Three Chairs, Slight Wait

When the pandemic closed my barbershop for several weeks a few years ago, I broke into a slight panic.

Now, I know what you are thinking and you are probably right: The shuttering of a barbershop shouldn't send someone like me into a tailspin. After all, the good book says that the Lord can count the numbers of hairs on one's head but, in my case, that's not a tall order.

Chuck, Curtis, and Jack operate the three chairs at the Dalton Barbershop. The place is old school and smells of manliness. Neck brushes are dusted with Clubman Talc, and there is a hint of shaving cream in the air when a customer is lathered up for a shave. Yes, you can still get a hot shave with a safety razor there.

There are no fancy do's here, though I have seen them do everything from crewcuts to trims, mullets, and mohawks. These guys are virtuosos with scissors and clippers. As my hairline has bid mostly adieu on top, I'm pretty sure they hold a pair of shears over my head and just make snipping noises to humor me. At my age, hair doesn't grow in places you want and sprouts like kudzu in places that you don't.

I'm so sorry that i just went there.

The same barbershop has cut my hair and my father's hair with few exceptions. In fact, the same barber cut both of our hair for over fifty years between us. Frank Fetzer was the owner for years before selling his business to Chuck and continued to work his chair for many years afterwards. The age range of customers runs from a kid's first haircut to men in their nineties.

But they're more than barbers. For years after my dad got sick, Frank would make house calls to cut my dad's hair when he couldn't go to the shop any longer. Every Christmas, he also would bring a homemade coconut cake to my parents. He cut my Dad's hair when he died for the funeral. Who does that?

Family does that.

Frank passed away a few years ago and my dad has been gone for a long time. Look, I know things change. Boys grow up and men grow older. The fair locks of youth turn grey or disappear and times marches on like an unyielding enemy. Some days, I think the world has lost all of it's marbles. Most days, I suspect I've lost mine.

That revolving barber pole is a welcome sight on those days.

It's more than a place to get your hair cut. It's a place to hear men sitting in chairs talking about important topics like Ford trucks, local politics, and SEC football. It's a spot where you can go hear Chuck, Curtis, and Jack telling their terrible, corny jokes. The kind that make you wince. Man, they are some kind of awful.

I can't wait to hear them all over again.