Laverne

Having just recently returned to my childhood neighborhood in Baltimore, I couldn't help but notice how much things have changed since I left. Growing up in the early 60's, I recall a much different neighborhood. Back then, much of Baltimore consisted of poor working class neighborhoods that were self contained units. In each neighborhood, you could usually find several schools, corner grocery stores, bakery, drug store, doctors, dentists, diners, and a bar on every corner. What you couldn't buy at the local store was brought to you by A-rabs(people that delivered produce and other items on a horse and cart) and other industrious merchants. There were also many large businesses that provided employment for the working class people that lived in Southwest Baltimore. The neighborhood had character and many characters. One of them was Steve the Barber.

Steve had been at the same spot for about 25 years. His shop consisted of a corner rowhome converted into a barbershop. Steve's place was always bright, and seemed bigger than it actually was because of all the mirrors on the walls. Steve would always greet you with a 'Hi Sonny' as he glanced over his 'Mr. Magoo' eyeglasses at you. Once in the door, you would sit in one of the cheap metal frame chairs waiting your turn for Steve to usher you into the 'big' chair. Steve's speciality was a cut called a 'Wiffle'. The cut was similar to what a G.I. gets in basic. All the hair clipped close to the scalp. Since Steve was about 80 at this time, it was a cut that he could manage without having you look like 'Alfafa' from the 'Little Rascals'. Every once in a while he would nick your scalp a bit, and you might have a little bald spot here and there, but nothing that a young boy couldn't live with.

Being young and haircuts not being one of life's priorities for me at the time, it was usually up to my mother to remind me that I was getting a little shaggy and it was time to visit Steve. She would give me a quarter, and inform me that the quarter was for a haircut and not for sodas an other things at the store. Getting a haircut was not only a way to clean up my act, but became a financial bonanza as well because 'Old Steve' didn't know how to count! He would charge 25 cents for a haircut and give you back 35 or 40 cents in change. A haircut and a soda and chips to boot. What a deal!

Looking back on it, I don't know if Steve was suffering from what they call 'Old Timer's' disease or was just a nice old man that loved his job and kids. Rumor had it that Steve liked to slip into the back room and nip on the bottle a bit as well. Whatever the case, the day came for Steve to hang up his shears and one day told us that his grandson would soon be taking over the business. He also informed us that the boy had decided to move the shop to the new shopping center out in the suburbs. We all felt a sense of loss after Old Steve left not only because we had lost our source of free haircuts but because Steve was like family.

Driving through the old neighborhood yesterday, I passed by Steve's old place. It's now just a boarded up shell. There's no indication of the life that once occupied that building. The bakery across the street from Steve's is also long gone. So have practically all of the local corner stores, and the new car dealership down the street from us closed up many years ago. It's a neighborhood that has been dying for years. While renewal has come to many of Baltimore's neighborhoods, our little neighborhood continues to exist on life support waiting for something to save it from the cancer that has been eating at it for several decades.

While change is inevitable, not all change is for the better. Looking back on my childhood and other times from my past, I sometimes long for things lost from those days. Maybe it's just a natural reaction to growing older that leads us to romanticize the past, and perhaps see things as being better than they actually were. But I recall a time when people left their doors unlocked, I remember running down the street barefooted not having to worry about stepping on hypodermic needles. I can recall my parents sitting out on their doorsteps in the summertime and actually talking to the neighbors.

Although those times were hard in many ways, I feel fortunate to have lived back then. As I drive through the old neighborhood, I see kids running, apparently oblivious to the despair around them. I can't help but wonder, what kind of memories will they have of their neighborhood?

Bob Mathers is actively engaged in Network Marketing. He also contributes articles from time to time on business and other topics. His current website is Want to Start Your Own Home Business?