The Barbershop (December 2024)

 

The bells on the door jingle as a man and a young boy enter the barbershop.

 

Howdy Reverend.

 

Hey, keep those eyes on the razor, Hank. Don’t want no accident, you slittin my throat.

 

Watch your language, Jimmy Lee. There’s a child present. How is that pretty boy of yours, Reverend?

 

I ain't pretty. I'm a boy. Boys ain’t supposed to be pretty.

 

And you sure ain’t no girl. I do apologize, young master.

 

See, son. Mr. Stimson was just teasing.

 

We was just talking about that n—, uh, Negro boy that got a scholarship to Alabama.

 

I've seen him play. He's the best football player I've seen in this county. Head and shoulders above everybody else.

 

Well, he ain't that tall. But he can sure run. They all can, and he can throw that ball as accurate as any white boy I ever saw. Won't never make the pros though—too small.

 

I think starting quarterback back for the Tide would be enough for most folks around here, Mr. Stimson.

 

I don't like it.

 

What’s that you don't you like, Jimmy Lee?

 

I don't like colored folks being quarterbacks.

 

But over half of the quarterbacks in college and the pros are black now.

 

That'd be the problem right there, Reverend.

 

What problem?

 

Too many coloreds being where they ain’t supposed to be.

 

The way I see it, the only thing I can fault him with is choosing Alabama.

 

Yeah, I expect you'd want someone like him at Auburn, eh Reverend? Might finally beat the Tide. How long’s it been, 8 years?

 

About that.

 

You folks got a lot of patience, I’ll give you that.

 

Say, Mr. Stimson, that old photograph over the mirror. That the old depot for the railroad that used to run through here?

 

Yep. That’d be the station for the old M&O line that run through all the way from Chicago down to Mobile.

 

Who’s the man?

 

That’d be my granddaddy, on my momma’s side. He had a barbershop here on Main Street.

 

Is this is same shop?

 

No that one burned down with about half the stores on Main back before the first war.

 

World War I?

 

Yeah. They rebuilt pretty quickly. A town’s gotta have a barbershop.

 

You just about finished, Hank? You been yapping so much you done forgot about your paying customer in this here chair.

 

Settle down, Jimmy Lee. I gotta work careful around this here mole on your neck. You ever ask Dr. Crowdis to look at that thing? Make sure it ain’t one of them cancers?

 

Naw. He charges too much for his opinion and I reckon he’s only right about half the time from what folks say. Besides, all us Lees got ‘em, and ain’t one of us died young.

 

How’s your Aunt Kitty, Jimmy Lee?

 

She got out of the infirmary last week. She said to say to you she ‘preciated your visit.

 

Well, I hope to see her in church soon.

 

She’ll be there, Reverend. She don’t miss many Sundays.

 

And Jimmy Lee, he don’t miss many Sundays either—fishing down there on Dog River.

 

You’re both welcome any Sunday.

 

I’m a Methodist, Reverend.

 

It’s alright, Mr. Stimson. I know some good Methodists, too.

 

All done, Hank?

 

Yep. You’re all prettied up now and right smart enough to escort Miss Mary Louise.

 

I’ll be off then. Good-bye, gentlemen.

 

So, Mr. Stimson you said your granddaddy had a barbershop shop back when the Chicago-Mobile line was still running?

 

Yep. Forty years all told.

 

I hear there used to be a couple of fancy hotels in town.

 

There was four of ‘em. Rich folk from up north would come down and take the waters.

 

Didn’t know about that. What’s in the waters?

 

I don’t know the particulars, but they say the waters is good for digestive ailments, and most of the ones who stayed here was—to put it in a polite way—on the round side.

 

But there aren’t any railroad tracks in town.

 

’Cause about twenty-five years back, they dug ‘em all up. Valuable steel there. Made up in Ensley. Cheaper than Pittsburgh. Convict labor you know.

 

Mostly blacks?

Almost all Negroes, but no able-bodied poor man was safe when they was recruiting. Sheriff would make a few arrests, and there’s your work gang.

 

That I didn’t know.

 

Well, Reverend, if you’ll pardon me, but our churches still ain’t integrated.

 

Daddy, can we go home?

 

Not yet, son. Mr. Stimson hasn't finished your crew cut. You'll look awfully funny with that flat top down the middle.

 

I don't care. I don't like it here.

 

First published in Down in the Dirt, May 2025, vol. 231.