When my boys were young, finding a place to get their hair cut wasn’t easy. I didn’t want to take them to a fancy salon, and there was no way I was going to cut their hair.

I still shudder remembering my dad sitting my brothers down on a stool, hair clippers buzzing, while he pretended to be a top-notch stylist.

He had one hand on their heads while the other dragged the clippers up and over their heads. He’d stop to take a sip of beer and totally ignored their wails.

Uneven doesn’t come close to describing those haircuts.

So styling my sons’ hair was never an option. Someone told me about the Richmond Barber Shop in the downtown area, so, when the boys were old enough, we stopped in.

The place was like stepping back in time. There were a couple of real barber chairs in the center of the room and a row of well-worn waiting chairs against the wall. The linoleum was faded and cracked, but there was a homey vibe that made us feel comfortable and welcome.

We took a seat and a man with a slight hump in his back greeted us. He was the owner and said it might be a little bit, but we were welcome to wait.

The boys were content – they were fascinated with all the pictures and seemed to enjoy listening to the men talk. The boys left there with quality haircuts, courtesy of the owner, Mr. A.D. Eversole.

Sadly, “Mr. A.D.” passed away after over 60 years of being in business in the same location, the past 20 with his grandson continuing the legacy.

The men who came for a quick cut hailed from all walks of life – former Houston Oilers coach Bum Phillips stuck his head in one day and told A.D. he’d be back.

Judges, politicians, businessmen, working guys – all came to the barber shop to hear the local gossip and get an old-fashioned haircut. Once I took my son to the bathroom in the back, and I had to chuckle.

There, set up in the corner, was a perpetual poker game, complete with mannequins and cards on the table.

When A.D. was a young teen, he contracted polio, and his life changed forever. When I wrote a feature about a polio survivors support group, I asked A.D. for his story, and he graciously shared that with me.

He was getting off the school bus, and remembers falling down. He was out for the next couple of days with a high fever.

When he woke up, he was partially paralyzed on one side. As a polio survivor, the symptoms of polio come back later in life, and there’s no way to compensate for the nerve damage polio caused.

A.D. cut back on his hours, but never lost that gentle smile. He was forthright in his business, steady in his demeanor and loyal as a friend. He was an outstanding listener and always remembered what his customers wanted. For my son, it was a buzz, and that chair was the only place my kid sat still.

Years later, I asked him why and he said Mr. A.D. told him he would cut his ear off if he didn’t sit still. He believed the barber, but he also loved him because A.D. liked him, and our son knew it.

A.D., I can’t thank you enough for enriching our family’s life. You will always be remembered with fondness whenever I see a red and blue barber’s pole or a beautiful hand-made bird house.

Those of us who visited the best clip joint in town were fortunate to have known you.

This column was originally published in The Fort Bend Herald.