Daily Archives: May 30, 2012

A Volkswagen Bus, a pipe and a Tootsie Pop

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This is a piece I wrote on the anniversary of my uncle’s death.

The sun was bright and the temperature was already climbing on that Iowa summer morning in the early 1961. I was in Denison, Iowa visiting my grandma, Momo I called her, along with my aunts and uncles (my mom’s brothers and sisters). My cousins were older than me so I was pretty much invisible to them. The one person that stands out in my memories is my uncle Gene. He was always ready to spend time with his nephews and was fun to be with.

He had taken over my Granddad’s dry cleaning business after he died. It was one of those old school businesses that did pickup and delivery of items needing cleaning and having been cleaned for all their customers. He drove an old, green VW Bus for all of his deliveries. The console between the front seats held his pipes, an old bean bag ash tray and several pouches of Prince Albert and Carter Hall tobacco. His lighter and a box of matches also sat on it. What made this particular summer morning exciting was that I was going with Uncle Gene on his deliveries. We would spend the day together and share all the adventures that my 7 year old imagination could conjure.

Uncle Gene was my Mom’s oldest brother and my favourite uncle. He was a tall, lanky veteran of WW2 and a survivor of POW camps. He always had a pipe in his mouth, a habit he said he picked up in the camps. He loved his old pipes. I remember a pipe rack in the car filled with several old well smoked Grabows that he used throughout his day. He was a clencher and he always seemed to have a pipe in his mouth in my memories. I don’t remember ever seeing him without a pipe. As I recall, he even talked around the pipe as he told his jokes and stories. I can still smell the tobaccos and pipes when I close my eyes and let my memory wander.

Momo woke me early that morning and fed me her famous oatmeal and milk. I had eaten in a hurry. I still remember hustling to get dressed and find my baseball cap for the day. As I was brushing my teeth at Momo’s insistence (I mean, why did I need to do that! I was in a hurry to get to “work”) I heard a horn honk in the driveway. I left the tap running, threw my toothbrush in the cup on the shelf above the sink and ran out the door. The screen door slammed behind me on the back porch and I heard Momo holler, “You forgot to turn off the water…You behave now! Do what your uncle tells you and don’t make a fuss!” I ignored her and ran to the van.

My Uncle reached across the console and opened the door for me. As I climbed up into the van he said, “Whew, looks like escaped her clutches this time son. We better get out of here fast before she comes after you!” I looked over at him as he winked at me and the smile crinkles around his eyes and his mouth almost vibrated as he clenched his pipe and chuckled.

“Do you think she will come after me Uncle Gene?” I said.

“You never know with Momo… depends on what you did when you ran out that door. You didn’t go and get yourself in trouble now did you?” He laughed as he replied. “Reach down on the floor by your feet and pick up that bag will you.”

I did as he said and climbed back up on the seat.

“Go ahead and open it up. I picked something up for you for our day. I will smoke my pipe but you need something in your mouth as well.” As I opened the bag he used his old Zippo to relight his pipe. He was a master at doing it with one hand as he drove. So while a wreath of smoke filled the front of the VW I reached into the bag and lifted out a box of Tootsie Roll Pops. I don’t know if they were bigger then than now or if they tasted better but that day I began my love affair with Tootsie Pops. I remember that my eyes were as big as saucers as I lifted out a grape Tootsie Pop, unwrapped it and stuck it in my mouth. I held the stick in my hand just like Uncle Gene held his pipe! He looked over at me, winked and nodded and we were on the way.

I don’t recall what we talked about that day, but I do remember that Uncle Gene was great to hang out with. He always had a ready story and a joke going as we went from house to house and back and forth to the shop. I must have sucked on half a dozen Tootsie Pops between the morning and lunch and then between lunch and the time he took me back to Momo’s house. I have no idea how many times he refilled his pipe or if he changed pipes between smokes. I kind of don’t think he did but then memory is a funny thing. All I know is that to this day, whenever I get into a VW van I always smell my Uncle Gene’s pipe. I see his face and hear his chuckle every time I fire up a bowl of Prince Albert. When the pipe is lit and the smoke fills the room I am transported back to that day in 1961 and the VW, the pipe and the Tootsie Pops.

Uncle Gene died many years ago now but my memory of that day lingers with me like the taste of my last smoke on my moustache. I will never forget him and his kindness to me as a young boy. I raise my Tootsie Pop, er… my pipe in his memory.

A Medico Lancer, Prince Albert and the birth of my first child

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Today, it is a quiet day at the office. Everyone has gone home or out to do work outside the office. It is raining and grey outside. In the warehouse, my daughter is working on designing new jewelry for our foundation. We send the designs to Nepal and the women who our organization has rescued from human trafficking make beautiful pieces for us to sell for them in Canada. I had an urge to write this story for her this afternoon and the muse was active. I want to share it with you. Thanks for reading this.

This week was my eldest daughter’s 30th birthday. Now that means a couple things to me – she is getting older and also I am getting old. When I am in that space I get a bit introspective and reflective. I found myself taking a trip back to the day she was born – February 1, 1982. I remember it well for a bunch of reasons beyond the obvious that she is my eldest!

My wife and I drove to the hospital like all expectant parents a few times with false alarms before the actual event was upon us. But when the time arrived we drove to the hospital – It was the last evening of January 1982 and we were ready for this birth. It was a bit of a circus at the hospital. My wife went through 20 hard hours of labour before they decided to do a C-section. I was the first dad they let into the operating room for a C-section birth. I was robed and ready and the surgery happened about 2am Feb. 1. We were amazed at the beautiful little girl that was our new born daughter. To this day we are still amazed by her – just so you know. I stayed with my wife for awhile and around 6am I headed out to go home.

It was a beautiful February day in Escondido, California. There was a light breeze but it was warm. I remember getting in the car and wishing I had a cigar to smoke or a pipe. It was time to celebrate my new daughter! That is not startling in itself, but what makes it an interesting moment is that I had not smoked my pipes in about 7 years. Somehow I had laid them aside during university days and not thought much about them. In fact I had no idea where they were at that moment – at my parents, at a thrift shop, in the trash… I did not know but I knew I wanted a pipe now!

So where does one get a hold of a pipe at 6am. I remember dropping the car in gear and heading to a 7-Eleven Convenience Store not far from the hospital. In those days they carried pipes and tobaccos. It did not take long to get there. I remember pulling into the store parking lot and getting out of my car. As I did I heard a shout – “Up against the car, hands on the hood.” I looked around and it dawned on me I was the one being addressed. I raised my shoulders and hands in a question mark and the voice said, “Yeah you do it now.” So with that I did what I was told and was immediately frisked by a young police officer. He took my license and left me standing against the car hood. I tried to ask him what I had done but he refused to answer and told me to be quiet. So, contrary to my normal behaviour, I did as I was told. In what seemed like an eternity he spun me around and handed me back my wallet and a ticket. I was flabbergasted. I asked him what in the world I had done. By this time the store clerk and a few early morning coffee drinkers were gathered looking at me. All he said was, “It is on the ticket, read it yourself.” With that he turned and got in his car and left.

