Cecil Soil Magazine Haircuts with Herb

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...

July/August 2008: Rainy Day Stories

A steady spring rain brought construction and other outside workers into Herb’s little shop for much-needed haircuts.

As Brett Drumheller, from Elkton, plopped into the chair, Herb introduced him to me. “This is Ed Belote from Cecil Soil Magazine. Ever hear of Cecil Soil?”

Brett smiled and quickly shot back, “I love that magazine—we fight over it. That was a great story you did on Circus Park . . . my grandfather had his farm right down the street from it.”

Herb joined in, “When you did the New River story I thought it would never be topped. Then you came out with the Circus Park story, and it blew my mind. I remember, as a kid, watching that bear sit on his hind legs drinking sodas. Little Cecil County has so much history and, Ed, you’re doing a fine job of digging it up.”

“We’ve been so busy,” continued Brett, nodding toward another young fellow, Teddy Grablis, “we dropped in here to get a quick haircut because of the rain. This is Teddy’s company, Elk River Landscape.”

I asked Teddy about the funniest thing that happened while he was on a landscaping job. In his easy-going manner he replied, “There was the time I arrived too early and walked into the backyard of a customer who was sunbathing naked.”

Everyone started to laugh, and Herb quickly asked, “Was she completely naked?”

“From her head to her toe,” Teddy drawled.

A very concerned look came over Herb’s face, and he asked, “My gosh, what did you say to her?”

With a big grin, Teddy replied, “I said, ‘Hi.’” This simple answer broke the room up, and it looked like a good time was forthcoming.

Another fellow waiting his turn asked if he could tell his funny landscaping story. We all gave him our full attention, so he went on. “Years ago I hired on to this landscaping company, and we cut grass for some of those ritzy northern Wilmington, Delaware, homes,” he said.

“At one particular location I noticed a couple of the old-timers in our group were laughing and nodding in agreement.

“Finally one said to me, with a grin, ‘John, you cut the back yard.’ I couldn’t figure what the big deal was until I let myself in through the backyard gate, and was greeted by two huge St. Bernard dogs. These dogs were very friendly, so there was no problem there.

“It wasn’t until I started mowing that the stuff started flying. Like land mines, huge piles of dog dung came flying out of my mower . . . it was all over the stockade fence, the dogs and me . . . and it was in the middle of August, and the smell was deadly . . . for some reason I never forgot that day.”

“We have a little dog story also,” said Brett. “My friend Teddy gets bitten at least twice a year . . . he’s dog meat. And I have not ever been bitten.”

I asked Teddy how come Brett never gets bitten. “Oh, I would say, he’s quicker on his feet,” he answered.

Teddy explained how Brett has some unique abilities. “He can identify a type of dog by its droppings. He’ll say, ‘Oh yes, that’s a Golden Retriever.’ He’s quite amazing.”

“Its not an amazing thing, really,” said Brett. “My theory is you can pretty much judge the size of the dog by the size of his poop.”

With this, Herb’s face took on a serious look, “I think you boys have too much time on your hands,” he said. It was perfect timing—everybody cracked up.

The conversation drifted to fishing, as it usually does. I think most of Herb’s customers come in to get the fishing reports, and only incidentally to get a haircut. One of the boys said they were doing a little fishing, mostly off shore at Welches Point, and were catching a lot of rock, which they were releasing.

“Oh, you can keep one, as long it’s between 18 and 26 inches,” Herb interjected, “and the Flats are loaded with them right now [this interview was in the middle of May]. My son, Mike, is catching 30 a day.”

“Let me tell you a fishing story,” offered Herb. “This is a true story.” Someone cut in, ‘Why would we think otherwise, Herb?’ “There were these two boys fishing Conowingo Lake,” Herb went on, “and mind you, they were very competitive with each other . . . in everything they did, it was a competition.

“This one boy hooked something very big, and when he got it near the boat he yelled at his buddy, ‘Get the net! Get the net!’ And when the other fellow tried to get into position it would pull away. This went on for at least 10 minutes. And when they finally got it to the boat—it was a root!” Herb said, with heavy emphasis on “root.”

This was the zinger of the day. The room broke up into boisterous laughter. As Brett and Teddy left the shop, I thanked them for their story, and Herb had them laughing on the way out, saying, “While you boys are gone, Ed and I will make up the rest of it.” —CSM