I always admired and envied my father's wavy black hair.
Even at the age of sixty only a distinguished small area of grey at the temples was visible. The rest of the scalp retained its jet black sheen.
Regularly, Dad went to the shop of "Mac the barber" located next to the Queen Chophouse where Mr. Henderson ate his lunch.
Dad was a client of Mac himself until one day after several years as Dad sat in the barber chair a customer walked in and Mac told him that he should sit down because I'll get this guy finished in just a couple of minutes.
Dad got his nose out of joint because he felt that his old buddy Mac was rushing and giving him less than a perfect haircut.
The next time he went to the second chair barber. The only problem was that while Dad was snoozing in the chair, Mac had opened the trapdoor to the cellar to get some supplies. Barber number two flipped back the cover sheet signalling the end of the session. Dad stepped out of the chair and tripped down the stairwell.
Bruised and shaken he visited old Dr. Francis Campbel who officed in the Drumheller Building. The old country G.P. who brought me into the world in 1929 taped his ribs and determined that no major bones were broken.
Father went back to Mac's shop to discuss the incident with him and to present the doctor's bill.
Mac listened and said, "Yes I know. Too bad!- turned his back and applied his scissors to the customer in the chair.
Mac's shop is gone. Many years ago a fire took out the Main Street face of the block between Fourth and Fifth.
Speaking of barbers, when I bought the Holmes building one of the tennants was Gus the barber.
I was collecting rent one day and he appeared upset.. He had just finished a long phone conversation with his wife. The problem was he didn't have a telephone in the shop.
Even at the age of sixty only a distinguished small area of grey at the temples was visible. The rest of the scalp retained its jet black sheen.
Regularly, Dad went to the shop of "Mac the barber" located next to the Queen Chophouse where Mr. Henderson ate his lunch.
Dad was a client of Mac himself until one day after several years as Dad sat in the barber chair a customer walked in and Mac told him that he should sit down because I'll get this guy finished in just a couple of minutes.
Dad got his nose out of joint because he felt that his old buddy Mac was rushing and giving him less than a perfect haircut.
The next time he went to the second chair barber. The only problem was that while Dad was snoozing in the chair, Mac had opened the trapdoor to the cellar to get some supplies. Barber number two flipped back the cover sheet signalling the end of the session. Dad stepped out of the chair and tripped down the stairwell.
Bruised and shaken he visited old Dr. Francis Campbel who officed in the Drumheller Building. The old country G.P. who brought me into the world in 1929 taped his ribs and determined that no major bones were broken.
Father went back to Mac's shop to discuss the incident with him and to present the doctor's bill.
Mac listened and said, "Yes I know. Too bad!- turned his back and applied his scissors to the customer in the chair.
Mac's shop is gone. Many years ago a fire took out the Main Street face of the block between Fourth and Fifth.
Speaking of barbers, when I bought the Holmes building one of the tennants was Gus the barber.
I was collecting rent one day and he appeared upset.. He had just finished a long phone conversation with his wife. The problem was he didn't have a telephone in the shop.
posted by Alan L. Barer at 4:17 PM
2 Comments:
Mac should have known that (a) repeat customers in a small town are worth paying a doctor's bill; (b) paying the doctor's bill was probably better than paying a lawyer; and (c) trust is important in a business where you regularly hold a razor to a customer's throat.
There obviously was anti-semitism comming into play.
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