From the vantage of his tiny barbershop on West Main Street, Jimmy Johnson has witnessed the lives of many. He has provided toddlers with their first haircuts who would continue to pay for Johnson’s services throughout their lives.

He looks a bit like Alec Guinness from “Star Wars Episode IV: A New Hope.” His mild and quiet composure signals one of great wisdom and knowledge, but his behavior is reserved.

Customers arrive at all hours of the day. From 8 a.m. to 6 p.m., even at the age of 68, Johnson is busy. There is no phone number to call to set up an appointment. He doesn’t accept debit cards, only checks and cash, which he keeps in a 1935 cash register near his two black barber chairs. A sign reads next to the entrance: Haircut – $12…. Beard Trim – $6…. Massage – $4. Johnson said when he first opened in 1965, a haircut cost only a dollar.

Those customers speak on nearly every subject, Johnson tells. They tell of accomplishments and failures; love and life, weather and politics.

There are two subjects of conversations with customers Johnson was taught in school to always avoid however:

Religion and politics – although Johnson admits there wouldn’t be too many disagreements if discussion ever did ensue. Johnson knows his customers because he is one of them. Littered along the table are magazines like Guns and Ammunition and People, perhaps the occasional newspaper.

Yet there are still stories Johnson did not want published. In many ways, his reservations provide a contrast to his sometimes talkative customers. While they discuss the price of beef is directly related to the increase of import demand from Japan or how a handful of cows can pay

off a plot of land, he appears to concentrate on the task at hand – learning the shape of a skull and where the hair needs cultivation.

How many heads have been cut by scissors guided by Johnson’s hand?

“I would need a really big calculator to know that,” he said.

He listens and remembers their stories, their names, what they want and where the fish are biting. He remembers when long-haired hippies meant fewer haircuts. He also remembers the days of crew cuts, mullets, flat tops, bowl cuts and when people wanted little streaks cut on the side.

Johnson doesn’t give too much advice – he’s afraid he’ll steer them in the wrong direction. He does listen to his customers though and said some might call it therapeutic.

Local resident Matthew Bradshaw confirms Johnson’s top-notch character. At 34 years old, Bradshaw also received his very first haircut from Johnson. Twice a month with regularity, this custom has continued, except once when Bradshaw went to a different barber.

He says he won’t ever make that mistake again.

Bradshaw has his own children now, including a son who just got his first haircut about a year back. He considers Johnson a friend, someone who cut his daddy’s hair and now his son’s.

“They don’t make ‘em any more like Mr. Jimmy,” said Bradshaw last Friday.

This is a common tradition in the small community surrounded by agriculture. Five-year-old Caedyn Fiveash knows where the haircuts come from – Mr. Jimmy. He also knows what happens after each cut – a piece of bubblegum for him and his younger sister.

Jimmy Johnson had no dreams of becoming a national racecar driver or pro-football coach, but he did have dreams to play country-western music. Many people confirm his excellent picking abilities – from Hahira Mayor Wayne Bullard to his neighbor who runs a grocery store to the grandmother of little Caedyn Fiveash.

Johnson said it never happened because of a lack of showmanship. He doesn’t pick anymore because of carpal tunnel syndrome in his claw hand – the one used for picking the strings. Still, he lives without regrets, he says.

Back in 1965 when he first opened the “City Barber Shop” in Hahira, there were three other barber shops. He explains that the owners moved on to other things, but he remains. He grew up on a farm in Hahira and watched as his dad and two uncles cut hair. His wife is a beautician.

Although his dreams of picking a guitar existed, he enjoyed cutting hair and kept doing it. Cutting hair paid the bills and back in the heyday, customers would be lined up and wrapped around his tiny wooden shop waiting for their turn. Things have slowed down, both in business and in Johnson’s desire to work long hours like in the past.

He plans on retirement soon and hopes to pass the business to his nephew, whom by Johnson’s account is top in his class.

Bradshaw says that’s not a problem as long as Johnson trains him a bit first.

Johnson hopes to do a bit of traveling with his wife, Jackie, after retirement, maybe up to Nashville, Tenn. He hasn’t done much traveling so far – he said he went as far as Cecil once, but also went to the Grand Ole Opry when he was younger.

He has two daughters both of whom are married to servicemen. He was able to avoid military service as a youth because of high-blood pressure and asthma. His son works for the sheriff’s department.

Over the years Johnson said he has learned that there are many different types of people and some of those people tell stories they know aren’t true. Johnson still lets them do most of the talking.

As he looks to retirement on the horizon, there is some sadness in his voice but perhaps future generations will also get a visit by the famous Jimmy Johnson.

 

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