JULY 11, 2019 – For years I got my haircuts at “Leo’s” several blocks from my office building. Leo was short, had well-combed white hair and talked without moving his lips. If you listened carefully, you could understand him. He was a nice guy. The other barber in the shop was an old Filipino guy. His lips moved when he talked, but his English was so heavily accented, you couldn’t understand a thing he said. I focused on his inflections so that periodically I could say “Uh-huh” or “Huh” or let out a chuckle. I’m guessing that about 70% of my responses dovetailed appropriately with what he was saying.
A shoeshine guy was usually on hand—I mean “foot”—too. He liked New Orleans jazz and cooking. He had lots of stories, and I always enjoyed them. Inevitably I yielded my shoes to him. He did a good job, and I tipped well, which reduced my unease about having someone other than me shine my shoes.
Then one day Leo up and died. I was shocked to learn he was pushing 90, though for about 15 years he had looked about 75. Not only had Leo vanished from the face of the earth without prior notice, but the Filipino barber and the shoeshine guy disappeared as well—without forwarding addresses.
This development required me to find a new barber. I opted for another guy who just happened to be named “Leo” too, whom I called “Leo II.” His shop was conveniently parked in the ground floor of the Grain Exchange Building, directly across the street from my building, the Flour Exchange Building.
But lo and behold, after just one haircut by Leo II, he up (“down”?) and died too!
What to do? I tried several barbers in downtown Minneapolis, but none was particularly to my liking. Then one day, my brainiac friend Steve told me about his buddy Bob who had recently opened shop in Leo II’s old space. I decided to give Bob’s tonsorial skills a try. What did I have to lose except some hair?
That was a number of years ago. Bob has been my barber ever since.
Bob is no ordinary barber. He’s a published novelist and an accomplished visual artist. A few of his works adorn his shop. For good measure, Bob has a PhD in art history. (His wife is a regular doctor.) He’s always got classical music playing, and best of all, Bob tells funny and fascinating stories, talks sharp politics, laughs at your stories, and gets everyone who occupies his barber’s chair to let down their hair. Plus he collects all sorts of interesting stuff, including rare etchings and sketches, which he often puts on display for his customers’ amusement and edification.
But always on display is Bob’s sense of humor. He advertises “gluten-free” haircuts—in the Grain Exchange Building, of course.
And rest in peace Leo I and Leo II—because Bob, your hair, I mean heir, wins the prize when wielding shears and scissors.
© 2019 Eric Nilsson
