"I got the best haircut of my life," he deadpanned.
"Get serious, Dad. I really—"
"I am serious. I was down at Roy's one Saturday, and I started talking to James Murray. You know James . . . He's always there on Saturdays with Clyde and Jimmy."
"I know him well."
"Well, what you probably don't know is that before he became so successful selling real estate, he did stints as both a stockbroker and a life insurance agent. I told him I was in the market for some financial planning advice and asked him if he could recommend anyone. Even though he had been out of the field for about ten years, I figured he would still know someone competent.
"He smiled and said, 'The best financial planner in town is holding a razor to your throat.'"
"Roy? C'mon," I said, disbelieving.
"I'm not kidding and neither was James. Over the next several months, as he cut my hair, Roy taught me the basics of financial planning. And you'll be pleased to hear that right now my finances are in great shape, and they're looking better all the time."
"You're right. I am pleased to hear that. But how the heck does a barber become a financial planning expert?"
"The answer to that, and in fact Roy's background in general, is quite interesting. As you know, Roy and I were high school classmates. He was the all-American boy. You know what I mean . . . good-looking, athletic, bright, funny. Everybody liked Roy. He was our class valedictorian and was voted most likely to succeed.
"He had always talked about being a lawyer, so natu-rally he was U of M-bound as a first step—"
"There are other universities, Dad," I interrupted.