End of an era: Going for one last haircut before Cork's Baldy Barber closes his door
Michael Moynihan having his hair cut by Mick Moriarty — known to all as The Baldy Barber — who is closing his shop in Blackpool for the last time on November 8. Picture: Dan Linehan
Readers surely noted this week that Michael Moriarty, the Baldy Barber (his own term), announced he was closing his barber shop in Blackpool on Cork City’s northside.
He has worked there for 59 years, but the family tradition in the trade goes back even further. His father, Peter, opened a barber shop on Merchant’s Quay in the centre of Cork in 1937 before moving to Blackpool, and Michael took over the running of that operation in 1971.
Those are the facts, but of course, there is more to this story than the facts. Take the board. The board is a slat of wood about two feet across with some padding on one side, but its importance to generations of Michael's customers can’t be overstated.
For small boys, the board was laid across the arms of the barber’s chair for them to sit on, because of their size — their heads wouldn’t come up over the back of the chair. A little boost was needed.
Hence the significance of the magic day when you were down in Moriarty’s, listening to the men talk about the hurling or the drag-hunting — in fairness, Mr Hayes from Mount Farran was a Dolphin man but never pressed the rugby talk on anyone — and then your turn came, and your father would say to Michael: "You’d better take a good bit off for the summer."
And Michael would look down, poker-faced, and say: "He’s after stretching a good bit in fairness. I don’t think we’ll need the board today."
When you sat into the chair after hearing that, you looked over at the board, leaning against the wall, with a little contempt.
I dropped in to see Michael Moriarty this week before he closes for good, and was a little nervous about raising the matter of the board, but he put my mind at rest immediately.
"It’s the same one. We put the padding on it a few years back, but that’s the board every boy sat on before they were big enough for the chair."
He sketched out a quick history of the Cork haircut — the old days of the short back and sides, the explosion of long hair in the 70s, and the growth (sorry) in beards over recent years.
He’s happy enough to be going. Business is not what it was, given the proliferation of barbers around the city — too many for the population, he feels — and there are other challenges.
From the window of the shop on Great William O’Brien St, those challenges are visible if you know where to look.
"Parking here is decimated, for instance. There are a lot of flats and shared houses, which means two or three families per house, and that means two or three cars per house.
"There were five pubs on this street one time. All gone. The credit union, gone. The banks have gone. Some of the businesses are gone up to the Pole Field [that was, the shopping centre].
"The people we dealt with here over the years, though...there was a time I’d be cutting hair and my mother would say there was a cup of tea there or my lunch. I’d go upstairs, and when I came back down, the floor would be brushed up by one of the customers. No security needed."

The new Ireland knocked on the door of the barber shop in time. He had Polish and Slovakian girls cutting hair in the shop, and the proof of the pudding came when regular customers were waiting for them rather than going to Michael and his right-hand man, Donnacha.
He’s leaving on his own terms, but there’s a legacy. Two of the hydraulic chairs in the shop are being shipped up to his pal Joe Hourigan, who has the One Step Ahead barber shop in Galway. The original chairs from the Merchant’s Quay shop are going to his family.
Of course, I had one more reason to land in Moriarty’s this week which had nothing to do with the closure and the various factors which led to the closure. I asked if he'd give me a trim.
"Of course. Aren’t I cutting the Moynihans’ hair for 60 years?"
I sat down and with the smell of the hair oil and the feel of the chair and the light coming in through the window to my right — it was like being 10 years old again, listening to my father talk to the other customers about the county final.
Michael attached the paper collar and swept the apron over me.
"Now, what’ll I do for you?"





