The Barber ... a meditation ...By DEREK ROGERSAthol James Barker is possibly the best barber's sideman in the business. Like Madge to Dame Edna, if you like. You won't pick it at first, as Athol's mastery of the subtle art of being a great sideman floors you. The hangdog face, the deaf patience, the rare, but rabid retorts and - in this old mate's case - the extravagant hand expressions ... they're perfect. His timing is impeccable, too. The barber to whose side the 78-year-old sticks is Bruce _ a tall, thin chap with perfectly pressed strides, neatly clipped moustache, neatly clippered hair (number three, possibly) and immaculate hand control. He and Athol have a running gag going. ``You can wind Athol up,'' you might get as an introduction to the game, from Bruce, the main man - master barber and proprietor of Spike's Barber Shop, 118 York St, Launceston. He works rapidly, with fierce concentration and professionalism, while keeping waiting customers warm with wisecracks and wry grins. That's where Athol comes in. ``This cup of coffee tastes like a cup of hot water, Athol,'' Bruce says, this particular Saturday, to a full shop. He's frowning, working as he talks.``Plenty of 'ot water in it, but not much coffee.'' Nothing. ``Eh Athol, there's no coffee in this coffee.'' Nothing, Athol's not interested. He spends all day, when not running errands, slumped in position in his special chair on the far wall of the shop. And most of the time he's just not interested _ apparently. And that's where the fun comes in. ``Eh Athol, I didn't taste any sugar in it,'' says Bruce, flashing a winning grin to his happy crowd. It's too much for his target. ``I did put bloody sugar in it,'' Athol barks, starting up from his chair like he'd been stung by a European Wasp. ``Athol's always drinking all the sugar,'' Bruce offers. ``I am bloody not.'' At this point, Athol might just about have you believing that Bruce might be serious _ Athol might, in fact, be putting away most of the sugar in the place. Spoonfuls of the stuff. It's pure performance art, in a heavily traditional setting. Athol is a dignified chap dressed, this particular day, in bowls whites (``He's looks like he's going to be opening the bowling at the cricket this afternoon,'' Bruce has suggested). He strides up and down the polished lino several times, gesticulating his arms about the place, while Bruce moves right along, towards the punchline. ``Is the tin empty, Athol?'' Athol strides over to check the tin and reports: ``Yep, it's empty.'' ``Empty?'' ``Yes!'' ``So that coffee I had just now was just hot water?'' Nothing. Athol is grim, and bears it. Good humour is bouncing off the mirrored walls of the little room, encouraged by sunlight beaming in through white lace curtains onto a shopfront full of billiard balls, cues and accessories. It's a good place to be, they say. ``Athol can't see, ya see,'' says Bruce, winding up again. ``Ya know, I threatened to send Athol for an IQ test, one day, and he said: `Nothing wrong with my eyes'. There is, though. In case you don't know it, the pair are teammates in snooker, billiards and pool _ well-known and popular players in a cosy competition that thrives in pubs and clubs in nooks and crannies all over Tasmania. One night it's billiards, one night it's the pool and one night it's the snooker. And then there's tournaments. Most customers would know all this. ``So, what's Athol like, as a player,'' one customer asks of Bruce, during a lull. ``Like? He's not,'' Bruce says. ``No, he can't play at all. You see, he can't see anything. And he's got no backswing ... he just sort of leans over it and, you know, sort of pushes it on it's way, ya know. ``And he doesn't ... wait until the (white) ball's stopped, necessarily. ``I seen Athol pot six balls in a row, once, and the white never stopped moving. He got a standing ovation, at the end. People couldn't believe what they were seeing.'' The crowd is treated to another ye olde barber's grin. ``No, Athol can't play at all,'' Bruce says, back to all seriousness now. ``At the state championships there, a while back, 172 frames we all played ... and Athol didn't win one. Nah. Nah, he can't play, really, at all. ``Then again, like, Athol can come up and beat Ron Atkins (three-times national champion), and the Australian