More Cigarettes
There is more to be said about cigarettes. “Smoke, Smoke, Smoke (That Cigarette)” is a song with a refrain that is familiar with the readers of this space who responded with comments about the song, and also about the demise of the cigarette dominating our public and private places.
I had written about my recent conversation with a couple of my old Real Estate buddies, reminiscing about the changes we’ve seen over our 35 to 40 years in the business, and I brought up cigarettes, remembering the smoky haze in our offices, and ashtrays as a common fixture on desks holding the burning and often unattended cigarettes. One guy, Al, left a message, “I’ve loved that song, “Smoke that Cigarette,” since Tex Ritter made it popular back in the World War 2 days. We laughed like crazy every time we heard it. I was a kid, a teenager at the time, working the family farm. We didn’t have much, with the war-rationing and all, but we had cigarettes. Driving age got lowered during the war, so I felt like a big shot, driving through town with a cigarette sticking out of my mouth.” The version of the song that got my attention was by Commander Cody in the ‘70’s, growling out the talking lyrics between the hot guitar licks: “Them nicotine slaves they’re all the same, at any party or a poker game, everything’s gotta stop while they have a cigarette.” My favorite version was by Doc Watson, with lots of country blues guitar pickin’ and Doc’s smooth voice full of humor, firing off the lyrics. “Well, it ain’t because I don’t smoke myself, and I don’t reckon they hinder your health, I’ve been smokin’ ‘em half my life and I ain’t dead yet.”
One lady, a retired insurance broker, said, “I can’t believe we would smoke in people’s houses! It was just part of the routine. Non-smokers would have ash trays to accommodate us. Can you imagine? I feel sorry for all those people who tolerated it for so long! And I’m glad it’s not okay anymore!”
Like Al, I was a teenage smoker. My parents smoked Pall Mall cigarettes, long and filterless. They smoked in the house, in the car, in the grocery store. I couldn’t resist snagging a few of those smokes every so often and meeting my friends out in the woods for an illicit sampling of the evil stuff. When we advanced past the stage of nausea and light-headedness, we became journeymen smokers. One kid’s dad smoked Bull Durham, so the kid would arrive with the signature cloth sack and a pack of rolling papers, and we would attempt to roll ‘em up. The Pall Malls were a lot easier and they packed a nicotine wallop.
By the time I started my career in Real Estate, I had quit smoking (except for the bumming of a smoke every so often). I had quit upon the arrival of our first daughter. My Real Estate mentor, KDV, rolled his own. He sent away for his special brand of tobacco, which arrived in a folding pouch. He would take a pinch out of the pouch, spread just the right amount into a chocolate-colored rolling paper, expertly twist it into a cylindrical cigarette, and trim the ends with his little pocket-knife scissors. The ash tray on KDV’s desk had a brass lid he would flip down to cover the remains.
KDV was a dedicated smoker. He liked to say, “My wife says I should give up smoking. But, hey, I’ve never been a quitter.” Pause. “But seriously, I know I can quit if I want to. I’ve done it hundreds of times.”
Another guy called and said, “You wanna know a sign of the times that clears the air on the subject of smoking? The ‘No Smoking’ sign!” He laughed at his joke and said “Put that in your pipe and smoke it!”