While I waited for older gentlemen to finish their trims, I would thumb through the stacks of books. His shop could have been a second town library, one dedicated exclusively to the history of World War II. I’ve always had this fascination with barber shops and it all began at Bill’s. “Only if they were trying to steal an extra blanket,” Dad replied. “Do you think he’s ever shot anybody?” I sheepishly asked my dad. Word around town was that Bill was a quartermaster in the Army, not that I had any idea what that meant as a kid. ![]() For a measly hundred-something dollars a robber would have to fight this well armed World War II veteran with a penchant for fade cuts and close quarter combat. ![]() Bill had a rocket launcher, a bazooka, a crate of hand grenades under the register and a side piece in case anyone tried to steal from behind the counter. The wall of Bill’s Barber Shop looked like that scene out of Men in Black where Tommy and Will go to the gun locker and peruse all the weapons. But long after the Lucky Charms leprechaun had joined the tooth fairy among my childhood eccentricities, that listless desire to find the end of rainbows remained. Just as the grass is greener, what I sought was always just around the corner. Lacking the critical hardware to evaluate this idea, I began to chase gold. Some unthinking adult told me as a young child that there’s a pot of gold at the end of rainbows.
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