My great-grandmother and great-grandfather (Mama Dick and Daddy Dick, called that because their last name was Dickens) owned a barber shop in rural East Texas. One day my grandmother, BillE (yes it's spelled just like that) and one of her sisters Virginia, my grandmother is one of five girls, were hanging out with mom in the shop.
Out of nowhere a car pulled up and a couple of people got out with what looked like violin cases. If you're smart and keep in mind this was the 1930's, you'll figure out they weren't violins. The men cased the street and then out of the car stepped Bonnie, of Bonnie and Clyde.
She walked into my great-grandmother's shop and asked for a haircut. Of course, Mama Dick obliged. Now this was not long after their infamous massacre, so Ms. Bonnie had many scars on her head. Virginia was young and kept asking questions about the scars. Mama Dick became a little frightened that Virginia was asking too many questions so she sent my grandmother to see Virginia back to the house. My great grandmother cut Bonnie's hair. If my timeline is right, this happened just before Bonnie and Clyde were picked up for their indiscretions.
Bonnie and Clyde are so fierce, yet completely not frightening at the same time. They were small town Texas folk who killed people, and now I, like a lot of people, find them fascinating and want to watch movies about them and am entertained by their story. Isn't that a little odd? To be so fascinated by murder and the people who commit them? This coming from someone who adores the show Dexter. I just love that show.
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