I could not believe what had just happened to me. I looked at the ticket and saw that according to him I had run a red light. Whatever I had done it did seem like overkill. I mean come on it was 6am and the roads were empty. And what about the “up against car” stuff? Ah well, I shrugged it off and went into the store. They had a fair assortment of Medico pipes and some over the counter tobaccos. I was not a fan of the carved Medico’s so I was looking at smooth ones and found a nice looking billiard that I liked. It was a nice dark brown and had a great feel to it. It was placed on the counter and I turned to the tobacco. I seem to have remembered that my uncle had smoked Prince Albert so I bought a package of that tobacco and a bic lighter. I was set to celebrate. I also grabbed a good cup of coffee and headed to my car.

I opened the pouch of PA and took a good whiff of it. Man did it smell good to me. I took a pinch and began to load the new pipe that I had purchased. It was loaded in no time at all and I touched the flame to the bowl and I was on my way to bliss. I sat and sipped my coffee and the smoke for what seemed like a long time. I was in the zone. It was heavenly. The first pipe I had had in a long time and a perfect way to celebrate this morning’s event. I pulled out into traffic and headed for home. It was about a 20 minute drive so I stopped at least one time I remember and repacked the bowl. I spent the better part of the drive on that second bowl. When I got home I pulled up under the palm trees. As I got out of the car my dogs came to me and we sat on the porch and enjoyed the new morning. What a day. I don’t know how many bowls I smoked that morning but I do remember it was quite a few. I fell asleep with the pipe in my mouth and a last bowl going. I slept that way until a good friend woke me to see how the birth went.

Each Feb. 1 I still get that old Medico out and fire it up in memory of that day. Today, I know that it is made of Brylon and not briar. It is what many would call a cheap pipe. And it is certainly not one I would ever buy today but it has a beauty to me that goes beyond its appearance. Plus it has a magnificent story attached to it that comes back to me every time I smoke it. I return to that corner parking lot in Escondido in my memory and enjoy that first smoke on a glorious morning – I was a new dad! Many years have gone by now, my daughter is 30 this year. But the memory never fades for me. A few years ago I had to make a new stem for the pipe because I had chomped it up to a point that it was not repairable. I think it actually looks better than ever. It is now a nice looking church warden with a brass band; sports a good hard cake and smokes extremely well.

Happy Birthday to you my dear daughter. I raise a bowl to you.

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Seeing through the grime – a story told by an old pipe

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I had this story I had written sitting on the hard drive. I reworked it quite a bit the last two evenings and thought I would post it. In it I try to capture the old stories that I find in the estate pipes I seek to bring back to life. Thanks for reading it.

Awhile ago I was working on cleaning up an old estate pipe. I had purchased this old timer on eBay and when I came home from work one afternoon I found it had arrived in the mail. When I opened the box I could not believe my eyes. The pictures the seller posted on eBay did not begin to capture the sorry state of this poor pipe. It was a disaster – the bowl was caked to the point of not holding any more tobacco. I could barely fit a pencil in what remained of the tobacco chamber. The cake that filled the bowl was not the typical hard carbon but was crumbling and very soft. The stem would not fit all the way into the shank as both it and the inside of the shank were covered with tar and a white lime crust. The airflow on this poor old timer certainly must have been miniscule, but there was no way I was going to put this thing in my mouth to even blow on it. I found that once I removed the stem that it had the weirdest stinger apparatus I have ever seen that would have constricted the airflow even more. It was short, thick metal and absolutely crammed full of tars and unidentifiable tan chunks. I know, the word “chunks” does not help understand what I am talking about but I don’t know how else to describe the brown stuff that was thick and packed all over this stinger. The metal of the stinger was rough and appeared to be pitted or at least it had craters and crevices all over the sides and top of it. It was in truly sad shape. It certainly must have been a beautiful pipe when all this started. It was that hope of hidden beauty beneath the grime that drew me to this pipe and caused me to want to take a risk on cleaning and restoring it. On top of that was also the challenge of restoring what looked to be a hopeless cause.

I carefully wiped the outside of the bowl with a damp rag to get some of the surface grime off. I wanted to see what the grain looked like underneath the grit. I carefully separated the stem from the shank and removed the stinger for a soak. I then used several reamers that I have to ream both the bowl and shank of the pipe. All of this was preliminary to the actual cleaning work. I wanted to be able to more knowledgeably assess the condition of the pipe under the years of grime. What a lot of carbon dust lay on the paper that I put on my work table. The grain did not look too bad. There was some interesting curly birdseye on one side and flame grain on the back and front of the bowl. A twisting grain flowed across both the bottom of the pipe and the shank. I turned the pipe over in my hands to inspect it for cracks. I have found that there are often cracks in pipes that have been smoked this hard. Surprisingly, there were none in this bowl at all. But this pipe had been smoked right through the bottom of the bowl – yes burned out. That would not surprise you if you had seen the condition of the pipe. But what made it surprising to me was that the bottom of the bowl had been plugged and repaired with a well worked briar plug. It had darkened but I could still see that it fit very snugly and carefully and showed some thoughtful work at the hands of a good repairman. All this caused me to reassess what I had originally concluded about the pipe and the piper who used to smoke it.

A pipe, that at first glance, appeared to have been “abused” this much, must have been ignored and not cared for by its owner. But I am not convinced of that verdict – in fact I was beginning to conclude just the opposite – it must have been a well loved and favourite pipe. The fact that it had obviously been smoked to the same point before in its life and then repaired with a well done plug and then smoked to the same point of cake again says a lot about what kind of pipe it must be and what kind of smoke it must have delivered to it owner. On the one hand, the original owner did not take care of his pipe in terms of daily maintenance and cleaning. I don’t think it had ever seen a pipe cleaner in all of its years. But on the other hand, he cared enough to take the time to have a well done plug put in the bottom of the bowl to fix the burn out and then smoked it again to this point a second or maybe a third or fourth time. That is the contradiction that exists when I look at a pipe like this. There is more to the story than initially meets the eye.

Only when it is stripped down and cleaned do I get a bit more of the story underneath all the surface grime. I think that the old fellow who must have owned this pipe would have been interesting to spend time with having a talk. I am certainly making an educated guess but I believe that this was a pipe that belonged to an old timer. By the looks of it, I would say it would have been disposed of with his other non-sellable or unwanted estate items. The fact is that if that was not true it would still be in his mouth. I would guess that he was a one pipe guy who refused to give up on an old friend and kept repairing and smoking his old buddy. Each problem that came up was a puzzle to be addressed and repaired before the pipe was returned to its smoking regimen. There is a silver band on the pipe that probably is original and matches the shape of other pipes like this one that I found on the web, but it is also engraved with what appeared to be initials – a monogram that possibly identified it as his. The band had turned around on the shank several times and had been obviously re-glued several times to keep it with the pipe. It was a not only a mark of ownership but of pride. It made me wonder if he had it engraved himself of if one of his children might have had it done as part of a very personal gift for “dad”. In the bottom of the bowl there remained a bit of old and very dry tobacco. The bowl had been smoked to that point and left. There is no way of knowing what the tobacco was as it was pretty well destroyed. But it was there and was crumbling with the cake in the bowl. It gave me pause to wonder what happened to the guy that made him stop at that point of the bowl and lay his pipe down.

