Louis

Once a month or so, I take time off and visit a woman. We have a continuing professional relationship and understanding. I give her money, and she provides a service. I’ve been doing this ever since we moved to Wichita several years ago. When I first started seeing her, we lived not far from where we meet; but since we’ve moved to the west side, it’s much farther to drive, yet I still make the trip. She makes me look good and feel better. I’m at ease when with her, and enjoy the time we spend together.
Oh, I just read the above paragraph and might want to explain a little further. She’s my barber. No, she’s not a beautician, but rather is a barber. She has a shop over in the Riverside area, and does a good job keeping my mop tamed and in place.
I first started going there when we lived nearby. When I went into the shop the first time, I just presumed a man would be there, but was surprised to the point that I even asked her if she was a barber or beautician. You see, I’ve gone to beauticians, both male and female, but just prefer a barber. There IS a difference.
And I don’t know why I make the 20 or so minute drive to this same shop now that we live on the west side. There are barbers out here, most of whom are probably very good at what they do. But about once a month I make the drive, wait a few minutes (or if it was like today, just got in the chair right away), and a few minutes later, my head feels cooler, lighter, and looks better. Sometimes I combine the trip with a visit to the Riverside Café or Indian Hills Ace, but most of the time I just get my hair cut.
Usually, on the way there or back, or both ways, I will take the more scenic roads. I try to avoid the interstates and bypasses in favor of 13th street, Waco, Douglas, 2nd street, Bitting, or one of the other ways to get from here to there and back again. Sometimes I’ll stop and visit with Sis, or maybe stop at the coffee store for some more fresh-ground joe, but usually I just go and come back. The barber charges ten dollars, of which I figure she gets to keep four or five after paying taxes, rent, and other expenses. That’s reasonable, and in fact is rather inexpensive nowadays.
This morning, I was reminded while I sat in the chair, of the barber in my hometown. Louis is long gone from this earth, but stays with me in my thoughts as I reminisce in my mind of times long ago and never to be again. When I was a child, his shop was usually filled with men laughing and carrying on, and smoke so thick it was hard to see the other wall. That smell of cigarette smoke, hair tonic, shaving cream, and old men still is fresh in my mind. The comic books were usually pretty fresh, and there was even an Esquire to sneak a peek at if I was lucky.
He’d put a board on the chair and sit me on it (at least until I could manage the chair without it). He’d adjust the chair up or down as needed and begin with the electric razor around my ears. It usually took about 20 minutes for a cut, usually because he stopped to talk to others who were there, mostly to pass the time.
After most of the cut was finished, he’d lather up my sideburns and the back of my neck with hot lather, whether I was a boy or later on after adulthood. He’d sharpen his straight razor on the leather strop on the side of his chair each and every time he’d use it. If he got to talking with someone while sharpening the razor, he might be there sharpening for a long time. The razor never pulled or tugged, however. Then he’d use the hot towel to remove the excess cream and we’d finish with the hair vacuum combined with a soft bristle brush.
He had a set routine and never varied from it, even in his later years. Those years saw the removal of cigarettes from the shop, and there weren't as many loafers, but the comics were still fresh, along with the Esquire magazines. He wasn’t quite as neat in later years, either, but I wouldn’t have gone to anyone else, nor would I have taken the boys anywhere else as long as he cut hair.
The final straw was the piece of Double-Bubble bubble gum. I got a piece whether a child or an adult…didn’t matter. It seemed the gum piece got a little smaller after adulthood, but that’s OK. A lot of things seemed to get smaller along with the gum.
Barber shops aren’t like that much anymore. There’s never any cigarette smoke, and not a lot of loafers spend the day in the shop. There’s no bubble gum, and although my barber has a razor and strop and was trained in using them, she doesn’t, and says she hasn’t for years. But I’d still rather go to the barber shop than a beauty shop any day. And at times, some experience there takes me back, however briefly, to the shop on East Main where Louis would always be ready with a comic book, a razor, and a piece of bubble gum.