In January of 2013, my seventy-seven-year-old father,
Jackson Earl Kinkirk, died of an unexpected stroke at his job, Earl’s
Neighborhood Barbershop. Dad and his partner, Franklin Murphy, ran the town of Oaksdale’s,
OH, only barbershop located on the west side of town.
I am the only child of the fifty-year marital union of
Earl and Barbara Kinkirk. When I think back on my dad, I realize hair milestones
were a regular part of his life that occurred on a regular basis with my father’s
unique hair cutting abilities. The stories I heard were too many to count on
all the toddlers he’d given first-time haircuts to; teenage guys that wanted to
have their bushy hair trimmed perfectly for their special prom date; and
jittery grooms- to-be that didn’t really need a haircut as much as my father’s
assurance from a happy marriage that they were making the right decision. When a man’s life came to an end, dad
willingly worked with the local funeral home to offer his services at no
charge.
Maybe my aversion for long hair came from all haircuts
I received at the hands of my father. I am certain all the countless hours I
spent at Earl’s Neighborhood Barbershop also helped to shape my preference for
short hair. The countless males of all ages that came to the barbershop for a
coffee or plain or flavored water (no cola or pop) and some good conversation
with no haircut in the near future was a regular event.
When I think Earl’s Neighborhood Barbershop, there is
an antique plaque on the wall in back of my father’s barber chair that comes to
mind. (Dad was a big cheapskate. He could make a penny squeal for mercy. ) This
day he bought item for a reasonable price at an auction in Ladeesville, OH,
when I was just ten years old.
One winter day in my mid thirties (now fifty), I
decided to take a picture of the antique plaque with my cell phone, and
research it on the internet. My mom and
dad had always wondered about the real story behind the antique plaque.
The thirty-six inch high twenty-four inch wide antique
plaque was actually a painted trade sign made of tin. It was valued at four
thousand twenty-five dollars. Knowing my “I- love- a- bargain” father, I was
sure he’d not paid anything close to something that had come out of a Virginia
attic. No information was provided as to
how the object found its way to Ladeesville, OH. This 19th century
item was mounted in a wooden frame with black bold graphic letters advertising
hair cuts for 15 cents and shaving for a dime near the middle and bottom.
At the top is a double ended barber’s pole with globes
at both ends. The cylinder is in the traditional colors of blue, red, and
white. If you look close at the sign, one can assume there must have been a
sale on hair cuts one day, or some barber realized he need cut the nearby
competition by slashing prices by a dime. Someone painted over the two making
it a one. That would be from a quarter to fifteen cents for this service.
My Dad and Franklin never offered shaves at Earl’s
Neighborhood Barbershop (though men had asked for it).There was always too much
of a chance to possibly hurt someone with a sharp straight razor. It always
amazed me how inexpensive barber services had been at one time. Of course in
those days that was probably expensive.
When dad left Earl’s Neighborhood Barbershop midway
though the New Year, haircuts were running around twelve dollars. It has always amazed me how much more I miss
him with each passing day. The pain is still strong.
When I was a ninth grader at Oaksdale High School, one
of my classes had a PARENT CAREER DAY.
My mother opted out as the role of a housewife was not exciting enough
in her eyes. My big, loud, boisterous
father stepped in. Some of the most horrifying words ever spoken came from that
teacher. With “Kevin, would you please introduce you father,” I was afraid my
life would come to an end and the bullies in this classes would have real
ammunition and not just the stuff they made up in their minds.
Dad’s presentation was fun and interesting. I learned
a lot of barber history I had no idea about. I was impressed with the amount of
work Dad had put into this. All these years later, a very small amount of that
information has remained in older brain.
Barber poles (or staffs) began in the middles ages
with a helix of red, white, or blue stripes.
The origin of red and white on the barber pole represented the bloody
bandages used in blood letting. The barber pole itself represented what people
held onto to increase blood flow. Barbers could also be dentists and surgeons.
Some people thought the red stripes represented arterial blood while the blue
was symbolic of venous blood.
The last piece of information I remember Dad gave made
the ninth grades boys howl with glee. My friends wanted to book a trip to Asia
when my Dad informed them that white and blue barber poles in Asia signaled a
brothel.
I smiled as I thought on all the memories I’d spent
with Dad over the years. Though I’d retired from one job, In the near future I
hoped to get my training as a barber and continue the legacy my father and
Franklin began at Earl’s Neighborhood Barbershop. I had to do this for Dad.
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