As I moved to do the first stage of cleaning the stem I was amazed to see is that the stem was actually pristine under the grime. There were no tooth marks or bites on it. There was no sign of the kind of abuse that I have come to expect in this kind of pipe. Sure, the button was clogged and airway was almost solid with tars but there are no bite marks at all on the stem. There are no scratches and no problems that a good buffing and cleaning would not take away. That too tells me something of the old pipesmoker. He was not a clencher. He did not chomp on his bit. It was the original bit and it was in good shape under the grime. He was a man who held his pipe in his hand while he enjoyed the process of sipping the smoke. He was obviously one who was not to be hurried in his process and did not want to be bothered by anything that stopped the enjoyment of his pipe. I appreciate the care that he took to not bite the stem after having repaired many stems that have been marked by the fangs of the owner.

The cleanup was finished and the bowl was refinished and re-stained with a cherry stain to match the original colour of the pipe when it was made. The silver was polished and the stem was polished to a pristine black. The bowl was coated with a charcoal based coating to give it a bit of protection as I work to rebuild a hard cake in the bowl. I loaded a bowl of my favourite Virginia/Perique blend for the inaugural smoke. I chose a quiet spot to relax while I put the fire to the tobacco and sipped the smoke. The flame jumped to the tobacco and the smoke began to curl around the lip of the bowl and out the edges of my mouth as I puffed. Ahhh, now I had joined the ongoing story of this pipe to my own history. It smoked very well and delivered a cool flavourful smoke to the bottom of the bowl… I think next bowl I will remove that odd old stinger and see what I get from it. What a great pipe. I think I had begun to understand the charms of this old pipe. I tip my “new” pipe in quiet thanks to the old piper who had pointed the way to this well loved pipe.

Enjoying a Personal Moment of Liberty on Liberty Island

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Blog by Steve Laug

I just finished writing this reflection that I wanted to share here. As I am a resident of Canada my views may be skewed by my culture but I don’t think so… thanks for reading. I look forward to your responses.

The alarm went off at 6:00am – far too early that morning considering the short time we had spent in bed after enjoying the city the night before. My wife and I and two friends had rented a room at Hephzibah House, a restored brownstone retreat centre near Central Park in Manhattan. It was a dark and chilly November morning. I woke my wife; dressed and headed down for some coffee in the parlour to bring up to encourage her waking and getting ready. We were due to meet our friends downstairs to start the day of touring together. We needed the internal warmth and caffeine before we headed out to the subway so we took a second cup with us. We had bundled up in scarves, toques and winter coats because it was a chilly morning and we knew that we would be cold riding the ferry to Liberty Island and on to Ellis Island. I carried a satchel on my shoulder and in it along with the map, ferry tickets, and Metrocard subway passes was my pipe pouch, some 10 year old 5100, a lighter and tamper. I was intent on carrying out my plan – to smoke my pipe on Liberty Island in the shadow of the Statue of Liberty.

We walked the 4 blocks to the subway. Using the Metrocard we went down the stairs to the subway and quickly boarded the train. We exited the subway near Trinity Church and Wall Street and walked through Battery Park to join the line of those waiting to clear security and board the ferry. By 8am we were on the ferry ready for a 20 minute ride to the island. We found seats on the top deck and hunkered down into our warm coats ready to take pictures. The wind off the water was cold but we did not want to miss the full view of the city behind us and Liberty Island and Ellis Island ahead on the journey across the water. I took pictures as we left Manhattan and continued as we approached the island. Once the boat docked, we made our way along the walkway to a coffee shop and bought a hot coffee to sip while we walked around to a spot where we could sit and look at the Lady. She is far more massive than pictures can communicate. She weighs 450,000 pounds and stands 151 feet tall from the tips of her crown to the broken shackles at her feet. She is truly an amazing sight to behold.

We made our way to a place on the walkway where we could look up into her face and see the glory of the statue. We took some photos and just enjoyed the view. I decided that now was the time to fire up my pipe. The spot was perfect and the setting could not have been better. I sat down on the low wall out of the wind, opened my satchel and took out my pipe pouch. I unzipped it and took out my chosen pipe. I opened the pouch of aged 5100 and packed the pipe. I was savouring the moment as I packed it and checked it. I set it on fire with my lighter and puffed on the pipe to get things going. Once it was burning well I sat back and sipped the smoke. It was quiet even though there were a lot of people on the sidewalks. It is a place that seemed to evoke silence. I looked across at the Manhattan skyline taking in the tall buildings and the textures of the city. As I smoked my pipe it became obvious to me that the setting was a great place for reflection and introspection so I virtually disappeared into the smoke. My wife and the other couple who were with us were out of mind as I savoured this pipe moment. I love it when the pipe and smoke take me for a quiet trip outside of the event to a place deep within my own soul. I find it restful and exhilarating at the same time.

My wife and our friends continued to take pictures and walk around the area while I sat and enjoyed my pipe. I was content to just sit and smoke while I looked up at the statue and out across the water to the gap left by the Twin Towers. The sunshine took a bit of the chill out of the air and warmed me. The warm bowl of tobacco in my hand kept my hands warm as well. What a great place to enjoy a pipe. The day was perfect and the air was clear. The view on the horizon and on the island itself was stellar. It could not get much better.

My reflection led me to thinking long and hard about the freedom that I so often take for granted as a citizen of the west and that I also so easily abandon passively without voicing a complaint or concern. For example, the right to sit and smoke my pipe in public is dramatically changing. It is being taken away piece by piece with precision by the vocal anti-smoking advocates. They have declared their role to act as my conscience and defined my pleasure a vice. They argue emphatically that it should not be allowed for anyone anywhere at any time to smoke in public. In Vancouver, British Columbia, where I live, just a few years ago they made all pubs and public places non-smoking. This was quickly followed by declaring outdoor patios at restaurants and pubs also non-smoking citing safety concerns for wait staff regarding second hand smoke. Soon it became illegal to smoke anywhere near a door or air intake vent, removing most of the places that smokers gathered outside their workplaces. The next blow came last year when they made it illegal to smoke in outdoor public space such as parks and beaches. They cinched the knot even tighter for smokers when they declared it illegal to smoke in a car when there are children present. They are systematically working to make my home city “smoke-free”.

All of this went through my mind as I sat under the shadow of Lady Liberty that morning. My wife says I am being paranoid when I share with her about such things, but I find myself unable to not feel a bit paranoid about them. We tend to suffer from the “frog in the kettle” syndrome. Like the frog in the pan of water on the stove, we do not notice that the heat is gradually being increased and we sit passively while we slowly are being cooked. The gradual erosion of our freedom takes us further into a nanny state that decides what is lawful for us. I find it frustratingly hard to know what to do with this issue. I write and protest but the law marches on. I now personally am employing a more passive aggressive approach and purposefully, publicly smoking my pipe in each place it is not allowed. Hopefully I will get caught and get to speak my mind. Anyway, back to NYC.

It was only I later that I found out that New York City was moving in the same direction. We found no pubs or restaurants that allowed smoking. I am also quite certain that I was breaking some law about smoking a pipe in public when I enjoyed the pipe on Liberty Island. But I savoured the moment knowing that it would probably never happen again for me. I sat on the wall and enjoyed my pipe for probably a half an hour and then continued to puff on it as I wandered around the park taking in the trees that cold, clear and sunny New York morning. It was just about perfect. You know, the amazing thing to me was that no one commented on my pipe. No one expressed either negative or positive sentiments. No one walked by holding their noses or rolling their eyes with disgust at my “filthy” habit and no one commenting on memories of dear ones who used to smoke a pipe in times gone by. It was as if I was invisible to them for the time or maybe I was just oblivious to their responses as I lived in the solitary moment delivered by a good pipe and tobacco to the pipeman whenever he lights the fragrant leaf for a settled bowl.