vice-captain, too. ``Ha, ha! They didn't like that, I can tell you.'' Yep, Athol can do the rope-a-dope, and come up with the goods at crucial moments. He would have made a great foil to Mahommed Ali. In the northern snooker teams comp a few months back, Athol beat a highly rated local, known locally just as Cartwright. ``He's still sulking about it,'' Athol confides with pride, during a rain-break at bowls that afternoon. ``Two-one, I won. I was on fire that day! I got a break of 25 and a 35 break early ... an' he comes back with a 20 break. Then I got another good break and beat 'im by three or four shots.'' Cartwright then levelled at a frame apiece, only for Athol to produce more bursts of brilliance in the last frame. Bruce's team was well-pleased. ``I'd rather play the billiards over the snooker, you know, because if I pot the opponent's ball I've still got a decent chance of winning,'' Athol says. ``I've always played me billiards.'' Bruce later adds: ``Athol has a natural advantage there - _ I'm pretty sure he's got the biggest billiards handicap in the state ... about 402, or something like that.'' Spike's Barber Shop is the epicentre of cue-ball cool in the north. It's the perfect place for Athol. ``With what I do at the shop, Bruce doesn't play ... but he takes me everywhere he goes _ all the trips,'' the offsider says. ``If they're short of a player, I'm the reserve.'' ``How I came to know Bruce: I had me hair cut here one day, for the first time, and Bruce says `What you doin' with the rest of your day, like' , and I says `Nothing'. I bin doin' 'is messages ever since. ``It's a good place to be.'' Athol used to get his short back and sides from the late Jack Russell. Now, Monday to Saturday, he sweeps up hair, changes large bills down the road and makes the coffees. They're favours he wouldn't do just any barber, of course. And the flavour he provides is rich. Sometimes there are quiet periods of two or even three hours, of a morning, but there's always the radio or Bruce and his hairdresser Mai to listen to or a Commando comic to read. ``He only needs the one comic book,'' Bruce sometimes tells customers, as his mate nods drowsily over it. ``By the time he gets to the end he's forgotten how it started, like, and he's got to start again, anyway, so he's no need to go out and buy another one.'' There's always something to say about everything, because that's one of Bruce's services. Athol is the go-to man in in-between times. Mostly there are serious matters to expound upon. Like unemployment and parking fines, this particular day. ``Council must be making millions,'' says a chap in the chair, his mind apparently haunted by a ticking meter in some far-off side-street on the edge of the city. ``Yep, millions,'' says Bruce, cutting away. ``Everyone's got a quota these days _ even the council.'' Through the radio comes a largely humourless skit about one fellow trying to fire another fellow. At the mention of jobs, Bruce is on the job. ``When I was at school, half the kids had apprenticeships lined up ... this is by Year 10,'' he says. ``You can't say that anymore.'' Nods and mutterings of earnest agreement ripple up and down the line-up. Bruce finishes the task at hand and steps back, with a flourish, to admire his handiwork _ like an artist staring at an easel, as if staring past his thumb. ``There ... told you I'd find a part in there,'' he announces. His client is obviously pleased. ``Did you get those dollar coins I asked for, Athol,'' he calls across the room. ``Righto, righto,'' says Athol. Athol's up and heading for the door. ``Here,'' says Bruce to his right-hand man, ``take this (a $5 note).'' ``Get me a cappucino, will you? You know, a cappucino ... a coffee with froth on it. They do 'em over at ... somethin' Kitchen ... you know, the Greek family there by the corner.'' ``Yep, Cheers Athol. Right, who's next?'' .....
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Pic 5, Pic 6, Pic 7 The next offering on the barber shop will feature Bruce, and Bruce's run-down on his life and all that funny stuff. He's got a bloody brilliant window cleaner, some colourful clients and plenty to say. And after that we'll meet the window cleaner and some of the other people. Regards, Derek Rogers
RAPID RESPONSE EMAIL: What do you think? Thursday, December 2, 2004 |
