Smoking Break

 

A friend of mine recently posted this photo on Facebook and it reminded me of the 1970’s, when dad sold toys similar to this as well as packs of candy cigarettes at the Raymond Variety Store. Back then, it was very fashionable for kids to carry around candy cigarettes and toy smoking accessories. I remember dressing up for the Easter Sunday sunrise service with my little white shoes and matching purse that contained a pack of candy cigarettes. The “cigarettes” were chalky sugary sticks that had an orange spot on the end. To make it even more realistic, you could blow into them and they would release a little cloud of sugar “smoke.” Given that nearly half of the adult population smoked real cigarettes back then, no one thought anything about it. To be honest, I never thought too much about it until recently, some fifty years later, when I was explaining the Facebook photo to my son. The look on his face made me realize how crazy it all sounds by today’s standards.

My dad smoked Winston’s for years; the ones in the red pack. Although he was busy -- running the store six days a week and then coming home to do outside chores or go off again to a meeting somewhere, he always took a break every night after supper to enjoy a smoke or two with his coffee. One year when Santa brought me a Ring Toss game, Dad and I got into the habit of playing a few rounds while he smoked and listened to John Chancellor and the NBC Nightly News that was on the TV in the other room.  

Every night I would ask if he wanted to play and every night he would say yes. It was just me and my dad, and I’m not going to lie; the smoke smelled kind of good and having my Dad’s undivided attention was even better. We even played on that day in January when Grandma Bandy died. I remember being anxious about asking him that night; after all, there was Grandma, down the street at the Hough Funeral Home and my aunt and uncle had travelled up from Carbondale for the funeral and were staying with us. Aunt Pauline had teary eyes all through supper, even when she tried to smile, and I wondered if it was proper to ask Dad to play ring toss at a time like this. Finally, as the plates were cleared and Mom brought coffee to the table, I worked up the courage to ask him and he still said yes. He probably needed that smoke break more than ever on that particular day in his life.

Having a father who smoked led to all kinds of possibilities when it came to gift giving for his birthday or Christmas or Father’s Day. Not sure what to buy? A new lighter and lighter fluid were always useful gifts, and he could always use another ashtray or a new shirt with a pocket for his smokes. Grandma Gamlin saved up the money she made selling her handmade kitchen aprons at the variety store and bought him a carton of Winston’s every year for Christmas. One year, we got him a wooden case for his desk that held 20 packs and neatly dispensed one pack at a time. It was my job to load them.     

Dad traded vehicles at Bandy’s Chevrolet every four years, and was very particular about the condition of the car. The same no-eating-or-drinking-not-even-water rule that applied to the living room applied to the car. But smoking was allowed. He never used the built-in ashtray or lighter, but instead kept a small beanbag ashtray on the dash that he emptied after each trip. When I think of the Sunday drives and short trips we took when I was a kid, I can still hear the static on the AM radio along with the constant whistling noise coming from the vent window that he cracked open when he smoked.      

This photo showing nurses selling cigarettes to a patient in the hospital was also posted on Facebook recently. It reminded me of a trip to the emergency room in 1979 when I broke my collarbone. It was a Saturday night. and Mom and Dad drove me down to Hillsboro Hospital about 11:00 p.m. When the X-rays revealed that I had a broken right clavicle, Dr. Telfer said there was not much he could do except give me a harness-type brace that he would adjust every week until it healed on its own. 

When Dr. Telfer was fitting me for the brace, he had a cigarette dangling from the corner of his mouth, right there in the emergency room next to all the oxygen cylinders. I had to stand facing him for what seemed like an eternity as he made adjustments, and I watched the glowing ash on his cigarette, just inches away from me, grow longer and longer until if finally fell on the ER floor. At least it took my mind off the pain.

I eventually graduated from candy cigarettes to real ones, and smoked here and there in my teens and early 20’s, before giving it up all together. Unlike dad, I was mainly a social smoker and while I enjoyed it, I was never really hooked on it. Nowadays, I mostly hate being around cigarette smoke, although occasionally, I’ll catch a whiff of it and it will remind me of my dad and ring toss and supper back home.