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 Pity
the economic prognosticators, the news analysts, sports writers, and the
World of Tomorrow radio prophets — who live in the city. They are too
far removed from a small town barber shop to know the score.
Take,
for example, the announcement that old man is going to have a garage
sale. Will there be any bargains there? “I’ve knowd that family fer
three generations, and they ain’t never yet give nothin’ away.”
The matter is settled, and no one had to leave his chair to spit.
Will
the powers in Washington work hard to combat our problems? “If I’as
a bettin’ man I’d bet ever last one of ‘em rode a cotton sack ‘til
he’as old enough to git into politics.” All nod gravely. You can’t
expect a leopard to change his spots.
Time
out for less serious matters, like sports. Th’ other day an eagle
grabbed one of Baker’s fightin’ cocks and tried to fly off with it.
That cock put up such a battle the eagle had to land on a flat rock
across the creek, where they fought it out. Well sir, the cock whipped
that eagle to a stand-still, and then made him bring him back across
that creek. Hmmmm.
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By
listening carefully I learned that money is going to get tighter to
squeeze out the little man who has to operate on credit— that’s
big business for you; or, it’s going to get looser but prices will
keep rising to cancel out the advantages. Interest will get higher
for them that has to borrow, but not high enough for them that has
to live on retirement funds. (Don’t blame me, I just tell it like
I hear it— and I listen real good.)
The
country is going to fall — we just can’t go on like this—
although we never had it so good as now, or at least up to this “energy
crisis.” (At this we look at one-another and grin, nodding toward
who is a local oil company consignee. We don’t really blame him
for the gasoline rationing, but it makes a good local joke.)
Inflation will wipe us all out.
And
you know, I think my barber shop friends are right — well, maybe
not on everything, but—. Don’t the Bible say a man’s a fool to
build bigger barns — I’ve read it somewhere. What is more
certain than death, and the end of all things material? Why do we
talk less about, and do less about, the only permanent thing we
possess— i.e., our immortal soul??
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