Bald Heads Being hairless may be fashionable today, but when I was a kid by OTIS HIGGS JR. The smell of tar woke me up. It was August 1949. We were traveling east on Central Avenue when my grandfather, George Dean, said, "Look." I glanced out of the cab of the red pickup truck and saw my two cousins, Paul and Sonny, working on a Penal Farm work crew. One threw shovels of asphalt out of the back of a truck, and the other held a tar-sprayer in his hands. My grandfather said they were serving time for being drunk and disorderly. Jail was a way of life for Paul and Sonny -- they never stayed out of jail very long. I noticed a man holding a rifle, watching them as they worked. But more striking and noticeable than the rifle were their bald heads. Their hairless heads were shining in the bright sunlight. You could always tell when a man had been arrested or served time -- he always returned home with a shiny new bald head. I hoped I would never lose my hair and become bald. I hated and feared the bald heads. There was something mysterious about them. They told a story of crime, disobedience, toughness, and defiance. The funny-looking heads symbolized police power -- a badge of dishonor. To me, the heads were terrible. Yet, a few boys my age, returning from juvenile court, with their new bald heads, wore them with pride -- the heads became a badge of courage. When my grandfather took me to the barbershop, Mr. Levy would ask, "How do you want it cut?" From the board that I was sitting on, I proclaimed in a loud voice, "Heavy to the right." My grandfather would say, "Cut it all off." I hated it when all of my hair was cut off. It reminded me of all of those "workhouse" bald heads. One Saturday night I was arrested with a drunk who had struck me. When the police came they arrested everybody. On the way to Barksdale Station, I had nightmares about being given a bald head. Fortunately, my mother posted a $25 forfeiture and I was immediately released. Thank God, no bald head. On Monday morning the charges against me were dismissed. The drunk appeared in court with a bald head, and he was fined $50 for disorderly conduct. Sometimes men would return to the neighborhood with their bald heads wrapped in gauze. These men had been hit over the head with police nightsticks and their heads shaved and wrapped by doctors in the prison ward of John Gaston Hospital. We called the bandages and gauze wrapped around the bald heads "Johnson Caps." My grandfather said that Johnson Caps were "just as bad as bald heads." One day Paul and Sonny stole fruit off our grandfather's market truck. Grandfather was so hurt he cried. "They are our relatives," he said. He later confronted them. "Confounded, if you steal off this truck again, I'll have you locked up," the old man promised. George Dean frightened me when he raised his voice. I had never heard him use a terrible word like "confounded." I remained quiet the rest of the day. Grandfather hated stealing. He would give people fruits and vegetables rather than have them steal. He would tell me, "Never allow anybody to steal." I feared George Dean more than a bald head or a Johnson Cap. A few weeks later my grandfather woke me as we traveled on South Cooper. I smelled tar. I looked out of the window and saw Paul and Sonny in the workhouse crew. They had fresh bald heads. I'm a judge in the Criminal Court now. It's 2000. Things have changed. Bald heads are fashionable. Michael Jordan and George Foreman have bald heads. I'm not worried about my thinning hair. I might like a bald head now. W. Otis Higgs Jr. has been a lawyer, a minister, and sheriff of Shelby County. He currently presides as the judge in Division 2 of the Criminal Court.