Joanne Sherman’s Life From the Slow Lane, Oct. 21, 2025

As I’m writing, the government is shut down. Hopefully, when you read this it’ll be functioning again. Though I’m not sure how we’ll be able to tell. Oops, did I say that out loud? Just kidding.

Of course government shutdowns are never good, but we’ve been through similar events and many of us — unless we’re not being paid — have become a little “Ob-la-di, ob-la-da” about them. But during one particular shutdown, pandemonium ensued. At least on our island.

It was the fall of ‘95, right before Thanksgiving. On the first day of the shutdown Shelter Island was thrown into turmoil, but not over the shutdown. Our own version of “shock and awe” occurred at 2 Grand Avenue, aka Louie’s Barber Shop, on Nov. 14, 1995, and I had a front-row seat.

Back then I did my writing in an office next to Louie’s. Not just next to it, but attached. My space and the barber shop were like conjoined twins. I’m sure Louie paid no attention to what happened at my half of the conjoinment, but I never stopped watching what was going on over there. And during that government shutdown, that shock and awe was compounded by calamity, chaos and some downright shaggy-looking men.

My window faced the sidewalk to the shop and I’d stare out, mulling, because that’s what writers do when we don’t feel like writing. However, staring and mulling did help me conjure up a murder mystery and about four newspaper columns — five if we count this one. 

The shutdown started on a Tuesday, always busy at a barber shop that’s closed on Sunday and Monday. I sat at my desk, mulling, and watched an older gentleman walk toward the barber’s door. Nothing unusual — it happened at least a dozen times a day. 

But this guy stopped at my window. I assumed he was waiting for someone to exit the shop. But no one did. He just stood there as if frozen, arms dangling by his side, eyes wide, mouth hanging open, like, “Huh?”

It was as if he was pretending to be a statue. But why? Only little kids do that, not old men. Then it dawned on me, he wasn’t pretending to be a statue, this guy was having a stroke.

Fortunately, I’d read an article about what to do if someone had a stroke. It was the Reader’s Digest condensed version, further condensed because I never finished the article. But a little help is better than none, right?

Before I could get to the door another man showed up and as it turned out, medical intervention was not necessary because the first man spontaneously recovered and started talking and pointing at the front of the barber shop. Then they stood still and stared, both of them, frozen, but I wasn’t falling for that again. After several minutes they left. 

Of course I went outside to see what had caused that near stroke and collective consternation. There it was, hand-written, all caps: BARBER SHOP CLOSED!!! ON VACATION!!! SEE YOU IN THREE WEEKS!!! 

While the rest of the country dealt with the government shutdown, Shelter Island was rocked by its own crisis. Each day, progressively shaggier-looking men walked up that narrow sidewalk. They would stop and stare in disbelief. They just couldn’t get over it. 

Sometimes they’d open the screen and try the door knob. Still locked. One or two of them even rapped on the glass pane. Hard! The knock of desperate men whose wives told them at the end of October to “please!” get their hair cut. 

Some were accompanied by their wives. That first guy, the one who didn’t have a stroke? He showed up the next day with his wife and pointed to the sign. She had her hands on her hips and her mouth was drawn into such a tight, angry line, her lips disappeared. (Mulling writers notice those things!) 

When her lips reappeared, I could read them. She said, “Ya big dope! I told ya last week to get your haircut. But did you listen? Nooo.” 

That shutdown lasted four days, but here the pandemonium continued. For three weeks I watched as dozens of men stopped short at the door of the barber shop. Some came a couple times a day. A few cursed. Groups of them would gather in a row, like sullen crows on a fence. Unshorn and forlorn, they’d stare at that sign. They’d wander off only to reconvene the next day and the day after that.

Following that short shutdown, the government went into another, even longer shutdown. But by then, here it didn’t matter because the lights were on at 2 Grand Avenue. Louie was back and once again, all was right with the world … At least our world.