Molly Had a Dream: Her Own Hair Salon and a Big "Book"

It’s hard to believe, but the black-haired woman who owns a successful hair salon in Willow Grove was once imprisoned and a rifle held to her temple.

She was 7 years old. She and her family were fleeing from impoverished Laos by foot and by canoe. Her impossible, death-defying journey finally led her to America, the land of opportunity.

“If you work hard and work smart,” said Manivanh “Molly” Khounxay, now 38, “you can achieve just about anything in America.”

was established October 10, 2002, at 213 Easton Road in Willow Grove. Unless you know where to look—next to the Willow Inn Restaurant—it may be hard to find.

But Khounxay’s legions of clients know exactly where it is and where to park (behind the store, or at the Willow Inn, which owns the whole block of shops). They come to her from as far away as Center City or New Jersey. Friends tell friends. Word-of-mouth, her website and Facebook are her best advertising sources.    

Yes, she has quite a “book,” the term for beauty salon customers.

“I’ve always wanted to own my own hair salon,” said Khounxay (pronounced koon-sigh), who punctuates her perfect English with smiles. “I was one of those girls who loved doing my friends’ hair and getting all “dolled” up myself. I love making people look beautiful.”

A graduate of the Empire Beauty Academy, Khounxay is the sole beautician at her shop. She is helped by her energetic Laotian Sister-in-Law, Chan Khounexay, who does everything Molly doesn’t— shampoo lady, combing out perms, sweeping the floor and watering the plants.

“I’m so fortunate to have Chan in my life,” she said.

The extended family live in Horsham – Molly; Molly’s husband, Jay, a machinest; their three fully Americanized sons, Darian, 14; Dylan, 12; and Devin, 2; Jay’s mother One Khounexay and their African-American friend Deborah Heist who works at the salon.

Chan cooks traditional Laotian food at home, but the boys don’t much care for it. Laotians must have their “sticky rice” with every meal. Molly and Jay adore their native food. In fact, on the first day of school at Horsham, they sent the boys to school in T-shirts that read “Sticky Rice.”

Unfortunately, the principal Googled the meaning, and found an obscure—and obscene—meaning for the term.

He called Khounxay into his office and explained the situation.

"I was really mad," she said.

No more “Sticky Rice” T-shirts at school.

Molly Khounxay is an ambitious woman, never content with the status quo.

“I’m always taking classes. I’ve got to constantly learn new things and bring them to my business,” she said.  

A quick look at her website shows her diverse services, in addition to the usual cuts and perms.

Because her clientele is truly international (see photos above), she is adept at doing the hair of Americans, Asians and African-Americans.

The salon’s services include waxing, hair weaves, Keratine treatments, Japanese straight perms, hair relaxing, ironing, and donating cut hair to Locks of Love, a nonprofit that supplies hair to low-income children with hair-loss conditions. She also offers do-it-yourself classes at her shop, such as make-up and hair coloring.

Weddings are her greatest love, hair coloring the most lucrative.

Her prices are competitive: $35 for a haircut, which includes styling and blow dry. Hair Cuttery, which prides itself on the lowest prices, charges $15.

Molly has also branched out so that she is asked to do the hair for models in various promotions.

Is that enough for a girl from a country where her family lived in a one-room hut?

“My ultimate goal,” she said, “is to have the salon filled with stylists.”

Maybe then she can take a vacation. She longs to return to Laos.

It was Khounxay’s ambitious father who got them out of the country in February of 1980.

“He was fed up with everything,” she said, “especially how the Communist government was run. We were so poor.”      

They were farmers who could see the Mekong River from their land, and they went to the bathroom outside in the bushes.

They harvested rice, tobacco, sugar cane and silkworms. There was no industry back then in Laos, said Khounxay.

“After the Vietnam War, we wanted a better life,” she said. “During the war, we were allies of the US. We cared for injured soldiers.”  

The land-locked country of Laos, located in southeast Asia, touches five other countries—Vietnam, Cambodia, Thailand, Myanmar, and China.

With a population of nearly 7 million, Laos is a single-party Communist country that has dramatically slashed its poverty rate over the past eight years. Rice cultivation accounts for a majority of employment, according to the website “The Factbook of the Central Intelligence Authority.”

