I grew my first beard on a six month European ramble in 1949 ( is that the oldest beard around?) Actually, I shaved it off when I got home because my mother met me at the dock and shunned her much-missed baby -- "Come kiss me when you get that thing off your face.)

The current one only dates to about 1970, but it's been my inseparable companion ever since. (Except in dreams, from which I awake trembling in shock at having shaved it off.)

At least it's finally paying its way: I had a paying gig for the last holiday season as Santa at the oldest shopping center in the world (who knows where?) and am now memorialized with lots of little (and not so little) ones on refrigerator magnets and tree ornaments all across the area. Great fun, and I can't wait for next Labor Day when I'll start to let it grow out in all its luxurious snowiness.

I'm also considering taking part in a product test that will involve having my hair (what's left of it) and maybe my beard too -- dyed black! I expect to feel and look ridiculous, but they're paying $200!!!