If no one else is in his barbershop, you'll find Joe McLemore leaning against his chair, lost in a book.

He may be reading about a boxing legend or about law or finance or faith.

Whatever he's reading, Joe can quickly tuck it away in his mind to return for it later.

There are plenty of things Joe doesn't need to read about. In fact, he could write his own books: What it's like to be poor and black and grow up without a father; What it's like to gamble and drink and get shot at.

The 74-year-old remembers when getting into gun or knife fights on the weekend wasn't a big deal. He remembers hating his job. He remembers being a young husband and father without a high school diploma. All he wanted was to give his kids more than he had.

He learned early on as a barber that when the people in his chair start talking, he'd better listen. It took him a couple decades, though, to realize that what he said in response could make a difference.

Joe can talk to anyone about how he got to where he is. He can talk to anyone about the lessons he learned along the way.

But he reads to fill in the gaps on lessons his life didn't naturally teach him. He reads so he can make conversation with anyone who walks in his barbershop — to accumulate more stories that might make someone laugh or feel inspired or understood.

He reads so that, maybe, the next customer to walk through his door will leave with more than a $15 haircut.

Joe McLemore didn't set out to be a barber. He never imagined he would make it in the business for 50 years. But he hit that milestone on Jan. 18, the Quad-City Times reported .

Joe grew up in Rock Island, one of 19 children. When he was 7, his father left. By 14, he had a full-time job washing dishes at the Hotel Blackhawk, where he had to claim he was 16 to get the job. By 20, he had shuffled through more than a dozen jobs in manufacturing, sales and service — all while helping take care of his mother and brothers and sisters.

He kept up "a double life" on the streets, he said, chasing women and fights, drugs and booze.

"Where I come from, it's rough," he said, "I didn't think about the future. I was in survival mode."

His path took a turn when he met a girl named Shirley. She liked his hair — "Hair was always in his life," Shirley said — and she liked that he wrote her romantic letters. They fell in love.

At 16, Shirley got pregnant, so she and Joe married in their small apartment. That was 1964. Joe was 21.

"Did we know what was ahead? Of course not," Shirley said. "We wanted our kids to have a good life. That drove our marriage and our lives."

Joe didn't know what he wanted to do for a living. Foremost in his mind was supporting his family, which soon would grow to four.

After two years of marriage, Joe enrolled at the Davenport Barber College. He worked second shift at a factory job while taking classes during the day.

"It was a way out of all the jobs he hated," Shirley said. "This way, he wouldn't have to report to anyone. He saw it as the best way to support us."

Right away, Joe enjoyed the work of a barber.

He enjoyed it so much, in fact, that he was untroubled when white customers at the college walked right past him to sit in a white barber's chair.

"It takes a lot more than that to discourage Joe," Shirley said. "It wasn't long before his chair always had a line."

On Jan. 18, 1968, Joe became a licensed barber and, shortly after, he had his own place.

But there was fear in the accomplishment. What if nobody came?

"He had to go in the door thinking somebody was going to come in and want a haircut," Shirley said. "He had to have confidence, and that's what he had."

Soon, there was a line to get a haircut by Joe.

He turned his focus to being a good businessman. He was always on time — customers say they could set their clocks by him — and he sometimes worked 12-hour days.

The money was good.

Early on, he remembers taking Shirley on a date to Danceland Ballroom and having $200 in his pocket. He felt rich.

More importantly, he had a job he loved and something that was his.

"To think that it was mine . it made me feel like I was somebody. I felt I had accomplished something," Joe said. "Most people I knew didn't accomplish anything. Where I'm from, a majority of people failed."

Joe moved into his current shop at 1505 Harrison St., Davenport, in 1992 after operating out of two other buildings on the same street.

Newspaper clippings, photos and posters cover the wood-paneled walls. There's a photo of the late boxing champ Art Wilburn, who was a customer, along with a dozen high school graduation photos and at least one recent picture of his wife, Shirley.

There are report cards for his son and daughter, now in their 50s, and two grandsons. There is a "Cure the Blue" poster from the prostate cancer awareness campaign. Joe battled the disease 12 years ago. There are photos of Martin Luther King Jr. and Malcolm X and this quote from Muhammad Ali: "The man who views the world the same at 50 as he did at 20 has wasted 50 years of his life."

The walls tell of many of the people — athletes, clergy, teenagers, aldermen and single mothers — who have been in Joe's chair.

He gave Gaynelle Warren, now in her early 60s, her first haircut. She didn't like her long hair, so Joe cut it off for her when she was about 11. For the past 50 years, she has visited every two weeks for a $5 trim and conversation. Both of her sons, 38 and 48 years old, also have been Joe's customers.

"You talk about everything," Warren said. "Issues, money, people we have in common."

Joe is always "genuinely interested," she said.

"If he's having a bad day, you wouldn't see that from him. He's always positive."

Joe's grandson, Joseph Ferguson, has visited his grandpa's barber shop enough to know Joe can "talk to anyone."

That trait, Ferguson said, has turned the shop into more than a place to get a haircut. It's a community gathering place, he said.

Shirley McLemore has another way of describing her husband's barber shop: "A black man's country club."

"Whatever their status, they can talk about their frustrations freely," she said of customers. "Joe makes everyone feel welcome. You never leave there feeling like you weren't respected or listened to."

It's a place with a weightlifting set in one corner, where plenty of impromptu competitions have taken place. There's a coffee pot and a mini-fridge that's always stocked with soda or, for later in the day, cold beer.

