Mixed Nuts On Barber's Cue
Newcastle Herald
Saturday April 28, 2007
A visit to my barber is many things.
Apart from being a worthwhile exercise in grooming and news gathering, it promises a guaranteed dose of Vaudeville. Imagine The Castle with cut-throats and clippers and you'll get the picture.Once a fortnight when I'm in my pomp, and once a month when I'm in a hibernating mood, I'll shake the ferrets out of my mangy beard, withdraw from my wallet the meagre cost of a close shave and a four-corner tidy-up, then embark on the pleasant stroll from the office to Macca's barbershop, next door to the post office.I've been going there since a previous stylist gave me the infamous Moe Howard/David Dixon bowl cut of '92. Frankly, I must have been mad to stay loyal after the undercut debacle of '87 and the Barry Gibb/Prince Valiant helmet of '89. Like a hair of the dog curing a mongrel hangover that's how I'd describe the moment I joined the queue of customers who were obviously at Macca's as much for the chinwag as the barbering.Macca's master in the late '50s was Dougie Lambert, who had "dozens lining up on the Bulwer Street footpath" before 8am on Saturdays."There were 16 barbers and four ladies' hairdressers in town back then," he recalled on my latest visit."Ray Bidner, who was a barber in Casino for 50 years before retiring down here, told me there were 28,000 barbers in NSW in 1960 and now there's about 800. I don't know how accurate that is, but Ray wouldn't be far wrong."Macca has always employed young women who are naturals at dealing with the weird and wonderful public.Lauren, a brunette, used to take care of me until she had babies. She was a year below me at school and a good scout. On top of her trade, she worked mornings and evenings as a fitness instructor at the nearby gym. Megan, a blonde, looked after me when Lauren left. She also worked part-time on the side as a nurse, mainly with the infirm and elderly. She left a while back to have babies. Like Lauren, motherhood is lucky to have her.For the past couple of years I've been in the hands of Jade, a brunette, and Roxy, a blonde.At Macca's, you might find yourself sitting next to a politician, a multimillionaire, a hobo with the date out of his daks, a leathery outlaw bikie customising his classic mullet, a teenager desperate to impress with the latest three-tone Benji Marshall, or anything in between.Colourful characters come and go as frequently as the buses and busted souls out front on High Street (this part should be read aloud to the piano interlude in the Tom Waits song Christmas Card From a Hooker in Minneapolis). And when it comes to colourful characters, there's none more vivid than the proprietor himself.Look in the mirror, above the spray bottles and bay rum, adjusting your eyes as white light flashes off scissors that could sink whole regimes if only they could talk, and you'll spot the cheeky gent who has been a local king of this caper for 49 of his 64 years.Tall drink of water, ain't he. And how immaculate is that white-pepper goatee!Macca has eyes that sparkle with mischief behind tinted glasses. His ears are permanently pricked for the topical and salacious news of the day. His deep tan hints at a lifetime of fishing and golf (off a hanficap as low as three). Crucially, he has the vocabulary and comic verve to make every yarn enjoyable."We get all sorts here," Macca noted."Tell him about Bob from 1111 Tutankhamun Drive, West Sahara, Egypt," Jade enthused."Well," Macca continued, "he calls himself Rupart Murishoni, Conductor of the Universe. He feeds the ducks at Bathurst around midnight and reckons the head duck, Amadeus, is his medium to the spirit world.""Apparently Amadeus has perfect pitch and tone across three octaves," laughed Jade, who made her stage debut recently in a local production of South Pacific."How many ducks you know can do that?" Macca asked the packed room."Not many," replied the solicitor one seat along.One day the planets aligned or collided, depending on your bent and Rupart Murishoni lobbed around the same time as another legendary Macca's odd bod, Giro Gearloose.Giro Gearloose looks like an extra from The Adventures of Barry Mackenzie. He has been known to belt out Paul Robeson protest songs in his treacle-smooth bass boom. Macca tells me he has been barred from "pestering" several DJs on late-night radio.Anyway, Rupart Murishoni, being a "celestial numbers expert" and all, asked Giro Gearloose for his date of birth and promised to tell his future."Your number's 116, which isn't good, isn't good at all," Rupart Murishoni reportedly said."What's wrong with it?" Giro Gearloose reportedly asked, panic creeping into his voice."You're buggered mate, basically," Rupart Murishoni replied callously. "Might as well go out the back and shoot yourself now."Macca roared at the memory. Always a laugh.The Botticelli of barbers is nearing retirement age but has no plans to hang up the strop just yet."Years ago Donny McIlwain asked me where I get all these characters from," Macca smiled."I don't know where they come from, but I've got a double-decker bus full of them. Good laugh, good laugh."
© 2007 Newcastle Herald
