Barbershop

I haven't shaved in a week. It's bugging me, and it will bug me more tomorrow.  And I don't want to shave! So I was thinking about finding a barbershop.  I could lay back in that chair with a warm, steaming towel wrapped around my face. I could anticipate warm lather on my old face while listening to my barber strop the straight razor on the leather strop attached to his well-worn chair.  All the while he would continue to tell stories of his latest steelhead catch. Oops. Return to present. They don't offer that service at Great Clips.

Mike McCartney, at 3rd and Duryea in Raymond Washington, was my barber from 1959, thereabouts to 1974. I'm sure of the 1974, because he cut my hair the day before I was married. And by the way, I can report as fact that Mr. McCartney adapted well to the hairstyles of the 70's because when I got home, my Mom said, "It doesn't look like he cut much off!"  Whatever ... I got what I paid for.

Evidence of Mom's assertion

But back to the barbershop.   The shop was right next door to Orville Ekman's shoe repair shop. It was  somewhat smaller than your average Great Clips, and the configuration was much different.  Mr. McCartney's "workstation", the barber chair, was situated in the shop window by the entry door, where he could greet customers by name as they came in, rather than rushing off and yelling "welcome to Great Clips ... did you check in online? "  No one checked in online.  No discount coupons were offered, only folks from out-of-town left tips, and only cash was accepted.

On alternate Saturday mornings, Mom would drop me off at the barbershop.  Those were busy days at the barbershop, and you could certainly count on six to ten men and boys to be ahead of you.  If I was done by the time Mom was done with shopping, I'd have a ride home.  Otherwise, "I could walk".    The time spent in the barbershop really wasn't a problem though.  It was part of my education.  There was a fair assortment of well-worn comic books, and an excellent collection of magazines, for instance, "Argosy", and "Field and Stream".  So one could read.   Or one could pretend to read while listening to the more adult conversation.  It was pretty basic stuff, like hunting and fishing, where I learned about gun safety.  No.  Actually at the time it was called hunting safety.  Guns were just a part of hunting. Of course other topics did include road repair, recent floods, and the city council (if none of those men were in the shop at the time).  Fast cars, high school football,  bad reffing, and recent brawls were also fair game.  Once in a while the conversation did migrate to more bawdy topics, where Mr. McCartney might become the referee, and say, "Umm, little ears are present".  So I didn't learn much on those topics, but nonetheless it was a significant portion of sex education in the 1960s.

A fair representation of Mr. McCartney's chair

At about age 12, or when the first pimples appeared, I got Mike McCartney's upgraded, adult service. The razor was stropped, the hot lather was dispensed, and Mr. McCartney shaved my neck and sideburns with care and a flourish. I must say, I valued every time. In the subsequent dozen years, he only nicked me once, and it was worth it!

As you might infer, I rather miss the barbershop. So as I was sitting here on this Sunday and considering an option to Great Clips, I did a little Googling, and found that right here in suburbia is "Archie's Barbershop", with service available tomorrow. Wow. And Archie offers full-shave straight razor service for $20. I was surprised and impressed. Scrolling down a bit further, I found the picture showing Archie as young, Asian, and female. Was I expecting Archie Bunker? I don't think I'll find a copy of "Field and Stream" in the shop, do you? But I think I'm ready for a nice, close shave. Hello, Archie.