Memories of that first pipe

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I still remember the day when I first started smoking a pipe. I was 16 years old and had friends who smoked cigarettes all the time. But those never interested me the way a pipe did. I was employed as a waiter at a local hotel and restaurant. Each shift we were given break times where everyone grabbed a drink and a smoke in the hallway away from the customers. Those were the days where employers provided a place for their staff to smoke. It even had a big black ashtray and nice chairs to sit and rest a bit. It was a perfect time and place for a young man to learn to smoke a pipe.

I had a regular customer I waited on who smoked a pipe after each meal I served him. I can see him to this day, pushing back his chair and packing his pipe and then lighting it with a silver Dunhill lighter as I cleared his table. He would sit and enjoy the smoke and order a scotch to complete his dinner. I can still smell the smoke in my memory and the smells were delightful. His pipe smoking brought to mind my uncle Gene and his pipe. I loved my uncle and I loved the smell of his pipe. So the time, the place, the tutors all combined to open the world of pipe smoking for me.

I remember leaving work on my dinner break that evening and driving across the river to a Rexall Drugstore on Shoup and A Street to pick up my first pipe, a lighter and some tobacco. I took my time looking at the pipes on display and chose a nice Medico briar – a matte finish straight Dublin, no shiny flashy pipe for me. I believe that it was actually sandblasted and stained an oxblood colour (it is gone now and how that happened is a story for another time). The lighter was a disposable Bic and the tobacco was Borkum Riff Whiskey Soaked. I carried my new treasures back to the car and sat fondling them for quite awhile before heading back to work.

I served my customer their meals and drinks and waited with growing anticipation for my first break. I would not say I was patient because actually I was not. I wanted to try break out my new pipe and try it now! When the break time finally came I went back to the smoking hallway, opened the packaging of the new pipe and blew air through it and enjoyed the feel and weight of it in my hand and mouth. I peeled the tape off the pouch of Borkum Riff and opened it. I inhaled the fresh smells and felt very “adult”. I stuffed the bowl of the pipe with tobacco to the brim. I had no clue what I was doing and I packed it so tight there was not much draw. But hey, what did I know. I tried to light the thing but could not keep it going. It was like sucking air through a coffee stirrer. I spent most of that break trying to light my new pipe. I ended up not smoking a bowl at all that time around. I emptied the tobacco out and tried it again… still too tight. Break was over, I had not smoked my pipe yet and I was a frustrated.

The later dinner crowd came in and my pipe smoking customer arrived. I served him his meal and he ate a leisurely dinner. He ordered his scotch and while he was waiting pulled out his pipe and a tin of tobacco. My eyes lit up as I watched him. Maybe I could ask him for help; at the very least I could watch how he went about packing his pipe and learn that way. The dinner hour was over and the restaurant was pretty empty. I watched as he loaded his pipe but could no help but politely interrupt him to ask for his help with my new pipe. He took my pipe his hands like it was a precious thing. Looking back I realize how kind he was. He smoked Dunhill pipes and Dunhill tobacco, but he never batted an eye at my “cheap” pipe and drugstore tobacco. He handed it back to me and agreed to help me out. He took out his pipe and had me hold mine then we both packed them at the same time. He had a great teaching method. He had me put the amount of tobacco needed for a bowl on a paper napkin. We each took the same amount of tobacco. Then he showed me how to pack the bowl in thirds with each one packed a bit more firmly. We lit our lighters and we gave it what he called a charring light and then tamped and did a second light. I saw that I needed to pick up a tamper, but even as I thought about it, he reached into his pocket and handed me a pipe nail. He pulled out a chair and had me join him. He told me to suck gently and take my time so as not to singe my tongue. I tried and succeeded in at least smoking the whole bowl with him. Many lights and relights later, my bowl was finished far before his was. I thanked him profusely for teaching me how to pack a pipe. He laughed and encouraged me to keep practicing.

As I cleared his last dinner items away I remember that he winked at me and told me not to drink any alcohol or carbonated beverages as it would cause me a bit of pain. He seemed to know that I had singed my tongue and was suffering a good case of tongue bite. He recommended apple juice or a cup of tea as a soothing drink to ease the discomfort. I thanked him again. I finished my shift for the night and sat down for a second bowl in my pipe. I packed it right this time first try. I fired it up and used his nail to tamp it. It burned my tongue like the dickens. My tongue felt like raw meat. I wanted to lay the pipe down but persevered until the bowl was finished. I may not have been the brightest young pipeman but I was committed. Over the next days I worked with that pipe and practiced smoking slowly. The tongue bite healed and lessened. I was well on the road to being a pipe smoker, not a small feat when you consider what I was smoking!

I have never forgotten that old gentleman who initiated me into the art of being a pipeman. The memory of his kindness is what keeps me passing on the same to other new pipe smokers. I do so with care packages of refurbished pipes and samples of tobacco as well as lessons on how to pack that first bowl. The pipe nail he gifted me is still in my cabinet… I think(I say I “think” because over the years I have handed out dozens of them and may well have given away the original). I continued to smoke that Medico for the next couple of years and it became a well seasoned pipe. I soon added several other pipes to my bag and I was on my way to building a collection. Somehow though, during university years my pipes lay idle. I have no real idea why that was as I look back. There was no real reason for it. Maybe as I think about it something will trigger my memory and later it could be the reason for another story. But I do know that I did not pick them up again until the morning my first daughter was born some seven or eight years later. I have no idea what happened to that old Medico and the other pipes. It may well be sitting in a cupboard in my parents’ house. However, the lessons learned from my old friend made the next time I picked up the pipe much more enjoyable.

Good hunting – estate pipes

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I wrote this about one of my walk about hunts for estate pipes. Thought I would share it here.

It was a beautiful sunny autumn day in Southern Alberta. It was fall, crisp and clear. The fall colours were in full glory. Leaves crunched under foot and swirled on the breeze as I walked down the sidewalks. In the city of Lethbridge, Alberta (city is a bit of overstatement) I sat at the local Tim Horton’s shop (a donut and coffee shop for those who are not Canadians). I sat looking out the window enjoying the morning. A couple of antique shops had caught my eye earlier that morning when I had taken a meandering stroll with a pipe. It was still early and they would not open for awhile yet, so I leisurely sipped my coffee and dreamed of what I might find behind the windows and locked doors of those shops. I had scoped them out with my nose pressed against the glass. I had seen in one of them a pipe rack or two on a shelf near the door. The other was a bit more mysterious and less organized. They both looked hopeful to me. I wondered what treasures I would find once they opened. Would there be some Dunhill’s, some Larson’s, old Comoy’s or GBDs? Always the hunt and the wait are things that leave me budding with optimistic (and I suppose naive) hope that a real treasure would await me. Would I find a new lighter or some tampers to add to the collection at home? It is always fun to travel through the shops in my mind before actually going through the door.

