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Steve Kastanis, 92, bought a barber shop on the Upper East Side 48 years ago. He had arrived from Greece only some time earlier.
When passing by one day, I couldn’t walk on. Something pulled me in; back in time, somewhere else. I got a hair cut and stayed for the rest of the day.
Many of Steve’s few clients, some in third generation, come for a chat rather than a cut. While classical music plays from a dusty radio, he might show you his parent’s black and white photographs, with sparkles in his eyes.
He might tell you about his two sons and the love of his life, his wife who died two years ago, giving him even less reason to stay home.
Forget all history books about New York. Bring some time and get a haircut from Steve.