Longtime Dixon barber clippin' it old school

DIXON – It might be considered a counterproductive business model: He doesn’t advertise, doesn’t really want any new clientele, and never has taken appointments. The only way to get in touch with him, in fact, is to stop in: There is no telephone at Ken's Barber Shop.

Still, at 72, Ken Masters has gotten along just fine, thanks, for the better part of 5 decades.

He graduated high school, enrolled in barber college, then moved into a shop at 208 W. First St. downtown. A full half-century later, he's still there.

Back in the day, he charged around $2.25 for a haircut, offered straight razor shaves and paid a 30 percent commission on all of his services to the previous shop owner until it became his, all his, on April 1, 1972.

A handful of things have changed – Ken's haircuts now are $10, and straight razor shaves are passé – but much has stayed the same.

One noticeable change that has come at the tail end of Ken’s 50 years are his hours. Even a few years ago, a typical work week ago was somewhere in the neighborhood of 40-plus hours, Tuesday through Saturday. And he worked for 38 years without taking a single day off.

He's making up for it now, though, cutting back on cutting hair to spend much of those hours on the golf course, bowling, or gambling at the casino.

On this particular day, he had a full house; half the people who showed up were clients. The other half just wanted to socialize.

If you’ve ever wondered what goes on in a truly old-school barber shop, keep reading.

Longtime client Roddy Lowry walks in, and Ken makes a Santa Claus reference. “You come in for the BS?” Ken asks.

“Nope, just gotta look pretty for the weekend,” Roddy says.

They talk about golf. A lot. They talk about what pains in the rear women can be. They discuss current events. They talk about golf some more.

Then Ken turns on his Wahl Clipper vacuum clippers, and you can barely hear him over the roar.

He has two extra motors for the rare vintage machine – once he goes through the both of them, then he’ll retire, he said.

He doesn’t seem too excited about the prospect. His current schedule allows him to play a lot and work a little, so there really doesn’t seem to be any reason for him to leave it all behind.

Ken and Roddy talk some more. About the weather. The kind of soil surrounding their homes. Water in the basement. How much rain we’ll get this summer.

There's a short lull in the conversation, and Ken turns off the vacuum and reaches for a different pair of clippers. These just hum.

More talk about the weather, and corn. There’s just enough time for an off-color joke before Roddy rises from the old Paidar barber chair, no longer looking like Santa.

He pays for his haircut and turns to leave, just as John W. Jacobs, 87, a client for all 50 years, walks in, trailed by his son, also John, and his daughter-in-law, Sherrie.

The elder Jacobs takes a seat in the old barber chair, his son in one of the five chairs lined up against the wall in the waiting area. Sherrie stands and chats with another couple who’ve stopped by to harass Ken.

As the tiny shop fills up, it gets difficult to hear any single conversation. Ken spouts off about “old farts” and the way women drive; everyone, including the women, laughs.

The couple stick around a few minutes more and catch up, Ken harasses them some more, they sass him back and turn to head out. Ken looks up from clipping John W.’s hair, waves goodbye and says “Glad you got to see me!”

As that other couple walks out, another friend stops in to stay hi. If you're counting, that's one client in the chair and three people on the sidelines for Ken to entertain. As much as he says he could live without it, you can tell he’s enjoying himself.

There's an old sign in the shop, one of those you see at concession stands, with the felt and grooves and the little plastic letters. “Haircuts 10 00, Kids Under 12 10 00, Wed Senior Day 10 00, and All Saturday Cuts 976605.”

He hasn’t raised his prices since Nov. 1, 1999. And it's pretty amazing that over the course of 50 years, his prices have increased only by $7.75.

He's flown solo all this time. Has he ever thought of having another barber work beside him?

“No one could ever work with me, because I’m such an ass.”

Hmmm. Maybe, maybe not.

Ken’s the kind of guy who will stop a haircut to tell you all about his late dog, Bruiser, a pug that kept him company at the shop – for 14 years, 7 months and 19 days.

The kind of guy who probably does good deeds, but anonymously.

The kind of guy whose bark is worse than his bite (just don’t let him know you’ve figured that out).

OK, and also the kind of guy who keeps a girlie mag or two in his cabinet. A man's man.

A good ol' boy who's managed to run his life on his own terms, in a time capsule of a shop where men and their fathers, men and their sons, can escape the PC world and talk about the important things in life: golf, the weather, women, and golf.