Greg Browning's Barber Shop

Written
2009

 I still get a haircut.

About every three weeks

     a trim and a beard-shaping.

Another regular chore done

     on a quiet day.

Business-like and professional.

No complaints, always the same

     and just routine.

But it was not always like that. 

With no effort at all I can     

     pull up the smell and sounds

of Greg's Barber Shop.

I guess the right name was

     the Columbian Barber Shop

     because it was in the Columbia Hotel.

It was right down town

     across from George Heap's Cigar store.

In the old days good men gathered there

     on a Saturday morning.

There were several bars close by

     for the bad men.

The barber pole slowly rotated

     when the shop was open.

The plate glass window front looked

     out onto the busy street.

Two painted benches for seating

     while waiting your turn

     were separated by a table.

The table was piled high with copies

     of Field and Stream, Colliers,

     Life and Saturday Evening Post.

Someone may have read from that pile

     on weekdays.

But Saturday was the day for the blue collars

     to come in to talk .

They had no time to read when they could talk.

When clipped, combed and scented, men would return

     to those seats to continue the conversation. 

When there were boys with fathers

     Greg had rule about language.

No swearing and girly talk!

The rules were so clean and strict

     that it made the Hayes Office

     look as if Larry Flynn were running it.

There was no war yet,

     political talk was domestic.

Everyone was a Roosevelt man.

If anyone was a Al Landon man

      he had his hair cut on a weekday.

Greg at his chair always had the center of the stage.

With his snipping scissors as pointers

he lectured like a professor.

His favorite theme was the wonder of the

     Republican judge we sent to congress.

He sure was good at getting the Democrats

to send projects to the county.

The CCC camp on the outskirts of town

 a fine example

     and there was the Memorial Square

      that as about finished.

Never heard it called :pork".

If there was a miner waiting,

     he was sure to ask what the judge

      had done for UMW.

Ludlow was always fresh for one of the waiting men.

Greg ended each hair cut asking:

"Bay Rum or Lilac?"

My father always was a Bay Rum man

     Lilac was for sissies or courting gents.

When it was my turn I sat as quietly as possible,

     not crying out when the clippers pulled.

I too selected Bay Rum

for who wanted to be a sissy?

There was no charge for the Bay Rum or Lilac.

It came with the haircut.

Two bits for the works,

     35 if you got a shave.

And when I now see in a movie

     the barber asking Clint Eastwood

      if he wants Bay Rum for a dime extra,

I know it is not a Depression haircut

in Greg's Barber shop.

Doug Minnis

June 28, 2009

 

 

Notes
Memories of my hometown barber shop hit me when I saw how my experiences as a young boy were so different from today's barber shop/ There needs to be another poem about a modern barber shop.