Big John's Barber Shop

35 years in business. That's a mighty long time. This isn't a modern in-and-out hair cut place, with pop music blaring, vinyl seats, and racks of hair accessories for sale.

This is an old fashioned barber shop, with a checkered floor, an old TV in the corner, and two beautiful vintage barber chairs, glistening in wrought metal and red leather. An old, worn couch lines one wall; I can imagine the fellows sitting and rapping about nothing and everything to pass the day. Today, the shop is empty, except for Big John sitting in one of the chairs, watching both the game and the passers-by. As I walk in for the first time, he stands, smiles and gives me a familiar "how are ya today?" He motions to the chair he was just in. I take it.

Big John moved out to Seattle from Virginia in '65 with the Army, and stayed. A bumper sticker proclaiming "If you love your freedom, thank a veteran" decorates the wall. He's been cutting hair in Columbia City since the days most of the buildings in this neighborhood were boarded up. He tells me that at one point there were only two or three businesses in operation: Angie's Tavern, across the street, which has been in business for even longer (though with different ownership), and an old grill that is gone now, where Andaluz is now.

"Haven't I seen you in that Theater up the street," he asks? He's buzzing the edges of my hair around my ears, which has gotten way too long.

"I've been there before. I worked the door one night to help out." I say, speaking of a Bob Marley Tribute night at the Columbia City Theater, where a waitress friend recruited me to work the door while she served drinks.

"That's right. I've seen you around."

His voice is a low rumble, his movements slow and deliberate. I can't help but relax and fight off a smile. It's a warm, sunny, beautiful Seattle day. I'm in a local barbershop, probably the first time I've had my hair cut by anyone over the age of 35. The Mariners are playing the Twins on that old TV in the corner, and score a couple points to come close to catching up. I remark on Betancourt getting hit in the chest by a wild pitch.

"I don't follow the Mariners much," John tells me.
"Seahawks?"
"Them neither. The Seahawks play Sundays. Sundays I spend at the race track." "

On the wall is an Emerald Downs 2008 schedule, taped up over the couch. Nearby is a sign that reads, "Credit makes enemies. Let's be friends." And another sign that reads, "If you like our service, tell your friends. If you don't, tell us."

He listens and chuckles as I tell him about learning to love sports and the local teams since I moved up to Seattle. The electric clippers pass through the hair on the side and back of my head, a couple different passes with different settings to achieve a pretty nice fade from short hair around the edges to longer on top. He listens patiently as I ask him to not give me a straight line over my ear. In hindsight, he knew. The man has been doing this a long time.

"This neighborhood has changed a lot since you've been here. What do you think of it now?" I ask.

"I like it. The riff-raff is gone," he replies.

He begins lifting my longish flaps of hair and trimming them down. His fingers are gentle, his movements slow; he takes his time and does a good job. He keeps me doing most of the talking with a well placed question here and there: How long have I been up here? Where do I live now? What do I do for a living?

Some hairs float down and settle on my nose and forehead, tickling me. A a soft brush--the type used to apply shaving cream, like you'd see in an old western--appears out of nowhere, and he brushes the hair off of my face for me.

A hand mirror appears, which I take to inspect the sides and back. It looks great to me. I stand up and pull out my wallet.
"What do I owe you?"
"$15 dollars."
I pay him in cash, telling him I'll see him again in a month or two.

No credit. Let's be friends.

Not having really paid much attention to barbers I've used in the past, I didn't have any high expectations for Big John's when I walked in. I went along with the Yelp review and my room mate's positive experience and decided to give Big John a whirl, since I'm not too aware of other local barbers/stylists in the area.

All in all the experience was pretty good. There was no line when I showed up in the middle of the day (it being a Tuesday) and there were only a couple of customers waiting when I left.

The comfort of the actual barbershop was welcoming. There was plenty to look at on the walls and the "chair" (which seems antique enough) was positioned so I could watch the television while John did his work.

To go along with the previous reviewer, Big John's hands are probably the most gentle I've come across. He asks what you want, and if you know, he takes his time in getting it done. I think the entire cut lasted about thirty minutes. He takes a clipper approach but does a lot of trimming with shears.

The overall cut was probably my biggest beef. It was done well but it wasn't wonderful. It cost a total of $17.00, which isn't bad but it isn't great for the quality of the end result.

All in all, I'll probably go back there if I need a quick hair fix, but if I'm trying for a more ambitious look, I'll seek out an alternative.