Cigarettes and smoking really came of age during and after World War II. Mini-packs of cigarettes were part of military rations from World War II until after the Vietnam War. Watch an old movie and see cigarette smoke curling around almost every actor and scene. During that era it became socially acceptable for women to smoke both in public and in private. There were no designated no smoking areas, and passengers smoked on airplanes. In short, cigarettes and smoking were pervasive in the world I grew up in. Both of my parents smoked like tar kilns. Mother smoked a pack and a half (what she would admit to) of unfiltered cork-tipped Herbert Tareytons. Dad was less brand loyal. He smoked a variety of brands and was not above smoking OPCs — other people’s cigarettes.
Three of my four siblings smoked as young adults. Only my brother never seemed to quit. Both of my parents to my great surprise quit smoking in their late ‘60s. I never even tried to smoke and like my eldest sister eschewed the habit.
Cigarettes and smoking paraphernalia was everywhere in our home. Ashtrays were on every side table — some were glass, others metal. Three stand out and are the subject of this story, for I particularly disliked them. The first was an ashtray with a beanbag bottom. The fabric bottom was green corduroy. It followed my mother like a puppy. From breakfast table to night stand it was never far away. Even though, I am sure it was regularly emptied, I have no recollection of it empty. It often had the smoldering remains of mom’s cigarettes, sending up whiffs of foul-smelling smoke to announce its presence. The real smoldering ashtray though was a large hammered aluminum ashtray that was often on a coffee table in the living room. Even with its large 10 inch across capacity, I recall putting out many smoldering fires in it and the beanbag. Mother also drank huge amounts of coffee, more on that at another time, and would causally tip her coffee dregs into the ashtray to put out a smoldering fire. Might I say, dumping and cleaning these minor campfires was beyond unpleasant and went a long way to convincing me never to smoke.
The third hated type of ashtray was to be found in the car. For some reason, it was always full and threatening either to overflow or catch fire. A mini-ashtray fire in a moving car required pulling over to the side of the road to once more dump the mess and ensure it would not catch anything else on fire. The presence of the ashtray was not the only reason to avoid sitting in the middle of the front bench seat in the car. In the 50s and 60s, cars were equipped with push-in cigarette lighters. The smoker would punch in the lighter and wait for it to heat before lighting up. The lighter would pop out when it was hot — not usually with such vigor as to eject from its cylinder— but just often enough in our cars to add a bit of uncertainty to the fate of the close-by passenger.
My mother died in 1991 and had quit smoking over ten years earlier; however, to this day I can clearly recall her rituals for opening a brand new pack of cigarettes. Tareytons were unfiltered and had a faux cork tip. Mother would take each new pack and thump the bottom of the pack on the table several times before pulling the cellophane string tab that removed just the top of the cellophane wrapper. She would then carefully strip back just enough of the foiled paper to expose two rows of cigarettes. A quick shake would deliver a fresh new smoke ready to go. All she had to do was add fire.
Sometimes this posed a challenge even though there were matches everywhere -- long kitchen strike anywhere wooden matches by the stove, small boxes of wooden matches, and countless books of matches with advertising themes. I can remember numerous times being sent to find some matches for my mom. This was not always an unwelcome task, for some matchbooks prompted an evil response. The Pep Boys auto repair stores used matchbook advertising. These ads featured the three Pep Boys on the matchbook cover. They were stood full length touting their services. Well, they were just too tempting a target. It didn't take much to work a hole in the match book cover at crotch height and then pull a red-tipped match through to create a bit of visual porn. My mother could be bit of a prude and found our Pep Boys matchbook arts and crafts offensive, making it even more delightful.
Matches were not the only fire sources. Mother had a lady-like Ronson lighter, tortoise printed metal. It was not favored because it required refilling with lighter fluid, which mother never seemed to remember to do. My dad on the other hand had a trusty wartime Zippo lighter which he could flip open and use with one hand to light his cigarette. My dad died in 1982 and I can still hear in my mind's ear the definitive click of the hinge as he flipped his Zippo open. Dad occasionally smoked a pipe and had lots of paraphernalia for smoking the pipe. We children steered clear of these tools not wanting to "get in trouble." Lighters and other smoking equipment are artifacts of the 50s and 60s and can be readily found in yard sales and auctions. For me they are the stuff of memory.
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