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...

January/February 2008: Poor Memory and School Tales

Even before I stepped into Herb’s little shop I could hear loud conversation and laughter. His shop was full with just one seat left, which I immediately laid claim to. Sitting in the chair of honor was George Spence from North East, a retiree from the government, Thiokol, General Cable and a bunch of others he’s forgotten about.

“It seems I can’t remember anything anymore,” began George. “There was the time I walked out of Herb’s and forgot to pay him.”

Herb quickly retorted, “I didn’t forget that.” Because of Herb’s perfect timing the room broke into laughter. “That’s why I’m not making any money . . . I’m cutting the heads of a bunch of old senile men,” added Herb.

L to R- Frank Dray, Bill Gilbert, Summerfield Dean, & Buddy Field

Wanting to explain this loss of memory condition more clearly, someone offered, “Why, George, you’re probably suffering from CRS.” Suddenly the mood in the room got serious, I think because everyone was trying to fi gure out what the heck CRS was, and didn’t want to be the first to ask.

“Can’t Remember Stuff,” this same fellow quickly offered. And I can’t remember if he used the word “stuff” or something else, but I do remember everybody got a kick out of his little diversion.

During the course of our conversations I found out that besides George, Frank Dray and Summerfi eld Dean, who were waiting for their cuts, went to school (North East H.S.) with Herb. And as kids, they hunted and fi shed with him.

“I still remember the time Herb and Harry Reynolds grabbed a bunch of bass and pickerel with their bare hands—pulled them out of the ice,” George shared.

Frank Dray jumped in, “Was that the time the tide went out and these fi sh got hung up in between?”

“That’s right,” said Herb. “We went duck hunting, but couldn’t get the boat out . . . it was froze up pretty bad . . . it was at Carva Cove, if my memory serves me right.”

Herb continued, “We found out, all we had to do was kick the ice in with our heels and grab them. We ended up with two peach baskets full of fish, and some of the bass were over five pounds. We didn’t know if we were breaking any laws or not, but we got nervous and loaded up the fish in our car and got out of there. As we headed out, we immediately passed the game warden coming in. We smiled and waved to him as we passed. Gosh, we had a lot of fun growing up along this river, didn’t we George?” George smiled and said, “We sure did Herb.”

One more fish-type story, said Herb, “I was talking to this fellow in here one day and I said something about the shortage of crabs in this area and I wondered why. For the answer to this he spoke one word, “Airplanes.”

The room broke out in laughter, so Herb continued, “Now this sounds like a dumb statement, doesn’t it? Airplanes. Well, this fellow went on to explain that they are fl ying our crabs out west, to places like Phoenix and San Francisco all year round. They fl y them overnight by the thousands of pounds, thus creating a shortage in our local area.” So I guess Herb’s friend is right— airplanes are causing this crab shortage.

The conversation switched over to school days and certain teachers. When one special sixth-grade teacher’s name popped up, Herb put his old friends to a test, “Now tell me, what unique feature did Mrs. Dickerson have?”

Frank thought for a second and said, “She had green eyes. No, no, now I remember, she had one green eye and the other was brown.”

“That’s exactly right,” said Herb. “As a kid, I thought that was really neat.”

George reminisced, “Do you remember the time Bobby Johnson climbed up on the second-story windowsill and announced to the classroom teacher, Mr. Joe Morris, that he was going to commit suicide? And he jumped!”

“Oh, I remember that well,” said Herb. “There are lots of versions of that story still hanging around, but this is how I remember it: Bobby knew there was a big old cedar tree just outside that particular window and he safely landed in it. Mr. Morris was a good man and a great teacher, and he sure did put up with a lot from the kids.”

This Bobby Johnson must have been quite the character because story after story of his exploits began to come out.

“I think Bobby was behind the deskturning event that happened in one classroom. What the kids did was turn every desk 180 degrees so that they all were facing the back of the class room,” chuckled Herb.

“Mr. Morris had a big book sitting on his desk and as an attention getter he would slam it with his fi st so that all the kids would quiet down,” said Herb. “And rumor has it Bobby Johnson put Mr. Morris’ watch under that book one day and when he slammed it with his fi st, watch parts fl ew all over!”

And so it went, on and on, with Bobby getting most of the blame for all these ornery incidents.

I tried to sum up these wonderful memories Herb’s friends shared together, “It sounds like you boys had a lot of fun growing up here in North East,” I said.

“Yes, we did,” said Frank. “But I wish I’d studied and learned more than what I did.”

“Maybe I do, too,” said Herb with his customary smile. “But I’m having such a great time now with my life, I don’t even think about it.” —CSM