chagrin, however, the bank was closed. An “Out to Lunch” sign hung on the curtained glass door.
The gang loitered about the bank while Jesse crossed the street to the barber shop. The gang had been riding hard for several weeks and Jesse had sprouted a heavy, itchy beard. When he entered the barber shop he found it was over-crowded with men from the town who were sitting around talking, playing checkers, or reading the newspaper. The barber shop was where the men gathered to swap stories or to catch up on the news.
Jesse promptly settled into the vacant chair. Zeek’s great-grand father lathered up the stranger and began to shave the beard away. Nearing the completion of the job the barber glanced at the wanted poster on the wall then at the clean-shaven face before him. Calmly, yet decisively, he placed the edge of the straight razor to Jesse’s neck, right over the jugular, and drew it tight. He then ordered Jesse to stand so that they could walk to the Sheriff’s office together. He continued to hold the razor to Jesse’s neck as they walked out the door and headed down the street.
Immediately the gang gathered around them and threatened to kill the barber if he did not release their leader. The barber merely replied that everyone had to die someday and that if it was his day that at least he would have company, as he pressed the razor harder into Jesse’s neck. The gang backed down.
The two men stepped into the street but the barber’s foot got tangled in Jesse’s spurs. He lost his balance, lunged forward and sprawled to the ground at the feet of his former prisoner.
With lightning speed the gang members all drew their guns, but Jesse ordered them to holster their weapons. He then reached down with his right hand and assisted the hapless barber to his feet. Turning to his gang Jesse stated that this barber had shown more grit than many a lawman that he had faced down. With that he and his gang mounted up and rode out of town, never again to return.
The legend of Zeek’s progenitor hero had been passed down through the family. Copies of old editions of the newspaper, preserved in the town library, were incomplete. Nevertheless, the partial story revealed in the tattered scraps seemed to give credence that something had happened that day, even though the details were impossible to reconstruct.
Zeek wasn’t sure that there was much truth in the family story. There was one thing for certain, though; Zeek’s barber shop was still just as much of a social gathering place for the men of Eminence as it had been in the days of his great-grandfather. Positioned on Main Street just a few doors down from the drug store, kitty-corner from the café and city center, just up the street from the feed store, and directly across the street from the only auto and tractor repair shop in town, the barbershop was ideally located as a natural gathering place for men to congregate.
Unlike barbershops in large cities where televisions blared non-stop sporting events with sport magazines littering empty seats, and where customers spoke almost exclusively of their favorite teams by bragging of their standings in national competitions; sports were rarely discussed at Zeek’s barbershop. Collegiate and commercialized sports had little in common with this backwoods rural community. Few of the citizens of Eminence had attended the universities or lived in the major metropolitan centers that supported such athletic teams. Even the names of most major teams were foreign to the men in Eminence.
The sports activities of their school children, however, were always a topic of discussion. During the previous season the high school baseball team took first place at the county seat playoffs. The proud fathers spent many days in the barbershop that season boasting about not only their son’s accomplishments but the team’s accomplishments as well.
Similarly, news of great national or international importance was seldom discussed at the
The gang loitered about the bank while Jesse crossed the street to the barber shop. The gang had been riding hard for several weeks and Jesse had sprouted a heavy, itchy beard. When he entered the barber shop he found it was over-crowded with men from the town who were sitting around talking, playing checkers, or reading the newspaper. The barber shop was where the men gathered to swap stories or to catch up on the news.
Jesse promptly settled into the vacant chair. Zeek’s great-grand father lathered up the stranger and began to shave the beard away. Nearing the completion of the job the barber glanced at the wanted poster on the wall then at the clean-shaven face before him. Calmly, yet decisively, he placed the edge of the straight razor to Jesse’s neck, right over the jugular, and drew it tight. He then ordered Jesse to stand so that they could walk to the Sheriff’s office together. He continued to hold the razor to Jesse’s neck as they walked out the door and headed down the street.
Immediately the gang gathered around them and threatened to kill the barber if he did not release their leader. The barber merely replied that everyone had to die someday and that if it was his day that at least he would have company, as he pressed the razor harder into Jesse’s neck. The gang backed down.
The two men stepped into the street but the barber’s foot got tangled in Jesse’s spurs. He lost his balance, lunged forward and sprawled to the ground at the feet of his former prisoner.
With lightning speed the gang members all drew their guns, but Jesse ordered them to holster their weapons. He then reached down with his right hand and assisted the hapless barber to his feet. Turning to his gang Jesse stated that this barber had shown more grit than many a lawman that he had faced down. With that he and his gang mounted up and rode out of town, never again to return.
The legend of Zeek’s progenitor hero had been passed down through the family. Copies of old editions of the newspaper, preserved in the town library, were incomplete. Nevertheless, the partial story revealed in the tattered scraps seemed to give credence that something had happened that day, even though the details were impossible to reconstruct.
Zeek wasn’t sure that there was much truth in the family story. There was one thing for certain, though; Zeek’s barber shop was still just as much of a social gathering place for the men of Eminence as it had been in the days of his great-grandfather. Positioned on Main Street just a few doors down from the drug store, kitty-corner from the café and city center, just up the street from the feed store, and directly across the street from the only auto and tractor repair shop in town, the barbershop was ideally located as a natural gathering place for men to congregate.
Unlike barbershops in large cities where televisions blared non-stop sporting events with sport magazines littering empty seats, and where customers spoke almost exclusively of their favorite teams by bragging of their standings in national competitions; sports were rarely discussed at Zeek’s barbershop. Collegiate and commercialized sports had little in common with this backwoods rural community. Few of the citizens of Eminence had attended the universities or lived in the major metropolitan centers that supported such athletic teams. Even the names of most major teams were foreign to the men in Eminence.
The sports activities of their school children, however, were always a topic of discussion. During the previous season the high school baseball team took first place at the county seat playoffs. The proud fathers spent many days in the barbershop that season boasting about not only their son’s accomplishments but the team’s accomplishments as well.
Similarly, news of great national or international importance was seldom discussed at the
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