Remembering Old Barber Shops

As I talked to Clarence Frett of Marion, who at 88 has decided to retire from cutting hair after 66 years at the barber chair (see today's Ramblin' column in The Gazette), I couldn't help but reflect on my childhood visits to the barber.

Growing up in Marshalltown, Iowa, in the last '50s and early '60s, my dad's barber shop of choice was up a few steps to the main level at the Masonic Temple Building just off the courthouse square. A red and white barber pole spun just outside the front door. Inside, a row of half a dozen barber chairs awaited customers, each with a barber who might be stropping a dangerous sharp straight edge razor to shave the next customer. (As Clarence Frett does, at left.)

Across from the column of chairs, a black man sat on a huge throne-like chair. For a quarter, or something like that, he'd step down and allow you to hop up into the chair for a shoe shine. My sneekers never needed a shine, so I never sat in that chair.

Instead, dad and I took our seats in the waiting chairs, those big cushiony chairs with chrome handles. Nobody made appointments for a haircut in those days -- you waited with the others until it was your turn.

Dad would pick up some adult magazine from the table while I'd grab a comic book. He'd talk to the other men -- it seemed like he knew everybody -- while I read how Superman once again saved the day.

In the early days, when it was my turn for a haircut, the barber placed a board across the arms of his barber chair. That made it easier for him and I didn't mind -- it was like sitting on a park bench. I'd sit there patiently as the barber wrapped a cape around my body and fastened it at the neck. I'd keep my head perfectly still as the clipper purred at my ears. I didn't so much care how the haircut turned out, I just didn't want to get cut.

As I grew older, the barber didn't need that board any more. I could sit up like my dad. I might even get a dollop of hot lather on the back of my neck so the barber could shave it clean with his straight edge. Now that was cool.

By the mid-'60s,  as a teenager, I hated visiting the barber. I wanted my hair long like The Beatles, The Who, The Monkees. Only when forced, did I get my hair cut. I wasn't much interested in comic books any more and conversation bored me. I wanted in and out as fast as possible.

I think that's when barber shops started to change. Men didn't get haircuts quite as often. They rarely got shaves. Barber shops started taking appointments. Women began cutting men's hair. Chain stores appeared. Shoe shines disappeared. So did barber poles.