Cutting My Hair

The greatest barber I ever had was a man named Coy Cornelius. Coy's barbershop was in an old mattress factory on the edge of downtown Youngstown, which doubled as an art studio/gallery full of his own paintings, sculptures, and decorative furniture. Coy was a silver-haired, thin-faced man who looked like a leading actor on a Canadian television show. He smoked, always asked plenty of questions about his customers' lives from genuine curiosity, and never gave a less than ideal haircut…he understood hair.

One day the mattress factory, which had become an increasing presence in Youngstown right as the revitalization began, burnt down. A horrible loss doesn't seem like a strong enough word. Coy kept going, cutting his regulars' hair at an establishment on Belmont Avenue somewhat reminiscent of Barbershop but staffed by women. Despite the ashes of his perfectly realized dream locale, his spirit never visibly flagged.

Coy had not been well for a period, and he passed away several months ago. I always dreamed that someday he would do production design for a movie or stage play I wrote.

Yesterday, I needed another haircut and went to where my father and Marc now get their ears lowered, William Leonard Extraordinary Gentleman smack-dab on Federal Avenue, a new business which has already been written up in the Vindicator. Lisa, the owner/barber, assured me I could walk right in, but I arrived to find she had a line of customers. I used my half-hour wait to wander through Federal Street and purchase a decent latte at the more-than-decent-looking Lemon Grove, a place I'm sure is jumping on weekday nights. This was one of the few times I'd gotten a look at the "new" Youngstown, where "quirky" stores and bars sit side by side with gleaming, modern or neo-classical arts centers and government buildings. There's still some pockmarked establishments and gaps, but it's a promising work in progress.

Eventually I started reading a Men's Health which had a fascinating article on how much food a man should eat to maintain a weight where his body is in shape and he can develop his abdominal muscles, my current goal. It turns out that based on my exercise schedule, I can eat more calories and MUCH more fat than I had thought previously. This will be an extraordinary help in planning my meals when I go back to living on my own. Coupled with my course list and my already extensive budget preparation, I'm entering Chicago with a sense of mission, purpose, and complete readiness I rarely could claim in Los Angeles. I've grown up.

Lisa is a great, GREAT barber. A gorgeous middle-aged woman (definite MILF territory) who cuts your hair in a white summer dress, black heels, and with a grinning, Miles Davis-esque man namedJimmy hanging around providing commentary and compliments to the customer. (I'm going to impress all the girls when I walk into church, he says.) Elvis Costello's greatest hits are pumped over the small speaker system. Lisa washes my hair, then goes over it with the scissors, marveling at its thickness, trimming it all around until it has reached evenness. Turns out it naturally curls up at the neck, and she smooths and shears that spot, as well, as my unruly sideburns, down to reasonable lengths, not stopping at the back until I know it feels exactly right. She even has me put my glasses on at the end so she can trim around them for comfort and appearance—no barber has ever done that! Needless to say, I'm pleased. More than pleased. So much that I get politely insistent at full force when Lisa tries to refuse my tip on top a $20 charge. For days like yesterday, every penny is well-spent.