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Doubtless there is a book, or at least a doctoral
dissertation, called something like The Semiotics of
Facial Hair.
It would explain how people interpret
beards. This would be more than useful, because even
though I own one, I've never quite understood what
statement a beard makes. And if I'm going to be wearing a
message on my face, I'd like to know what the message
is.
Other people, even the bare-faced ones, seem to be just as perplexed with a recent development. Al Gore, former vice-president of the United States and winner of the popular vote for the presidency last year, went on vacation and started growing a beard. No one seems to know what to make of it.
Even men who are accustomed to shaving often grow beards
on vacation -- sort of. Whenever I see a formerly
clean-shaven friend after he's been in the woods for a
couple of weeks, I need to ask Are you growing a beard?
Or are you just 'not shaving'?
The answer, among the vainer men in my age cohort, is
often It's wait-and-see. Too much salt in the pepper,
and I'll go back to shaving.
That's something I don't worry about. My beard may appear grizzly to the casual observer, but since I am a charter member of the Colorado Association of Red-bearded Pundits, then my inner beard must be red.
(The other CARP member is Bob Ewegen, and our Patron
Saint is Civil War Gen. William T. Cump
Sherman. He
sported a red beard, he was a clear and forceful writer,
and he got to do something that every editor has wanted to
do: issue orders that a reporter be taken out and
shot.)
As for Gore's beard, it must have some purpose, since Gore appears to be the kind of guy who does everything -- wave to people, kiss his wife, visit a Buddhist temple -- with some purpose in mind. But what purpose?
It could be part of an alpha male
strategy.
Beards are pretty much a guy thing, and in modern America,
there aren't many guy things left. Women climb mountains,
paddle rivers, drive pickups, run corporations, play
snooker, edit newspapers, even wear gimme caps and hang out
at lumberyards. Beards are about all that's left.
As for politics, our first bearded president was Abraham Lincoln, who was clean-shaven during the 1860 campaign, but grew a beard before his inauguration after receiving a letter from a girl in Massachusetts who suggested he would look better with a beard.
Beards were fashionable during the Civil War -- almost every major military figure on either side had one: U.S. Grant, Robert E. Lee, George Meade, J.E.B. Stewart, P.G.T. Beauregard, George Thomas, John Bell Hood, Stonewall Jackson, to name a few.
The fashion continued through the 19th century. The U.S. Army's best Indian fighter, Gen. George Crook, sported a tremendous forked beard. Grant got elected president twice with his beard, and three of his successors -- Rutherford Hayes, James Garfield and Benjamin Harrison -- also avoided razors.
If a beard was a political statement then, the statement
must have been something like I'm a Republican and a
strong supporter of our government.
The beard was so popular in the late 19th century that it came to stand for the era. Whenever Colorado towns celebrated their centennials in the 1970s and '80s, men were always encouraged to grow beards so as to provide a frontier flavor for the festivities.
This identification of the beard with Victorian times
became obvious when I was looking through issues of the
Middle Park Times published in the 1920s. An ad for the
Bank of Kremmling promised that it was a forward-looking,
progressive institution, as evidenced by the fact that
you won't see any chin-whiskers here.
During the Jazz Age 75 years ago, graybeard
was a
term of derision for old fuddy-duddies. The smooth face
had come into style, partly as a result of the military's
enforced shaving during World War I, and partly because
safety razors were widely available.
It takes a far steadier hand than mine to shave safely with an old-fashioned straight-edged razor, and for all I know, American civilization has been in decline ever since children were deprived of the disciplinary benefits of the razor strop.
During the 1960s and into the '70s, the beard made a comeback. Even though many of America's greatest soldiers wore beards, it was seen as an anti-military statement, or a left-wing proclamation.
Sure, there's Fidel Castro, but there's also bearded Robert Bork, who's about as far from left-wing as you can get.
As for my own beard, I've got a weak chin and tender
skin, and shaving seems like a waste of morning time better
spent reading the paper. But don't ask me why Al Gore's
growing one. Instead, join in hoping that President Bush
returns to Washington from his Texas vacation with a
healthy growth and an enigmatic answer to Growing a
beard? Or just 'not shaving'?
Then the big-time
analysts will go to work, and we'll find out what a beard
really means.
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