The family’s journey began with a boat ride in the middle of the night. Her father planned it carefully.

Khounxay remembers being terrified the entire way. Her mother was still nursing her 6-month-old brother, Lou.

At the time, her father had already escaped to Thailand and was residing in a refugee camp. He had sent over the immigration paperwork which the family would carry with them.

The party consisted of two teenage men who would row the bamboo canoe across the water, Khounxay’s aunt, mother, uncle and little brother. Eight people afloat in a tiny boat.

Their suitcases were loaded first. They also brought all their money. They needed it for their new life in America and for bribes.

In the pitch-black night, they rowed across the Mekong River. As they neared the shore of Thailand, their little boat began to sink.

“Quick!” said the young men, “Throw some of your things into the river.”

Baby Lou and Khounxay couldn’t stop crying. They were told to “'shush’ or we’ll throw you overboard,” Khounxay said with a laugh.

Fortunately, the boat steadied itself.

As they neared shore, the Thai soldiers were waiting for them.

There was no love lost between the two nations: communist Laos and capitalist Thailand.

“They were so mean,” said Khounxay.

The soldiers dragged everyone from the boat and put rifles to their heads, including young Molly Khounxay.

“The rifles had knives attached to them,” she said. “I still have nightmares to this day.”

Her dad had bribed the soldiers.

Still, they were forcibly dragged off to a prison where they stayed overnight. Finally, they were released to a refugee camp, where they underwent severe privations, such as the need to stretch out their food, as they awaited passage to America.

“Rumor had it,” said Khounxay, “that America had everything!”

Passage came quickly.

When they arrived in America, the family was overwhelmed by culture shock. Add to that, the cold February weather was something they’d never experienced in their warm country village.

Their first American home was on the seventh floor of an apartment building on Camac Street in the Logan section of Philadelphia.

“The building is now condemned,” said Khounxay.

Other refugee families lived there, which is how she met the little boy who would someday become her husband.

“We couldn’t imagine why they set us up in this huge two-bedroom apartment,” she said. “We were all used to sleeping in the same room.”  

Bringing a bit of Laos to Logan, they pulled the mattresses off their beds and all slept in the living room.

Her father refused to ride “in the box” up to the seventh floor.

Culture shock struck again when they were offered American food.

“How could anyone eat anything this awful?” thought Khounxay.

They had to search hard to find equivalents of their delicious Lao food, especially garnishes like scallions and cilantro.  

The refugee settlement committee that helped Laotian families arranged for them to get food stamps, a concept they did not understand.

In those days, instead of the plastic cards used today, food stamps came in dollar amounts in a little tear-off booklet. Khounxay drew doodles and designs all over them, causing problems at the check-out counter.

They were all anxious to to learn English.

“We were not allowed to speak English in the house,” she said. Her family knew the importance of preserving their native tongue.

She learned her English from watching "Sesame Street" and listening to the other school children at Birney Elementary School in Logan and Cold Spring Elementary School in Willow Grove.

She graduated from Upper Moreland High School, class of ’93, one of five Laotians.

Her dad’s first job was a dishwasher in a fancy downtown hotel.

With the little money he made to support the family, he came home one day with a proper platter for eating Lao food.

Custom mandates that the whole family eat from a large bowl in the center of the table. Family members form their sticky rice into balls, hold the balls in one hand, and push the food around the plate. The meal consists of meat, vegetables and a hot and spicy sauce.

“My dad bought what he thought was the perfect supper dish,” Khounxay said. “It was a rainbow-colored deep dish.”

It served the family well until they brought it to a picnic. “Some boys grabbed it and began flinging it through the air,” she said.

Yes, it was a Frisbee.

But it’s all in the past. Her whole family is alive and well.

“I’m very close to my dad,” she said. “He remarried and now lives in Harrisburg. He always loved working with food, so he works at the Harrisburg Convention Center.”

Khounxay has back-to-back clients filling the black swivel chairs in the large salon that was formerly a computer bookstore. Beth Baff, a part-time employee who was in the same class at Upper Moreland High, is combing out a perm.

Khounxay takes a break. She walks to the little kitchen, takes her food from the small fridge and relaxes a moment. Nothing like sticky rice in a bamboo basket for lunch.