Century-old wreaths made from human hair fill the walls of Leila’s Hair Museum, and glass cases overflow with necklaces and watch bands woven from the locks of the dead. There also are tresses purported to come from past presidents, Hollywood legend Marilyn Monroe and even Jesus.
For about 30 years, this hair art collection in the Kansas City suburb of Independence attracted an eclectic group of gawkers that included the likes of heavy metal legend Ozzy Osbourne.
But the museum’s namesake, Leila Cohoon, died last November at the age of 92. Now her granddaughter, Lindsay Evans, is busy rehoming the collection of more than 3,000 pieces to museums across the country, including the Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York, and the National Museum of Women in the Arts in Washington, D.C.
Photo: AP
“Every time I come here, I feel her here,” Evans said Monday while touring with representatives of the National Museum of Funeral History in Houston who left with around 30 pieces. “This place is her. And so I feel like this process of rehoming her collection has helped me grieve her in a way that I didn’t even realize I really needed.”
It all started in 1956 when Cohoon, a hair dresser, was shopping for Easter shoes. Inside an antique store she found a gold frame filled with strands of hair twisted into the shape of flowers.
“She said forget the Easter shoes,” Evans said. “My granddad always said that this was the most expensive piece of the museum because look at what it started.”
Evans is keeping that one for herself.
This form of art peaked in popularity in the mid-1800s as women coiled the hair of the dead into jewelry or told their family history by intertwining the curls of loved ones into wreaths.
But hair art had fallen out of favor by the 1940s, as memories were captured in photos, Evans said. Additionally, “this artwork was not celebrated because it was mostly done by women. And so in larger museums, they don’t have a lot of this.”
Her grandmother saved some from being trashed, wrote a book and taught classes on the art form, training a new generation of artists.
Often the hair art was housed in elaborate frames with original glass, so when her grandmother started haggling with antique dealers for the frames, they frequently offered to get rid of the hair.
“And she’d say, ‘No, no, keep that in there,’” Evans said.
Then her grandmother would hand them her business card and tell them to be on the lookout. Soon dealers across the country were calling.
“If it had hair, she got it,” said Evans, who sometimes accompanied her grandmother as she hunted for new additions.
The collection grew to include a wreath containing hair from every woman in the League of Women Voters from Vermont in 1865. A pair of crescent-shaped wreaths contain the tresses of two sisters whose heads were shaved when they entered a convent. A couple pieces even feature taxidermy.
The frames filled the walls of her home and the beauty school she ran with her husband. She shoved them under beds and in closets. Eventually, the couple snatched up this building — a former car dealership — nestled between a fast-food restaurant and car wash.
Celebrities caught wind of the attraction. Actress and comedian Phyllis Diller donated a hair wreath that had been in her family for generations. TV personality Mike Rowe filmed an episode of “Somebody’s Gotta Do It” here. There might also be a few strands from Osbourne inside. When he came to visit, Cohoon snipped a lock, although Evans has yet to find it.
Evans said her grandmother was tight-lipped on what she spent over the years, but she anticipates the worth of the art may top $1 million.
As Genevieve Keeney, the head of the National Museum of Funeral History in Houston, waded through the collection, she eagerly eyed the jewelry that memorialized the dead, including a small pin containing the locks of a 7-year-old girl who died in 1811.
“I always felt it was important to educate people about death,” said Keeney, also a licensed mortician. “Our society does such an injustice on getting people to understand what the true emotions are going to feel like when death happens.”
Evans herself is struggling with a mix of emotions as she slowly rehomes her grandmother’s legacy.
“I want people to see all of this because that’s what she wanted,” Evans said. “But when this is empty it’ll break my heart a little bit.”
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