By Anita Garner
While choosing photos for my book, The Glory Road, here’s one that fell out during scrapbook page-turning. Find a picture, tell a story. It’s the law. If it isn’t, it should be. Here’s a story with a song from the 1950’s.
My curly-headed Mother, Sister Fern, on the right with her bobby pins springing out all around, next to her wavy-haired Mother, Gramma K, whose hair did what she wanted it to.
Curls were never going to be all right with Mother, when what she craved were some of those wide waves women made with giant metal wave clips. No matter how many clips she used, within hours her curls defied her.
There might have been no performances under all those revival tents without Vaseline. She greased up her curls and pinned then down with high resolve and after a short while, the bobby pins squirmed out again and she re-applied her Vaseline, sometimes several times on a particularly troublesome day. Then the tears started.
Curly headed girls, she told us, were not presently in style. She took it as a personal insult that she was forced to remain curly-headed during a wavy-haired fashion period. On the way to performances in the Deep South during the summer, sometimes her largest concern was frizz. Not what she would sing. Not which musicians and quartets would accompany her, but how long before curly became frizzy. The weather could turn on you just like that.
The remarkable thing was the amount of patience Daddy showed. No matter how many times she burst into tears worrying about her hair, he rushed to reassure her, his voice never showing a hint of strain.
As Leslie Ray and I became more proficient at saying things we didn’t mean, we imagined Daddy must have been answering by rote all those years. If so, he’d never admit it. That wouldn’t be chivalrous. One of the traits that made him a popular preacher was his ability to reassure over and over again as if this was the first time he’d ever been consulted about a particular dilemma.
From The Glory Road play, here’s a glimpse of Brother Ray and his favorite curly-headed singer.
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1950’s. Deep South. Outside a big revival tent. A quartet sings inside while Sister Fern waits to be introduced by her husband, Brother Ray. But she’s not inside yet so he asks the quartet to keep singing while he goes to check on her.
RAY
There you are sugar! I was
startin’ to get worried. How’re you feeling?
FERN
Honey, is my hair frizzy? Because it feels frizzy.
All this humidity.
RAY
(moves in close, touches her hair)
No, darlin’ your hair’s not frizzy. It’s curly is all.
You’re my big ol’ doll-baby with big ol’
doll-baby curls.
FERN
(takes out compact mirror, checks herself)
Are you sure? Because I can’t sing when my hair’s frizzy.
RAY
(closes the compact gently, his fingers over hers)
I’m sure.
One of Brother Ray’s favorite duets with Sister Fern.
I Don’t Care What The World May Do
Lovely, just lovely. I never understood why some girls hated their curly hair so much, I arrived early to a girls house to take her out on a date, she was fresh out of the shower and was furious I saw her “frizzy” hair. I thought she was beautiful and told her so, it did nothing to alleviate her embarrassment. Sorry to say she and I did not hit it off.
I agree. If only those curly headed ones could have seen the future, they’d see glorious natural curls all over the place!