When you go on a long trip across the country, your hair continues to grow. After 30 days on the road, mine is in dire need of reduction. (Women say that differently).
We are camping near a small town in coastal Maine and I google up the town’s only barber shop. Circling the town for the third time, I zero in on a classic Maine gray cedar-shake house with a small detached garage in the backyard. What catches my eye is the faded wooden barber pole attached to the garage.
“Ok,” I think, "This guy works out of his garage.”
I start to rationalize the fact that there are no cars parked near the garage. Maybe the barber shop went out of business? Maybe it never was a barber shop? Maybe someone found an antique barber pole at a yard sale and just stuck it on their garage?
I walk up to the window on the side door and peer in. It is poorly lit. Sure enough, it is a barber shop. I see one empty barber chair, a sink, and various bottles on the shelves. No one seems to be there. I start to turn around to leave when a leather recliner on the opposite wall catches my attention. In it sits an old man, his head kicked back in deep sleep.
Ahh. There’s the barber.
At this point, rational people are thinking this looks sketch and are heading back to the car.
“What the hell,” I think, “I’ve come this far.” I lightly rap my knuckles on the window and open the door.
The old man startles awake and hears me open the door. He stumbles out of his chair, pulls his barber’s apron off a hook, ties it behind his back, and shuffles over to stand behind the barber chair. He never looks at me. He speaks not a single word.
But I need some words. I break the ice.
“I guess I’m supposed to sit in the chair,” I say, smiling.
“Well, I’m not cutting your hair with you standing,” he says. No smile.
I swallow my discomfort and sit. He drapes a worn cape around my neck. Then I hear the unmistakable sound of vintage electric clippers.
Not music to my ears.
I’ve seen this scene in a WWII movie. The happy-go-lucky long-haired teenager joins the Navy. He sits in the Navy barber’s chair for the first time. His hair falls off in massive clumps as the barber gleefully runs an industrial-looking clipper around the kid’s skull in perfect rows. The objective: leave no trace behind (hair that is).
I wait for some opening chatter asking me how I would like my hair cut. In a panic, I suddenly realize he is just going to dive in. I start to protest but nope — it’s too late. I feel and hear the first pass as the clippers drag across the right side of my skull. Thankfully my ear remains attached, but nothing else does.
I gaze across the room at the sign on the wall.
Haircuts: $10.
“Yep” I think, “This is going to be bad.”
As the barber continues mowing my hair, I look in another corner and notice a small antique letter writing desk, every cubby hole stuffed with fly tying materials. In the center sits a fly tyer’s vice holding a nearly complete salmon fly. Or at least I think it's a salmon fly. The long, narrow hook is wrapped in gold tinsel and holds aloft a sleek yellow feather barred with black stripes.
I can’t help myself. I ask, “Is that a salmon fly in your vice?”
And that simple question opens a small door to his life.
He tells me about salmon fishing in Maine - which rivers hold salmon and where the best places are to fish. He shows me on a map where his fish camp is in northern Maine and reminisces about how long he has been going there. He shares that he is 80 now and can’t fish like he used to.
I pay him $10 plus tip and he tells me to wait. He goes over and roots around on his desk and comes back with a tattered booklet which he puts into my hand.
“If you are going to fish in Maine, this is your bible,” he says. It is a copy of the Maine Inland Fishing Laws.
Our conversation is cut short. Another customer has come through the door. This customer knows the routine. He marches right over and sits in the chair. Not a word is spoken.
As for me, I say my good-byes and head out the door. It’s going to be a very, very long time until I need another haircut, but hey — I know some good places to fish in Maine.
Howdy. I’m catching up. Nice writing.