I have chosen to discuss the subject of ordinary baldness, not, as one might think, because of my slight personal experience with it, but rather for its story, which is an old and fascinating one. At one time baldness was considered a mark of indignity—evidence of the wrath of the gods for some sinful indiscretion, a curse, a tragedy. Now, for the many, it is simply one of life's inevitable misfortunes. The subject of baldness has always had comment appeal, some of it in ridicule, some in defense. Baldness, it is said, lends dignity; it becomes one whose responsibilities are weighty; it is the outward sign of an intensely active mind; it attacks thinkers rather than doers. All this is admitted, yet "Ugly is a field without grass, a plant without leaves or a head without hair." And because man has never been obtuse to vanity, he has searched frantically