"You've got a little bit of everything in a barber shop," said Ferguson, who is 29 and lives in Alexandria, Virginia. "There are people from all walks of life that you wouldn't otherwise meet. There are serious moments and funny moments. If there are things going on in the world you want to talk about, that's the place to do it."

Ferguson suspects that many people choose Joe's Barber Shop for the conversation.

"Every time I go to the barber shop, I learn something new," he said.

Conversations cover race, family, education and local happenings, but national politics isn't part of the regular menu.

"The people I talk to aren't talking about Trump," Joe said. "They're talking about when the next (pay)check is coming."

When Joe speaks, he holds the floor. But he also invites opinions from everyone else in the room.

"A barbershop is made for different people and all kinds of different conversations," long-time customer Deondre Holloway said. "It's for learning about life, not small conversations."

In recent years, Joe has hosted forums about race, policing and politics at his shop. In 2016, artist Jefferson Pinder recreated Joe's Barber Shop in an exhibit at the Figge Art Museum in Davenport, and Joe spoke to a crowd of 200 people — most of whom never had stepped foot inside his barbershop — about the ups and downs of his life.

As Ferguson said, "The barbershop shows you how life really is. There are good moments and bad moments. There are all kinds of people."

In his 50 years in business, Joe never has taken appointments. So, he waits each day for a batch of walk-in customers.

He said his shop is open to everyone, and that sometimes includes kids who talk about wanting to rob a bank, teenagers who dropped out of high school, and adults between stints in jail.

"As long as they're not disrespectful, I let anyone walk in," Joe said, adding there's never been an incident at his shop that he couldn't handle. "Somebody has to cut their hair. I don't have time to judge."

Joe does make time to talk, though.

"You can't criticize people for doing what they know," he said. "They already know they're messed up."

Shirley McLemore said parents, often single mothers, have asked Joe to talk to their kids about listening or doing their homework.

"He gets frustrated when he sees young people on the news for bad reasons," she said. "He wishes he could help everyone."

Joe said he sometime gets overwhelmed with the desire to help everyone — from the kid who wants to learn how to ride a bike to the father who wants a better job.

"You wish you were God," Joe said. "You feel for everyone."

Still, Joe does his part. He listens. He tells the truth.

Some people, Joe said, are better off after they leave his shop. Others will never change.

"If you can help people, help them," he said. "That's what you can do."

Ask anyone at his shop, and they'll tell you Joe is the best barber in the Quad-Cities.

"Everyone knows who he is and his legacy," Holloway said. "If you're from here, just say 'Joe,' and he's the first person you think of. Everybody knows him, and that he's the best."

Scott Tunnicliff, director of the Hilltop Campus Village, said Joe's has been "an iconic presence for 50 years" in the Hilltop neighborhood.

"Businesses come and go over the years," he said. "His barbershop is an anchor that has withstood the test of time. We're lucky to have him here."

When Joe considers his legacy, however, he emphasizes his family. April will mark 54 years with his wife, Shirley.

His children, Joseph Jr. and Kimberly, are successful. Joseph Jr. is a general finance manager who lives in Orange Park, Florida, with his wife, Freda. Kimberly lives in Alexandria, Virginia, and is a contractor for the federal government and small business owner. Both are Navy veterans. Joe's two grandsons, Ciante and Joseph, are chasing their own dreams.

And they each look up to Joe.

He's the kind of father who sent his kids to private school, even though he couldn't afford it. He's the kind of grandfather who gave his grandsons $5 for each "A'' they earned in school.

"I believe education is everything," Joe said. "Every child should have a good education."

Lessons like that stayed with Joe's grandson, Joseph Ferguson. He calls at least once a week to talk to his father figure and "hero."

"I learned a lot from him — from the basics of being a good person to finances to why you should work hard and strive for the things you want in life," Ferguson said.

He also points to his grandfather as inspiration.

"Considering how he grew up, during segregation, most of the odds were against him," Ferguson said. "Being a black man and overcoming those odds to have something that is his own — it shows me that, if you put your mind to something, you can do it."

Aside from a handful of family milestones, such as his grandson's high school graduation in Florida, his wife competing in the Mrs. Iowa competition in Des Moines and a few days for surgery for pancreatic cancer, Joe never has missed a day of work.

Well, he wouldn't put it quite that way.

"What I'm doing here isn't work," he said. "If I had a million dollars, I'd still cut hair. It's what I was made to do."

He talks about retiring in the next year or so, but his wife, noting how restless Joe gets on his two days off each week, said, "I'll believe it when I see it."

After all, cutting hair is second nature to Joe. He takes his time, and he lights up when a customer grabs his handheld mirror to admire his work.

"A haircut can refresh you," he said. "It can make you feel good about yourself."

Joe couldn't imagine what was ahead 50 year ago, when he was a young father who knew only a life of poverty and crime.

"I never dreamed of the day I would be here for 50 years, telling people advice," he said. "It feels like 50 days."

Now, he is thankful for his hardships.

"I couldn't be the man I am today without going through all of that," he said of his childhood. "It made me who I am today."

It also got him here — to the high school dropout who spends his days pouring over books, offering wisdom and making people smile. It made him into the kind of man who spends his days sharing his hardships, knowing their potential for inspiring others.

"Life is all about lessons," he said. "I don't believe in mistakes or excuses."

That's why he arrives at his shop by 7:55 a.m. and doesn't miss a day. Maybe someone new will walk in who needs somebody to talk to.

"That's basically why I'm here . to talk to people," Joe said. "Maybe they'll leave thinking about something I said."

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Information from: Quad-City Times, http://www.qctimes.com

An AP Member Exchange shared by the Quad-City Times.