Straight Edge Razors

Reflecting on a rite of passage

The Monroe Art Guild’s May presentation, “Historic Places & People,” was a nostalgic walk back in time for me when I viewed the various displays of people and places, now only a memory. One display that really took me back through time was my friend and former classmate Carol Ash Bradley’s loving tribute to her father, Jack C. Ash, and his barber shop on Broad Street. As I stood looking at the photos and descriptions of the beloved old business that Carol had donated for the display, it reminded me of the various “rites of passage” a man goes through from childhood to adult years. And getting your hair cut was certainly one of them.

There were four barbershops in town that I can remember: Lacy’s Barber Shop on the north end of Broad Street, Jack’s shop on the south end of Broad, and Paulie Richardson’s tiny little shop on Court Street. As you traveled further out South Broad Street towards the old cotton mills, you came upon Jeffcoat’s Barbershop located in close proximity to the old Johnston Institute School.

Back in the day, it was not hard to locate where these veritable institutions for men were located. All one had to do was to look for a red-white-and-blue barber pole with those colors swirling around, and you knew your day was about a get a bit better.

Every barbershop offered more than a haircut. Once seated comfortably in the chair, you could get a shave, a scalp massage, a beard trim and if silver threads were beginning to show in your hair, a “touch” of color to chase away the signs of aging! It was never necessary for an appointment; it was always first come, first serve. Each customer had their own favorite barber and if all the barber chairs were occupied, you waited your turn in the old, oak chairs usually located across from where the barbering was being done as you looked through a variety of magazines of the day along with the Atlanta papers and copies of The Walton Tribune. While you waited your turn, the sounds from the snipping of the scissors, the buzzing of the clippers, the whirring of the scalp massager, the flap of the cotton cover, the soft whir of the ceiling fans or the snap of the shoe shine cloths could almost lull you to sleep.

From the time I could sit unassisted on the worn wooden board that Jack would lay across the arms of his big old chair to accommodate those tots just being introduced to the rites of the haircut until I left for college, no other person cut my hair except Jack Ash. I can vaguely remember sitting on that big board as Jack would envelope me with his big white cloth with the gray stripes running from top to bottom to make sure none of the stray clippings found their way onto my clothes. As I grew in years and sat unaided in Jack’s red leather & chrome chair and my feet finally reached the footrest, the price of the haircuts steadily increased from 25 cents to around $1.50 when I had my last haircut from him.

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