Master Barber Jeff Collins

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Military Authorized to Use Lethal Force Against Americans? A new DoD policy document appears to authorize the use of force against American citizens.2024: https://dodsioo.defense.gov/Portals/46/Documents/DoDD_5240.01...

God, family, guns.

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The Wrecking Crew Music lovers will be astonished at the influence The Wrecking Crew wielded over rock and pop music in the 1960s and early 1970s. These unsung instrumentalist...

This is from a client of mine in the barber shop, Sam Jackson. It's about Barbers. He wrote it for a friend...

Ode to the Barber:
( for: Eugene Holman Mikkelson; 1930/2019)

In man’s quest to "Earn his daily bread", there is no calling more mentally exhausting, more likely to promote stomach ulcers, gray hair, loosening of the bowels and be less appreciated by bald-headed anthropoids, than that of the village barber.
For here toils the poor soul, who must not only deal with his own life's crises, but at the same time, feign interest in--and offer solutions to--the misfortunes of those who contribute to his livelihood by delivering their fleece laden craniums, on a regular bases, to his tonsorial temple to be shorn and shaped while listening to the latest news, gossip and other unblemished factoids on subjects from the mating habits of an Albatross to a Zuni uprising in Zambia.
While doing this, he must meet such challenges as laughing at jokes heard a thousand times before, (many of them first surfacing as Noah was loading the ark,) and while doing so, keep the other ear attune to confabulations and gross jocularities that might come cascading from the mouth of cash paying patrons, each comment, requiring a professional assessment coupled with a correct response such as; A smile, frown, shrugging of the shoulders, with a nonchalant grimace. Flashing of an outraged look coupled with a mumbled “no sh*t!!”, or a slight clucking of the tongue while shaking the head are only a few of the histrionics a successful

“Manipulator of the Mane” must master.
In spite of the customer calming effect of these empathetic tools, caution must still be practiced, for the wrong signal at the wrong time, can have far reaching consequences that range from triggering socio/political confrontations, or worse yet, -religious discussions bordering on mayhem.
Also required, would be a semi-polite smile when approached by the army of (mostly) well-meaning volunteers from a hundred different charities stopping by to interrupt his artistic endeavors, each pleading for a handout that, not only might “save the planet” but, although unsaid, would keep their organization from ‘Black-balling” his establishment.

Each day before the sun sinks in the West, this Cultivator of the Hair Follicle Fields must deal with Ladies bawling brats, Pretty Boys with limp wrists, impromptu stylist experts advancing the latest cut and trim advice. This disciplined dandy of the dandruff patch, must also maintain his composure while listening to the ‘wealthy’ plead poverty the poverty-stricken boast wealth, with each contributing “hair-raising fabrications to back up their claims. However, in a more acceptable vein, those run-of-the-mill, everyday good -ol’-boys keeping up a constant chatter about the good-ol’-days.
The man who is in this business for the long run, the true professional, must also quickly master the secret are of ‘phonemanship' and 'de-caffeinated lying', for the patron whose actual whereabouts could become known to ex-wives, bill collectors and employers, merely be some untutored Keeper of the Clippers, spilling beans over the Telly, is not apt to continue patronizing the establishment (for one reason or another).

Though not often called for, they must also possess the physical prowess and tactical finesse to remove belligerents in such a manner that after the 'tossee' is ejected and becomes somewhat repentant, will harbor no ill-feelings toward the 'tosser’, and return to the establishment with friends and family in tow, ready to be shorn.

One other slight drawback of the profession under which this steadfast business man must perform, is the mantle of strange aromas furnished by the diverse, “Come-as-you-are” crowd, ranging from those suggesting of a mushroom farm to an unforgettable “Lady-of-the-night”, and everything in between

In summary: If a statue, or some other type of distinguished award for 'bravery and service above and beyond the call of duty,’ for the civilian was ever deserved, it would be by this tactful and overly accommodating fellow.

The Barber’s day, in verse

If you might spend one day my friend beside that chrome trimmed leather chair
experience quandary of his plight,
forever cutting, trimming hair
Then with your new-found empathy,
Would wonder why he toils there?

The clock strikes eight, the pole is lit
In hand, his barber’s comb and shears.
Invites the fellow first in line
“Come see if we can find your ears”
Now scissors snip and Clippers glide
With skills he’s-honed o’er forty years.

His first haircut, my precious dear
now screaming in the barber’s chair
set still dear child, I’ll photograph
while this nice man clips off your hair
Behind the barbers twisted smile
Are thoughts of mayhem lurking there?

Sheepherder Sam is next in line
In town for annual winter fling
Recalls the old days when this shop
Could offer folks a bath each Spring
Well Sam, the smiling barber says:
Your bath would be a welcome thing.

Next gal in line would like a ‘Butch’
Which may reflect her social style
Then tourist, cops, a catholic priest
Two cowboys and a juvenile
Latino’s then close out my day
a dammed good thing I’m versatile

Pulled down the blind, turned off the pole.
Uncorked a jug of Fisher b**r
Takes the sharpness off my day
Of smiling, shrugging laughing here,
Then as the daylight fades away
I’ thank the Lord I’m anchored here.