Ahhh. Coffee is finished and the first shop is opening its doors. I am off for the hunt! I go through the door and wind through the shop. I walk down the aisles to eliminate any hidden finds before I check the ones by the door. There is nothing here so far. I know there is a rack or two by the door but I want to finish the back first and then work through that rack. I find some cracked and sad old Grabows, a beat up old Yellow Bowl, some pipe reamers, a few dilapidated pipe cleaners and some old racks that do not grab my attention. I move through the rest of the shop and come on the racks by the door. I work through the pipes in the rack and check out the finds there. There is nothing that grabs me or begs to be taken home jumping from the racks. There are some older Grabows, pretty sad shape. There is an older GBD that is really caked and damaged with a crack bowl and shank. I look at the prices and am amazed at the nerve of a seller to ask the kind of money they want for these poor old fellows. I ask the clerk for the best price and find they are willing to knock off $5. The remaining $25 per pipe mark is still far too pricey for what the pipes are, so I walk away. I leave the shop and head next door to the second shop. It is still closed so I wander down the street wondering if the day is going to be a bust in terms of pipe finds. I visit a couple of used furniture shops and thrift shops and find nothing.

Finally I make my way back to the other antique shop. The door is open and the owner is outside having a smoke. Hmmm, that could be promising maybe there will be something here. At least they are not antis! I wander in and immediately come upon a rack with three pipes. Nothing stunning but very interesting just the same. One is an older SC Pipe, made in Canada by the Paradis Bros. in Montreal. The second one is no name Italian in pretty rough shape and the third is an old Brigham two dot. As I am checking out the stems, shanks, bowls etc. for viability the owner comes up and we strike up a conversation. He asks me what I am doing with old pipes. I tell him of my hobby of cleaning, restoring and smoking the old timers. He is pretty interested. He calls his wife over and asks her whether she remembers where he had put some other pipes from the shop. He asked her if they were here or at their home. She sends him to the back room and I go back to work through the threesome in this rack.

I hear the owner in the back room and shortly he comes out carrying a large bucket of pipes. I feel a wave of excitement move over me as I look at his bucket. I leave the pipe rack and make my way to a table where he puts the bucket and pours out his loot. Wow. There are a lot of pipes there – probably about 50 of them – really an amazing lot. Mostly junk by the looks of the pile but worth the time. This is the joy of the hunt that I so love. To me there is nothing like just digging through old briar, looking at the stampings and shapes, getting a feel for the haul and separating them into piles that demand further attention and those that are disposable. I love the task of digging through the pile of old clutter, dirty pipes, various pieces and stems and bowls and seeing what I can salvage. Sure enough I find quite a few. I am working through the first sort and feeling the excitement rise in me. I put the ones for a third look in a pile and return the rejects to the bucket. These rejects just do not catch my eye or interest. They might have some cracks in the shanks or bowls and just are not worth this cut. The remaining lot is five pipes – a Comoy’s Guildhall pipe, SC Bent egg, a GBD Billiard, a Old Pal pot, a Golden Arrow London Pipe Lumberman made by Comoys. They were filthy and grimy. Grain was relatively invisible. An utter mess, which made me realize that I was probably in for a good deal.

I worked through the five that I had set aside a second time in the light. I wet my finger and highlighted the grain to see what was under the grime. I checked the shanks and rims for char and burn. I looked for gnawing at the mouthpiece and cracks in them as well. I wondered about the prices and what I could get the lot for. I called the owner over. He smiled as he saw my work. His first words were to offer the whole lot. A bucket of pipes for $50 cash would make the bucket mine. I have to tell you, at first the joy of the hunt caught me, I wanted it all – a price of $50, Canadian no less, for the lot had my wallet virtually leaping out of my pocket. I thought about it. Oh the stories that these pipes could tell and that I could make them tell. The mysteries that lay beneath the grime. I wanted them all for sure. Then my more rational and logical side kicked in as I realized I would never get the lot on the airplane and carried home. I envisioned explaining to airport security why I was carrying a bucket of pipes on their plane. It was tough to work through this process. I argued with myself and finally asked the fellow about the price for the five of them. He scratched his scrubby beard (I can say that because I have a long one). He looked at me and asked if I was sure I did not want the lot. I hemmed and hahed then said no and he said the price was $5 each… I quickly settled up before the price changed. I made my way outdoors with my treasures and headed to the airport.

Since then I have had all kinds of thoughts about the ones I left in the bucket. I think of creative ways I could have gotten them home. I thought of shipping them to myself, of bussing them to my home by Greyhound. I even thought of calling my friend in Lethbridge and having him pick them up and ship them to me. But the fact is that the bucket of pipes is still sitting in that little shop in Lethbridge, Alberta. Maybe they will be there the next time I visit. Or maybe one of you will stumble upon the shop there and have the same joy of discovery as you gingerly and excitedly paw through the lot. If you get there and pick up the lot be sure to let us know…. some of us are interested!

Chillin with a pipe

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This is another piece I wrote. It was born during a stressful time in my life. The pipe is a necessary piece of the solace I find in times like this.

Over the past days I have had multiple reasons to reflect on the necessity of just “chillin”, stopping and not allowing the franticness of others and the problems that they so often seem to put on me get the best of me. I am reminded of the importance of just taking time to pick up my pipe and relax. Too often these days it seems to me, I let others move or manipulate me with their urgency, to get frustrated or anxious, or angry; to take up defence or offense and speak out; to get sucked into the schemes or plans whose ends are somehow assumed to be hidden. It is in those moments that I remember why I am a pipe smoker.

I take out my pouch or tin; quietly and slowly load a bowl. I say slowly because you cannot do it quickly and get it done well. You have to work a nice knot of tobacco into the bowl in such a way as to enable a good burn. Even that process slows the pace and makes you breathe a bit more slowly. I take a deep breath and slowly inhale, letting the magic of the moment, the stuffing of the bowl, the feel or look of the pipe in hand, the feel of tobacco whatever its cut, its unlit smell, the pungency of a good Virginia pouring out of the tin, just take over. My breathing becomes more relaxed and measured, my vision and thoughts more focused as I pack the bowl of the pipe I have picked from my rack.

I don’t understand how, but it is a fact that the issues and troubles come into perspective as I quietly work over them a bit removed from their urgency. I am able by the pipe, to slowly turn them in my mind instead of just reacting in knee jerk fashion. Ahhh, the wonder of the reflective time taken in packing a bowl, the anticipation of the smoke and then finally the smoke itself. From the strike of the first match and the initial flame that passes over the tobacco, from the feel of the first rush of flavour in my mouth and on my tongue to seeing the gentle smoke blow across the porch or room, I can step away for a brief respite from whatever others put on me or whatever I choose to take on and remember that it too will pass. Things really are all right with my world.

When I forget this magic of my pipe, I am quickly and thoughtlessly sucked into the urgency of others complaints and concerns. I cease to be any help at all as their issues rapidly escalate into my own. A long time ago on the streets I learned from an old friend a piece of wisdom that too readily slips away. He said something like this: “I like helping folks with problems, so in the course of our relationship if ever I allow your issues, problems or concerns to become mine, I can no longer help you — because now you don’t have a problem anymore…. it is now mine.”

