The Trim(Christopher Long) Years ago, it was thought that men who had beards were hiding something. So it was proposed that a law should be introduced that prohibited them. If caught, the person will go to jail. The residents of Clipper Creek, where I lived, were angry. It seemed to us a ridiculous notion. Debates, both for and against, raged furiously. However, The Anti Beard Law gathered supporters and when it was enforced, we accepted it just like our neighbours did in the surrounding towns. The anger we initially felt eventually disappeared.

Years after, the appearance of a stranger who rode into our town on a pale brown horse, changed everything. He was a tall man with brown eyes, grey hair, dressed in black. He wore a matching black Stetson, weathered riding boots with spurs, which jingled as he rode. But it was his face that terrified us: he had a beard. From the shops and houses, people stared through the partly opened shutters and doorways. The stranger dismounted. Children ran into the street, to touch the man’s beard in wonder and amazement, before their parents could stop them. Some, born long after the law was passed, had not seen a beard before. The man had a perplexed look on his face. However, soon he was smiling, as he realised what they wanted. He bent down letting the littlest ones have a better feel.

While this innocent scene was taking place outside, inside the local saloon a group of townsfolk, which included me, were discussing in urgent whispers, the best way of handling the situation. There were two distinct opinions. A large percentage of the townsfolk wanted to ignore the stranger and hope he continued his journey. They couldn’t accept him with that thing on his face. They will be breaking the law and would be arrested for helping a criminal. The minority were in favour of seeing what he wanted, before making their final decision about how to proceed. Eventually, after much discussion, I was elected spokesman and sent out to investigate.

As I approached the figure, the children ran away giggling. I stand before the man and ask: “What do you want, stranger?”, “Young man, I would like to have my beard trimmed,” he said. I was taken aback by his request. I could not think of what to say. I looked back at the saloon behind me and the women were crossing themselves. It was up to me to handle this. I cleared my throat loudly before saying: “Pardon me sir, but we are not allowed to offer that service anymore. For years it has been against the law. Are you sure you wouldn't prefer a shave?”, “No thanks, just a trim please,” he replied.

The man looked at me and then burst out laughing: “That is the most ridiculous thing I ever heard! I’ve been all over and everybody told me the same thing. Can’t you make an exception? I can pay.” “It’s not about payment. We just cannot do it. I’m sorry,” I responded.
“Please, I’m only asking for a trim,” said the stranger. Just then, a figure emerged from the saloon. An old man shuffled towards the stranger: “I will give you a trim, sir. I was the barber here before I had to retire due to this stupid law. Haircutting alone didn’t pay enough, you see. I may be old, but I can still make your beard look stylish. These old hands never forget. This whole town has gone mad not wanting to accept people just because they have beards. My father would turn in his grave.” I asked him urgently: “Joe what are you doing?”.
He turned slowly to me and said: “The man wants his beard trimmed. I’m a barber, I do not see any harm in it.” Joe turned back to the stranger and inquired: “May I ask your name, sir?”, “David Miller,” he said. The old man extended a wrinkled hand and shook David's hand enthusiastically: “Well, it is nice to meet you Mr Miller, very nice indeed,” he said, his blue eyes twinkling. “I am Joe Brooks and I’m going to give that beard the best trim it has ever had.“ “Much obliged Mr Brooks. Please, call me David,” said the man. ''You must call me Joe then. This way please.” The two men walked off in the direction of Joe's barber shop.

The shop had been in the Brooks family for generations. Starting with Joe's great grandfather, then his grandfather and finally his father before him. When The Anti Beard Law came into force, he closed his shop stating: “As long as this stupid law is in place, none of you will be getting a haircut from me.” When all the townsfolk came to accept the law, Joe still maintained his scepticism of it and the authorities who put it into place. It was this defiance that prompted him to help that day.

After Joe and David disappeared inside, we crowded the door trying to get a look in. Joe might have convinced him to have a shave instead. When he saw us, peering through the glass, Joe opened the door and shouted: “Haven’t you got anything better to do than watching me work? Shoo!” He slammed the door and pulled down the blind. All we could do was wait.

Eventually, the door opened and the two men came out talking between themselves. I have to admit that David’s beard looked better now. Long and unkempt when he first arrived, it was now short and tapered to his jawline. The townsfolk let out a collective breath, hoping that this would be the end of the ordeal. Now that he had been given what he came for, maybe things will go back to normal and they could forget their indiscretion. However, Joe Brooks had other ideas.

