Dave Hemmingson is back where he started.
Shortly after completing barber school in 1968, Hemmingson did an apprenticeship at a little barbershop on Morningside Avenue. Twenty years later, after barbering in other shops and working other jobs, Hemmingson bought Cecelia Park Barbershop at 906 Morningside Ave.
Today he feels right at home in the little shop. Old boot spurs, a portrait of John Wayne and numerous pictures of military jets adorn the walls. A row of old wooden theater seats and a red-and-white-striped park bench give waiting customers a place to sit. There's even two barber poles in the window.
Suckers are rewarded to youngsters who sit nicely during a haircut. The coffee pot is strictly "help yourself." Smoking is allowed. Haircuts are $11, just up from $2.25 30 years ago. A shampoo is $3. And Hemmingson still does the occasional shave with a straightedge razor.
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"There aren't too many barbers that try to keep an old-time shop like this," Hemmingson said. "My idea of a barber shop is people come in and feel at home."
For as long as anyone can remember, a barbershop has been in that same spot in Cecelia Park. Hemmingson has a photograph hanging on the wall of an old barbershop with green-and-white tile on the floor and barbers wearing bow ties. It's not the Cecelia Park barbershop, but Hemmingson's shop does have green-and-white floor tile.
"That's the way I picture an old-time barbershop," Hemmingson said, "but I wouldn't wear the bow tie."
He keeps it much more casual in blue jeans, a western-style shirt and tennis shoes.
Hemmingson, 60, works Wednesdays, Thursdays and Saturdays. On a recent early Wednesday afternoon, business slowed for Hemmingson and his two co-workers, daughter Barb Arens and friend Reta Thiele. The shop doesn't take appointments -- only walk-ins -- in true barber shop-style fashion.
Hemmingson sits in his barber chair smoking a cigarette and talking to a man waiting for Thiele to finish cutting his wife's hair.
"I knew a little about cutting hair and kind of liked it," Hemmingson said, recalling why he got into barbering. "I used to enjoy going to the barber shop when I was younger. They had comic books there and I'd sit and read them."
He moved to Sioux City in 1965 and worked at Cargill before entering the former Sioux City Barber College. He apprenticed and worked at the Cecelia Park Barbershop until business slowed in the 1970s. "A lot of long-haired hippy kids who didn't get their hair cut," contributed to the slow-down, Hemmingson said.
He drove a truck for about five years, then worked as an instructor at the barber college for about five years. While at the college, he taught his daughter.
Arens' reason for entering barber school was pretty much the same as her father's: "We used to live over on Stone Avenue and I used to come up to this very shop, get a soda, read the comic books. I used to sit in the shoe shine chair that sat right over there," Arens said, pointing to a corner by the storefront window.
"She used to cut all the hair off her dolls," Hemmingson said. They chuckle.
"I didn't have anybody cutting my hair for a long time except Dad," Arens said.
"Yeah, you should have seen what she looked like then," Hemmingson said.
"That flat top didn't look good on her," Thiele responded as the barbershop fills with laughter.
Arens once styled Linda Hamilton's hair while the actress was in the Sioux City area filming "Children of the Corn" in 1984. Hemmingson hasn't had any brushes with fame, other than a former Sioux City television and radio personality who has been a regular customer for several years.
Hemmingson worked at a barbershop in Sergeant Bluff in the 1980s before buying Cecelia Park Barbershop about 15 years ago.
Around 3:30 p.m., the shop picks up with business. Hemmingson, Arens and Thiele each have a customer in their chairs with red-and-white checkered aprons tied around their necks.
"Well, whadya' know?" Hemmingson asks the customer.
"Not much," the customer responds as Hemmingson sprays the man's hair with a water bottle and begins to methodically cut it. Schnip, schnip, schnip. The hair falls to the floor around the barber chair. Hemmingson combs, then cuts, then combs again.
The conversation topic is ice fishing, the atmosphere relaxed. A rerun of "Roseanne" is on the television in the corner. Two men wait to get hair cuts. Hemmingson called them each by name when they came in the door.
Another man walks in, stomping the snow off his boots and hanging his coat on the rack by the door.
"Hi Jim," Dave says from where he's still cutting someone's hair.
"Hi Dave," Jim responds.
"How you doing?"
"Fine, and you?"
"Fair," Dave replies, then teasing him. "Just sit down and behave now."
Hemmingson gets back to talking about his philosophy as a barber.
"I don't get much into the styling of it -- I just cut hair," he said. "I just want to keep this more like it was -- more of an old-time barbershop. Lots of guys come in here and say they've been coming in here since they were a little kid."
Hemmingson still does a lot of flat tops and military cuts.
"Recruiters send guys to us because we know how to do the military cuts high and tight," he said.
But the barbers at Cecelia Park Barbers don't do perms.
"We can all do perms, but choose not to," Hemmingson explains. "Most guys come in -- if they smell that perm smell, they'll turn right around and walk back out."
Regulars come in regularly at the barbershop, whether they need a hair cut or not.
"We had a guy who came in yesterday -- said he came in and got a haircut because he didn't want to sit at home and look at his wife," Hemmingson said. The waiting customers get a laugh out of that. "We give them all equal time."
Hemmingson likens his job as a barber to that of a bartender. People open up to him when they sit in his barber chair.
"Most people who come in here, they're your friends," he said. "We get a lot of war stories in here. People come in and say, 'Take a little off the back,' and then they just start talking. They tell you things and you keep it to yourself."
Dave finishes the customer with a little shave around the ears and once-over with the comb. A few more snips here and there and it's done.
"Well, whadya' think? That'll do ya?" he asks as he gives the customer a hand-held mirror.
"Yup, that's fine," the customer says. He stands up, pulls some bills out of his billfold and hands them to Hemmingson. There's no cash register in this place.
"Thank you much," Hemmingson said. "Come back again."
He tidies up his chair and motions the next customer over.
