My friend Ringading turned me onto THIS SPECTACULAR PHOTOSET of random vintage photos. To the right is one of my favorites. Here is a little backstory written by yours truly: When he was a boy of sixteen, Henry Moses Singleton confessed to his father that he wanted to be a barber. Nothing gave him as much joy as running his fingers through a thick, greasy, textured head of hair. His father, a successful lawyer at the GGG law firm in Boston, was troubled by his son's desire to be a "man of hair" and insisted he find another passion. Distraught by his father's demands, Henry isolated himself in his room for several weeks and ate nothing more than a few crumbs, a moldy ham, and twelve plums.
Two years later, when war called on him to serve his fine country, he filled his bags with hairbrushes, scissors, and head elixirs and bid his father farewell. "I trust you will stay safe and on a path to success" his father said to him as he closed the door. Henry wasn't sure about safety or success, but he was certain he was now finally free to do what he loved the most.
The war lasted years and Henry managed to stay on the sidelines away from bullets and shrapnel. In battle, he'd hide behind the head of one of his navy mates, easily consoling himself with the ripe odor of their coifs.
When his fellow navy men needed haircuts, Henry would gently sit them down and work his magic. Money was tight amongst the men, so instead of pocket change they would give Henry cigarettes, whiskey, or other random gifts. A feathered bow tie from Mali, a miniature flute from Barbados, and a stuffed Icelandic fox head were amongst Henry's favorites. He wore the bow tie on sunny days, played the flute at the masthead on every full-moon, and because its fur was the perfect texture and aroma, he always carried the stuffed fox head with him.
Due to the horrid and shock of war, the men on Henry's ship eventually lost interest in keeping their hair neatly trimmed. When they weren't in battle - or killed either in battle or with their own hands - they locked themselves in their bunk and slept, and slept, and slept.
Henry's spirits dwindled, but he found pleasure in little things, the sun, the roaring sea, his morning cup of stale coffee, his fox head, and a tiny cat who had snuck her way onto the ship sometime after leaving Palermo.