For me the pipe gives me the freedom to keep remembering the wisdom of my old friend. As I light my bowl I am given the space to keep my distance from issues and not personalize them. When I do this I am given the rare privilege of standing apart from the problem or issue of my life and viewing it as a casual observer for a bit. I get to take time to mull over thoughts with a pipe and bowl. I can be thoughtful and less prone to jump to conclusions and take offence. That is the wonder of the pipe for me. It is a means of separating myself from my life and its constant influences and turbulence. It creates a zone of space where I can turn things over slowly in my head and look at it dispassionately just for a bit… perhaps as it has happened many times in the past, a solution will walk out of the smoke for me. Time for a bowl… cheers

Choosing a Blend of Tobacco

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I wrote this about a year ago and it was published in the Pipe Collector. I was just rereading it and thought I would add it to the mix here.

As a member of several online pipe smoking forums and a member of the North American Society of Pipe Collectors (NASPC), I find I am exposed to an endless stream of potential tobaccos that I can read about and try. There are so many reviews of tobaccos on the Forums and also in the NASPC newsletter – consider Lou Zisholz’ articles alone and you are left with a boatload of options to try. I rarely see a review of a tobacco that says, “This is awful so don’t smoke it”. So how does one go about making choices that work and don’t just leave you with a pile of tobaccos that you did not like? How do you wade through all the reviews and all the “sounds good” propaganda and make intelligent choices? I for one don’t want to buy a tin of something I will “maybe like”. I am particular about what I like and don’t like and with a large family that I am still paying to raise I am careful about what I pick up to try. I would like some relative certainty that the tobacco I choose to try will be a keeper for me and not one that will soon be on the forums for trade. I know that the process can never be boiled down to absolute certainty but I think it can be worked into a system that actually minimizes the blends that I have piled up that I don’t like.

Some pipe smokers I have spoken with put a lot of weight on the reviews they read on various websites to help them in the process. I too have read those reviews and found that they cover the spectrum from like to dislike. I don’t particularly find that helpful and now find I rarely turn to the review pages until later in the process. Often the reviews wax eloquent about the flavour of the smoke being creamy and buttery. In fact I have written those kinds of reviews myself. I read of a tobacco being rich and smooth. This too is not altogether clear to me as to what the writer means. I think I understand what is being said but I am never really sure. What I want is something, whether a written process or a mental one, or a combination of both, that provides a measure of clarity for me in my choices. I want a process by which I can make a decision that has some relative degree of certainty. Of course there will always be exceptions to the process but at least there will be some method for a guy like me who does not have the time, energy or desire to just take the risk to buy something and just give it a try.

With that purpose in my mind, and being somewhat of a systems guy, I decided to try to put together a method for future tobacco purchases. I asked pipe smokers on two of the Pipe smoking forums I frequent how they go about choosing a tobacco. Their responses ranged from those who say “I try everything” to a very structured method with simple steps. I read all of the responses and thought through my own method of choosing tobaccos to purchase. After reading the responses from others I decided to write down my approach as to how I have chosen and tried tobaccos throughout the past 10+ years. I chose that time frame because I know that for the 20+ years before that I was much more random in my approach. If the tin looked interesting or the pouch was nice I would grab it. My cabinet was filled with all kinds of tins and bags that had a mere one pipe load smoked from them. It was truly a motley assortment of tobaccos with no real rhyme or reason to them. Around 10 years ago that changed for me. I became focused on Virginias and found that they became my go to smoke. As time went on I gave away or dumped the partial tins and bags into a jar of scrap tobaccos that I labelled “Hoover Blend”. I still have several of these mixtures jarred and sitting in the cupboard. Other aromatics I had, I gave away. The English samples I had, I also gave away. I focused my purchases on Virginias. From that settled place throughout the past 10 years I have branched out to try some Virginia Perique blends with good success and have added them to my cellar. In the past two years I have also begun to explore Balkan and lighter English blends. My cellar has a growing representation of them in the inventory.

Here is my process. I decided that my starting point would be to use my go to tobaccos as a base and to look at the components of each of those blends. I have smoked a pipe long enough to know what I like and don’t like. Thus my favourites would provide a place to start as I consider adding other blends. Once I have clarity on what each of my favourites is composed of then I have a mean by which to look at other potential blends. For me that meant creating what would act as a base tobacco in each of the following tobacco types: Virginias, Virginia/Perique, Balkan and English. I would know what tobaccos each of my go to blends was composed of and that would provide a basis for a comparison with the composition of potential blends. This is not something that I slavishly write out or list as it really is a small base – 1 of each blend that for me is the mean. Actually this is quite simple for me as the make up of those blends is easily committed to memory.

Once I had the baseline in place I took my wish list of potential tobaccos to try, those tobaccos that have piqued my interest from what I read and hear through my pipe smoking connections both real time and online. I divided the list into the categories above as I was able. There are always variants to the categories so I have added a category to my list that I label “other” for those that just do not fit into the main headings. My list is always in flux as I add and subtract tobaccos that catch my interest. I find that it has been helpful for me to categorize them by tobacco type as it helps me to keep in mind what it was about them that caught my eye. I don’t know if it is my “old-timers” setting in or what but I seem to easily forget why I put them on the list in the first place. This at least can serve to jog the memory a bit. It also is a help in the ordering process to match tobaccos to my palate at the given moment as well as plan for different seasons where I know I will smoke different tobaccos.

Under each tobacco type in my list I have begun to group tobaccos that I want to try by blender or company. For instance under the category of Virginia Perique blends I have subdivided the different blends into those done by McClellands, S. Gawith, Gawith & Hoggarth, Solani, Friborg & Treyer, Shop blenders, etc. you get the idea. The same is true for just Virginia blends, though there I make a distinction between flakes and rubbed out blends. Balkans and English also have categories. In terms of the few aromatics that interest me, I smoke them so infrequently that I have one blanket category for them. For me this helps me to focus an order to stock up my cellar on what I have been smoking. I can also do the order pretty quickly as I have found that some of the e-tailers I use arrange their sites by blenders. So use it if you like, but it works for me.

Periodically I go through my new tobaccos and visit the blender’s site or Tobacco Reviews and get info on the makeup of each blend. This helps me refine my list a bit and discard the ones that upon looking at them more closely don’t fit what I am interested in smoking and for some reason just don’t intrigue me enough to risk a try. I am not particularly interested in reading the PR hype regarding a blend from the maker or the reviews unless it is a blend with which I am totally unfamiliar. If I look at the reviews at all it is to see if the few reviewers that I have come to trust are weighing in on this one. For me the reviews generally come down to a matter of personal taste and that is a hard one to match for any of us. We have all loved tobaccos that others hate and vice versa. Once I have cleaned up my wish list, I note the ones that interest me in order of priority for ordering.

With my focused list, I go to my favourite web e-tailers and see what they carry in terms of these tobaccos. I read any write ups they may have (knowing that they are generally sales pitches, though some are better than others). I check the prices and availability of the blends. This also helps me to categorize what I will try next. Often I pick the top two or three blends on my list for my order. I usually take one tin of each before I have tried them. I am conservative in that I don’t want a pile of tins of tobacco around based on another person’s likes or dislikes. I want to have a cellar filled with stuff I enjoy. So after I have tried the sample tin – I find it takes me a full tin of tobacco before I can make an informed decision – then I will order some for the cellar. I find this way I rarely have stuff to get rid of by sale or trade and I always am smoking what I enjoy. If for some reason it falls out of favour I can put it aside in a jar and let it sit for awhile. For me one of the beauties of pipe smoking is the fact that my tastes are always in process. What I like today my change, but then again the circle turns and I may like it once more.

