I don’t know when dad started smoking cigarettes. He probably changed brands several times over the years, but the one I remember was Pall Malls; a red pack with white lettering. It could have been my grandfather who smoked the Lucky Strikes.
At some point dad stopped smoking cigarettes and started with a pipe. The smell of pipe tobacco was better than any cigarette – any day. Cherry? The variety of “flavors,” the different colored tin foil packets and logos… Dad would carefully unfold the packet, opening it slowly while one of his many pipes lay silently on his leg or the arm of the chair. Dad’s style of pipe was a wooden, beautiful wood grain, straight stem. He replaced them as fast as he misplaced them.
Pipes need breaking in – like a good horse, a comfortable pair of shoes or tight jeans. Some circles the cliche might include "men" or "women." The first few “smokes” are about tempering the bowl. He would dip the bowl of the pipe in the packet, scooping a “bowl full.” Tamp. Tamp. Tamp. Usually with the thumb, packing the tobacco tightly.
Dad had several lighters, and the cans of lighter fluid refills – blue on the bottom and yellow on the top. You would unscrew the bottom and pour the lighter fluid onto the cotton packing inside the lighter and replace the screw. It was the perfect opportunity for me to learn how to “unscrew” a screw with my thumbnail or the back of one of many pocket knives.
At some point when I was much older, my father quit smoking pipes too. I must have been in college. Dad waited for his boys to notice, but we never did. I am sure he was disappointed. We “didn’t miss it.” Mom questioned us relentless: “Do you notice anything different about your father?” Nope. She couldn’t take it any more. Dad had quit smoking – weeks ago. Of course we were proud!
When I think back to the smells of the pipes, my memories are much more romantic than reality. Over the course of several days our toilet became plugged. A “bowl full” means something different than previously discussed. And, a full bowl meant a plumber. It took awhile, and I am sure it irritated my dad to pay the plumber bill, but he found his missing pipes.
-Craig
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2 comments:
My grandfather was a life long pipe smoker. His fingers were so calloused that he could tamp down the live tobacco in his pipe which impressed my brother and I when we were kids.
I started smoking a pipe in college and still have fond memories of Mixture 79 and how good it smelled. Basic training in the Air Force was not conducive to pipe smoking, so I gave up the habit.
My dad smoked a pipe for awhile. I still like the smell.
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