BOB’S “VARSITY” BARBER SHOP
was located on the corner of Barton Avenue
And Tulare Street, in a small shopping center
Next door to the Post Office, and across
The street from Roosevelt High School.
There were three barber-chairs, and eight seats
For waiting customers..
A wall-length mirror hung behind the eight chairs,
And a similar one in back of the barbers;
Bob, and his brother-in-law, Hank,
Both graduates of Moler Barber College.
On the counter behind them were hair clippers,
Brushes and combs, brilliantine,
And Barbicide, hair crème, pomade, scissors,
A shaving cup, and brush, a straight razor,
And a hand-held barber mirror.
Bob had a picture hanging
By the mirror, so it could be seen
From anywhere inside the shop,
Of an aborigine from Borneo
Showing his teeth, a bone in his nose,
Under the picture it said, with a species
Of blatant racism that those times
Blindly excused: “Willie McCovey.”
Near the bathroom, a box of men’s magazines
Full of stories of fearless males, bloody murders,
And mindless females with sleek and shapely bodies:
Argosy, King, Sylk, and Buck magazines,
The National Police Gazette.
In those days, men got haircuts regularly.
The chair by the door was reserved
For Bob’s customers. Anyone else
Went to Hank for a trim and straight-razor neck shave.
Bob’s special customers talked in a secret code
While they were getting their hair cut.
Language of the cock-fighting operation
Bob organized and ran every Sunday afternoon
Out behind the large chicken coop,
On his secluded five-acre place
In the old winery district of rural Fresno.
There were cash bets, whiskey drinking,
A boisterous display that went on for hours,
While roosters armed with sharpened spurs
Fought a bloody fight until one was dead.
The raucous disregard for life continued
Until it was too dark to see.
Varsity players from the teams
At Roosevelt High School across the street
Rarely patronized Bob’s Barber Shop.
Occasionally, the DeVeaux brothers
Might come in for a trim on Saturdays,
But mostly there were neighborhood working men
Who knew each other’s names.
After Bob finished with a haircut,
Dusting a clean-shaven neck with talc,
He went to a glass jar on the counter
And removed a long black comb
From the disinfecting liquid,
Shook the comb, and used it to rake back
Both sides of his greased pompadour
Then pulled the front outward and down
So the long protrusion of lubricated hair
Took on the shape of a cock’s sharpened spur.
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