At Jimmy's Barber Shop we sat on the front steps while our fathers got their hair cut and our mothers got their perms, and we licked sweet sticky ice cream from cones, trying to get it all before any could drop onto our summer-tanned arms. Through the open windows we could hear the women gossiping and the radio broadcasting the governor's latest speech. "That man is a fop!" someone would cry. "Why the heck is he runnin' our state?" And no one ever pointed out the irony of a man in a barber shop criticizing another for caring too much about appearances.
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