I don’t remember when Mr. Ray of Ray’s Barber Shop gave me my first haircut, but it was shortly after I came to the self-realization that Mom and Dad weren’t helping my street cred by giving me home buzz cuts. I remember as a kid telling Dad, “I want a haircut like John Wayne!” He’d respond with the mid-70s version of “I got you, fam,” and start cutting away with his electric clippers. I’ve seen the pictures. Six-year-old me was just way more gullible and/or trusting, because I did not look like John Wayne.
My mop was getting too shaggy for my liking, so I stopped in
at Ray’s Barber Shop this afternoon. Fellow Bearcats will know Ray’s as a long-standing,
Long Beach fixture that’s been in its current spot as far back as I can
remember. It was Mr. Ray who gave me my last haircut in Long Beach back in the
spring of ’99 when I’d flown down for Dad’s funeral.
I stepped into the shop for the first time in decades. There were some immediate differences I noted. More deer head trophies were hanging on the wall and the stack of Guns and Ammo magazines gave the place a different vibe than back in the day. Apart from a new ATM machine in the corner, I also noted all four chairs were occupied. This was probably the biggest difference to me.
Back then, there were only two
chairs – one for Ray and another for his partner. That other guy did a mean
flat top. He’d yelled at me once because I flinched when he was in mid pass. He skillfully jerked the clippers back before they damaged his meticulous work, “Don’t be doin’ that, son! You’ll wind up leaving
here looking like Gomer Pyle!”
I didn't have a long wait this afternoon, and as my turn came up, I took my seat in
the chair. My guy gave the barber’s typical opener, “How do you want it cut
today?” After a lifetime of haircuts from a multitude of barbers, I had my own
canned reply.
“Number two on the sides and tapered high in the back. Take
a little of the top, but I still want to be able to comb it to the side.” I’ve
found it gets better results and no side eye glances than me saying, “I wanna look like John Wayne!”
As I’m sitting in the chair, the door opened, and this dude
came strolling through. From everyone’s salutations and rounds of fist bumps, you’d
have thought he was Norm stepping into Cheers. I smiled and got more
comfortable in the chair. Conversation was lively, going from the best size for
exhaust pipes (2 ½ inches was the shop favorite), to the merits and demerits of
a Miata. This happened to be the favorite of one of the patrons, and my barber
was trying to be diplomatic about his opinion. It happened to be the same as
mine, and I was thinking, “Dude, it’s a chick car.”
My guy was pruning the top of my coiffure when age came
around as the shop topic, and one of the cutting crew mentioned in a world-weary
tone, “Man, I’ve been out of school longer than I was in school.”
A quick mental calculation had me chuckling and thinking to myself, “Looka here,
son. I’m not sure you’ve had your quota of trials and tribulations just yet. Come
and find me in about two decades.”
From my barber, I’d learned that Ray retired several years back and had sold the shop to his colleague two chairs down. I mentioned, "It's cool he kept the name." My guy just smiled.
"When you're talking about a place like Ray's, there's no way you're gonna change the name!"
Everyone noted the absence of the shop's namesake from his former worksite as well as the infrequent sightings of him around town. All barbers and patrons decided it was expected behavior as all of Mr. Ray’s free time was being taken up playing golf. He can rest easy. The place is in good hands as the results of today's visit were redhead approved.
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