A Barber, A Banquet, and the Best of Baltimore

Remembering Sam Lamantia, Jr.

As a child my, to save money, my Mom would have a neighbor cut my hair. Mom said that Mrs. Celeste had experience as a hairstylist and that she would do a great job. Mrs. Celeste was and is a wonderful lady, but as a hairstylist, let’s just say that a pasta bowl and a pair of scissors could have produced similar results. At least that’s how I saw it.

Mom knew that I hated the haircuts and eventually she asked my Dad to take me with him to his next hair appointment. And so he did – to the Gentlemen’s Gentlemen in Parkville. That’s where I first met Mr. Sam.

Sam Lamantia, Jr. had a big personality, and he enthusiastically welcomed me into his salon. I remember thinking that it was a big deal. I was accustomed to having my hair cut in our basement laundry room with scissors that looked a lot like those in my school supply box. Mr. Sam’s was a place that felt important. Well-dressed men came and went and as they left they looked better than when they arrived. I hoped for the same. It was a low bar for Mr. Sam.

Initially, I was a bit nervous but Mr. Sam made me feel comfortable. He had a way with kids. It wasn’t as if I was just some client’s kid. He treated me like a new client. I left there thinking that the girls in my class at The Most Precious Blood School would be impressed. I don’t know if they were but the swagger in my gait had to have been more noticeable. At least I felt that way.

I can’t recall how often we ventured to The Gentlemen’s Gentlemen Salon, but I do remember Mr. Sam making an impression. I’m sure at parties, he was the adult that kids gravitated towards. His sincerity and warmth were as transparent as a see-through dress.

Eventually Dad opted for a salon a bit closer to home and my connection to Mr. Sam was severed. It wasn’t until many years later when I once again had the pleasure to cross paths with him. And to no surprise, the driving force behind our intersecting worlds was Mr. Sam’s devotion to children.

“A hundred years from now it will not matter what my bank account was, the sort of house I lived in, or the kind of car I drove… but the world may be different because I was important in the life of a child.” ~ Forest E. Witcraft

Mr. Sam harbored a soft spot for kids, particularly those who were from distressed families. He worked diligently to support abused and at-risk youth because he realized that without help their futures were bleak.

In 1977, the Eastside Athletic Club committee of which Mr. Sam was part, discussed their plans for their annual Spring fundraiser. The discussion centered upon supporting a favorite charity and the charity of choice was the Abused Children of Maryland which would later be named St. Vincent’s Villa.

They quickly agreed that some type of banquet was the best vehicle for both raising funds and establishing the great need to help these suffering youngsters while concurrently centering the event around the Baltimore Colts. Mr. Sam reached out to his friend and client at his Gentlemen’s Gentlemen barbershop, Baltimore Colts Assistant General Manager Ernie Acorsi. A few conversations between snips of the scissors, and just like that, the seeds were planted for what would become the Ed Block Courage Award Foundation.

But the story, as you are aware, took an awkward twist. On a snowy March night in 1984, the Mayflower vans rolled out of Owings Mills and gutted this town. They took our team. They took our Sundays. And they very nearly took the foundation with them — an organization stitched together with horseshoes suddenly had no horse.

Mr. Sam wasn’t having it.

Driven by a devotion that no moving van could haul away and flanked by friends like Baltimore Sun reporter Larry Hess and former Colts Head Athletic Trainer John Lopez, Mr. Sam didn’t just keep the foundation alive. He grew it. League-wide.

Soon, players from every corner of the NFL were being honored for staring down debilitating setbacks — injuries and obstacles that would’ve ended most careers — and clawing their way back in exemplary fashion. And as the foundation grew, so did the network of Courage Houses across the country, following the trail blazed by St. Vincent’s. Every new team, every new city, every new house meant more at-risk kids getting the help they so desperately needed.

Think about that for a second. Thousands of children’s lives changed — not because of a billionaire owner or a slick marketing campaign, but because a determined Baltimore barber followed his heart.

That’s not just charity, friends. That’s courage.

Mr. Sam didn’t make a difference in the life a child. He made a difference in the lives of countless children.

Somewhere Forest E. Witcraft is smiling.

And now, right beside him, is his disciple – dear Sam Lamantia, Jr.

Rest easy Mr. Sam. I’m pretty sure you’ve earned it!

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