He walked up to the group of townsfolk, which had swelled considerably in number since David Miller's arrival. Some came out of curiosity and some to register their displeasure that David had come to Clipper Creek. “Friends,” said Joe : “David has just inquired if I knew of somewhere he could find food and lodging for tonight. I told him that he will not find better victuals or accommodation than here. What do you think?”. This provoked shouts of anger and protest from the assembled crowd. Joe spread his hands in a pacifying gesture and shouted to be heard: “Come now friends, surely we can help a weary traveller in his hour of need.” Someone objected: “We don’t want him here. Not with a beard on his face! We have already broken the law by allowing you to give him a trim.” The remark prompted further shouts from the crowd, some nodded in agreement. Joe bellowed: “It was my decision and mine alone. I am a grown up after all.” This remark earned him a chuckle. Joe managed to convince the reluctant townsfolk that David Miller could stay for one night, although even when the matter was finally settled, the tatting of disapproval could still be heard among the crowd.

David Miller ate in our saloon that evening and was given a room for the night. He took his supper alone, sitting at a table near the back of the saloon, to avoid the suspicious glances from the other customers.

The next day he asked Joe whether there was any way he could repay the hospitality that had been shown to him the previous night. Joe pointed out that the town was rundown and badly in need of some repairs. David got to work, repairing what was damaged around the town, including the tired barbershop. Joe was delighted. Because of his help, David Miller gradually became accepted by us. He became the unofficial handyman of Clipper Creek.

Whereas once he used to eat alone, gradually large crowds of people, including me, gathered at his table and asked all kinds of questions. “How did you learn to mend things?”, “Where have you travelled?”, “Where are you from?”, “What was your occupation?”.
When we learnt he used to be a gunfighter, we were afraid. We fell silent. Every person around that table thought the same thing: What had we done? We had broken The Anti Beard Law and let a killer into our town. The law was right; all bearded men were bad. We would all be arrested because Joe trusted this man. David looked around at our worried expressions and said with a smile: “You have nothing to fear from me, friends. I am the handyman of Clipper Creek.” The crowd laughed and slapped him on his back. The children wanted him to tell them stories of his past adventures. He obliged. His tales captivated them. Their eyes widened with fear as they listened. Poor David, with all the questions he had to answer and the stories he told, it is a wonder he ever got to eat at all.

Despite his acceptance, one member of our community always viewed him with suspicion and contempt: Jerry Randal, the saloon owner’s son. He complained that David drank too much and he would constantly remind us that we were breaking the law by harbouring a criminal. Jerry even protested angrily that he would not be part of a community that welcomed bearded men. We always thought that these complaints were just his teenage hot-headedness. We tried our best to include him, but he never wanted to join us. Months passed, he must have got fed up with us trying to downplay his concerns, because, one day, he took a horse and left.

When Jerry returned, he brought with him the sheriff and his deputies. The sheriff inquired the whereabouts of the criminal David Miller. We didn’t want our handyman to be arrested. Each of us said that he had left a few days ago without a word. They were not satisfied with our answer. Joe said that if they wanted to arrest somebody, he would volunteer. “I trimmed Miller’s beard in the first place, therefore I’m the one to blame,” he reasoned. The sheriff decided to arrest him. We organised a group to try to make the sheriff see reason and release Joe.

David, who was mending a barn on the outskirts of town and knew nothing of the events that had transpired, upon learning what happened, was so moved that he asked to come along. We agreed. When we reached the jail, some deputies met us to inquire what we wanted. We pleaded with them to release Joe. When they refused, David told them that he would be willing to be arrested in Joe’s place. It was him who came to Clipper Creek and asked for a trim. The sheriff rode out and took David into custody without releasing Joe.

We were outraged at the injustice that put two highly valued members of our community in jail. We decided to appeal the sheriff's decision. All our attempts to reason with the authorities failed.

A town meeting was convened to discuss our next steps. During the packed meeting, it was unanimously decided we should record the events that lead up to the arrests. This would insure that the sheriff would take more notice and not dismiss our plea so readily. Even if we were ignored by the authorities, other people could read about Clipper Creeks injustice and help us with our cause. It was also decided that I should be the one to chronicle these events. It is that account that you are reading.

Subsequently, this chronicle spread beyond our town boundaries, leading to the release of David Miller and Joe Brooks, much to our delight.

The Anti Beard Law is taking the first steps towards abolition. Even Jerry Randal has learnt to accept David and his beard. He has even grown one. Thankfully The Anti Beard Law is no longer enforced in Clipper Creek.

Robert Price
Resident of Clipper Creek
16th of November 1836

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