I don’t think I have ever mentioned it, but in “real life” I am a school bus driver. It’s a great gig that not only allows me to help pay the bills around here but also allows for plenty of free time for other endeavors such as writing, music, etc.
It also allows for me to be out and about in the community, much like I was when I was a paramedic twenty five-plus years ago. After doing that job for a decade, I went to work in other aspects of health care which kept me indoors. And while it was nice not to have to trudge through knee deep snow to get to a patient, I often didn’t see much of the outside world. Some days I didn’t even know if it were raining, snowing or what out there. After another fifteen years of flourescent lighting instead of sunshine, I was more than ready to get out; out of the entire industry and back outdoors.
So, even though I get pretty tired of driving anywhere by the end of the work week, it’s great to once again be out and about in the community. To see what’s going on. There’s something different every day.
That said, there’s still a routine involved. You’re driving the same route, the same streets every day, at the same time, through different neighborhoods. You’re a part of those neighborhoods, if only for a few minutes each day, whether the residents are aware your part or not.
If you’re like me and uptight about being on time, you’re sure to see the same people each day, coming to or from work. Walking their dog. Waiting with their child for another bus or walking them to school. Sometimes you start to recognize vehicles as you pass each other on the road. Sometimes the people you see recognize you and wave as you pass by. It becomes a daily thing; a brief, daily connection with people you’ll likely never interact with anymore than that.
In one of the neighborhoods I pass through, there’s a crossing guard who I don’t think has missed a single day of work in the two or three years I’ve been driving through there. I don’t know his name, but I know that every day he’s sure to wave hello as you pass by and I always make sure to wave in return. He’s got an especially difficult job there at his post, as three of the four streets that come together to form that intersection are at odd angles. To make it even more interesting for drivers, there’s a couple of taller buildings that make it necessary to sort of creep out there into the intersection before proceeding.
One of those buildings is a barber shop. It’s a little, simple looking one story shop on the corner that looks, well, very much like a barber shop should, complete with the tradiitonal light up barber pole. Its red, white and blue stripes spinning for all to know that, if you’re looking a little shaggy or are looking for a new coiffure, this is the spot.
It’s not even seven o’clock when I drive through that neighborhood, but the lights were always on and the owner getting ready for the day. After a wave to the aforementioned crossing guard, I’d often sneak a quick glance in the window as I passed by. I’d catch him looking in the mirror, combing his hair or perhaps snipping away an errant hair of his own. Afterall, you can’t trust a barber with a bad haircut now, can you? But more often than not I’d see him in his barber’s smock, ready and waiting for the first customer of the day.
Something about this daily scene evoked a certain pleasant feeling of… I don’t know what, exactly, nostalgia perhaps? Though it never occurred to me until just now, it could easily have been a scene of pure Americana painted by Norman Rockwell himself. There was a contrast as well, particularly during the winter months; the warm lit interior at odds with the cold remaining moments of twilight before the sun appeared over the hills to the east. Whatever it was, it brought me a moment of comfort and contemplation about how similar moments taking place all across the country. I sometimes found myself saying a quiet “good morning” to the barber as I passed.
The shop opened in its current location in 1971. I’ve never been a customer, nor have I ever met the owner, at least not that I recall. Like the crossing guard across the street, I never knew his name.
At least not until I read it in the obituary section of the newspaper last week.
Comments that have appeared on social media in response to the news of his passing indicate that he was well known, well loved, and will be missed by many.
Including me.
Featured image courtesy of Google Maps