A Tribute to V.L. Wright

By Don Harold Lawrence

When I was a boy growing up in Milan, Tennessee, during the 1950’s, I never imagined how much I would some day appreciate V.L. Wright whose occupation was shinning shoes in one of the local barbershops.

When I went to the barbershop, I always begged Dad for an extra quarter so that, in addition to a haircut, I could get a shoeshine.  I still recall how my heart would beat a little faster when Mr. Wright was finished with the customer ahead of me, and, then, he would turn toward me, smile, and say, “Next.”  I remember how he always spoke in a quiet voice, and he always seemed to be happy and at peace.

He would always take my hand and assist me as I climbed up into that big chair.  Then he would carefully position my feet on the footrests.  (I’ve often wondered whatever happened to that old chair.)

It was a ritual, and you knew that you were watching a specialist and craftsman at work.  First, he tied your shoestrings tightly, then mopped on the saddle soap with a soft brush, and you could feel the coolness of the soap soaking into the leather of your shoes.  He would then take a soft rag and wipe away the saddle soap which cleaned and renewed the leather. 

Next, he carefully applied the polish—always with his fingers, not a rag—slowly and deliberately working it into the leather.  After a few moments he would lightly touch the toes of your shoes with the tips of his fingers to satisfy himself that the polish was dry, after which he would brush the dull polish into a bright shine.  Then he would take a shine-rag that he would grip by each end in his hands, and firmly pull the rag back and forth across the shoes—first the toes, then the heels—creating a marvelous shine.  I can still hear him snapping and popping that old shine-rag! 

He applied dark dye to the edge of the soles with a toothbrush.  This gave shoes a distinct appearance of having been polished and shinned by a professional.

His final gesture was to reach out, take your hand, and help you step down off the base of the chair onto the floor.

Most of the time I would go to the barbershop on Saturdays so that my hair would be cut and my shoes shined for church services the next day.  Saturdays found the barbershop filled with customers, conversation, and a heavy cloud of cigarette smoke.  Seasoned barbers would be clipping, snipping, and cutting hair and shaving beards. 

Several years ago I telephoned Mr. Wright and asked him to name some of the barbers with whom he had worked across the years in Milan, and he mentioned the following names: V.C. Vester, Frank Rogers, “Moon” Mullins, Raymond West, DeWayne Barger, John T. Seavers, Lonnie Seavers, Steve Douglass, Eva Parish, Lloyd Parish, John Taylor, James Spain, “Slim” Fanning, Alvin Reeves, “Doc” Duke, and a Mr. Massengill.  (If anyone can add other names to this list, please get in touch with me.)

The fragrance of tonics and shaving lather blended with the smell of tobacco, and, occasionally, the various conversations would be interrupted by the sound of a steam locomotive on the railroad tracks across the street from the barbershop.  Passers-by on the sidewalk would often glance through the large windows to see what was going on inside the shop.  Yet, in the midst of the crowd, commotion, and conversation, Mr. Wright—“V” as he was called by my father and others—worked quietly and steadily at his trade, never appearing to be rushed or upset.  He had such a calm manner.

As I reflect on Mr. Wright’s life, I now realize that he is another one of those special persons who played an important role in the lives of many persons in the Milan community.  There is no way to estimate the number of shoes he shined across the years.  And, one of his important and continuous contributions was that of improving the appearance of his many customers who could walk with pride—in shoes he had shined—into any gathering of persons.

I know for a fact that he shined shoes for some of the most important events in peoples’ lives, for, on the day that I was to be married to Emily Ann McKinney at McLemoresville, Tennessee (October 21, 1966), I sought him out for a shoeshine.  He gave me a special shine that day, and he refused to charge me.   He smiled, patted me on the shoulder, and gave me a parting blessing for that special moment in my life.  It was the last time I ever saw him.  And, I wonder just how many other times he shined shoes for countless persons who would wear those shoes while participating in some of the most significant experiences and events of their lives.

V.L. Wright is one of those special persons through whom sacred, priceless, important, and timeless truths and experiences flowed into my life.  In that respect, he performed a sacrament in my life.

    This is my tribute of love and appreciation for V.L. Wright.  He plays an important role in my memories of Milan.  With the passing of each year, as I reflect on my boyhood days, I realize more and more just how fortunate I was to have known such a wonderful person.  Ever so often I find myself wishing I could go back, visit him, look into his kind and loving eyes, listen to his gentle voice, and sit in that old chair for just one more time.  (DHL)