BARBERSHOP CONVERSATION WITH 89-YEAR OLD

  Clipped hair fell at Greg’s Barber Shop in Taylors, SC, on a recent afternoon. Greg and Brian snipped, buzzed, and “lowered ears” as I waited for Brian to “give me a trim.” An elderly gentleman with a cane entered the shop. He could have sat further away but chose the seat beside me. 

“How are you doing?” I said.

“Oh, very well,” he said cheerfully.

We sat in silence. Soon, feeling I should strike up a conversation, I said, “I’m Steve,” and held out my hand to shake his.  His name was Bill.

If I’d given my last name, he might have offered his. The trend seems to be this: offer first names and avoid giving last names. Perhaps that’s a way of seeming friendly while remaining mostly anonymous.

At the moment, no conversations flowed among the eight men (six customers and two barbers). I felt our talking would be overheard by the other guys. I was a bit self-conscious, but we talked normally, and Bill seemed to hear well. The men around us either listened or were occupied with their own thoughts. 

Bill, 89, had driven a truck for a living. He and his family had lived near Harrisburg, PA. I shared that my first wife, the late Carol Williamson Crain, had grown up around Washington, Pennsylvania, not far from Pittsburgh.

“Growing up, me and my brother worked on a farm,” Bill said. “200 acres of cabbage; 200 acres of potatoes. Lots of bending over.” 

Bill’s father worked in the coal mines.

“He was the guy who drilled holes for the dynamite,” he said. “He got lung trouble from breathing in the mines and died at 47. Smothered to death.”

“Did he tell you and your brother not to work in the mines?” I said.

“No, but we didn’t,” Bill said. “I smoked three packs of cigarettes a day for 25 years. My brother smoked too and died of cancer at age 54. One night, I told my wife I was going to quit smoking. She laughed at me because she’d heard it before. I told her I was going to smoke all the cigarettes I had that night and then I was going to quit. That evening, I smoked every cigarette I had — stayed up till 3:30 a.m., and then quit. That was it. I really did quit.”

“What caused you to want to stop smoking,” I said.

“I got saved,” he said.

“That’s wonderful,” I said. “How long have you lived in the South?”

“Twenty years.” 

“What occasioned you to move south?”

“I retired, and my son-in-law worked at Bob Jones University, so we moved down here. My wife went to work in the university bookstore.”

“I majored in art education at Bob Jones University,” I said.

“Next,” Brian said. 

I rose and climbed into Brian’s chair. In a few minutes, Greg was trimming Bill’s hair. I enjoyed talking with Bill, and he seemed glad to tell me about his life.

“As iron sharpens iron, so one person sharpens another” (Pro. 27:17).