Jake is wearing a white linen coat. If he was out in public, someone might mistake him for a pharmacist, or a lab technician, but Jake is a barber. The white jacket is the symbol of his trade, that, and the candy-striped pole that sets outside his front door.

The army taught him to cut hair out of necessity. On a rare, quiet morning in France he found a piece of a mirror, borrowed some scissors off a medic, sat in a chair and did the best he could with his own head. Another soldier came by and asked him if he would cut his hair. Then a second. And a third. Before he was done, he had cut maybe 20 heads of hair.

He didn’t know it then, but that day in France set in motion what he would do with the rest of his life.

When he came home from the war, he got a job at the textile mill in town. He met the girl that he would marry. And he saved his money to open his own shop one day.

Folks in his hometown had to drive ten miles for a haircut. He didn’t have any formal training, but he knew he could make it work if he ever got the chance.

Jake has been cutting hair for nearly twenty years now.

His is a small shop. Two barber’s chairs. A big mirror, the full length of the wall behind the chairs. Black and white tile floor. There’s an assortment of mismatched sitting chairs on the wall opposite the mirrors. Two cheap framed portraits hang on the wall above the chairs. One of Teddy Roosevelt and one of Dwight David Eisenhower.

Whenever the shop was empty and quiet, Jake would sometimes sit in his barber’s chair, look at Ike and think of the war. What a mess it was over there. He was just glad to make it home.

It’s an early Saturday morning. The sun is streaming in through the big front window. Jake is sweeping up before it gets busy. Dust fairies are dancing in the golden rays that light up the floor.

The tiny bell over the door dings. “How you doing this morning, Jake?”

Billy comes in to help cut hair and keep up with the crowd that always shows up on Saturdays. The two men worked together at the mill years ago. Billy was still there but wanted something extra to do. Jake taught him enough, and he was pretty good with a pair of clippers.

“Not bad,” he said. “Ask me again after lunch.”

Billy goes into the back room to put his lunch sack and thermos on the table. He grabs a crate of 6oz Coke bottles and brings them out front. He opens the door to the Coke machine and fills out the empty rings. It’s mostly full, but he wants to be sure.

“We need some new magazines,” he says while he straightens up around the chairs. “These old Field and Stream have been here a while.”

Jake smiles without looking up. He’s putting out fresh hand towels on the bench below the mirror. “They don’t care. They like reading the same stories, but I’ll bring some newer ones in on Monday.”

The door opens and the bell dings. Walter Johnson and his two boys walk in.

“Reckon a fella could get a haircut this morning?”

“Walter, how’ya doing? That’s two good looking helpers you got with you this morning.”

Walter gets up in Jake’s chair. One of the boys climbs up in the other chair. Billy sets a board with a padded cushion across the armrests so the boy can sit higher. White capes are pinned around each neck and the sound of clippers begins to hum.

Jake figures he knows the shape of just about every male head in town. He knows what each one wants when it comes to cutting hair. Some of them are crew cuts. Some of the men like a little left on top, maybe a part on the left or right. Some take a flat-top with Butch Wax. There’s not much variety.

Long hair on boys hasn’t made its way here, yet. And as far as Walter is concerned, it won’t.

“Cut ‘em close, Billy. Their mama wants ‘em cleaned up.”

An hour later, the waiting chairs are beginning to fill up. A handful of men and a few more boys are lined up against the wall. There’s a steady rotation of haircutting. The mayor wants a shave. Cigar and pipe smoke fill the room.

When Robert Welch steps down out of the chair he hands his son two nickels. “Get us a couple of Co-Colas for the road.”

It’s getting warm enough that Jake pulls the cord on the black ceiling fan and props the front door open to let some air circulate. Bob Standard is sitting in the shoeshine chair because all the other ones are full. Nobody seems to mind the wait.

Jake’s Barber Shop is almost like a social club. In the fall, the talk is football and hunting. In the spring they discuss baseball and tell fishing lies. After opening day in April, Jake usually has the Braves game tuned in on the radio on a Saturday afternoon. Men go home and tell their wives what they heard about the County Commissioners, what’s going on over at the new construction site outside town, and whose got their garden planted already.

I miss that. We used to have a barber here in Pine Mountain, but he’s long been gone. I have to go all the way to Columbus now to get a hair cut in a place that has beauty shots hanging on the wall and where you have to give your phone number to get in line. Nobody knows me and the haircuts are never the same. They’ve never even heard of Teddy and the Rough Riders.

The world doesn’t stop to remember much. Hometowns change. Times change. I know this.

Young Roger Thomas is sitting in Billy’s chair. He’s old enough now that he doesn’t need the board across the armrests.

“Could you leave me a little more on top this time?”

Billy looks at his dad across the way. Dad nods. “Sure. We’ll leave you some to comb this time.”

The barber wets a towel with hot water, squeezes it out, and rubs down the boy’s neck and ears. He rubs a little lotion around the edges of the fresh haircut. Roger gets down and looks in the mirror. He’s content.

“How about a piece of bubble gum?” Billy asks.

“Yes sir.” Roger likes the cartoon inside the wrapper of Bazooka gum.

By 2 o’clock the hair cutting is mostly done for the day. There’re lawns to mow, and oil to change, and cows to feed. The menfolk have moved on to their chores. Billy heads home.

Jake takes a seat in his barber’s chair and opens the paper. For a moment he enjoys the peace and quiet.

He’s grateful for his life. He winks at Ike and stretches back in his chair.

He naps at ease with the world.