The other night I went to dinner in the North End section of Boston with my friend Pat. Pat owns The Salon at 10 Newbury and has become my friend since my mom died.
She's the wonderful woman who helped find and shape the beautiful wig that Mom wore during her illness and turned what could have been a sad and depressing day - being fitted for a wig while you still have hair in preparation for the inevitable, undeniable evidence that you really have cancer - into something lovely, compassionate, and even enjoyable.
Anyway, Pat and I were having after-dinner coffee at one of the North End's most famous cafes when I spotted something on a decorative pedastal that caught my eye. It was a picture of my childhood hairdresser Richard.
This was completely out of context for so many reasons, not the least of which is that his salon was in Beacon Hill, a totally different Boston neighborhood from where we were currently having coffee. (Beacon Hill is pictured above.)
As I got closer to the pedastal, I saw that there were other framed pictures of people, most of them with brass plaques engraved with the words "in memory of." All of the people in these frames had passed away,and my heart sank because I knew this meant that Richard must have passed away too.
I asked the waitress about the people in the frames and she said that Richard was "the cafe owner's brother. He took his own life."
This took my breath away. It still does. I've heard people say "he/she was the last person you'd ever expect to take his own life" but in this case, it's the truth. Richard was the last person I'd expect to take his own life.
My mother and I came to know Richard when I was 13, after she'd been dating this guy Rob, sort of posh Beacon Hill type. Their relationship ended, but a new one with Richard began. Even though Mom and I lived 25 miles north of Boston, we trekked into the city every time we needed a haircut and into the haven of tranquility that was Richard's salon.
We did this for about 15 years, through college and into my twenties. Richard persuaded me to stop getting perms and segued me into the style that I still have today. In fact, Richard was the first person to talk me into highlighting my hair. And he really had to talk me into it!
It was the early 90's, I was a college freshman and for some unknown reason I wanted to be "natural." Richard convinced me that he could still make me look "natural", but it would be a huge improvement on the naturally blah color I had (he didn't use those words.)
He actually said "Julia, it's going to change your life." And he was absolutely right. Until I went blonde, I was neutral to the opposite sex. Neutral, neutered, whatever. They didn't notice me.
After Richard gingerly placed a few honey-blonde highlights into my mousey-blonde hair, that very night I was "noticed" by a beautiful boy with blue eyes from Connecticut named Elijah. I was so thrilled by this experience, I went to the salon the next day to tell Richard. "You were right," I said. "It did change my life." The next weekend, I met my first boyfriend Evan.
Even though I lived in London and later Los Angeles, after college I'd always visit Richard when I came to town, partly because I loved seeing him and partly because he gave me the most ridiculous deal: $80 for a cut and color.
Richard worked with a partner, Al, and as it turns out, they'd worked together since 1974. Because of this longevity, I wasn't quite sure of Richard's age. It turns out he was younger than I thought, only 49 when he died. That means he was only in his mid-late 20's when we met.
My mom and I were always frazzled and harried when we arrived at the salon because as lovely as Beacon Hill is, parking can be a little bit difficult. Plus, we were always running late.
Richard and Al would greet us with open arms, tell us to have a seat and not worry, have a cup of coffee, or maybe a glass of wine or pastry if it was Christmas time.
There was always something calming about Richard. He put people at ease, made them feel comfortable, normal, relaxed, understood. He seemed like the kind of guy who'd found his cosy niche in life and hadn't a care in the world other than the day to day responsibilities of raising a family and owning a small business. At some point in the early 90's, Richard and Al had downsized their salon so that it was just the two of them, and that took the managerial stress away too.
Richard was married with two daughters, adorable dark curly-haired beauties who he always displayed in pictures on his mirror. Every time you'd go in, there would be a new picture of the girls. The girls skiing in New Hampshire, by the Christmas tree, at school, etc. When I started going to Richard, they were toddlers and over the years, I watched them grow on that hairdressing mirror. They were 18 and 20 when Richard died.
At some point in the 5-8 years before Mom got sick, she stopped going to Richard. I don't think it was personal. I think it had something to do with the parking and also just the idea that it was time for a change. Because of that, I didn't see Richard as much either, although I'd still stop in from time to time.
When Mom was sick, the hopsital was co-incidentally a 5 minute walk from the salon, so one day I decided to pop in to say hi. I was shocked to see a closed salon and a note from Al saying that they'd decided to retire after 35 years of business.
This was in October 07. He'd put the note up in August. I was surprised and sad that I'd just missed them, but didn't really think too much more of it. Mom was getting sicker and sicker by the day and soon, my thoughts were only of her.
Unbenownst to me, Richard had passed away on Juy 4, 2007, three months earlier.
Al had closed the shop and moved on, too sad to continue the business on his own.
I'm still in shock over this loss. I didn't have a lot of men in my life growing up, and in a way, Richard was one of the male influences that had an impact on me. I always thought of him as such a solid, stable, warm, kind and gentle guy. Masculine but sensitive, loving, kind and capable. I always thought, I'd like to marry a guy like Richard, someone stable and calm, a good dad, a good husband.
I guess we never know what's happening inside another person's heart, mind and soul. I wish he'd been able to heal whatever was hurting him, but that wasn't the path he had to follow.
I know this would have shocked and upset my mom a lot. I hope the two of them are up in Heaven having a cup of coffee and a laugh. Maybe he's keeping her hair looking gorgeous and hopefully she's learned to not be quite so late...
RIP, Richard. You turned me into a blonde goddess and I haven't looked back since. I'll never forget you or your little salon on Charles Street. You truly did change my life, and the lives of so many men and women of Boston who had the pleasure of knowing you.
Love,
Julia
