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Ramblin' Roses and Flyin' Bricks
For instance, in Beckley, West Virginia, the legitimate barbers have gone on the warpath against back-porch barbering. It seems that a few cut-rate operators go around to the big-family homes where they can cut their hair of eight or ten children at a special economy size bargain rate. It's a bad situation, which brings on a kind of double-worry. Legitimate barbers have to pay a fixed license, take periodic physical examinations and observe certain sanitary regulations, while the itinerant barbers simply buy a pair of $2 sheers, a two bit pair of scissors and a safety razor and they're in business. It most certainly isn't fair, and my sympathy goes out to the licensed barbers. My sympathy goes out to the papa's of the big families. Just think of paying for ten haircuts all at one whack! For the same amount of money he could make the down payment on a lawnmower and do it himself. If a fellow, starting out, new he was going to have that many children, I reckon it would pay him to make a barber out of the first born son. Over a period of years there's no telling how much money he would save. Wasted Beer There are lots of things to worry about if we just look for 'em. A friend of mine right now is just about sick from worrying about what happens to all the beer they pour in glasses on the Wednesday night TV fights. He's afraid it's all going to waste, and come to think of it, I reckon it is. One lonesome bartender just couldn't drink it all. Another friend is 44 years ahead in his worrying he wonders how it is going to sound to say, for instance, "January 22, 2000." Frankly, I don't think it's going to sound so good, but I shore ain't worried none about it. I hope I'll get accustomed to saying 1960. Corners Market There's a fellow up in Athens, Alabama, who should be worried. He's been paying $4 a bushel for cockleburs and he's up close to his waste-line in the things already and there still coming in. He didn't know he was going to get so many and now he's worried about what to do with them. The only use I ever found for cockleburs was back in my school days when I put chewed on chewing gum around them and put the wad in some uppity girl's hair. It sure would bring them down to earth again. Some people aren't satisfied to just be plain worried. On top of that they get upset to, and that's real bad. That's what I am right this minute. Monday night, at a banquet in Oneonta, a Birmingham newsman photographer asked me to pose with Miss Alabama. Man, I'm telling you she is beautiful and I was tickled slap to death to have my picture made with such a charming and talented young lady. We Looked Good Hurriedly, I kind of tidied myself up, the best I could. I moistened my lips so I could bring out my most captivating smile. I brushed the hair back out of my eyes, dusted off the lapels of my coat and tried to turn my head in such a way that my big nose wouldn't obliterate all my charm. We looked pretty handsome, standing there, Miss Alabama and I. She didn't have to do any prettying up. This fellow took three or four flash shots and I'm pretty sure I kept my eyes open every time the bulb flashed, because I was certainly enjoying looking at the girl who came so very close to being selected as Miss America. I didn't want to miss a single blink. Can't Figure it Out
All the way home that night I kept thinking about having my picture in the Birmingham paper the next day and I planned to buy every copy that came to my town. But, the next day, when I looked through the paper, well, I never could understand why newspapermen go around taking pictures they never use.
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