the optional shampoo, ol' Morgan got to thinking about how he detested and feared getting a hair cut as a young shaver. Oh, the itch that those little pieces of hair on the collar and down your back would create!
Back in those days, ol' Morgan's father would take him to the Polish barber down in the Port Richmond section of Philadelphia. His name was Pan Stan (pon, not pan). There were red barber chairs in his shop that looked like museum pieces, even back then. And Pan Stan would smile and get ol' Morgan situated on the kids' seat he had placed across the arms of the chair.
Ol' Morgan can still remember that distinct sound of hand clippers and scissors being worked by the benevolent Pan Stan. KUPcha. KUPcha. KUPcha. Pan Stan would work up one side of ol' Morgan's noggin and down the other. Then, he would go over to the front window and bring the electric clippers into play making a slow, but steady, hum as he put the finishing touches on the job.
As ol' Morgan recalls, Pan Stan's shop floor had those small pieces of white tile, the kind you would find in an old saloon. And, on the wall next to the front window where the electric trimmers were perched, there methodically ticked a clock that clearly resembled a Regulator, if it wasn't the real thing.
On the counter under the mirror that reflected into another mirror across the shop and on into infinity, was a lineup of tonics, brushes, and powder. Pan Stan would brush away the cuttings that had fallen onto ol' Morgan's neck in a cloud of powder that became a part of ol' Morgan's being for the rest of the day. And, of course, among that collection of tonics on the counter were a couple bottles of Pinaud, as well as, that Oster lather machine.
But, unlike today, there was no music in the background, just the tick of that wall clock.
Over the wireless came news that Chester County's population had grown by 15 percent, according to the latest census. Wonder how many more haircuts that translates into.