Aparita

The Toronto Star, [09/16/2002]

Neighbourhood barber shop keeps the conversation coming

The large sign atop the shop reads Castries Salon. A hand-written poster in the window notes a barber is wanted. At about 9:30 every morning, Mike MC opens the front door with a quick jangle of keys.

Last Wednesday, he was running about an hour late. Five customers had already stopped, taken a turn at tugging at the closed door and walked on, one muttering, “Too much money, y’know.”
Like many barbershops in Toronto, this branch of Castries, at 1565 Eglinton Ave. W., is a hangout for the black community. Besides getting a nifty haircut, it’s a place to let off some steam as you wait your turn. It’s where you hear the latest gossip and join in the loudest arguments on anything from cars to religion to current affairs.

This idea is also the subject of Barbershop, which opened at theatres on Friday and topped the North American box office over the weekend, bringing in $21 million U.S. Featuring rapper-turned-actor Ice Cube, rapper Eve, comedians Anthony Anderson and Cedric the Entertainer, and Sean Patrick Thomas, the movie shows a day in the life of a barbershop in south side Chicago.

Calvin (Ice Cube) inherits the shop from his father but sees it as a burden. The neighbourhood, however, sees it as a gathering place. It’s where old timers like Eddie (Cedric the Entertainer) deliver their wisdom to the younger generation. Or where college graduates like Jimmy (Thomas) spar with white-wannabe-blacks like Isaac (Tony Garity).

Minutes after Mike MC opens the shop, customers and locals file in. Fluorescent lights cast a glow on walls of posters picturing the Caribbean. A bulletin board lists the prices of cuts: “Boys $12, Mens $13, Shave $6 extra, Ladies $13.” A cozy hum fills the shop. As Mike MC cleans his chair, table and the tools of his trade, the men catch up on the weather. Dyer walks in and starts setting up his table and cleaning his clippers.

“That’s a nice breeze right there,” says 54-year-old Mike MC.

Reg Brothers, one of the customers who had passed by earlier in the morning, takes a seat, while Mike MC dons one of the white cotton coats. A section of the black and gray chequered linoleum floor soon gets peppered with curls of hair dropping off Mike MC’s clippers. A man selling knives stops by, with little success.

His table ready and white coat on, Dyer reads a book on the Bible as he waits for a customer. As the morning goes by, the 11 other barbers start coming in. It’s a weekday and the shop isn’t busy. But on weekends, all 12 chairs fill and empty in quick succession.

Dyer learned the trade watching his brother cut hair in Jamaica and has been barbering for the last 15 years. He’s even met people from “back home” who have come in for a haircut.

“You can say it’s a family business,” says the 39-year-old Dyer. “I like it because I get to meet different people from different races, different workplaces. Every day I learn something new. It’s like going to school.”

Meeting people is also why Mike MC loves the trade. He learned it at Jones Barbers in Kingston, Jamaica, before he came to Canada in 1985.

“It was a hobby,” he says, his voice floating over the quick snip-snip of his scissors.

“After college, I apprenticed at Jones’. After two years, I was a full-time barber. I like this job because I can do it. And I have people coming to me for 10, 12 years. I’ve seen young men grow up, get married and bring their children to me.”

Brothers is one. Although he lives in Malton, he’s been making the trip to get his hair cut by Mike MC for the last 10 years.

“They are very professional. My hair is very soft and Mike styles it as he cuts it. I like it styled,” says 64-year-old Brothers. “There are no black barbers in Malton and I like to patronize the community. And it’s never dull here.”

Right on cue, Mike MC lights into a street vendor selling CDs and videos. The man tried to play a CD on the shop’s player without asking, a cardinal rule in this shop. Mike MC gives him a quick course on discipline and its importance that ends on a clear note: “No man with no discipline” gets in here.

No one is reluctant to join in. “Respect is due every time,” “He’s just too big with his pride, that’s where sin come in.” “Discipline is discipline, that’s what the barber say.” The vendor leaves, followed by a barrage of comments but returns frequently to dip back into the fray.

The door opens and a local sets off an hour-long debate with one sentence:

“I say Bin Laden’s a prophet.”

“Why you talking shit?” says Dyer, his clippers paused mid air. “What did he prophesy?”

“That he’ll rule the world,” comes the answer and everyone gets involved.

“Then why he hiding? He’s a coward,” retorts Dyer, resuming his work.

The discussion soon veers on to a comparison of former Ethiopian ruler Haile Selassie and Jesus Christ, punctuated by “Oh my God” and “Now you listen to me.”

Dyer’s customer, wrapped in a purple cloth and his hair half cut, and another local who just walked in join the fray. As the instigator whips out a Bible to prove his point, Dyer halts the haircut to take out his own from the table drawer.

Both stand reading psalms and interpreting their meaning.

The haircut finishes almost an hour after it started. The barbershop quiets down for about half an hour. A few more customers walk in and sit down for a cut. Some discuss cars and restaurants, others revert to the subject of 9/11.

A man, carrying a battered box full of knickknacks such as a cellphones and toys, walks in. He takes his wares to the barbers and the customers.

“What you selling?” the CD vendor asks, giving it a quick once over. “Why you selling them goods here?”

And the Castries Salon Debating Society is in high gear again.