incidentally, that school was the school where glenn miller went to high school.

Michael P

--Greg (In Seattle KUOW)

Once in the 5 years since he quit he threatened to start up again. I told him and my mother that if he ever did I would leave and never comeback until he was dead.

That's my thoughts on smoking.

David
Salt Lake City, UT

Both my parents smoked about two packs a day since their early twenties (or even earlier, as far as I know). My dad did die of lung cancer at age 65 (my age now), but my mom lived to 90 and died of breast cancer and other complications. I however, was spared such a fate, because I have never been able to even tolerate the smell of smoke. I think this was because when I was little, whenever we went for a car trip, my parents would light up in the car, and I would promptly throw up. I guess I learned a combination of tolerance for low levels of second-hand smoke and avoidance of smokers enabled me to get through to the modern “smoke free” era. But I do remember virtually suffocating on a Greyhound bus trip home from college, and asking for airplane seats as far from the smoking section as possible. Today, in the “smoke free” era, I have become so sensitive to it that I am frequently offended when someone stopped next to me at a traffic light is smoking, and I can plainly smell it. Smokers simply do not realize how offensive the smell of burning tobacco is to non-smokers.

Herewith, a few anecdotes: My first wife, who I married despite a low-level smoking habit (she had other attributes that offset this negative) finally gave in to my constant nagging when our first son was born (“you don’t want to set a bad example,” etc.) that she actually gave up the habit. That may be the only good thing I did for her, in the long run (other than giving her a house, car, etc. in the divorce.)

While between marriages I had occasion to attend some kind of party with a long-time girlfriend (we had been dating for well over a year). I was absolutely astonished when someone offered her a cigarette, and she lit up. “I didn’t know you ever smoked!” I said. “Well, when you first met, you told me you would never go out with anyone who smoked, so I never did it around you!” was the answer. I did not know whether to be flattered that she thought that much of me, or offended that she had conned me for so long.

Today, with smoking bans in force at work, in virtually all commercial establishments, and at work, I can go for days or weeks at a stretch without the slightest whiff of tobacco smoke, so I tend to agree that smokers should be left alone to kill themselves, so long as it does not impact on me.

Economics may have a lot to do with pricing tobacco out of the market. I remember that when I was just a small boy, my parents would give me a nickel and dime to get a pack of Camels from the cigarette machine at a restaurant, and it came with two pennies change inside the wrapper (this was in Pennsylvania, probably around 1950). The two cents was my reward for getting the smokes for them. Of course, in those days you could actually buy something for a penny – penny candy was a reality, not just an adjectival phrase. Today, it amazes me to see people paying multiple dollars for a pack of dried plant leaves wrapped in paper. In fact, I wonder why nobody has tried to develop a “home tobacco kit” to enable people to grow, cure, and smoke their own tobacco, rather than paying the exorbitant taxes now placed on these poor souls.

And yet, nicotine must have some powerful, wonderful effect on people, desirable enough for them to accept high cost, possible death, and social approbation. Perhaps it is one form of the mythical “nectar of the Gods,” too powerful for humans to tolerate. Hope I never find out.

Regards,

John

First, I worked for Leo Burnett Co. Advertising as an apprentice in the library when they were doing a presentation to get the Malboro Cigarette account back in around 1950. Andy Armstrong, one of the most gorgeous men around, and a chief Art Director at Burnett, was the brains behind this presentation. I helped in my own little way, digging out artwork, old ads, etc. for him from the library. Andy got the account, and when the model who was supposed to be in the first ad didn't show up, he drew an eagle 'tatoo' on his hand, put on the cowboy hat and flannel shirt, lit up a Malboro and became the first 'Malboro Man,' for one time only.

Second: My older sister taught me how to smoke when I was around 16, and by 18 I was joining my mother, older sister, and younger sister in having a cigarette after dinner with our coffee. (My poor father never smoked, but somehow put up with us - well, he was outnumbered by women.) I worked in advertising most of my life, and it seemed that everyone in that business smoked like mad. I smoked through my first pregnancy at 30. My first husband died, and I remarried at around 35. When I discovered I was pregnant again at 43, I was a bit worried, but happy that I was still going to the doctor who had delivered my first child....and really disturbed when he snatched the cigarettes out of my purse, crumpled the pack and threw them away with, "You are pregnant - and YOU just QUIT
SMOKING." It was that or get another doctor. (He had had a heart attack, and quit smoking.) I was scared to be pregnant at such a late age, so I did quit cold, and never smoked again. Bless dear Dr. Gross for that. I had another big, healthy child, a son, who never smoked, (nor does his wife) and has given me three beautiful and healthy grandchildren. We are now a completely smoke-free family, as he also finally convinced his older sister to quit last year.

