Shave and a Haircut…

Most of us know what two words come after “Shave and a haircut.” The words are a piece of Americana, etched into most of our memories. Like the part played by actor Howard McNear for a bunch of years as “Floyd the Barber.” Andy and Barney and everyone else in Mayberry went to see Floyd on a regular basis so that they could look good for Helen and Thelma-Lou.

Someone got smart and is cashing in on Floyd, these days. I have seen at least two places recently where one can go in and visit “Floyd’s Barber Shop.” That’s not counting the “Floyd’s” seen at a Missouri rest stop shown here at the top of the page. (It was one of several “storefronts” serving as shelters for picnic tables along a walkway marked as “Route 66”) I would be happy to say that actor McNear would feel quite good about the proliferation of his character’s name, but he’s been gone for over 50 years. Maybe his heirs are getting royalties.

No matter.

I was reminded of Floyd and several other barbers a couple of days after my last post when I decided that it was too darn hot to continue to keep the mop on top of my head. I took out the clippers, spread newspapers over the bathroom sink and proceeded to give myself a buzz cut. I did that despite having deep discount coupons from a place called “Sports Clips,” and some other competing hair styling salon within spitting distance of “Sports Clips.” I’ve taken advantage of both places, but the last time I was in either was years ago. Not that I disliked either. It’s just more convenient for me to pull out the clippers every three to five months.

I grew up on haircuts done in a barber shop. Actually, I have frequented several shops over the years and have fond memories of some of the barbers.

My first haircuts were done at a small shop in Fairview West Virginia – my mother’s home town. Mom told a story about one of my early haircuts where I stood in the barber’s chair and announced my name, her name and a few other details which weren’t really appropriate (like her age).

When I was ten, or so, Dad took me to “Midpark Barbers” on Pearl Road in Middleburg Heights Ohio. It was a busy shop – not too personal, but friendly enough. The shop sponsored the little league baseball team I played on, with the promise that if we won a game, they would give my team-mates and me a free sucker. We won exactly once.

When we moved to Chillicothe Ohio, Dad took me and my brothers to Gall’s Barber Shop downtown. Four chairs, two aging barbers and lots of stories. According to one of the barbers, there was a time when, on Saturday afternoons, the shop was busy – not only cutting and shaving, but for another quarter, a customer could go into the back room to take a bath. (See Clint Eastwood in High Plains Drifter)

The shops in that era didn’t do too bad for themselves, either. The person from Gall’s who normally did my hair owned a house across the street and up the block from us – a grand Victorian with an ample yard, kept ever so neat and tidy. One of my high school classmate’s father had a shop a few blocks away from Gall’s – she posted that the family house had recently been offered for sale. Again, another large, well-appointed house built to last the ages.

Bets that Floyd’s home would have been just as grand.

After Gall’s went away, I went to several places, finally settling on a shop run by a fellow who painted Civil War scenes as a hobby. Nearly thirty years later, I doubt he’s still in the business.

I never really settled on a place here in Texas. I visited a shop in Allen, finding out later that one of the barbers there was named Roy Rogers. The shop is frequented by a friend named Gene Autrey. Think about it for a moment.

There came a time when I decided that the best thing for me to do was to buy a set of clippers to cut my and my son’s hair. A $25 investment which has paid for itself many times over. Of course, that means I am stuck with a buzz cut every three to five months.

Maybe next time, I’ll try Floyd’s, for the nostalgia if nothing else.

Be Seeing You!