For nearly four years now, just about every day of the workweek, I’ve walked once or twice or more past the little white house that is Skidmore’s Barber Shop on south G Street. If it was in the afternoons, Mr. Skidmore himself usually would be in there trimming up some gentleman’s often already tight mane, getting that annoying tickle off the top of the ears, and they’d be laughing and talking. Sometimes he’d look up and see me walk by, and we’d do the simul-wave and smile.
Now, I’m sure there are Arcatans who’ve been walking past Skid’s shop for decades, and who actually knew him. And I know there is family that cherished him. I didn’t know Skid — but I sure liked him. And his signs, handwritten in tall black-felt letters on a white board he’d prop in the window: Closed For A Few Days, Out Sick. Gone On Wife’s Vacation. Gone Fishing, Back In Ten Days. I don’t remember them all, or even their exact wording, but they always made me smile, or sigh and worry, and — either way — look forward to when that rectangle of glass was free again and tall, good-cheer Skid was again standing at the barber’s chair snipping at some gent’s head.
But when he placed the Closed For A Long While sign in the window many months ago, and signed it, it felt like a bad sign. Like he wasn’t certain he’d be back. And he won’t be: The
Times-Standard
reports that Mr. Glen Ira Skidmore has just plain Gone Away.
Heavy, heavy sigh.
This article appears in Tale of Two Theaters.
I got many a haircut from him in high school. I too used to pass by his storefront twice a day and would often wave to him and others. About two weeks ago I took the South G freeway entrance, and as I passed Skidmore’s I thought "Wow, he’s still cuttin’ hair." I suppose the rest is history.
How sad. I did a story on barbershops a while back, and Skidmore charmed the pants off me. I only met him the once, but he made me want to hang out with him all day.
My Dad took me to Skidmore’s for my haircuts up until I was in high school. He used to let me sweep up the hair for an extra lollipop. I remember fondly the elaborate hunting and fishing stories that would come out of those who sat in his chairs. It was a great glimpse into the "Old Arcata" which you don’t see or hear much about these days.
Skid, thank you for the trims (except the flat top when I was 13).