“I actually thought I’d die with the shears in my hands.”

The old man stands behind his barber chair — his podium for an audience of one. He looks at me. He looks down at his notes. He reads carefully.

“But a young barber came to me and said he’d like to start his own business. ‘The best time to sell is when you have a buyer,’ is an old saying in real estate. I have an old clientele because I too am old and with that it made me think maybe it is time.”

We just met, two old men, and I suspect he’s worried that I won’t get his life right. I don’t tell him that no one gets a life right, even the person living it. But he’s come prepared — three small yellow pages, one side only. Fifty-five years as a Des Moines barber distilled into a space small enough to fit on a retirement banner. 

“My wife and I want to travel more to Arizona because I have a daughter there with her family. This shop is ready for some new blood. Ian and Travis will make it happen. I would like to thank Eric Hutchinson, Ian and Travis’ previous boss, for his role in mentoring these young barbers into an entrepreneurial position.”

Lannie Hale’s ironed shirt is tucked tightly into his creased pants. Shoes are polished. Hair and beard recently trimmed. Intent gaze. He wants to exit stage left, but then there’s always the final soliloquy.  

I smile encouragingly as he reads from the prepared text that gives thanks to his clients and explains how he got where he is today.   

He looks down at his last page.  

“The old saying goes, find a job you love and you never have to go to work a day in your life. I will miss all of you a lot.”

I remain quiet as Lannie shuffles the pages into a straight deck and hands them to me.

Fifty-five years of barbering . . . that’s a long time to do any one thing. 

“You just think positive. I’ve been very fortunate to have loyal customers. You can make a living working 40 hours a week, but you can make money working 50 hours a week. I start at 7 a.m. and sometime I don’t end until 6 p.m. As I got older, my legs couldn’t do it. I needed to pace myself.”

But don’t people really just want fast food? Whatever is quick and easy seems to be the first choice. 

“Well, first, people want a good haircut, and they want it repeated — not one out of three. And price is important. And they want to be comfortable.”

Lannie comes around the podium and sits at last. A long sigh. 

“Listen to your clients. Remember what they talked about and bring it up again. It could be a trip, or something the grandkids were involved with. Keep it about them. By doing that you really need to keep your mouth shut and your ears open.”

I nod, but I can never remember what people say about the interesting bits, and I always flunk my wife’s debriefing back home as to any good gossip. 

“I would make notes. You have to. But after awhile, you actually do want to hear the end of the story: How did that granddaughter do in the spelling bee? How was that trip to Florida? How do you like the guy your daughter is dating? You want a client, not a guy coming in the door. You want them to leave believing truly that Lannie wanted to hear their story.” 

And I suspect you’ve outlived a few clients after all these years. 

“I’ve lost clients. I’ve been to too many funerals.” 

Lannie stops. Wipes his eyes. Breathes.

“They’re family.”

We pause.

“I’ve actually given haircuts to people in the casket where the wive has called and said, ‘Lannie we had a viewing and he doesn’t look like my husband. Would you come?’ It’s a little tough, but I do it. He’s part of the family.”

Lannie stops again.

So tell me how a typical haircut goes?

“Being an older barber in an old shop, you want something that the client remembers.”

Of course. 

“So first and most importantly you give a good cut. Then it is important to have a good hot lather shave around your ears when you are done cutting hair. It’s kind of an old fashioned thing. And the bay rum aftershave. I love the smell in the shop and the talcum powder.”

Lannie sprays bay rum in my direction. We both stop, take a deep breath, and smile.  

“So when I’m done with the haircut, I warm up the lather, give the shave around the ears, wrap up the conversation, wipe off the lather, then the bay rum, then finish off with an electric massager on the shoulders and neck.” 

I roll my shoulders . . . imagining. 

“Okay, get in the chair,” Lannie says to me.

As the massager shakes my shoulders, Lannie says, “You know, Joe, my only sadness is that I’ll miss everyone.”

I murmur something incoherent hoping he won’t stop the massage.

Lannie quotes from his last line on the last page of his yellow notes: “As Bob Hope would say to the troops, ‘Thanks guys — thanks for the memories — God Bless.'” 

And perhaps God will. But isn’t it too soon? Don’t you just sign up for another production?  Audition for a new role? Become a different super hero?

And, by the way, wouldn’t God want to know what happens in the fourth yellow page? 

I do. 

Joe