I called my barber shop this morning, expecting to make an appointment with Tony the barber, who has cut my hair most of the time since I quit having it cut in downtown Chicago, which was in 2005, when I quit working downtown.

Most memorably, I took Ann to the shop when she was five, and she documented the scene.

“He’s retired,” another barber told me over the phone. I expressed my surprise. Since the end of last year, turns out.

But it isn’t really that surprising. Tony was 70 if he was a day. So I made an appointment with Ron the barber, who took Tony’s chair. Ron is also 70 if he’s a day, and came out of retirement after making a recovery from a fall that broke his hip and nearly killed him. From the look of his gait, I’d say his recovery’s been pretty solid.

I know that because he told me about it as he cut my hair. He’s a little more chatty than Tony, but after he told me about his health (and one other thing), he didn’t talk a lot more. Never been a fan of chatty barbers, maybe because of the redneck who cut my hair 40+ years ago who had some asinine opinions he liked sharing.

The other thing Ron the barber told me was about another barber who used to be in the shop — I didn’t remember him — who came down with Covid at some point. The disease seemed to evolve into long Covid, Ron said, but further testing revealed metastasized cancer of some kind. He implied, but didn’t say, that that fellow now has a barber chair in glory. I didn’t ask. Such are the social conventions around death.

Ron did say that the unfortunate fellow’s condition inspired Tony, who is still fairly healthy, to retire. Good for Tony. As for Ron, he’s as talented as Tony, and did an expert job, so I expect I’ll be back.

One more thing: he charged $20, same as Tony did for not sure how many years. For now anyway, the current round of inflation hasn’t hit my barber shop.

Actually, another thing: I saw from his barber license on the wall that Ron has an Italian surname. So did Tony, and so does the other barber still working in the shop besides Ron. And so did both barbers I went to downtown in the late ’90s and early ’00s and I think — not sure now — the barber I went to in the Andersonville neighborhood of Chicago in the late ’80s. A thing that makes me go hm.