Not sure this is where I should be writing this....but hope you enjoy the stories.
Peggy C, San Francisco

--Pauline Masterton

UNCLE BYRON, DON QUIXOTE, & THE MARLBORO MAN

Uncle Byron dreams impossible, unfiltered dreams,
a ciggie, lit or not, hung, barely brinked, on lower lip,
tongue poised to spit—thf-ff-tt—tobacco bits.
His Byron (dashing poet) name somehow has never fit
with Uncle (big and teddy-bearish) nor with him.
He's short and tough, that Cagney-cocky tough of
smallish guys who're city-bred, street-wise,
with merchant seaman years to boot. You'd guess
he rolls his own, one at a time, lights up
with one deft hand, (his left), bent book match
still attached, a 1-2-3, flick-scratch-ff-ftt to flame.

He quick-draws, ufff-fff-sss, and smoke gets sucked
'way deep in lungs smoke-bathed for fifty years,
maybe eight million drags inhaled, each score today
a full-tilt boogie windmill joust, a Gentle-Knightly
battleground where haloed images prevail,
of Bogie lighting two at once, of heroes off
with Lucky Strike to war, of rugged billboard cowboys
scorning namby-pamby warning signs.

No way our noble Byron would abandon sacred principle,
a truth self-evident since junior high: SMOKING IS COOL.
How many of us honored this in deed: on youthful dates,
exam-crams, parties; then, with morning coffee, dusk martini,
and that holy ritual, the post-coital smoke!

Now we, the faithless lot, forgot our sultry Dietrich,
jaunty FDR, the Duke; James Dean, Ed Murrow,
Bette Davis— all our smoky icons, so intense yet COOL.

Fainter of heart than Byron, we will shrink at sacrifice
of lungs and vocal cords, at wrinkling skin,
at cutting-off in years of life.
We see but barren plains of cancer, heart diseases,
asthma, secondary smoke effects, the thousand ills
that smoke is air to.

Still, forsooth, our Uncle Byrons fight,
yea fight to death, and not alone,
though millions of his kindred met their fates,
and millions more lost faith, to join ex-smokers' ranks,
or slouch with frequent-quitter armies, neither free nor true.
But you, the faithful few, who reach with yellow fingers
into high-taxed packs, and matchless strike a Bic against the wind,
and rush from smokeless offices to littered exiles of blue haze,
who buttless, hawking, lurch at 2 AM to All-Nite Drugs ,
of you we sing.

Like Don Quixote, you have kept your dream,
chose your own Windmill.
Brave, a dying breed, you tilt, stand up for cause
against all odds and reason, risking life and breath.
Your bell tolls daily faster, Byrons all.
So Hail, I say, and soon, I fear,
Farewell.

-----Pauline Masterton, 1992 ---

Smoking romantic and poetic??!! What a horrifying picture! Please understand that I sat with my father who was only 74 and watched him try to keep an unlit cigarette in his mouth while he breathed oxygen from a tank, slowly dying of various types of cancer throughout his body. He started when he was barely a teen and our family suffered with him everytime he tried to quit this addictive habit which was numerous unsuccessful times.
It would have killed him even quicker if he'd known how sick from heart disease he had made his dear wife of 50 years since she inhaled his second hand smoke all that time. She died 4 years after him from heart failure that was caused by second hand smoke. I find nothing romantic about smoking. I will work nonstop as long as I can to encourage as many people as I can to never smoke and to quit if they are smoking.

Check our our new web site about healthy lifestyles. Maintain a healthy body weight. As winter weather sets in, you still need to exercise daily, and eat well. Eating less and being more active will help tip the scales in your favor. Get in the right shape at www.cancer.org/eatright.

Mary H
Rhinelander, WI