All of that may seem like a cumbersome process, but it really is not. It has become second nature and for me it has truly focused what I try and what I order. The one thing it does not take into account is the samples of tobacco that I receive from other pipe smokers and from some of the e-tailers. Those require a few adjustments but the method still works.

A Perfect Alignment of 54s

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I wrote this one on my birthday a few years ago now. I love the alignment of events and items that made that a special day for me. I wanted to share it here as well.

It is funny how it takes me some time to finally get around to writing some things down. But today I decided it was time to sit down and write about a special event in my life. I celebrated my fifty fourth birthday December 7, 2008. Periodically I find myself going back and reflecting on all the individual pieces that came together for a perfect smoke that day. It was a combination of planning and serendipitous discoveries that made the event work out better than I could have ever imagined.

I spent the previous year gathering the actors for the event – each of them would play a major role in making the day memorable. Each of them came with its own unique story to contribute to the day. In almost every case their past was shrouded with a bit of mystery and certainly a lack of definitive information about their existence before finding me.

The first character I went looking to recruit was a pipe for the occasion. Not just any pipe would do as I wanted one that really fit my birthday in a special way. The more I thought about it the more I wanted to have a pipe that was as old as me. It would be great to smoke a pipe from 1954 on my 54th birthday. So I began the hunt for just such a pipe. My decision imposed limitations on me to just a few makers. The only ones that I know that can be dated to 1954 with any degree of certainty are those made by Dunhill and Peterson. There may well be others that bear a silver hallmarked band, but in my experience the banded ones I have seen were all made in the late 19th or early 20th Century. That gave me a focus for my hunt – an older Dunhill and/or a Peterson pipe.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I emailed Mike Hagley to see if he had a 1954 in his collection of Dunhill pipes that he might be willing to part with. Of course as is often the case in my experience, Mike had several from other years but not a 1954. We ended our correspondence with a promise that he would keep his eyes open for one. I cannot remember the details but eventually Mike emailed me an eBay link to a 1954 Dunhill Shell Briar in a Canadian shape. It was in decent shape but had a replacement stem that had been poorly made. The stem was not seated properly in the shank and appeared to be at an angle. I decided to bid on the pipe and see what I could do. I entered my highest bid and let it sit. I was surprised to see that I was the only bidder. The pictures were rough so it did not give a clear idea of the condition of the pipe. The short and long of it was that when the auction closed and the pipe was mine.

Two weeks went by and Canada Post finally delivered my birth year Dunhill. Upon inspection it appeared to be in very good shape. The finish and the condition of the rim and shank were very good. The reason for the misfit stem turned out to be an angled tenon and not a misdrilled shank done during the repair. What a relief. I cleaned and polished the bowl and shank and re-bent the tenon to straighten it out. (Though even with this work it still did not fit flush to the shank.) As I held it in my hands I began to wonder about getting a new stem made for it. I contacted Dr. Dave at Walker Briar Works to see if he was interested in making a new stem for me. He was up for the challenge and I sent it off to him. He researched what a 1954 Dunhill Canadian stem looked like, took an old Dunhill stem he had in stock and cut it to fit. This allowed for a properly sized white spot for a ’54. He also was able to match the taper on the stem to the original. Once it was finished he shipped it back to me and I was pleased both with his work and to have the first character for my celebration in place.

My attention shifted to the next character I needed to have in place for the day – the tobacco I would smoke in the 1954 Dunnie on my 54th birthday. I looked through my stash of tobacco and I set aside several potential favourites that I could open. But nothing struck me as the right one. I still had time to work on that so I put the search aside for awhile. I knew something would come up and be just right for the occasion.

While I was on holidays in the US, visiting family in Idaho, I decided to check out an old junk shop/antique mall that I always shop at when I am there. I have frequently found some good pipes to refurbish and some other unique tobaciana items. I walked through the many booths of things for sale – three floors worth – and picked up endless old pipes to check out and old tins that on handling proved to be empty. I did find a one pound tin of old Prince Albert that was unopened and added it to my pile but still nothing that fit the bill for what I was looking for in a birthday smoke. I carried my “treasures” to the cash register by the front door on the first floor to settle up and leave. Just as I was taking my cash out of my pocket I happened to glance over my shoulder at a shelf by the door. A small round tin on the middle shelf caught my eye. I put my money back in my pocket, left everything on the counter and went to check it out.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

As I got closer I saw that it was a small round tin. It looked like the older 3/4 ounce tins that were available a long time ago. I could see that it was silver with some green squares. I moved the clutter away that made it hard to see and lifted the tin out to have a better look. It was clearly an old one. It had the label Dobies Four Square Mixture. It was full of tobacco and the seal and the tax stamp were still intact. I examined it carefully and found that there was no rust on the outside. The tobacco on the inside did not rattle around as I shook it. All of these are good signs when buying old tobacco. I then inspected the tobacco tax stamp and found that it was dated 1954! I could not believe my eyes. I took it to the counter and immediately added it to the haul and paid for it. I might have found my birthday tobacco to smoke in my 1954 pipe – I just needed to verify its age. I did a web search on the blend and on the importer that had its sticker on the back. The way the address and zip code were set up it pointed to a date of the 50’s. As best as I could determine I had a tin of tobacco from 1954!

The two major players were in place for the birthday celebration – a 1954 pipe and a 1954 tobacco. All that was left was for my 54th birthday to arrive, or so I thought. It was only a few months until my birthday. I had no idea of what lay ahead for me in the drama of my life. I had no clue as to how the third player in my celebration (me) was to be prepared.

In May of 2008 I was greeted at 2AM one morning with a crackling of fire and the flare of light that comes from flames illuminating my bedroom. I looked out the window to see the three houses next door to us on fire. I woke the kids and fled the house. And yes I left the Dunhill and the tobacco in the house. By 8am that morning we were back in the house and found that with all the soaking of fire hoses our basement had 3 inches of black water in it. Everything was in ruins. This time I dug out my favourite pipes and some tobacco to keep as I knew we were in for a long haul with restoration. I had the foresight to pick up the Dunhill and the Dobies Four Square Mixture. This would turn out to be a smart move in the long run.

In July my position at work was closed and I was declared redundant. I was out of work with our house being an unsellable mess. The restoration company was hard at work contacting contractors to do the restoration. I ended up being the general contractor for the repairs and was in charge of coordinating all of the trades. Those were hard days for me but my pipes helped lend moments of sanity to an otherwise insane time in my life. By the end of November we were allowed back into our basement and settled back into the routine of our lives. Only a few days before my 54th birthday we were able to finally get back to some sense of normalcy.

On December 7, 2008 – my 54th birthday I woke up early in morning and made a cup of strong Ethiopian coffee. I picked up one of my favourite books and settled on my front porch with the 54 Dunhill and the 54 Dobies in my 54 year old hands. The sun was shining and it was relatively warm in Vancouver – not something to be taken lightly in December. I popped the old tin of tobacco with a 1954 dime (I thought that would be a nice dramatic touch), removed the paper disc that was on top of the tobacco and which verbally guaranteed a great smoke or my money back and lifted the open tin to my nose. What an amazing aroma! The pungent smell of well aged Virginias and the tantalizing sourness of Orientals came together in what smell like a delightful mixture.

