From Gabe's to Cox's...Like Father Like Son

Early in the 1970’s, I remember going with my father to Gabe’s barbershop on Howard Avenue in Biloxi.  It was across the street from the Nativity BVM Cathedral and was just about dead center in the middle of the block.  I was but a wee little man at the time and I looked forward to this outing with my dad.  Our barber’s name was Les Pinter and over the years, he had become a friend of my father.  I was captivated by all of the nuances of the barbershop that functioned to stimulate every one of my senses and create my lasting memory of that time; the collection of brightly colored hair tonics and aftershaves in glass bottles; the gentlemanly banter that took place between the barbers in their white over-shirts and their patrons, many of whom wore hats; that unforgettable smell of the combination of cigar smoke mixed with the clean fragrances of a barbers wares; and even the taste of a bottle of Barq’s root beer that came out of their cold drink machine (I remember their machine was unique to me in that it was one of those that had a tall, narrow glass door on the front that you would open and pull a drink from its appointed slot).  Coke had not yet purchased the Barq’s brand from the family, but one of the shop patrons, who worked for Coke at the time, had “fixed” the dispenser so Barq’s would have its own place in a Coke branded machine.

Some of you may remember that old Gabe’s on Howard Avenue before it moved to the Vieux Marché, behind the Upstairs Downstairs club and some may even remember the Gabe’s II in Ocean Springs, that opened to the south of Deedy’s dress shop in that small strip of storefronts.  This is the location where Les Pinter finally settled and would ultimately finish out his career as a barber.  While I say all of this, mainly as a fond remembrance of a time long ago, it is also to set the stage of the importance of what the barbershop used to mean to many men, including the likes of my father.   The men who became barbers did so as a means to earn an income for their families and to have a lasting career that often became a legacy for their descendants to follow.  While they were formally schooled in the arts of cutting hair and the clean and close shave, more often than not they gained an informal education in the fields of counseling, social work, and problem solving.  Back in those days, it was rare for a man to see an analyst or a psychologist to discuss those baffling issues and problems that crop up in everyone’s life.  So, a man’s barber by default, became that one go-to person that was quick to listen, but slow to judge until he had all of the information and could offer a well thought out solution or straight forward answer to many of these preponderances of which they were made aware.

My Dad was an extremely private person, as were many of the men born of his era.  Other than my mother, very few, if any were told of any of the goings-on in my father’s world.  Knowing this about my father, and understanding that I was privy to some of these things, I was very surprised when I would hear Les ask my dad about the outcomes of business affairs that Dad had obviously discussed with Les at an earlier time.  Sometimes, Les would congratulate my brother or myself for some long forgettable accomplishment that we had achieved in school or on the ball field.  Rather than jumping to the conclusion that the discussion of these things was out of character for my father, I somehow understood the confidence that Dad had in Les; a confidence that was formed as a professional relationship that was acquired twenty to thirty minutes at a time, every two weeks or so; then forged into a friendship that lasted over a thirty-plus year period of time.  As I have grown older, I have gained a deeper understanding of Dad’s relationship with his barber and I appreciate, ever so much more, how much Les meant to my father.  To further prove the old adage that “the apple doesn’t fall to far from the tree,” I too, have a similar bond with my barber.

I had the fortune of knowing my barber, however long before he entertained the notion of going to barber school.  He has been my friend since 1979, as we were introduced on a baseball diamond called Hollis Field, not too far from the purview of Our Lady of Fatima, Catholic Church and the Broadwater Golf Course.  And while my athletic prowess never presented itself in the sport of baseball, I was still considered worthy of being his teammate and I garnered all of his respect that was due to players, much more talented than myself.  We met again in 1982 on the football practice fields of Biloxi High School, just to the south of the railroad tracks, that served as the boundary between the southern most border of Keesler Air Force Base and Irish Hill Drive.  I had gotten a little bigger since our earlier introduction and was coming into my own in the sport that would later become my avenue to attend college on someone else’s nickel.  He was a center and a long snapper, who earned a vaunted position on Coach Joe Allen’s punt coverage team.  I was moved up to the guard position and him being the snapper, I was taken under his wing and once again I was accepted as his equal.  We played together for two more years and learned to be able to trust one another and respect each other’s abilities.  He graduated and a year later I did the same and went on to college to begin my life as a young adult, though never forgetting this respect that I was shown and the kinship we had formed in our time on and off the field.

It wasn’t until 1998, when I moved back to the coast from Nashville, with my wife and young daughter, did we become acquainted once again.  He and his brother-in-law were barbers at Cox’s barbershop in Ocean Springs.  I was commuting back and forth to work in Mobile from Biloxi, so a barbershop in Ocean Springs seemed like the best place for me to find a barber.  As I walked in the door and saw him standing next to his big leather chair, cutting someone’s hair while holding court over the rest of the shop, I knew that I had found the right place for me.  I was up next and as I settled into the chair and he began to cut my hair, it was as if we were picking up from a conversation we were just having the day before.  It has been seventeen years since that day in January and a lot of water has passed under the bridge.  We both have been able to share in the joy of blessings bestowed upon our families and mourn the great losses that have come our way, as well.  We have compared notes about our adolescent sons, who have gone on to prosper, each in their own right.   From the birth of my youngest daughter and our mutual survival of Hurricane Katrina, to those fantastic Mardi Gras parades where I pulled his krewe’s float with my big truck and the many phone calls and discussions about life issues that we continue to have, I don’t think anybody could count themselves as fortunate as I am to have such a loyal and trusted friend.  While never would I or could I replace my wife Vicki, as my best friend and confidant, I know that as far as friends go, my barber will continue to stand by me through thick and thin; and he will always be able to expect the same from me.