Fade Me Up

Q:  How many barbers have I had that I can reliably call “my barber”? I’m not talking about the bootleg or “creeping-your-shop” barbers who might try to push my line back and have me looking like LeBron.

A.      Doc. Everyone in Conway knew Roger Nelson – he was the only black barber back home for a large part of my childhood, and it was practically a childhood rite to have your head palmed in his chair at one point or another.

B.      Pat. Doc’s first protégé that really built up a clientele. Patrick Oates was the reason why I had to get in the chair midweek versus sitting in the shop each Saturday morning. For a reasonable $8 [in 1996 dollars] he or Clardy Bennett had you looking like a million bucks ready to chop up every girl in town.

C.      Phil Good. Phil Craig had the perfect location in Arkadelphia – across the street from THE Henderson State University, and unlike Pat, you had to reserve Thursday slots. The brother could cut a perfect bob and still left room for the pick to proudly stand out. He was my college barber during a time when stepping out on the Yard correctly was the difference between another week of baseball caps to hide a bad line and stepping out extra-clean ALL WEEK LONG.

D.      Big Steve. I guess he was an extended transition barber, if you want to call three years a transition – the brothers I was working and partying with saw him every Friday, so I adjusted my schedule to hop in the chair during that time. Eventually, I became a Saturday morning customer until he left to work as a claims adjuster post-Hurricane Katrina.

E.       Eric. My current barber who my wife introduced me to ten years ago and the man who cut that fire line and kept the wide beard you saw in our wedding pictures. He’s getting ready to do my twists in the next few days and you better believe the beard stays extra wide.

The best hairstyle. #afro pic.twitter.com/8pu6bugqEW

— A. Cedric Armstrong (@cedteaches) November 28, 2018

Now I think about it, not bad.