5 minute read
MOUNTAIN MAGIC with Ann Hite
Playing Beauty Shop
The story I’m going to tell you is as true as I know it to be. My granny told it, my mama told it, and even my second cousin, Mama’s best friend back then, told it all the same. The year was 1934 or there abouts, and Mama was five years old. Her and Granny lived with Granny’s brother Ernest, his wife Corine and their girls, since Mama’s daddy got ran out of the county for beating Granny one night when he was drunker than Cooter Brown. Mama always said he wasn’t really mean but that night he cracked open and lost his mind, seeing how her baby sister had just died of meningitis. He never was the same. She would never see him again.
Granny was a right independent woman, and Ernest was a right bossy brother. This caused them both lots of stubborn showdowns. Like when Ernest told Granny she couldn’t take Mama to the hospital for an operation to remove her tonsils. He said Mama didn’t need no such thing done to her. Granny had already lost the baby girl and wasn’t about to lose Mama too. There wasn’t any penicillin for use at that time. Granny, being the woman she was, took out and found a job in a speak-easy waiting on tables. Now the shine served there was made by Mr. Martin, who had quite the business. And who worked for Mr. Martin in his early days and was granted his own still? Ernest. So it wasn’t going to take long for him to find out where Granny was working. Corine helped Granny hide her job by watching Mama. Granny and Corine were thick as thieves. If the truth be known, Granny liked her better than her own brother.
One day while Granny was at work, Mama and Corine’s daughter, Audrey, went out to the barn to play. Normally Ernest was out there working but he’d been called to his daddy’s house. Back then kids could go and come as they pleased. The two five-year-olds loved to play beauty shop from watching Granny and Corine give each other home perms. They would pretend to fix each other’s hair. Granny had caught Mama with scissors one morning and gave both girls a good talking to. That evening as the heat bugs began to hum outside, Mama and Audrey decided to play beauty shop. Audrey found a big can of tractor oil and with a little hunting, Mama found a paintbrush.
Oh Lord, dear readers, you know what’s coming, don’t you?
Audrey suggested she paint the tractor oil on Mama’s white blonde hair since it was so much like the gook Granny and Corine spread on their tightly curled hair. They were missing the curlers, but some things couldn’t be helped. The plan was for Audrey to do Mama’s hair, and then Mama would do Audrey’s. Just as Audrey finished Mama’s hair, Audrey’s older sister, Doris, came in the barn and caught them red-handed.
Corine sent Doris to bring Granny home from the speak-easy. Granny’s reaction was to break down in tears. Something she hardly ever did. Mama’s hair was matted with inky oil. As was expected, water was repelled and beaded in place. Then Corine got the idea to use petroleum jelly to remove the oil. Granny took a long piece of Mama’s hair and coated it with petroleum jelly. She let it sit a minute and wiped the hair with a cloth. Some of the oil was removed, but Granny could see this job would take a long time and many jars of the gunky jelly. So, Granny took a pair of scissors and cut Mama’s long hair just under her ears, throwing the oily strands away.
In all truth, Granny spent days working on Mama’s hair just to get it presentable. Mama and Audrey were banned from the barn by Ernest. He was right mad they had wasted his oil. Weeks went by before Mama’s hair returned to her white blond color. Granny did manage to earn the money she needed for Mama’s operation before Ernest shut down her job. She was one tough and determined woman.
What is the mountain magic in this oily tale? In a day when most don’t understand the resourcefulness and hard work of the people in Appalachia—the stay-at-it attitude—we can learn from the past, from the stories of our families. The mountain magic here is storytelling. We all have them. Stories touch others. Our brains are wired to understand and learn from stories. This is the way we have survived in Appalachia, kept the memories, faced the hardships. Think about all the folks who suffered from the flood in North Carolina this past September. They are reaching back to their kin, long gone by now, for the old stories that got their people through hard times.
And that is a golden threaded mess of mountain magic. Dear readers, write your stories down. Don’t let them die. You owe it to generations to come.
