While There's Life There's Soap.
We say nothing—or next to nothing —about the breath-taking thrills of the old-fashioned shave or barberous necking party. Since the safety chinchopper reduced shaving to a matter of removing the face from the whiskers rather than the whiskers from the face, shaving has lost much of the exciting uncertainty that was its chief
“Manhandled your nose.”
feature in the old bubble-blowing and rubber-necking days of yore. In the days when we lent our face to the barber we knew what it was to live dangerously; especially if he was one of those barbers who regarded a face in much the same light as Helen of Troy who, as you know, used hers to launch a thousand ships. He gave to the removal of the humble whisker a sublime significance equal to the wreck of the schooner Hesperus, the mutiny on the Bounty and the charge of the Light Brigade, combined with an explosion in a soap factory.
We speak now of those rugged cut-and-thrust, slap - and - slosh bristle-bruisers of the old school whose old school tie was the “Jolly Roger” and the battle cry “while there's life there's soap.”