If only Jay Sebring, in addition to being a dynamic hairdresser to the stars in the late ’60s, had been a little bit of a gun nut, he could have been the hero who saved the lives of Sharon Tate, Abigail Folger and Wojciech Frykowski on the night of August 8, 1969. If he had owned, say, a Walther PPK or a Baretta or one of each and had kept them loaded, he could’ve shot Tex Watson, Susan Atkins and Patricia Krenwinkel right between the eyes.

After which Sebring could’ve written his own ticket in this town, you bet. He could’ve been the pistol-packing hairdresser, Mr. Cool who stood up to the psychos, the new Steve McQueen. But he was too much of a groovy, light-hearted alpha guy to own a gun, and so his life came to a horrible end that night. For the last half-century (and I know this sounds cruel), Sebring has been little more than an indistinct also-killed, and it’s a damn shame.

It never hurts to pack a little heat because you never know what’s coming.