Reaching the ‘Top’ with John Travolta

At long last, I have something in common with actor John Travolta.

Certainly not our looks, nor our acting ability, though I wasn’t too bad on both those accounts in my day. And definitely not our bank accounts.

The common denominator, sad to say, comes from up above. We’re both bald.

It took me a while to get there and certainly was expected. I took after my dad, who passed his diminishing scalp onto me. But Travolta! The guy I admired back in the 1970’s as Vinny Barbarini, the unruly remedial sweat hog in the TV series “Welcome Back, Kotter.”

I danced with Travolta in “Grease,” joined the celestial heavens with him in “Michael,” and explored life with an extra-terrestrial in the hit “Phenomenon.”

The news hit me like a bolt. I was working out on a treadmill when an announcement came over the TV: “John Travolta leaves his weave at home and embraces baldness during a family holiday.”

Ah, a man after my own heart—or head—for deciding to go au naturel. He had nothing to hide, neither his hair nor his honor.

It is what it was, John. Hair today, gone tomorrow.

The “Grease” star spent the day with his wife and daughter by the ocean in Hawaii and was spotted with a hair-free head while celebrating his 57^th birthday. The impulse to appear in public without a weave contradicted his early notions.

You might recall in 2008 when Travolta made headlines after shaving his head for his role in “From Paris with Love,” before transforming from bald to beautiful again within days.

At the time, he admitted to enjoying the bald look and the freedom it incurred. Could be he was just preparing the news.

Days after the Travolta shocker, another news flash hit home. Teenage crooner Justin Bieber went ahead and cut his hair, as well as his fans. No word yet on whether he was donating his locks to Travolta.

I address this issue today because of recent developments in my family. I did not think for a moment that baldness was hereditary until I noticed both my sons with a thinning scalp. I don’t know how much it bothers them. I was crushed when I was their age and noticed that I was coming out on top.

What’s more, my oldest grandchild on her 9^th birthday admitted she wanted to do something for young cancer patients and agreed to donate her hair toward that cause.

“You could always give some to me,” I said kiddingly. “You’re not ill,” she snapped back, obviously well disciplined in this manner. “There are children out there like me who have cancer and could use some of my hair. I don’t mind giving them some of mine.”

With Travolta, his receding hairline was a contrast to the usual coiffure that had been the envy of Hollywood hair salons for years. Back in my 20s, I was sporting the Tony Curtis look with so much hair, it was parted in back.

In the same vein, I cannot picture Yul Brynner in anything but a balding appearance as the King of Siam in that Rodgers and Hammerstein musical, or Elvis Presley and Ricky Nelson in anything other than their locks. They fit the image.

I don’t have the heart to discuss the matter with my sons, but will let nature play its course and pretend not to notice. If they’re anything like me, they are probably wallowing in their own private misery over it.

I recall one of them trying to mollify the concern with a sign they brought me. It read: “Grass never grows on a busy street.”

I placed it on my wall in the study, next to another sign someone else presented me: “God made a lot of perfect heads. Those he was ashamed of, he covered with hair.”

My life was never the same being bald, but I rolled with the punches. I wore a hat, grew a permanent moustache, allowed the sides of my head to fill out over my ears, and was complimented by the ladies for looking distinguished.

Just goes to show that a determined man can accomplish almost anything, except keeping his hair from falling out. I had some advantages. Never had to invest in another comb when a wet sponge did the trick. Never had to worry about dandruff. Trips to the barbershop were cut in half.

One day for kicks, I wore a toupee and people laughed at me. It made for a good story, though.

I don’t know how Travolta will handle this dilemma, except to say it’s possible to be a “loser”—and still come out on top.

• Bio
• Latest Posts

Tom Vartabedian

Tom Vartabedian is a retired journalist with the Haverhill Gazette, where he spent 40 years as an award-winning writer and photographer. He has volunteered his services for the past 46 years as a columnist and correspondent with the Armenian Weekly, where his pet project was the publication of a special issue of the AYF Olympics each September.

Latest posts by Tom Vartabedian (see all)

• Vartabedian: My Final Column - November 13, 2016
• A Hat to Match Any Occasion - October 19, 2016
• More Smiles Keep the Frowns Away - October 12, 2016