The Bastion of Knowledge……

Inquiring minds want to know. Knowledge comes in many forms and can be found anywhere. That being said, there is no greater location that offers the awareness and knowledge that fairly flows through a barber shop. Mind you, I am not talking about a stylist with his or her bag of tricks to transform hair into a work of art, rather a retail establishment run by folks who can taper, cut and humanize the most unlikely of patrons.

I shave my head these days, a reality brought about by genetics. The males in my family have all had a tough time keeping hair from slipping off their heads. I am not sufficiently vain enough to subject myself to the many snake oil salesmen who suggest they can return a luxurious mane to my rapidly emptying head. As they say, it is what it is. This practice denies me the opportunity to keep up on sports, politics, gossip and vociferous opinion that wafts through a good old fashioned barber shop. To suggest the information exchanged behind the striped pole is invaluable is a gross understatement.

I recall sitting in a gorgeous shop in St. Joseph, Missouri that was blessed with a contingent of excellent barbers, when a fellow officer entered with his grandson who was vehemently opposed to having his hair cut. The shop was full of waiting patrons, all watching in amusement as the young man was seated in a booster chair against his wishes. His protestations were loud, verbal and heart rending and grandpa could say or do nothing to assuage the young man. The situation required a well framed intervention and I stepped up. In front of 20 or so patrons and barbers, all watching closely, I walked over to chairside and was immediately able to calm the young man with a simple promise. I told him that if he sat calmly for a haircut, his grandpa was going to buy him a pony. His grandpa nearly fainted as the child accepted my offer and sat for the haircut, much to the amusement of the patrons. It was all I had…..but it worked. Grandpa has never forgiven me.

On another occasion, I stepped into a popular Jefferson City shop, where I was 6th or so in line for one of three hair magicians. I had a preference as I was sporting a flat top those days, and one of the barbers was masterful in cutting this challenging style. I was in uniform, which was unfortunate. I picked up the latest issue of Playboy magazine and became enamored with a stunning pictorial when a nice lady sat down with two young boys to wait out their haircuts. She sat next to me, much to the amusement of the barbers as I opened a fold out photo of the month’s centerpiece, who was constructed out of the “ A box” of female anatomy. I glanced up and the nice lady was also studying the center fold with the same interest. It was the Governor’s wife and I was speechless. She diffused the situation by suggesting the lady in the picture, was indeed, stunning. I was as red as a hothouse tomato. She smiled at my discomfort and we exchanged pleasantries. She was an affable First Lady, as I thought about the likely reaction of another First Lady who likely would have had me drawn and quartered. This was an incident where my usually reliable situational reasoning skill abandoned me.

By now you get the picture. These anecdotes are but an example of life in the chair with a barber, who typically has his or her finger on the pulse of America. I miss it. If you are still in possession of enough hair to qualify for a coveted seat in the chair of wisdom, enjoy it. To be denied this pleasure is discouraging, but inevitable, for some of us.

Have a great week!

SR