With a heavy thud, she slapped her well-worn day planner on the counter and scheduled her haircut appointments for the next six months. A high-powered professional, she was typical of our clients — well dressed, well spoken, successful and willing to pay top dollar for a quality haircut. Doctors, lawyers, sales people, always in a hurry to return to the duties of their day — they came in droves, the beautiful people.

I was new on the job and both awe-struck and quite overwhelmed with the fast pace of this hair salon located in a refurbished Victorian house. It was the mid-eighties when most shops charged about $12.00 for a haircut. This one ranged from $25 to $40 and yet, it was bustling with business.

The owner was a man who had left his home in New York City at the age of 16 to work in his aunt’s hair salon. I watched as he trained new hair stylists in his techniques, patiently teaching them skills that would eventually earn them the prestige and income that working in his salon would bring. I juggled his schedule to accommodate his trips back to New York City twice a month to cut clients in a salon frequented by Cher and Liza Minnelli. I watched for his subtle mid-morning nod, signaling that it was time to change the music over from classical to something more lively. He was a very private man, an absolute contradiction to the flamboyant style many expect to see in hairdressers.

The salon was located directly across the street from a facility dedicated to helping adults with developmental disabilities. Prior to working in the shop, I had never been exposed to people with these types of disabilities, so when a young man came in to have his haircut, I was taken aback and somewhat frightened.

I scanned the appointment book for his name, and much to my surprise, found it in the owner’s column! With a warm smile, the owner came over to the young man, extended his hand and greeted him by name — exactly as he greeted every other customer. They chatted light-heartedly through the haircut and soon, the man appeared in front of me to pay and make his next appointment. My boss leaned over behind me and quietly said, “Two dollars.” Two dollars for a $40 haircut, I wondered.

I witnessed this scene repeatedly for several years until one day I had to ask, “Why do you charge him two dollars; why not just cut his hair for free?” His answer was filled with wisdom and compassion. “If I didn’t charge him, I would be robbing him of his dignity.” He quickly walked away without another word.

I think about that day every time I see someone in a wheel chair or walking with an unusual gait. I no longer look away in fear. I look in their eyes and smile at the person hidden within.