From a Stuntman in Greece to a Barber in the Mile End

This story originally appeared in URBANIA, an online magazine based in Quebec focused on pop culture and society.

URBANIA and the MEM – Centre des mémoires montréalaises collaborated to create the exhibition Détours – Rencontres urbaines, presented at the MEM. This immersive experience reveals the human richness that makes up Montreal through encounters with 25 extraordinary locals.

In the same spirit, we’d like to introduce Eustachius, a citizen who, in his own way, embodies the uniqueness of Montreal.

If you enjoy his story, you’ll love the unique portraits featured in Détours – Rencontres urbaines.

A yellowed phone number lies abandoned, almost forgotten, along a fence on Parc Avenue. In my arduous search for an apartment, with nothing left to lose, I call.

The voice on the other end speaks in hesitant English, but after two repeats, I understand it’s asking me to turn around. Obeying, I notice a man behind a window who gestures for me to come his way.

I cross the street, which unravels unattractively under winter’s grip, and step into the narrow hair salon. We hardly discuss the apartment before Eustachius, the owner, hands me a filtered coffee and teases me about the colour of my hair. “What a disaster,” he mutters jokingly. I take a sip while sitting on one of the cracked leather chairs held together with duct tape.

With his old friend Yórgos, they watch a kickboxing match featuring Mike Zambidis, known as the Greek Tyson, at 41 years old. Legs crossed, Eustachius is forty years older, yet it doesn't stop him from subtly moving his fists and hips as if he were the one in the ring.

The small salon follows the tradition of those timeless places – often run by elderly immigrants who refuse to hang up their dryers – that still exist in Montreal, resisting modernity through dust and hospitality, cash only.

The room is lined with outdated posters, Orthodox artifacts, and stacked objects. It even houses some golden furniture from the now-defunct strip club Exxxotica. A setting made for conversation, where playing cards and years pass between hands.

The memories of the past are Eustachius's true wealth, now a widower and father of grown children. He's not focused on rental negotiations as he opens a box overflowing with a life as full as it is distant. In the intimacy of walls washed by the seasons, he invites me into a specific moment of his life. To hell with the apartment.

"The Greece I grew up in was drained by the Second World War, then a civil war. It was poor, but everyone had a house and a garden to grow their tomatoes," he recalls, showing me a portrait of himself as a teenager. A sweet time between 1949 and the coup that led to the Colonels' Dictatorship in 1967.

"I didn’t have much of an education, but I was street smart," the barber points out. "I didn’t want to be a farmer like my father, so at 13, I learned how to cut hair."

But as the regime demands, Eustachius has to put his hairdressing career on hold to serve two years of military service. At 21, he leaves his small village of Nemea in his native Peloponnese, "where Heracles kills the lion in ancient mythology," he adds, raising his index finger.

July 1961. He arrives in Athens, then leaves the capital to join a division with a bad reputation in Kozani, in Western Macedonia. Far from the warmth of the southern vineyards, he enters a barracks filled with men from all over: Thessaloniki, Crete, and small towns near the Albanian border. "We weren't gangsters or communists, but rebels who listened to no one. Like only a man who knows his whole life is ahead of him," the barber murmurs pensively. From the start, he racks up as many conquests as bad deeds, some of which land him a few nights in the cell.

He learns the basics of weapons handling, cartography, and emergency operations, but it’s the six American motorcycles that truly capture his attention. Harley-Davidsons in perfect condition. "I had never ridden a motorcycle," the octogenarian recalls. "I was a bit crazy, and youth being what it is, I had to fight boredom, so I taught myself and would go on rides in the surrounding fields, where saffron grows at the foot of the mountains."

Gradually, the young man becomes more comfortable on two wheels, practicing stunts. He discovers a certain talent, fueled by both adrenaline and the creativity of the maneuvers he perfects with his companions. Few soldiers can match his daring. He’s always the first to volunteer for the most daring feats. After drills, the group sometimes veers off course to strut through the village, turning heads along the way. The battalion becomes more and more like a gang of motorcyclists.

