Photograph courtesy Sarah McCosham
Last Saturday, Tony McCosham woke me up at 4 a.m. He had been thrashing about in bed for a solid half hour, his sweaty arms elbowing me awake and iPhone light keeping me awake until I kindly suggested he retreat to the downstairs couch.
A couple hours later, I came downstairs, achy and unkempt, looking far from fresh or well rested. He asked what he could do, at this point in the morning, to atone and I asked him if he’d pick me up a coffee from my favorite local coffee shop.
The thing about being solidly 40 (almost 41) with four kids and about to celebrate 18 years of partnership with the same person, is that I am chronically tired, to the point where a) missing out on a couple hours’ of sleep is irrelevant and b) I am too tired to be upset about silly things like getting jostled awake by a restless Tony McCosham. There is a version of me who, not so long ago, would have held a grudge, invoked the silent treatment, and played a sad violin, but one of the beautiful things about getting older and, I think, wiser, is that I’ve learned to just let things go.
Take a breath, move on.
One of the other things I’ve learned, at almost 41, is that, if you ask for something nicely, you’ll often get what you want. I tell my kids all the time that if they ask, the worst anyone can say is no. More often, a kind request will get a yes. (See: our bearded dragon.)
I mean this spiritually, too. Earlier this spring, after a weekend of searching for Rumors on vinyl left me empty handed, I sent out a message to the universe, kindly asking her to guide and provide, if she could.
I also wrote about the whole ordeal—because as a writer I firmly believe that the joy is in the story, as meandering and wild as it may be—and soon found myself surrounded by people who reached out to say they loved the article, connected to my experience, and wanted to help.
My former music history professor at Xavier messaged me on Facebook, saying he’d read the article and had a massive archive of vinyl with, he was confident, the 1977 edition of Rumors. If he could find it, would I be interested? Of course! Unfortunately, Professor Keene could not locate his copy, but honestly, I wasn’t even disappointed, just deeply touched he’d thought to reach out.
Cincinnati Magazine’s Editor-in-Chief sent me a note after the article was published to share that Fleetwood Mac was his second-ever concert and thought he owned an original vinyl album, somewhere. “Really fun story, well done!” he said.
My lovely friend Marisa, who lives in Florida, texted me one afternoon from a vintage store. “What’s the year you’re looking for?” she asked, sending a photo of a mint copy of 1977 Rumors. “Should I grab it?”
Unfortunately, I was not near my phone for either text; when I responded with an all caps “YOU FOUND IT” she had left the store, Rumorsless. She offered to return or see if the store offered shipping, but I said it was all good. “Don’t get it—this gives me hope,” I texted her back.
This brings me to last Saturday, when I sat in my office enjoying my coffee while Tony McCosham took Julian to the barbershop. We go to The Barbers of Montgomery, an old-fashioned barbershop in the same shopping complex as our optometrist and grocery store. Inside is a room full of barber chairs and a fleet of well-trained barbers; there’s always lots of conversations happening in a way that feels refreshingly old-fashioned and warm.
Photograph courtesy Sarah McCosham
The decor is also unabashedly retro; the walls are filled with fun signage and music memorabilia, including lots of framed vinyl.
The Beatles, Bruce Springsteen, Blondie, Billy Idol…
…and Fleetwood Mac.
Specifically Fleetwood Mac’s 1977 Rumors.
The two returned from the barbershop an hour later. Julian looked handsome as heck (Andy Balzhiser always does a fantastic job) and Tony McCosham, who is always handsome, walked in and placed Rumors on my desk. “To make up for earlier,” he said.
My jaw actually dropped as I tried to make the connection in my head.
Tony McCosham explained that he spotted the album on the wall during Julian’s haircut and asked to take a closer look. Upon confirmation that he was indeed holding a 1977 copy of Rumors—in pristine condition with original inserts and liner notes—he pulled up my article, explained my search, and asked if he could purchase the album, adding that he was feeling bad about waking me up so early that morning.
The owner (Robbie Collins) said yes. Of course he did. Because Tony McCosham asked nicely! Robbie went into the back and came out with an original Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band to go in the now-empty frame.
And now I am listening to the best album on the planet, in all its original glory and intention.
Now, I’m not saying that The Barbers of Montgomery are in the record business, but I do highly recommend this local shop for any and all barbering needs. Thank you, Robbie Collins, for coming through with the most unexpectedly delightful epilogue to my story!
The Barbers of Montgomery, 9915 Montgomery Rd., Montgomery
Photograph courtesy Sarah McCosham
Facebook Comments