TOM was born into a large Italian, working-class family in Norristown, Pennsylvania in the 1950s. His mother used to have her hair done once a week on Fridays, escaping from housework and her six sons. The hair salon was a place of relaxation and renewal. She returned home redolent of hair spray and didn’t wash her hair herself before the next Friday.

I wonder now if his mother’s happiness after those visits inspired Tom to become a hairdresser himself, much to the dismay of his father, who was in construction. Tom went ahead because it was something he loved to do. He opened a salon with his wife, also a hairdresser, a little over 30 years ago, and I have been going there since not longer after it opened.

Tom is gregarious, likable, devoted to his clients and to his family, well known on the local baseball field and at church. His salon business has thrived over the years, which is not surprising because he is really good at hair. Many people in town have sat in his chair. It’s a middle class clientele, including children, women, and men, with plenty of old ladies, some like his mother who get into a weekly routine.

Today was the first day I saw Tom since February. His business was shut down for 14 weeks. On the day after Gov. Tom Wolf announced the state was closing “non-essential” businesses, the local police, as if to underscore the dictatorial nature of the decree and as if Tom, a middle class business owner, was a potential criminal, called him at home to make sure he was not opening.

When his wife phoned me yesterday to remind me of my appointment, she left a message, “Don’t forget to wear a mask!” she said.

Blasted! I thought about it and called back. I really can’t wear a mask, I said apologetically, and would have to cancel my appointment. I didn’t feel like causing any waves (no pun intended). His wife said, “Oh no, don’t worry about it. That’s fine. Come on in.”

So I went without a mask. “You’re going to look a lot better after this,” Tom said. It’s true, I badly needed a tune-up.

Tom, who was wearing a mask himself, sprayed the plastic robe with a bleach mixture. He only has one of his customers in the shop at a time, as ordered by the government, and so is working at 50 percent capacity. Tom is a very mainstream kind of guy, so I expected to avoid the outrageousness of what had happened to him and other small businesses. I was eager to catch up on his personal life though; we always spend the whole time gabbing.

He is awaiting his third grandchild, and that is happy news. I know all about the twins who were born almost two years ago. He is enjoying them immensely. Unfortunately, his son-in-law, who was in the travel industry, in a job that he was very skilled at and loved, has been permanently laid off. He will probably have to find a whole new line of work since the travel business is not likely to recover for years. This is hard news because he is the sole support for his wife and children.

Tom’s son, who recently married, is expecting to be laid off any day now. He sells vending machine services to large companies. His largest client is not planning to open its offices again until 2021.

Tom, who only has two children, was bright and chipper as he delivered this news, saying he was sure they would land on their feet again. I figured that he believed in the catastrophic nature of the virus.

But as we continued to talk, it became obvious to me that Tom was aware of the truth.

He asked me if I knew anyone who had died of the virus. I mentioned the only case I knew of, a wonderful 88-year-old woman who sadly was already quite frail and was in quarantine for weeks before. In all the hundreds of people Tom knew, and he always chats at length with his clients, he knew indirectly of only one person who had reportedly died of the virus, a woman already sick with emphysema and institutionalized with dementia who was the relative of a customer. Why would he have heard of lots of people dying? According to the CDC, overall mortality in Pennsylvania has been no different this year so far than in recent years; actually, it is a little bit lower. Our conversation reminded me of a conversation I had with a relative who has lived in the same town for 60 years. She knows many people there and yet only is aware of one person who died this winter during the extensive shutdown: her husband’s middle-age doctor who committed suicide.

Tom’s fellow salon owners have been financially devastated. One closed for good, another refinanced her house to stay in business, some others expect to close soon. If he hadn’t already raised his family, Tom would never have held onto his business, he said.

We talked about the unlawfulness of the shutdown orders. It was obvious by his readiness to probe the subject that this was something he had discussed with others. He said a few words that were music to my ears.

“I wish I could find a lawyer to take my case.”

He realized he had been robbed by the government of a sizable chunk of his life’s savings.

Knowing what I know of Tom — his optimistic nature, his tendency to see the best in all people and all situations, his inclination to believe what he hears in the news — I was thrilled. He was already in a stance of resistance.

I was starting to look much, much better. We talked just before he finished drying my hair about how Americans cherish individual liberty, or at least are supposed to cherish individual liberty, and if we couldn’t stick up for ourselves in this situation, there was no real meaning to our patriotism.

It was apparent as I left that the global mafia and supremely arrogant social engineers who inflicted this pain have a serious problem on their hands.

Tom knows.

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