Big Combs of the 1970s
These were the style of the “must-have” combs of the 1970s
As a parent, it’s normal for you to not understand what makes kids tick (especially your own). It can be almost impossible to imagine what is cool, and why it is so important with them. I went through all of with my own kid. Why would anyone play with a stupid Tamogatchi virtual pet or any various other things she was into over the years.
I was born in 1968 and somewhere around the third grade you had to have one of those big handle combs in the back pocket of your Levis jeans. It had to be Levis, too, by the way. The 80s would bring in Calvin Klein, Jordache and bunch of other “trendy” jeans, but the 70s it was Levis or nothing… I mean Wranglers… forget it. You didn’t want to be the kid in Wranglers. My Mom, who is notoriously… um, let’s say “thrifty,” once bought be a pair of the Wrangler knock'-offs from K-Mart… Rustlers. Fuck me! If you want to talk about ruining your image in second grade… go strolling in to your class with a pair of Rustlers on. I definitely went with the untucked look until those Rustlers blew out in a tragic “hot box” sliding attempt on a concrete sidewalk (the baseball game where two people stand across from one another tossing a baseball and the “player” tries to steal as many bases as they can without getting an out.)
I mean I don’t know why, but the big handle comb was definitely a thing to have it sticking up out of your back pockets circa 1975. I just knew my only chance at being cool involved me getting one of those style of combs… I had to go through my Mom, though. The “thrifty” thing caused challenges once again:
7-Year-Old Colonel Steve at K-Mart (of course): “Mom, I need to get a new comb.”
Mom: “You have a comb.”
The style of comb I had at that time my Mom was referring to.
7-Year-Old Colonel Steve: “Mom, I can’t take that comb to school. I want one of those big combs, with the handle.”
Mom: “That’s $4. Do you see the type of comb you have now? It’s 50 cents. People don’t need a $4 comb.”
7-Year-Old Colonel Steve: “But everybody’s got them.”
Mom: “Well you don’t have one, so not everybody does.”
7-Year-Old Colonel Steve: “Everybody but me.”
Mom: “I’ll tell you what… there is a handle comb right there. It’s only $2. You can have that.”
The comb my Mom was referring to did have a handle and was shaped right, but it was 1/2 the size of the comb everybody had. That wouldn’t work… it would fit in the pocket, not stick up outside of it. She was basically proposing the Rustlers of combs.
7-Year-Old Colonel Steve: “No, I don’t want that. I want the big comb.”
K-Mart’s PA System: “Attention K-Mart shoppers, there is a blue light special going on now in the camera department, flash bulbs are buy one/get one free.”
Mom: “Fine. Then you will get nothing. Let’s go over to the camera department.”
So, that was it.
With my Mom, it was case closed. If I wanted the big comb, I could ask for it for Christmas, I suppose, but it wasn’t happening by just having her buy it for me. Maybe, if I didn’t buy any baseball cards or Slurpees at 7-11 I could save up my 50 cents/week allowance and work towards getting that comb.
Just as I was at my darkest hour… when things seemed to be at their worst for me, fate struck.
I was walking up to 7-11 (why in the fuck were those Slurpees so damn good?) and I noticed past the shoulder, just sitting off the road in the weeds, was one of those combs I wanted… full-size. I mean it was yellow, but the style was right and it wasn’t that half-sized Rustlers comb my Mom tried to pitch me on. I grabbed that sumbitch up immediately and sprinted home.
7-Year-Old Colonel Steve: Mom, look what I found.
Mom: Yuck. That’s probably got lice. Give it to me.
With that, my Mom got out the big pot she only used around the holidays, filled it with water and turned on the flame. When it reached a full boil, that comb got dropped in. She let it go a few minutes, got out the strainer and retrieved my now sterilized comb.
I gotta tell you, that handle sticking out of my back pocket of my Levis sure felt good.
