By DELMAR LEATHAM
I used to enjoy going to the barber shop for a visit and, occasionally, a haircut.
It was a men’s social gathering with hair on the floor, hunting magazines and tall tales. Now you get a shampoo with a comb out and a blow dry before a single hair on your head falls to the floor.
Your barber is the first one to notice that your hair is turning gray and thinning out a bit. In order to make you feel better about your head, he takes the same amount of time to trim your locks, even though you only have half as much hair as the 12-year-old sitting on the couch reading the Outdoor Magazine. I assume he was reading an article and not just looking at the pictures.
I looked forward to going to the barber shop when there were other men waiting their turn for a trim. I could get a soft drink from the vintage coke machine, settle onto the couch and join in a spirited conversation about hunting, fishing and politics.
There was never any subject you could not discuss. If you did bring up a topic that was taboo, you were never chastised or scolded. There was just a moment of silence and the conversation returned to the upcoming hunting season and if you have gone to get your license and tag.
Historically, barber shops could be identified by the red, white and blue barber pole outside the shop. This pole originally indicated that several medical services were available to the sick and injured. You could get a leech attached to a bruise or receive a blood letting to let the evil spirits escape.
As a youth my mother would cut my hair. I had a small wart on the back of my neck that she always managed to cut off. After 20 years of haircuts the wart stopped growing back. It seems that mothers are willing to persevere years of wart removal in order to perfect their children.
My childhood barber shop did include medical services. My mother dealt with her children’s injuries the same way she had learned to treat her injuries while growing up on a dairy farm. If it wasn’t bleeding the dirt got wiped off with spit on a tissue. The tissue seemed to magically appear from a secret pocket near her collar bone.
If there was blood, it too was wiped away with the same tissue and spit.
If the medicinal Kleenex didn’t work you were offered a band-aid. Any tears received the admonishment to quit your whining and go out and play until dinner is ready. You only went to the doctor if you required more than 5 stitches and a tetanus shot.
The medical services offered at the local barbershop came in the form of advice. How to treat a gunshot wound or remove a favorite fishing fly that was stuck in the back of your head.
My fishing buddy had been catching trout all morning on the same fly until it became lodged in the back of his head. He insisted that it be jerked out so he could continue to fish. A quick jerk and a bit of spit on a handkerchief and he was back fishing. I’m not sure his hair ever grew back and I’m positive that his part was never the same. The missing hair and spot of blood did improve the appearance of the fly and the trout continued to attack the fly with abandonment.
I always looked forward to spending a peaceful hour on the therapeutic couch at the barbershop. I would sit and drink my soda while thumbing through a variety of hunting, camping and fishing magazines. I read articles on how to field dress a deer, how to smoke fish and how to cook over a camp fire. I once came across a recipe for biscuits that I still use today.
With the permission from the barber (at least I remember getting permission), I tore the page from the Field and Stream magazine and made the biscuits when I got home. Within a few short years and dozens of attempts, I mastered the recipe and my family and I began to look forward to the biscuits. We called them Barbershop Rolls.
I miss that old barbershop and the friends I made while waiting my turn under the clippers. My commitment to Country, Community and Church were strengthened each time I stopped in for a soda and a bit of wisdom from an old-timer. At my age I could never learn to cut hair but I could open a barbershop that catered to old bald men where the lessons of life could be passed on to a new generation.
