Week 29: Hot Day at the Barber Shop

Frannie Jones had a roundness in her cheeks and a glow about her person that her uncle Fred hadn’t seen in years. She had come in to his barber shop on her way to a halfway house living facility for women over in Harlan. “You’re doin’ good, girl. I swear. Don’t know if I ever seen you lookin’ this healthy,” he said as they sat across from each other, she in a brown folding chair and he in his barber’s chair. 

She smiled sheepishly. “I’m tryin’, Uncle Freddie, I am.” Her soul had walked many a mile between passing out in her uncle’s barber shop just after the new year to now, being clean and sober for 157 days. She had seen the blackness of the abyss and come out the other side. “Every day is a struggle. But the good Lord ain’t finished with me just yet.”

“No, he ain’t, kiddo. No, he ain’t.” Fred fell back into his barber’s chair and crossed his leg. His knee had never healed right from when he tore something playing ball all of those years ago, and even on a hot day like today, it was stiff and sore. 

“I got to see Harley and Xavier for a while yesterday. Mom and dad brought them to my graduation ceremony. They got so big, Uncle Fred.” 

Fred smiled proudly and nodded his head. “They’ll do that. Be drivin’ and everything before you know it. That’s why you gotta bust ya ass in this halfway house. You get your life lined out and then you can focus on them babies a yours. And I know you will.”

She was fighting back some tears, he thought, as she placed her hands on his knee. “I’m gonna do it this time, Uncle Fred. I really am.”

“Just keep workin’, kiddo. Take it a day at a time. And remember who you’re fighting for. You are worth it all on your own, but them two babies makes it all even more special.”

Frannie stood and hugged her uncle before starting for the door. “I’ll call you in a couple days. Just to check in.”

He strained to uncross his legs. “You call me all you want, baby. Always love hearin’ your voice.” 

The heat from outside burst through the door as she walked out. Fred prayed silently that this time, it would take. And this time, she’d be able to make it though her terrible sickness. 

No customers visited Jone’s Barber Shop for the most of the day. Fred fiddled with the old radio on his counter until he tuned in the local station. It was “Tuesday Bluesday”
and Randy Jenkins was spinning old rock and blues songs until the end of his shift. Fred liked to listen to this show when he could, as it reminded him of his dad. 

A gritty, pounding song was finishing up as Fred got the tuner set just right. “That was Howlin’ Wolf with ‘Evil,’ a criminally undervalued song from the 1950’s that some say was the real birth of Heavy Metal music. You’re listening to Tuesday Bluesday on your home for Rock in the Mountains, WXBG. I’m Ralph Danner and it’s another scorcher out there. It’s 3:45 here on Main Street in Black Grass and temps will climb up to 94˚ this afternoon under clear and sunny skies. Highs for tomorrow expected to be even hotter with 96˚ forecasted. Time and temp provided by Black Grass Community Bank. Locally owned and operated for over 100 years. Now, let’s get you back to the music. This is a cover of a song that many believe originated right here in this region over 150 years ago. Everyone from Bill Monroe to Nirvana has had a crack at it, but my favorite is from Led Belly. This is a haunting version of the classic “In the Pines.”

Fred turned up the radio and walked to the door, where he lit up his cigar and starred out onto the town. He puffed away for a few minutes, watching folks walk from the bank to the post office and then back to their cars or trucks. “Not a lot keepin’ ‘em down here,” he thought. The city government had worked on downtown revitalization projects, he knew, but those trees had born little fruit as of yet. And if things didn’t pick up, Fred wasn’t sure he was gonna keep the shop open much longer.

The song on the radio ended, so he put out his cigar on the side of the brick building. There was a black stain on one brick that showed where he always tapped the ash down to preserve his smoke for later. A commercial for a mining supply store across the state line in Virginia came on, so he flicked off the radio. Walking toward the back of the shop, he reached down behind a bank of seats and pulled out an old guitar case. It was once black, but wear and tear had left it mostly cracked and grayed now. Fred pulled out the old Martin and sat down on one of the black folding chairs he had lining his shop and began to play. His fingers were worn and callused, but they still bent enough to make some pretty impressive cords and notes. 

He banged his way through an old Stick McGhee song Fred Sr. had played decades ago on a little record player in their small home just as the Jones Family was getting started. Young Fred loved to lie on his stomach and listen to his dad’s records for hours. And today, alone in his shop, he played and sang a few that he still remembered. It was easy for Fred to find himself back on the wooden floor of that old house every time he pulled out his guitar. 

The whoosh of hot air brought him back to the present. He looked up to see Jordyn Nelson and her son, Gryphon, entering the shop. “Don’t quit on our account, Mr. Jones. We could hear you from the street and you’s sounding good!” 

