The Barber Shop
By Ray Singer \ Special to The Malibu Times
One of the first things I did after moving to Malibu was to scout around for a barbershop. I was prepared for higher prices; after all, landlords the world over try to maximize profits, especially in resort areas, so I perused the Yellow Pages then called the three odd places listed and asked what they charged for a haircut. They were all within $5 of each other so I made a reservation at the closest one, The Malibu Barber Shop; Emil Klink, barber.
Emil gave me what I now call an old-fashioned haircut, nothing unusual, just an adequate trim, perfect for an older, balding geezer like me. His speech patterns suggested a European background and I was not surprised when he told me that he was born in Poland to German-speaking parents. Nice man, slightly reserved, who retained a great deal of old world charm. I always enjoyed our quiet, noncontroversial conversations.
This pleasant association lasted for more than 10 years, ending only when I returned from vacation to find another barber had set up shop in Emil’s old quarters because Emil had unexpectedly died.
Ray Rodriguez, like all barbers, had personalized the shop, to make it his home-away-from home and welcomed me as a potential customer. I thought I recognized him from the barbershop in Pacific Palisades where I had once had my hair cut, never to return because I found the atmosphere “uncomfortable.” Ray gave me a very acceptable haircut and I enjoyed his verbose personality, so unlike Emil’s quieter, almost taciturn demeanor. Ray liked to wax philosophic so we always engaged in human-nature-based observations of the human condition. We both found that conversations in which all parties were in complete agreement with each other can be rather satisfying if limited to half-hour segments.
Middle-aged Ray had a few medical issues, like almost everyone else, but kept the conversations up-beat and nonpersonal; after all, barber shops the world over are places where sports, politics and humor are welcomed.
Then I went on vacation. Dangerous thing to do, because things happen when one is away. One of Ray’s medical issues struck without warning, something to do with a bleeding ulcer gone amok, and suddenly Ray was gone, gone to Northern California where his daughter was taking care of him.
Back to the Yellow Pages, back to phone calls to determine location and price, this time with a map to measure travel distances.
I discovered that the new place is one-tenth of a mile closer and $5 cheaper with parking in the back. My new barber is Lucy and she works in the Pacific Palisades Barber Shop. She gives me an adequate trim, perfect for an older, balding geezer like me, and I no longer find the atmosphere uncomfortable. How about that; I’ve come full circle. Oh, and Lucy knows Ray and will give him my best regards when she telephones him.