An old fart's introduction to tobacco's
Jul 15, 2017 14:49:41 GMT -5
craigmillar and Grimpeur like this
Post by trailboss on Jul 15, 2017 14:49:41 GMT -5
It sounds like he had a bunch of bad introducers.
www.fayobserver.com/news/20170715/readers-write-my-introduction-to-tobacco
www.fayobserver.com/news/20170715/readers-write-my-introduction-to-tobacco
In the year of 1948, in that wonderful place where I grew up, called Massey Hill, I was 13 years old. One evening my friends, Reese and Gayle, and I were walking along Delcross Street. They lit up cigarettes, Lucky Strikes as I recall. They offered me one. “No thank you,” I said, “I don’t smoke.” They kept insisting, saying “It’s fun.” So I took one, lit it, breathed in a puff, but didn’t inhale. Gayle said, “No, you have to breathe the smoke into your lungs.” So I did. I started coughing, choking and could hardly get my breath. I lived on the corner of Center and Delcross streets. They helped get me home, parked me on the front porch and took off.
Gayle and Reese also lived on Center Street. Sometimes we would have a marshmallow roast in Gayle’s back yard. Friends came over, we talked, Gayle told jokes, we roasted marshmallows and drank Pepsi. One night they decided to smoke pipes. I didn’t have a pipe, so we walked down to Reeve’s Shell station and I got a corncob pipe for 25 cents and Prince Albert tobacco for 15 cents. The fire was going, we were roasting marshmallows and smoking. My tongue started burning. “Why is my tongue burning?” I asked. Reese said, “You didn’t get a pipe filter?” I replied, “No one told me I needed a filter.” Everyone laughed except me. I quit smoking the pipe. I thought if I didn’t inhale everything would be okay. Wrong! When we started eating and drinking Pepsi, the Pepsi felt like a torch to my tongue. It was two weeks before I could drink Pepsi.
One night after church we were riding around in Reese’s 1934 Chevrolet. It was fall and a little cool. They stopped and got some cigars. Reese handed me one. I said, “No, I’m not going to blister my tongue again.” Gayle said the cigar wouldn’t burn my tongue. So I took one, but just to puff on, not to inhale. All the windows were rolled up, with five of us in that little car puffing on cigars. What I failed to realize, I was breathing in smoke through my nose from all those cigars. The smoke was so thick I don’t know how Reese could see to drive. I started getting very sick. I donated some of the contents of my stomach on some sandspurs on Craven Street. They took me home, parked me on the front porch and took off. Mother came out, smelled the smoke and handed me a dollar. “Go buy a dollar’s worth of cigars; you’re going to smoke them all.” It took a lot of begging to get out of that one.
Another day, Reese, Gayle and I were walking down Southern Avenue to Garvin’s Soda Shop. We were at the top of the hill in front of Massey Hill School. Jim Lancaster had a grocery store in Lakedale. Bill Musselwhite delivered his groceries with a two wheel Cushman motor scooter pulling a small trailer with one wheel on the rear. So here comes Bill down Southern Avenue. Gayle yelled at him, “How about a ride?” Bill stopped. “Get in,” he says. Just before he stopped, Gayle and Reese had talked me into taking a chew of tobacco. We all got in the small trailer. When Bill took off the trailer started fishtailing. I was the first one tossed out. I slid across the pavement and into the ditch. That pavement claimed some skin I had proudly worn on my arms. Somewhere, between my glorious exit and the ditch, I swallowed the tobacco. Bill got the out-of-control Cushman stopped behind Grady’s Esso. As I walked towards them, with each step I became sicker. They were helping Bill get on his way. By the time I got to them, I could hardly walk. They carried me home, one under each arm. What a sight that must have been; me bleeding, weak and sick, and Gayle and Reese trying to hold me up. Once again, they parked me on the front porch and ran like crazy. They didn’t want the wrath of my mother’s tongue. Their hair probably would have caught fire!
Now when I go to a new doctor, they ask if I smoke. I say “No.” They want to know how long since I quit. I say “82 years.” Some expressions I get are priceless.
Gayle and Reese also lived on Center Street. Sometimes we would have a marshmallow roast in Gayle’s back yard. Friends came over, we talked, Gayle told jokes, we roasted marshmallows and drank Pepsi. One night they decided to smoke pipes. I didn’t have a pipe, so we walked down to Reeve’s Shell station and I got a corncob pipe for 25 cents and Prince Albert tobacco for 15 cents. The fire was going, we were roasting marshmallows and smoking. My tongue started burning. “Why is my tongue burning?” I asked. Reese said, “You didn’t get a pipe filter?” I replied, “No one told me I needed a filter.” Everyone laughed except me. I quit smoking the pipe. I thought if I didn’t inhale everything would be okay. Wrong! When we started eating and drinking Pepsi, the Pepsi felt like a torch to my tongue. It was two weeks before I could drink Pepsi.
One night after church we were riding around in Reese’s 1934 Chevrolet. It was fall and a little cool. They stopped and got some cigars. Reese handed me one. I said, “No, I’m not going to blister my tongue again.” Gayle said the cigar wouldn’t burn my tongue. So I took one, but just to puff on, not to inhale. All the windows were rolled up, with five of us in that little car puffing on cigars. What I failed to realize, I was breathing in smoke through my nose from all those cigars. The smoke was so thick I don’t know how Reese could see to drive. I started getting very sick. I donated some of the contents of my stomach on some sandspurs on Craven Street. They took me home, parked me on the front porch and took off. Mother came out, smelled the smoke and handed me a dollar. “Go buy a dollar’s worth of cigars; you’re going to smoke them all.” It took a lot of begging to get out of that one.
Another day, Reese, Gayle and I were walking down Southern Avenue to Garvin’s Soda Shop. We were at the top of the hill in front of Massey Hill School. Jim Lancaster had a grocery store in Lakedale. Bill Musselwhite delivered his groceries with a two wheel Cushman motor scooter pulling a small trailer with one wheel on the rear. So here comes Bill down Southern Avenue. Gayle yelled at him, “How about a ride?” Bill stopped. “Get in,” he says. Just before he stopped, Gayle and Reese had talked me into taking a chew of tobacco. We all got in the small trailer. When Bill took off the trailer started fishtailing. I was the first one tossed out. I slid across the pavement and into the ditch. That pavement claimed some skin I had proudly worn on my arms. Somewhere, between my glorious exit and the ditch, I swallowed the tobacco. Bill got the out-of-control Cushman stopped behind Grady’s Esso. As I walked towards them, with each step I became sicker. They were helping Bill get on his way. By the time I got to them, I could hardly walk. They carried me home, one under each arm. What a sight that must have been; me bleeding, weak and sick, and Gayle and Reese trying to hold me up. Once again, they parked me on the front porch and ran like crazy. They didn’t want the wrath of my mother’s tongue. Their hair probably would have caught fire!
Now when I go to a new doctor, they ask if I smoke. I say “No.” They want to know how long since I quit. I say “82 years.” Some expressions I get are priceless.
