Old Reliable Barbershop

Old Chile takes us back to the days of barbershop battles, flat tops, and the fateful Mohawk that earned him the worst whoopin’ of his life. From the talc-scented traditions of Old Reliable to the taxidermy jungle of the Trophy Barbershop, this coming-of-age cut is equal parts heartwarming, hilarious, and hairy. Turns out, the rite of passage to manhood sometimes starts with a pair of clippers and ends with dad’s belt. Snip snip—this one’s got bite.

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Episode Transcript

Speaker 1 (00:03):
Hey guys, welcome back. It's old Chilly again, and I've
got kind of a funny little story here for you
today about a couple of barber shops. One was in
Old Baytown, the other Goose Creek, Texas, where I grew up.
The story is about old I guess I was thirteen

(00:25):
years old and it was before the days of classic
styling hair that I wanted. Heard style hair that I
wanted that was razor cuts. I looked, hopefully like some
cool cat. But anyway, this is one entitled old reliable

(00:47):
barber shop. Cold black eyes peered from the walls. Teeth,
hundreds of them, reflected the fluorescent light from the ceiling.
Figure mixtures, the figurative from the mains of long since
stalked and claimed wild animals occupied them. Near every inch

(01:09):
of the wall space in this place. The animals did
not smell. There was the manly aroma of lucky tiger
hair tonic and barber saw shave cream. Yes, this was
a barber shop for men only. Traffic on Texas Avenue
in front of the Trophy Barbershop slowed for all to

(01:31):
see the Kodiak, Grizzly and polar bears that were stuffed
and rose on hind legs, ready to attack. The owner
of the trophy was a guy named Jimmy, and he
was a big game hunter's game hunter. He traveled all
over the world to shoot decorations for his barber shop. Wow.

(01:56):
I was there for a flat top and a chance
to slowly cruise the glossy pages of the heavily handed
Playbom magazines now remind you I was thirteen. My presence
was also the result of the closing of Old Reliable barbershop.
My first real haircut was at their Old Reliable. The owner,

(02:19):
mister Rosemand, cut my grandfather's in my father's hair. The
Old Reliable was has between Harold Scarver's drug store and
the Apache Lounge airing Old Baytam. I was a customer
in the big leather and chrome chair twice a month.
The barber's nicknamed me after my grandfather. He was the

(02:44):
old pea picker, so quite naturally I became the little
pea picker. This indignity stuck with me right and almost
into my teens. I watched every move mister Rosemond made.
The art of hair cutting at the Over Reliable was
not the finished product, but the ceremony of the craft.

(03:07):
This Saturday, I found a stool against the wall facing
the barber chairs. My stool was under a wall of mirrors,
reflecting images from the mirrors on the opposite wall. The
illusion was an endless line of barbers and customers. I
looked for a magazine to read while I was getting

(03:28):
ready for my turn. I was seven years old, and
my feet dangled off the floor when I was seated.
I had yet to discover the magazine showing women in
black nylon's garter belts and real pointy brawls. But I
pulled out a field and streamed to look at the
fish hey little p year up. Mister Rosemond set and

(03:53):
I crawled up into the chair and the ceremony began.
Mister Rosemond walked around the chair several times with his
chin in his hand, closely examining my head flat top today, Yes, sir, talc, yes, sir.
He dusted the soft white bristles of the talp brush

(04:14):
with powder. The talc can was green, showing a fellow
with a top hat and a cane. The brush felt
wonderful as it gently with the cool tac on my neck.
He showed me the can and brush again, and asked seconds.
I said, yes, sir, always, I love that tall Mister

(04:38):
Rosmond unfurled the barber sheet to keep the hair off
of me. He did this with a style and grace
of a mandatory enticing a bull. The sheet more than
covered me twice. The neckcloth was next. From behind the
chair came a two foot long, three inch wide piece

(04:58):
of crape paper, oilet paper, whatever it was. The paper
strip wrapped tightly around my neck and was held in
place by the sheet. A safety pen was put through
the assembly, and I was ready for the clippers. Mister
Rosemand had an expert hand with those hair clippers. The
whine of the little electric motor mixed with the smell

(05:20):
of fine machine oil, and off we went in search
of the flattop. Five minutes went by, and he bent
down to check the level of my hair. Pleased, he asked, yep,
I said, shave around the ears. No, no, no, no,
thank you. I never had that done. Because I had

(05:42):
seen mister Rosemond sneeze before, and his hands flew up
and his head went back. I knew I could easily
exit the barbershop. One eared. How about some lucky tiger pee?
I said, yes, sir, double doats. He shakes the tonic
into his hand in one motion and claps his hands

(06:04):
together and applies massaged my head. The Lucky Tiger has
a floral aroma mixed with herbs, and you know it's
just unmistakable. You want some butch wax on the front.
He picks up a jar field with red jell two
fingers in or the waxes plied to the front of
my flat top. Yes, sir, that's good. All this left

(06:28):
my scalp shining like a bowling ball in My hair
in front was standing up straight and true. Not bad
for a buck seventy five the full treatment. You know,
my father did not punish me very often. The worst
whipping I ever got came after a Saturday morning visit

(06:48):
the Old Reliable. It was the summer of my eleventh
year and I was allowed to ride my bike and
get a haircut. That was first, little pee. What can
I do for you today? Looks like you need to
cut pretty bad, you know, miss Rosemond. I think I'll
have a mohawk. A mohawk. Where's your dad? Rosemond asked,

(07:11):
knowing a radical hair cream cut would bring trouble. Oh
he's home and I'm here by myself. I better call
him to make sure. What's your number? I don't need no,
he said to the mohawk. Was fine, Not so, but
said the ritual. Beginning in fifteen minutes, I was the

(07:34):
proud owner of a brand new look. I thought I
was pretty good. So back home, I peddled after down
and cherry phosphated harisoda fountain. What in God's name happened
to you? Greeted me through the back door of the house. Well, dad,
mister Rosemond thought I would look real good with this mohawk.

(07:58):
Let me call him. Now, you look like a freak, son, okay, Dad,
I wanted to look like George Jatkins, so I asked
for this mohawk. Mister Rosemond wanted to call you, but
I told him that you said it'd be fine. I
had no way out of this. You know. Dad's belt
came off and I was squealing under the lash. You know,

(08:22):
I guess I deserved it. Now you go back up
to Rosemond and hair taken down to the scalp. Son.
I walked into over reliable and without a word, mister
Rosemond patted the chair seat for me. I sat down.
He took out his clippers and mowed down my beautiful
scrip of mohawk dead. And I went to mister Rosemond's funeral.

(08:47):
It was the first time I ever saw him without
his white barber shirt. The old Reliabel closed and I
drifted over to the Trophy barber shop. That's it. I'll
see you down the road. Peace, chill out, and please
watch those intersections. Chilly out.