By Brian EstadtStaff writer

Friends, Romans, countrymen, lend me your beard.

With apologies to Shakespeare’s Mark Antony, those words

could have come from the mouth of Allegheny County Commis-

sioner Bob Cranmer earlier this year when he showed up at the

City County Building sporting a beard.

The reaction was startling.

“Generally, women liked it a lot and men didn’t like it at all,”

Cranmer says. “A lot of older people didn’t like it, too.”

Apparently Cranmer’s campaign advisors were elderly men.

When voters gave county home rule the go-ahead in the pri-

mary election, Cranmer decided to campaign for county execu-

tive. As a current county commissioner, he has name

recognition with voters. With the beard, though, he didn’t ex-

actly have face recognition any more.

Shave it off, the advisors told him.

So, some three months after finally growing the beard he

dreamt of for years, Bob Cranmer broke out the razor.

It was an act that turned his family against him.

“My wife and kids adored it. They were very unhappy with me when I shaved it off,” he says. “My son

called it a ‘heinous act’.”

Heinous or not, shaving beard scruff is a very common occurrence among elected officials.

Mustaches, on the other hand, are acceptable. Local state Reps. Joe Markosek, Tom Michlovic and Jim Ca-

sorio all are mustachioed legislators.

But if you have presidential aspirations, you’d better reach for a razor.

The last American president to have facial hair other than eyebrows was William Howard Taft, who

sported a swooping mustache during his term from 1909 to 1913. None of the 15 subsequent presidents

have displayed even a 5 o’clock shadow, at least not in public.

It wasn’t always like that.

American folklore holds that an ugly Abraham Lincoln decided to grow a beard in order to be easier on

the eyes of voters. If you’ve ever seen portraits of a clean-shaven Abe, you understand why the story per-

sists 133 years after his death.

Lincoln wasn’t an exception. In fact, he ushered in the golden age of bristled presidents in the latter half of

the 19th century. From 1861 to 1897, only one president — Andrew Johnson — didn’t have any facial hair.

Though Johnson’s smooth cheeks might not have played a significant role during his presidency, fact is

that Johnson is the only U.S. president (so far, that is) to have been impeached. He was acquitted by a one-

vote margin — a close shave indeed.

A close shave!Politics at the razor’s edge

Originally published Dec. 16, 1998, in the east

suburban editions of Gateway Newspapers. Copy-

right 1998 Gateway Newspapers/Trib Total

Media.

All told, only nine of 42 presidents wore a beard or mustache while holding the highest elected office.

They are Lincoln, Ulysses S. Grant, Rutherford B. Hayes, James Garfield, Chester Arthur, Grover Cleveland,

Teddy Roosevelt and Taft.

So what’s behind the near-extinction of the political beard?

“That’s a good question,” says Leonard Bodack Jr., an Allegheny County Democratic Committee staff mem-

ber. “I don’t have a clue. I really don’t.”

As a committee staff member, Bodack is intimately involved in election campaigns. Though a candidate’s

image plays a role in elections, the beard issue has never come up, he says.

“There’s no publication that says ‘you must shave off a beard.’ There’s nothing in the rules that says you

can’t have a beard.”

If he weren’t clean-shaven, state Rep. Tony DeLuca (D-32) could be called a political graybeard. As it

stands, his 16 years in the legislature give him some perspective on the question.

Not that it helps, though.

Taking a few moments to ponder the question, he mentally pages through the roster of state legislators.

“Very rare. Very rare,” DeLuca says. “Geez, If there’s one or two, that’s a lot out of the 203 representatives.”

“There’s one guy from the eastern part of the state, but that’s about it,” he says. “Maybe around hunting

season guys might not shave, but that’s the only time I can think of.”

Jerri Cavalovitch, a Democratic state committeewoman and volunteer with the county democratic com-

mittee, doesn’t have a beard. Nor has she ever.

And being a woman, she has never been told to shave off a beard. But she was given some political advice

when she got into politics:

“You do not smoke. You do not drink. And you do not dance,” she says.

The first two campaign rules are understandable — after all, it doesn’t look good if a candidate is seen

using a product that some areas have saddled with a “sin tax,” now does it?

But dancing?

“You can’t dance with everyone,” she says, not speaking in metaphors. “Instead of not dancing with some

people, you just tell everyone you can’t dance.”

Not only doesn’t she dance. She doesn’t think highly of beards.

“I don’t like them,” she says. “That’s just my personal opinion.”

Cranmer, on the other hand, had long fancied himself with one.

A student of military history, the county commissioner says that many of his idols are old-time soldiers

who accessorized their star-studded collars with a nice, full beard.

Naturally, he wanted to emulate his heroes. He joined the Army and spent 14 years on active or reserve

duty.

Unfortunately for Cranmer, times had changed. Though Civil War soldiers were permitted to have facial

hair, modern-era soldiers aren’t. The future county commissioner was no exception.

After leaving the military, Cranmer immediately got into politics and was busy campaigning for one office

or another.

“I always wanted to have a beard,” he says. “But I was always running for something.”

So why are bearded politicians so scarce?

No one knows for certain. But after talking with politically minded people, three hypotheses emerge.

First, there’s the maintenance issue. As anyone who’s ever grown a beard will attest, you’ve got to take

care of the darn things.

Every morning you look in the mirror and find a couple more hairs that have spontaneously decided to jut

out at odd angles from all the others. Since you can’t really use hair spray on a beard, you reach for the

scissors.

And after you trim one hair, you invariably find another that looks a little out of place, and then another

and then ...

“I spent more time maintaining that beard every morning than I did shaving,” Cranmer says.

The second possible reason is public perception.

Though the goatee has enjoyed a resurgence in the past five years or so, beards overall are nowhere near

as popular as they were in Lincoln’s time, when they were a status symbol worthy of men like Andrew

Carnegie.

The reason for that can be traced back to a public health campaign in the late-1800s. With tuberculosis

one of the leading killers of the day, public health officials began urging men to shave off their beards to

do away with potential TB reservoirs.

As Cranmer says, there are beards that convey a “dignified, studious, intelligent look” and then there are

the beards that are worn by hermits and Grizzly Adams types.

“I think it’s the perception of being a clean-cut person. It’s like why there aren’t politicians with long hair,”

Bodack says.

And given the fact that public officials are so, well, public, they’ve got to look presentable at all times,

DeLuca says.

“You have to be neat (in Harrisburg), and it takes time to take care of a beard and mustache.”

The third possible reason?

Let’s face it. Not everyone can grow a handsome beard. Heck, not even all men can grow a OK-looking one.

And then there’s the fact that some of those who could grow a spectacular beard might not like how they

look with it.

“I tried to grow it a couple time but one side comes in crooked and I had to shave it off,” DeLuca says,

chuckling at the memory.

Bodack has had similar experiences.

“I can’t grow a beard,” he says. “I’m 40-some years old and I shave every two days. I’d love to grow one.

But then again, I’m not running for office.”