Falls, however, are frequent. The injuries, severe. Serious accidents causing fractures, concussions, and turning motorcycles into total losses. The barber shows me his burn scars on one leg. "We had to maintain the reputation of tough guys within the division, and it was well regarded to be reckless," he says, not without a sense of pride.

At the same time, he earns a little money cutting the hair of the soldiers in the barracks. A few drachmas in his pocket to eat away from the cafeteria and buy drinks "for the orphans of the war who don't have a penny to polish their boots."

Twice a year, in honour of Independence Day – March 25 – and Ohi Day – October 28 –, the group has the chance to impress the crowd in a grand parade held in a packed stadium. Racing at nearly 50 km/h on a sandy track, wearing their finest outfits with rifles strapped to their waists, these little rascals improvise stunts, leap through flaming hoops, and perform jumps amidst the roar of engines and applause.

"After the shows, we’d head to the village with all the cavalry for some legendary drinking sprees," he recalls. A place where his bravery and handsome, sun-kissed features never go unnoticed.

Black-and-white photos flow one after the other, rocking him back into an era tinged with the smell of gasoline. Everything is told with ease and humour. The memory is sharp, rarely wavering. On the few occasions when forgetfulness slips in, he closes his eyes, hand on his forehead, and then the names come back to him in Greek. Always in Greek.

Kickboxing gives way to a football match. Eustachius stands up, exclaiming. With Crocs and a barber’s apron, the white-haired barber-motorcyclist exudes as much energy as in his fearless youth.

July 1963. With his certificate of service and the spoils of two years of cutting hair in hand, he is drawn to the unknown and decides to settle in Montreal, unsure of what awaits him, while his seven brothers remain in the Peloponnese.

He starts working as an apprentice barber on Saint-Viateur Street, quickly befriending everyone in the neighbourhood. But the salon falls victim to flames after a dispute with the owner. It’s as if fire follows him. "A part of my life burned that night," he says, explaining the cut photos, now blackened.

In 1966, he opens his own shop on Parka Vanèika – Avenue du Parc –, then the heart of Montreal’s Greek community. Eustachius becomes Steve for the non-Greeks. His small business is initially named Steve Hair Stylist, and later, due to the requirements of Bill 101, the sign reads Steve Coiffure Mode. His blue and red sign at 5441 has been turning ever since.

An address where, in the past, up to seven barbers could welcome clients. Today, those who step through the door are mostly his friends, gathering for a chat over coffee. Decades and a thousand stories have passed.

He shows me one last photo: a group of soldiers in the prime of life, cigarettes in hand. Eustachius points to one now deceased, then another, and another. A ruthless reminder of the passing of time, held by frail hands that have worked the scissors for nearly 70 years, loyal to two countries and one shared memory.

He never had the urge to get back on a motorcycle in Quebec. He had a family and a business to take care of. The wild days were over, but his eyes still light up with a small flame when he talks about the old, brand-new Harleys and mimics accelerating, hands on the handlebars. Perhaps the cool breeze of Western Macedonia drifts back to him from afar.

The fire, though, has never truly left him.

Did Eustachius’ story inspire you to explore Montreal’s unconventional side? Visit the MEM – Centre des mémoires montréalaises (1210 St-Laurent) for the immersive exhibition Détours – Rencontres urbaines (tickets available online). There, you’ll meet 25 extraordinary individuals who each bring a unique soul to their city.

From Lisa Grushcow, Canada’s first openly lesbian rabbi, to Lazylegz, a breakdancer on crutches; Junko, a multidisciplinary artist turning scrap metal into art; Ramzy Kassouf, an urban farmer; and Clifford Schwartz, owner of the country bar Wheel Club—each person has a remarkable journey and fascinating stories to share.

Follow URBANIA for more independently produced and intelligent entertainment out of Quebec.