A Good Barber

One of the necessities in a man’s life is having a good barber. He may not be as important as food and water, but a good barber is a good thing to have. I am not talking about a hair stylist in a salon. I am talking about a barber, one who uses scissors and has a shop that has the adjustable chairs and a bowl of suckers for the kids. You know, the one with old familiar barber’s pole out front . . . 

The first barber I remember having was a man named John Moore. I loved going to his little shop. From the very moment I entered, I was captivated by the antiques and old newspaper clippings. I read about the kidnapping of Charles Lindbergh’s baby every time I sat in the chair. My dad gave him the same instructions every visit, “Crew cut.”  I can still feel the hot towel on my neck as he would shave the hair around my ears and on my neck. Mr. Moore was kind man and a great cutter of my mangy mop.

During my college years and beyond, I came across the path of Don Gettys in the small town of Lattimore, a place I now call home. Don was a good barber and even better friend. In his shop, I learned a little town history and a lot of gossip. We would talk about the Lord, church, and everything else you could imagine.

I will never forget the week that he knew it was time to quit. He took his Ford pick-up to the shop and packed it up with little fanfare. He wanted his exit to be low-key. A couple of the locals bought the barber chairs he had. I miss those Saturday morning haircuts and watching my little boys sweep the hair off the floor for the pay of one dollar. Life sure was simpler then. When Don retired, he had cut hair for more than 50 years. A man with that much longevity in his craft is to be respected.

After Mr. Gettys’ retirement, I found Ron Goode the next town over. Some of my friends were his customers and they couldn’t speak enough good about him. After spending some time with him, I understood why. The first time I walked into his shop, I saw a sign that said, “No profanity” and a box filled with peanut brittle for sale. When I sat in the chair, he would tell me about his Sunday morning jail ministry and then we would talk politics and local news.

Earlier today, I sat in the chair of an 82-year-old barber. He made me look a lot better and got my mind off the cares of the day. Every man needs a good barber . . .