Let's face it, Columbia, North Carolina is about as famous as, well, Creswell, North Carolina. Famous, to many of us has a positive connotation that means likable, good, and happy. Columbia is all of the above, but it's still not famous. Within Columbia, there are likable landmarks, people, and places...all things that make the town so favored by it's residents and so intriguing to the literal millions that strafe through on the major highway. Columbia and it's waterways have long been known as a fisherman's paradise. Some people believe it's a great place to come and see sunsets. And some people like the downtown galleries that are only discovered with a little vacationing gumption. But to me, there is one true symbol that epitomizes the town and it's people.
Mr. Bobby, as he is commonly called, is one of a couple of town barbers. Mr. Bobby is older than most of us will ever live to enjoy. Either way, he's still hard at it, in his shop downtown. It's where I get my hair cuts. For the longest time, I avoided getting my hair cut at a traditional barber shop. I guess I thought the treatment of a salon was what I merited most. Either way, becoming a Columbian rubbed of on me. Sensible, practical, and comfortable is how most people would describe me, and it's how I often describe the good people of this area. They do what it takes to get it done, and they do it at their pace, which is somewhere around a speed of "just right"...not too fast or too slow. And that's why Mr. Bobby is as much a part of this community as he is a representative of it.
Main Street in downtown Columbia is marked by tiny concrete buildings. There's an art gallery, a couple of restaurants, a drug store, a non-profit, and a few skeletons of commerce's past. It's an easy place to navigate. There's always someone walking in downtown, and they are headed somewhere. Mr. Bobby's shop is on the west end of Main Street, just outside of casting distance to the Scuppernong River...the same river that only weeks ago shoved two feet of water through his door and up his wall. So what...he cut my hair two days later. His shop is incredibly non-descript, but everyone knows where it is...parking near the barber shop is tough, though. Still, the other slots up and down Main Street can serve you, if you can serve yourself to walk. Rarely have I gone in for a cut, when Idid not have to wait a bit. But part of that is due to Mr. Bobby's deliberate nature. It's also a place for other men to congregate and carry on, whether or not they will be getting a haircut. More times than not, it's only familiar faces within the walls of the shop. I've been here 5 years, and that's only a minute to a lot of these people. Still, I listen contently to the stories and gossip. Or Rush Limbaugh. While I'm sitting on the red wooden bench that holds the graying customers, I usually occupy myself with a day-old copy of the Raleigh paper. I'm glad that some people still keep quarters and know how to use them!
Nevertheless, while I read the paper, I'll find myself surrounded by relics of yesteryear. Mind you, this place has no decorum. It's a building whose purpose is one. Either way, I'll admire the bottles of hair tonic, which are for sale. There's also a strop hanging on the wall and it hordes dust. Nobody ever asks for a straight blade shave, anymore. I'd like to have just one in my life. There a pictures on the wall of Mr. Bobby's friends and family. Most of which live nearby. There's even a poster which showcases the bust of all of our American Presidents, the newest being Ronald Reagan. It's not a timeless place, but it is a place to pass the time. It's a building built for utility.
After waiting for a bit, I usually just step up, then plop down into the barber's chair. Oddly enough, hair cut recipients don't face the wall-sized mirror. In fact, you face the patient waiters. You can enjoy the conversation without having to stare at yourself. When he asks how I'd like my haircut, I tell him simply. The first time, I tried to raise my voice, because I thought he might not hear me. He whispered back and said "I can do that." My first few cuts were the traditional crew cuts that he doled out while in the military. Each one was perfect and precise. Since then, he has offered to me that women like hair on the "full" side. Now he just trims it.
There's a tremendous gap between Bobby and I. Obviously, our age difference is grand. He's a member of America's Greatest Generation. I know hard work, but all he knows is hard work. He's polite and sincere as if it is the only option, and sometimes, I can be either or neither. Either way, after I pay the grand total sum of $5 for my haircut, I feel a little closer to him and Columbia. And as Bobby would say, I feel "a little lighter", too.
Enjoy the day...
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