When Pride Met the Clippers

I got a haircut today. In a way, getting a trim is kind of pointless for me. There isn’t much hair left to cut. However, the little bit of hair still on my head was looking scruffy, so I decided to go to a ‘hair salon,’ which is basically a fancy name for a barber shop that pays its stylists low wages.

I wound up waiting quite a while to get a cut. I couldn’t understand why the place was so busy. Then I saw a seemingly endless parade of old guys staggering into the salon to get vouchers for free haircuts. It didn’t click why the shop was giving out vouchers until I noticed that a lot of old men were wearing caps with military insignia. Suddenly, I remembered that today was Veterans Day. A long line of elderly vets stood there, many of them leaning heavily on their canes, waiting to get a freebie.

I got out of the Army in August 1986. I became a veteran at that point, but to the best of my recollection, I have never taken advantage of any Veterans Day benefits. I am not sure why I always avoided the handouts. Maybe I was too proud, or maybe I just didn’t want to flaunt the fact that I had served. It always seemed kind of tacky. It seems like on one day each year people momentarily recognize that others sacrificed something to serve our country. A few of those people who are aware of the service that veterans gave to them try to give something back. What is given to vets is usually not very much: a haircut, a free breakfast—something that can qualify as a tax write-off. I just didn’t want any of that.

I finally got called up for my haircut. The lady who cut my hair knows my head, if not my history. She knows that my needs are simple. All I want is for her to use a clipper with a Number 2 guard all the way around my noggin. I sat down and she put the chair cloth around me. I told her, “For what it’s worth, I’m a vet.”

She shrugged and replied, “Thanks for your service.”

I said, “I flew helicopters. That was a long time ago.”

She smiled and told me, “It doesn’t matter how long ago it was. The important thing is that you served.”

She mentioned that a cousin of hers had been a military pilot and now flew for Flight for Life as a civilian. We talked about flying for a while. Then I spoke to her about my son, who was deployed in Iraq. She told me about her nephew who had also been in Iraq. Her nephew wanted to get into the Rangers, but he was in a serious motorcycle accident and had a brain injury. He had memory loss, but somehow still remembered enough bad stuff from Iraq to have PTSD.

Our conversation was brief. It doesn’t take long for a stylist to give me a buzz cut and trim my eyebrows. She had me check out her work with a mirror and then pulled the cloth off me. I got up and walked to the counter. She did something on her computer and said, “The haircut was on us. You don’t have to pay anything.”

This was my first time getting anything for free on Veterans Day. I pulled out my wallet anyway. She still deserved a big tip.

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Frank (Francis) Pauc is a graduate of West Point, Class of 1980. He completed the Military Intelligence Basic Course at Fort Huachuca and then went to Flight School at Fort Rucker. Frank was stationed with the 3rd Armor Division in West Germany at Fliegerhorst Airfield from December 1981 to January 1985. He flew Hueys and Black Hawks and was next assigned to the 7th Infantry Division at Fort Ord, CA. He got the hell out of the Army in August 1986.

As the Voice of the Veteran Community, The Havok Journal seeks to publish a variety of perspectives on a number of sensitive subjects. Unless specifically noted otherwise, nothing we publish is an official point of view of The Havok Journal or any part of the U.S. government.