The Barber - January 17, 2013

From: The White River Current - published Thursday January 17, 2013

You may be getting weary listening to me singing the same old song about how fortunate we locals are to have the people from “off” in our community.  Well, excuse me!  One of these that I would like to highlight is Susan, the author of the “Not So Long Ago” column that also appears in the White River Current newspaper.  She and her husband, Richard, moved to the Dolph area

(from Chicago, I think) a few years ago.  I first met Susan when she came by our house to interview me for some story she was working on.  Even though she lives several miles away, she is very active in Calico Rock activities, including The 20/20 Group, The Chamber of Commerce,

The Storybook Project and many others in addition to writing for other publications.  I hope you read her “Not So..” column about Martin the Barber that was in the Current a couple of weeks ago.  I may be taking a little liberty here, but I would like to expand on this subject, maybe call it

“the rest of the story.”  Ezra was my barber, probably gave me my first haircut.  When I was a boy, 12 or 13 years old, my school friends all had their hair cut very short.  Sometime called “flattop” or “butch” it was short.  Peer pressure got to me and I eventually gave in and stopped by the barber shop one afternoon to get sheared.  I did have quite a bit of hair then but it must have been very fine because it wouldn’t stand up like a flattop is supposed to, even with an application of “Butch Wax,” a thick, lard-like substance.  OK, it looked awful.  My mother almost fainted when she saw me.  It took several weeks before the damage was repaired and I once again became the handsome young man that everyone admired.  Ezra became very popular as a “Butch” stylist and had young clients from all around the area lining up at his shop to get their cuts.  After I graduated from college and purchased the drug store on upper Main Street, Ezra continued to be my barber.  I usually made the five minute walk from the store to his shop very early in the morning, usually being his first customer.  In the winter months, his shop was most generally very cold and I usually inquired “Ezra, if I pay in advance, would you turn on the heat?”  He always complied, gave me the necessary trim and sent me on my way with the observation “Well, old boy, I think you will pass inspection.”  In later years, after I had lost most of my wavy locks, I suggested that, since I only had half-a-head of hair, I should only have to pay every other time.  He agreed and it became a routine that whenever I  received a haircut I should pay because “I didn’t pay the last time.”  Ezra gave Steve his first haircut and probably many other young men also.  He also became very proficient in other activities.  I cannot verify the following so I will have to call it a rumor.  Seems like Ezra came into the possession of a catalog of medical supplies.  He made an order under the name of Doctor Martin and, I have been told, became very good at giving penicillin shots.  He also, I have been told, ordered an electrical needle device designed to remove warts and other skin blemishes.  Apparently no one ever suffered any ill effects and, possibly, some may have benefitted from his services.  Anyway, Ezra certainly qualifies as a character that I have known.  When my dad became ill and was in the local hospital, he and Ezra occupied the same semi-private room.  On one visit, I took along my  Norelco razor to give dad a shave.  While there, I asked Ezra if he would like me to shave him.  He was reluctant but very surprised at the smooth cheeks I gave him with probably his first electric razor shave.  Early the next morning, his son-in-law called with the news that Ezra had died sometime during the night, apparently because of a heart attack.   Ironic in some ways that I gave the last shave to the person who gave me my first haircut.  Thank you, Susan, for reminding me of these episodes from my past.  I am going to comment on another of your writing very soon, maybe next time.  But for now, this if Reed, reminiscing about memories of past years, sitting here in my corner of the Queen City wondering if I need a haircut. Bye til next time.