He sat his guitar back in his case and gave the two a big smile. Fred had known Jordyn since she was a little girl as she was a schoolmate of his youngest daughter. “Well, look at you two, sneakin’ up on a ol’ man like that. Here I was, just a pickin’ away. You folks doin’ alright this afternoon?” 

“We’re just fine, Mr. Jones. Gryphon is lookin’ a little shaggy and could use a trim. You got time for him today?” Gryphon had sandy blonde hair down past his nose and a defeated look on his face.

Fred looked him up and down, noticing the boy wasn’t terribly enthused about getting a haircut. “We can squeeze you in for a trim. But the young folks are wearin’ it a little longer, these days, Jordyn. So we don’t want to cut too much off or he’ll look like an’ ol’ man like me.” He wiped off the barber’s chair and motioned for the boy to have a seat.

“Well, papaw always says that when he was a boy, he knew it was time for a haircut when his teacher, Mrs. Barger, could grab a hold of it and pull. His daddy must have been pretty strict, bein’ a military man and all. So Papaw kept a burr flattop for forever.”

The old barber smiled and shook his head. “I remember ol’ Mrs. Barger. Meanest white woman that ever lived in Black Grass. And that’s sayin’ something. She probably in the runnin’ for meanest white woman in the state.”

Jordyn chuckled. “What qualifies someone as meanest white woman in Black Grass, Mr. Fred? I might wanna put my momma in the runnin!” 

He shook his head as he began scissor-cutting Gryphon’s hair. “Naw, I’ve met your mama. She’s a sweet lady. Ol’ Mrs. Barger was about evil. She’d pull on the boys’ hair if they talked out of turn. That’s why ya papaw knew it was too long; she could get a hold of him! She spanked the girls for talkin’ about the boys and pinched the devil out a’ the boys if they looked cross-eyed at the girls. But I remember my multiplication tables to this day because she’d smack my hand with a wood ruler if I mess ‘em up.”

Jordyn’s eyes grew wide in her head. “I’ve heard of old school, but that’s a little extreme, right?”

Fred ran his scissors across Gryphon’s brow, creating a neat line of hair about an inch above his eyes. “Different time, I guess. What would you do if a teacher pulled your hair or slapped your hands with a ruler, kiddo?” he asked Gryphon as he continued to trim the young man’s hair. 

Gryphon shrugged his shoulders. “I dunno. Run, I guess?” 

A slight chuckle escaped Fred’s chest. “That’s smart thinkin’, kid. I had a Sergeant in the service that us’ta say that anyone who felt ‘discretion is the better part of valor’ was a sack-less turd. But I’m willin’ ta bet he never had Mrs. Barger as a teacher, neither.” 

Gryphon sat in an awkward silence. 

“Where’d you learn to play like that, Mr. Fred? I had no idea you played and sang,” Jordyn said, finally. 

He collected some long strands of hair from Gryphon’s crown and began snipping. “First big purchase I remember my ol’ man ever making was a Flat Top. He’d had a beat up ol’ thing as I remember. But that Martin was special. He let me play it every night after I finished up homework and chores. We’d listen to records, and I’d try to figure out how to play ‘em. But, I got a little older, and the girls seemed to think more a ball players than guitar pickers at the time. So, I followed the girls to the gym and gave up the guitar for decades.”

“What got you back into it?” she asked.

Fred sniffed. “Guess it was when my Mama died. Daddy died when I was off ta war. But Mama lived up into her 90’s. We’s goin’ through her things and I came across Daddy’s ol’ guitar. Been playing it as much as I can ever since.”

Jordyn gave a mournful smile. “That’s a sweet story, Mr. Fred.” 

“Mom’s going to the music school over in Hyden, Mr. Fred,” Gryphon said out of nowhere. 

He shot a somewhat surprised look over to Jordyn. “Well, I sure like to hear that. I always enjoy hearing you sing at church. You excited?”

She nodded, sheepishly. “I guess. Nothing set in stone, but I figure if I don’t give it a shot now, might never get around to it.” 

“Very excitin’ news, Jordyn. I can’t wait to come and see you perform,” he said, pulling the cape from around Gryphon’s neck. The young man looked at himself in the mirror and gave a nod of approval.

She pulled out $15 and gave it to the old barber. “Well, I can see his face. That’s a big improvement. Thank you, Mr. Fred.”

He took the cash and gave Gryphon a friendly slap on the back. “You got a good boy here, Jordyn.” The young man smiled, a little unsure of what to do.

“Don’t I know it.”

After Jordyn and her son left, Fred turned the sign off in front of the store and started sweeping up. There wasn’t much to sweep. After finishing, he opened the top drawer on the right side of his counter and pulled out an old leather bank bag. Inside, he placed the $15 from his last customer. Thumbing through the cash inside, he found around $45. It was all he had taken in that day. 

He zipped up the bag and placed it back in the drawer before walking to the door to finish his stogie. A long stream of blue smoke left his mouth as he watched the sun start to sink in the horizon.