Hair raising experiences.....

   I was returning from an appointment on the other side of town. As I passed the local barber shop, I noticed that, except for the barber, the shop was empty. The lights were on and the Open flag waved wildly in the breeze. I looked in the rear view mirror, back into the shop, did a quick U-turn in the center of town on Main Street and parked my car not ten feet from the front door. I needed a hair cut and this was probably as good a time as any.

   Now for those of you that know me, please stop laughing. I know it has been many years since I have had a full head of hair. But even with a rapidly receding hairline,  I still needed a trim every now and then. The good news on this particular day, the shop was empty and I wouldn't have to wait. The bad news, regardless of the amount of hair I have or don't have, I still have to pay as if I had, well, you know.......

   Over the years I have had every type of haircut imaginable. There was 'the part' on the left side, then 'the part' on the right. There was the buzz cut, the crew cut, the flat top with that disgusting wax to keep it sticking straight up. There was the flat top with the side wings combing into the d.a. on the back. (duck's ass I think it was called.) And then there was the 'Beatles” cut. Who didn't want to have a  'Beatles” cut.

   There were all kinds and sizes of sideburns, from none to ones that almost joined at the chin. My favorite...the mutton chops. Long, almost shoulder length hair, mutton chops and a mustache, now there was a look! (Golly! I think I saw one of those in Walmart just the other day. Must have been a throw back Thursday.) 

   Generally, from a young age, my hair was blond or light brown  in color, except during the Beach-boy era when, with the help of a bit of dye or peroxide, it almost tuned white. These days, when it gets a bit longer, it is white, pure white, along with the beard, with  no help from dye or peroxide.

   I can remember riding my bike to the local barber shop in my hometown in New Jersey, with $3 dollars in my pocket, plus a dollar for the tip. I also had a quarter for the soda machine, but only after my hair cut.

   There were five chairs and five barbers and the place always seemed busy, radio blaring. The men were always talking and the discussions sometimes became heated. But at my age back then I was too young to understand the cultural and political importance of “the local barber shop.”

   I knew I was growing up when I graduated from the extra seat they put over the arms in the chair to make me a bit taller to the point where I could actually sit in the real chair, my neck wrapped in tissue paper and my body draped in a cape to keep the freshly cut hair off my clothes.

   I guess I was really grown up when, instead of going to a barber shop I started going to the 'upscale' hair stylist. By now, there often appeared to be more hair in my comb than on my head. My goal was to get a cut, a style, that made me look like I had more hair than I really did and for a long time the deception work, at least when I looked in mirror.

   At different times there were longer cuts, then shorter cuts, beards, then goatees and back to beards to draw the attention away from the shiny dome  top of my head down to my chin.

   What I really liked about 'upscale' was, depending upon the time of day, a hot cup of coffee or the glass of wine along with the gentle banter between the stylists and the customers. It was a great place to pick up on the local news, you know, the who, what, where, when, and did she or he really do that! Is that what they talked about back in the barber shop when I was a kid?

   Recently, my favorite hair stylist decided to close up shop. It was a sad moment, but I understood that, for her and for me, it was time to move on. The thought of training someone new was overwhelming though. There must be an easy way.

   I decided I would give the local barber shop a shot. I mean....the only difference between a good hair cut and a bad one is 30 days. Right?

   It's a small shop, only one very old barber chair, five firehouse-type chairs lined up against the wall for customers to sit and wait their turn and some very outdated magazines on a table. It looks a lot like Floyd's Barber Shop on the Andy Griffith reruns. No coffee or wine here, unless you bring it in yourself. 

   The decor is reflective of barber shops of the past. There was a barber pole just outside the door, but some kids broke it a few months ago, so now Sam just uses an 'Open'  flag.      Back inside, the only thing I thought missing was the razor strop hanging from the side of the chair... and the blaring radio.

   I have been in to get a haircut (trim)  several times now and he seems to do a fairly good job. I mean, after all, there is not a great deal to mess up.  But what I have really like is that... I've gotten caught up on all the town gossip. It's nice to know that after all these years some traditions never die.