Shave & a Haircut, 2 bits: OUR NEIGHBORS

Now I've already told you about Mrs. Alasha's Beauty Shop but not about Tony's Barber Shop. Tony  was Mr. Alasha. They had 3 olive skinned children, Sammy, Genevive and Theresa. Tony, Tony, I still hear you. You had a whistle everyone on North Ave. recognized. You stepped outside your shop, took a stance near your green wooden bench, put two fingers in your mouth and let go. The shrill undulating notes announced lunch and dinner. There was no hiding place, no escaping your call. The kids came at once--they had better.

 

Although Mama sometimes got a manicure from Mrs. Alasha, Daddy never went to Tony for his haircuts. But then again, neither Tony nor his family ever came to Daddy to get their teeth fixed. Daddy went across the street to Blumberg's. (Sam was our second cousin.)

 

Actually, Tony's shop was a nicer shop, having white octagonal tiles on the floor, 3 chairs, a barber pole outside that sent red and blue stripes forever turning AND a shoe shine stand with brass foot rests. On the wall were hooks for coats and hats, and under them a few black wooden chairs waited for customers. Mr. Alasha  used one when his chair was empty so he could catch up on the Police Gazette. In fact, the three reclining, turning, rising chairs only had two barbers, but I guess Tony had hopes.

 

Hand trimmers, straight razors, blue bottles with silver spouts, silver bottles with blue spouts, white neck brushes (soft and tickly), stood staunchly with the shaving mugs, doubling their quantity in the big mirror.

 

To the rear was a domed silver basin, its curved door letting rolls of steam tumble out when Tony needed a fresh hot towel. Each chair was equipped with a leather strop, good for sharpening razors or whipping bad kids.

 

Next to sitting high on the bootblack's seldom used chair, the nicest thing was the wide floor broom, especially when the pavement was heavy with the day's dust. The broad, soft sweeps and the moving line of dirt intrigued me, hypnotized me, begged me to take over.

 

Tony never understood the longing I had for that broom. When the shoeshine boy wasn't in, Tony did the sweeping himself and never once asked me to sweep.

 

Maybe Tony was just waiting for his chance, too.