by Freida Marie Crump
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Greetings from the Ridge.
To tell you the truth, I hadn’t noticed it until Time magazine bared the naked truth last week. We haven’t voted a bald man into the office of President for 51 years. Ike was the last smooth pate to grace the Oval Office.
Sort of makes you wonder when you realize that John Kennedy’s tousled locks were the first to make good use of the television. Ike seemed okay in black and white but I’d hate to bet on his chances in a full-color race.
Sure, the bald pates of Churchill, Gandhi and the like used to hold a great deal of sway in the world of power politics, but in the last 12 elections we’ve parted hairy ways with the naked noggins and have opted for well-styled manes on our leaders. (Remember: Gerald Ford was never elected President and Dick Cheney’s presidency is unofficial.)
So what do we have against men whose head of wavy hair has decided to wave goodbye? Does the shiny pallet give the guy a villainous glare?
Are we reminded of the Caesars and Mussolini? What about Cal Ripken, Shakespeare, Michael Jordan and “Stone Cold” Steve Austin? Come on, folks! The brains don’t escape when the follicles head south!
Some in recent years have even gone so far as to give baldness the label of “sexy.” Witness Patrick Stewart of the Starship Enterprise, Yul Brynner, and Willard Scott. Okay, forget Willard, but there are women who actually look upon a half acre of unencumbered prairie as preferable to a forest of unruly scrub brush. Let’s cut the bald men a little slack.
What lady in her right mind would show the door to Sean Connery, Jimmy Buffett, James Taylor or Montel Williams just because she caught a bit of glare in her boudoir mirror when he took of his hat?
And let’s face it, there’s the cuddle factor. Okay, maybe snuggling up on the knee of the President may not be in your fantasy lineup, but who hasn’t climbed the lap of a grandpa or uncle and sat for hours watching television or hearing his bald head wax eloquent about the times when he was a boy? Just thinking about it brings a faint whiff of Prince Albert pipe tobacco and Old Spice aftershave to my nostrils. And then again, maybe you don’t want to smell your Commander in Chief.
I don’t know. When I see baldness, I see maturity. Stability. Maybe even honesty. I mean, once a guy floats his hair down the shower drain, is there really that much he can hide? Yes, there are some slick-topped shysters out there, but admit it – when you see a full head of carefully cultivated hair, doesn’t it make you wonder what’s being covered up? And this goes double for those whose hair mysteriously keeps its natural color once the winds of age have swept across the rest of the body. Can you trust the truthfulness of a person who’s not even honest about the color of his locks? You’ll never see a bald man whose dye-ing to fool you.
Which brings us to the current crop of crewcuts running for the top job. It’s hair, hair nearly everywhere, including a couple of $400 haircuts. At least with a couple of bare exceptions.
Looks like Rudy Guiliani and Fred Thompson are out of luck. They can take their combs and go home if past voting patterns hold any sway at all in the next election. John McCain still has enough fur on the pelt to make a decent run and Joe Biden seems to have found a way to add hair to his resume in recent years. Since Rudy and Hillary appear to be the front-runners, I’d guess that the current crop of nay-sayers to a woman presidency might want to rethink the odds.
So how did Eisenhower’s convertible top slide into the Presidency? Have you seen a picture of Adlai Stevenson?
You ever in Coonridge, stop by. We may not answer the door, but you’ll enjoy the trip.