La Jean Beauty Parlor

by Fran Pado

The finer shades of glamour are often absent from today's cool unisex hair salons. Predictable dance music, $100 aromatherapy cuts, and stylists who act like rock stars tire and confuse me. Not that these cut-o-ramas aren't exciting; multi-media excites, especially when you can pay and be part of the show and probably see a lot of skin. Plus, you can engage in elaborate discussions of "Product" and the pseudo-science thereof. You could even spend a lot of money and purchase some Product. There is another way, though. The hardcore, tough -gal way to win the award for Most Gracious Do is through trial by hairspray, pins, and Aquanet White Bottle. If you like your glamour full-on old skool, La Jean's on Graham Avenue will have you bowing down before an altar of rat combs and peroxide.

Why La Jeans? Well, my landlady, Mary Verdi, goes there and she looks like a Versace ad. And my friend Yvette, who seems to be in the same ad, also goes to La Jean's. Though these chic ladies are at least two generations apart, they both swear by the $12 wash-and-set.

On a warm and triumphant May Saturday, Yvette and I head down to her favorite secret beauty parlor so she can get all dolled up." It's amazing. I walk out looking like a movie star, totally wired on coffee and sugar." enthuses Yvette. "'Cokies?' How 'bout 'Cookies?'"

Yvette, chanteuse of the experimental group Birdbrain, comes to La Jean to get hair that will floor a room before she even sings a note. She is the youngest customer by a conservative 30 years.

The room is packed. Stylish seniors with rolled-up hair and little white shoulder-towels perch clutching paper cups of coffee. Heads turn when we walk in. "It's that skinny girl!" someone says and there's a round of laughter. Yvette knows the drill and grabs us some coffee, sweet with half-and-half. Rosemary Quintana, who has owned the salon since 1980, begins rolling and spraying and teasing Yvette's hair. Soon she folds into the swarm of big-eyed roller-heads.

The room buzzes with a dozen happy, loud conversations punctuated by the kind of laughter that comes out around friends. The giant beige spaceman hair dryers blast like it's 1952. The vibe is caffeine, butter cookies, and serious neighborhood news. Every woman in the place has vibrant, Technicolor hair.

While Yvette nods off under a dryer, coffee cup in hand, I pay my respects to 86-year-old Ralph Sbarra, who opened the salon in 1929 and knows a thing or two about silver-screen beauty.

"I built all the dresserettes myself. I installed running water and electricity. I do more than just hair!" says Sbarra, who lords in an empty chair like a king.

"Back when I started there were only 4-5 hair colors. Hair color was non-existent. " explains Sbarra, who states that he pioneered the field of hair coloring at a time when women had few choices between black, blonde, and red.

"There were no hair colorists 60 years ago. I got a reputation. I learned to mix color by watching my father mix paint. I had all the New York models in here." says Sbarra.

"You couldn't imagine how busy I was. I'd lecture in Connecticut at a hair show and then that night I'd be down in the lab." Sbarra laughs. "I used to use 150gallons of peroxide per year. We would buy it in the 5 gallon jugs and just keep pouring it in the bottles."

Sbarra is an inventor as well, and held three patents for his coloring tools. "I invented the Acceleration-Hair-Suspension-Hood. The body heat of the woman actuates the chemicals. The plastic hood keeps out atmospheric conditions." Sbarra explains. He shows me an elaborate mechanism that includes a stern metal neck brace that fans out above the head to suspend the hair in a finger-in-the-light socket manner. This is covered with a plastic hood that squeezes tight.

"I remember when I was little and my mother would be in that thing and I'd scream and cry, 'Don't you hurt my Mommy!'" says Vincent Alloca, who has worked at La Jean since he was 11. "You know," he adds, "Ralph is the best."

Every inventor has his secret laboratory, and Sbarra's was in the basement. "Some nights I couldn't sleep. I would get an idea and sketch it out and work on it all night." Sbarra shows me a manual outlining his ideas for the future of hair color and cosmetology in general. Highlights include mechanized sinks that eliminate the need for a Shampoo Girl and nail laquer that can paint ten fingers without a re-dip.

Sbarra gives me a long, serious look. "Do you really wanna see this stuff ?" he says quietly. I nod "yes" enthusiastically and he disappears into the cellar. A minute later he's back porting an ancient suitcase.

"Oh no! What is in that valise!" screams one platinum blonde customer.

Sbarra produces bags of his Hair Threaders, Hair Cups, and Frisbee Discs.

Each of these tools is handmade and well crafted. He hooks a clump of hair from a 1970's blond mannequin head with a steel threader, and shoves it through a small slit in a Hair Cup. "With these I would produce stunning results. Frosting, highlights, the splatter effect…" Sbarra says solemnly.

"Cosmetology is stagnant. It would be a Herculean task to teach this kind of technique to every hair operator." The complexity of his tools and techniques intimidates the beauty industry, Sbarra explains, which is why big companies have shied away from his methods.

Yet, he is the King of Color at 347 Graham Avenue, as devoted clients attest. Though Sbarra stepped down in 1980, he is a strong and forceful presence. All the customers regard him fondly.

"Ralph! Remember when I went blonde with you in 1938?" demands the youthful Clara Finoccio. Sbarra nods sagely. "I'm still blonde and I'm 91; it's all about entertaining and making them laugh." says Clara, who sports Betty Davis eyebrows and a tongue like Mae West. "When she was young she looked like a movie star." Sbarra confides to me.

When asked what hairstyle he finds the most flattering in his over 50 years of experience, Sbarra states, "The artichoke, definitely, it looks good on so many women." I look around the room and see a woman in a stunning leopard-print ensemble in a wheelchair getting an artichoke. Another set of sisters, Sbarra's former clients, leave with sporty artichokes. It's true; with the artichoke you're ready for anything.

"Wake up, Yvette!" Rosemary yells to our sugar-crash victim who has been passed out under the dryer for over an hour. Her hair is brushed out in dramatic waves. The hair-spray can goes non-stop for 5 minutes.

While grabbing my third cup of coffee, I realize we have spent the entire afternoon. My hands are shaking from caffeine. My mind is reeling with plans for my own basement lab.

Clara begins sweeping the floor with more energy than most 30 year olds. "Clara, no! I'll do it." says friendly 12-yr old Dana, La Jean's youngest helper.

Yvette and I leave with warm hugs and goodbyes all around. We parade down Graham Avenue, the lost glamour of La Jeans living on in Yvette's huge halo of hair.