On a hot Sunday afternoon in southeast Fort Wayne, while many were rushing through their weekends or looking for shade, a local barber named Kilo Santana was busy feeding people, lining up haircuts, and building something much bigger than just community service.

He called it Kilo’s Community Function—and from 12 to 4 p.m. at the Renaissance YMCA, it became a hub of laughter, hugs, and much-needed relief. No tickets. No sales. No gimmicks. Just free pizza, chips, drinks—and haircuts. All on Kilo’s dime.

“I Just Want Everyone to Be Good”

Standing in the middle of it all, trimmers buzzing in one hand and a slice of pizza in the other, Santana couldn’t stop smiling.

“I feel like everybody is so stressed, everybody is so everywhere,” he said, sweat glistening on his brow. “So I wanted to make an event where people don’t have to worry about spending money.”

It wasn’t about self-promotion. It wasn’t flashy.

It was just Kilo—trying to bring a little peace to a part of town that’s often overlooked.

He went on, “I want to just be able to feed everyone, make sure everyone is good, and just have a good time with everyone, you know?”

Simple. Straight from the heart. And clearly working.

A Pop-Up Block Party With Purpose

It didn’t take long for word to spread.

Parents showed up with kids in tow. Teenagers came out for fades. Older folks dropped by to chat. Some came for the free food, others for a fresh lineup before Monday—but most came for the vibe.

Tables were stacked with boxes of pizza and bags of chips. A few coolers full of sodas and juice sat off to the side. Local volunteers handed out napkins, cleaned up wrappers, and kept the line moving at the makeshift barber station.

You could feel it—this was more than a community event.

It felt like home.

Small Acts, Big Impact

There was no podium. No press conference. Just a barber with clippers and care.

And it mattered.

Because in this part of Fort Wayne, little things add up. A free haircut means one less expense for a struggling parent. A few slices of pizza mean a little relief for someone counting coins at the end of the month.

Here’s what people said made it special:

• “My son just got his haircut and hasn’t stopped smiling,” said Felicia Banks, a mom of three. “I didn’t have money for cuts this week—this saved me.”

• “You don’t see stuff like this much anymore,” said Jerome Taylor, 64. “He didn’t have to do this. But he did.”

• “Kilo’s real. That’s why people came out. He’s for us,” said a teen named Chris waiting his turn in the barber chair.

It wasn’t about handouts. It was about dignity.

One Chair, Dozens of Conversations

Kilo didn’t just cut hair—he listened.

He asked people about their days. He laughed at kids’ jokes. He talked about life, work, family. The kind of barbershop banter that’s part therapy, part storytelling.

Haircut by haircut, something shifted. People stayed after they were done. No rush to leave. Just conversation and community.

And that’s kind of the point.

Even if the lines were long, nobody complained. They just hung out. Because where else do you get this kind of energy?

One kid called it a “chill family reunion,” even though most of the people there weren’t technically related.

What’s Next for the Function?

This was only the beginning.

Kilo says he’s already dreaming bigger. He wants to do this regularly. Maybe bring in local artists next time. Or a bounce house. Maybe some job resources. Health screenings. “Whatever folks need,” he said.

“This is just the start,” he added. “I see this getting way bigger. I don’t want it to just be about haircuts and food. I want it to be about real change.”

He’s already got folks reaching out to help with the next one. Donors. Barbers. DJs. Churches. Folks who believe in what he’s doing.

For now, though, he’s focused on the moment—and letting the success of Sunday speak for itself.