I pinched together a wad of tobacco and packed the pipe. I loaded it as I usually do and checked the draw to make sure it was the way I liked it. I used an old Zippo to light the pipe and drew the smoke into my mouth. Wow what a smoke! The alignment of 54s was complete! I had the 54 Dunhill loaded with a 54 Dobies tobacco and smoked in my 54 year old mouth. What a perfect way to begin the day of the celebration. What ever happened next would be bonus and I would end the day the way I began it – another bowl for this 54 year old in the old 54.

 

A Pipe Refurbishing Journal

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I have worked out a process of refurbishing old pipes as a hobbyist that has worked for me with ongoing improvements and learning being added almost every pipe I work on. That is not to say that I am even a wannabe professional because I am not. For me it is a way of doing something that I find relaxing and rewarding as well as something that I can actually finish. With my work I am involved in ongoing dealings with people and issues that seem never to really come to closure so to take a pipe and bring it back to life and enjoy a good smoke in it is something I take great pleasure in. I thought I would write a bit about my process using and old pipe that came in the mail that I picked up off of ebay as an example.

… I got home from Budapest, Hungary last week to find a package of pipes had arrived that I bought on EBay before I left. I opened the box to find a real mess waiting for me. The photos on eBay were not good and I was in no way prepared for what awaited when I opened the box. There were four pipes there – two Dr. Plumbs, a Stanwell with a broken tenon and a White Cliff meer-lined pear. The two Dr. Plumbs were what interested me in the lot and why I had initially bid. Dr. Plumb was an older second’s line of GBD and these two interested me. The first was a 9438 – GBD Rhodesian shape that I find is an all time favourite of mine. The second was a silver spigot Oom Paul – a shape that I have wanted to try for a long time.  I figured the Oom Paul would be one I kept – not sure of the others in the lot. The White Cliff and Stanwell went back in the box and I turned my attention first to the Oom Paul.

I took it out of the crumpled newspaper that wrapped it, being careful not to spill the ash and crumbling cake all over the place. It really was an ugly mess. I wanted to assess what needed to be done with it and whether it would be worth the effort. Sometimes even if it is really not worth it I will still clean it to practice methods and the use of new tools. This one was in desperate shape. The bowl was filled with crumbling cake and torn remnants of tobacco. The top was covered with a sticky and thick tar or lava that was about the thickness of a dime. The outside of the bowl had dark grime deeply embedded in the finish. It was muddy and dark enough that I could not see the grain at all. Now before you think it was an old patina finish – I assure that it was not. There was no way of even seeing the finish. It looked just like one of my dogs when he has been playing in the mud on a rainy day. I know somewhere underneath he has a black coat but it is not visible at all under the dirt and grime. This pipe was just unbelievably dirty.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Working my way back along the shank of the pipe I came to the silver shank cap which was loose and very tarnished. It appeared to be sterling or at least silver plated under the tarnish. It had pulled away from the shank and was turned to one side. It appeared to have something engraved in it at about 1 o’clock but it was not clear under the tarnish and grime. The stem, a faux spigot, no long fit in the shank as it sat among the grime and crumbling build up of tars and a yellowish residue that erupted around the edges of the union of shank and stem. It was solidly embedded in this mess and was immoveable. The stem was an oxidized brown colour at the saddle and the curve. It had a silver cap at the end of the stem before it disappeared into the grime. That union of vulcanite and metal was a mottled edge of tarnish and grime. The button end of the stem was grimy and oxidized but it did not appear to have tooth marks or pits in it. It was merely encircled by that hard, white coloured material that can collect under a rubber bit protector. I moved to the lip of the pipe and looked at the slot. Unbelievable!! The airway was gone. The slot was filled and all that was left was a tiny hole the size of a pencil lead. The tar was erupting out of the slot and was a hard black semi circle that enclosed the button end.

I turned the pipe over in my hands to look at the underside of the bowl. I always like to check and see if I am going to be surprised by a burnout or a blackening spot that could signal an impending burnout. I scraped some of the grime off the bottom of the bowl and found a spot that appeared to be the size of a pencil eraser on the bottom. It was black but did not appear to be burned or soft in anyway. I used saliva to clean away the grime a bit for a better look at this spot. It cleaned up slowly and with a soft cloth and a bit of spit it showed that what I was dealing with was a repair in the bowl bottom – a plug of briar that had been inserted. It was a bit darker than the briar around it but it was a good solid repair and did not appear to be loose or damaged. That was a good sign.

I laid the old pipe down and gave it a good hard look. Would this be worth the effort or would I end up pitching it at some point in the cleaning process? That is always a question I ask before I get everything out to do the cleaning. I picked up and turned it over in my hands again. I checked it over one more time and figured I would start and see what happened in the process. I set up my desk top work bench with newspaper as a base and then laid out the tools of the craft! I put out a variety of reamers and brushes of different sizes. I put out the dental picks that I knew would be needed in the stem and the shank. I put out the pipe cleaners – bristle, thin and fuzzy, the alcohol and the alcohol bath that I keep handy for bowls that need a soak. I drizzled some clean alcohol around the shank stem union and with a bit of wiggling and more dripping the stem came free. I use an ear syringe for that part of the work as it allows me to control the placement of the alcohol.

I set the stem aside and turned my attention to the bowl. I wiped down the outside with a soft cloth and Murphy’s Oil Soap (undiluted) to get the grime off and get some idea of what was underneath the mess. It took several applications and wipes with the cloth to get through the grime. I also wiped it down with an alcohol wipe to get the last of it off. As I was planning on refinishing the pipe anyway I was not concerned with the finish. Underneath the grime the briar was actually quite nice – birdseye on one side and a variety of grains the rest of the way around the bowl. The shank was flame grain. It looked promising. I took a sanding block that is fine grit and sanded the top of the bowl to get the grime off. It was rock hard and since I was refinishing the pipe anyway it was the preferred method of removing the grime. Once that was done I reamed the inside of the bowl and the inside of the shank. I used my Senior Reamer to start with and then the T reamer with the four different cutting heads. The bowl was lined with a crumbling cake that needed to be taken back to the bare wood as it kept letting go and falling apart. Once it had been cleaned out I was able to inspect the bowl for cracks and burned out areas. Fortunately it was clean and uncracked.  The bottom of the bowl was below the airway so once it was cleaned I would need to use some pipe mud to build it up to the proper height.

The shank was really a mess. I could not fit a standard pipe cleaner through it and had to use a dental pick to open it up. Because it is a full bent a drill bit was unworkable past about the middle of the shank. I have a dental pick that have I straightened out a bit and it worked like a champ. The pipe had a sump in it like the Peterson system pipes and it was absolutely jammed packed with tars. The stem would not even fit in the shank it was so full of junk. I used a small brass battery terminal brush to work over the inside of the shank and the sump area once I had opened it up. I blew air through to make sure it was open. I used pipe cleaners and q-tips to clean it up. I kept at it until the airway and shank were clean. Once I finished with the interior of the pipe I put the bowl in an alcohol bath over night. I have found that this takes off all the grime that is rubbed into the finish and any remaining interior grime.

While it soaked I turned my attention to the stem. I opened the airway in the stem with my dental pick from the button end. I was able to remove the stinger apparatus in the tenon and then began to work on the interior of the stem. The stem itself was a mess on the inside – a pipe cleaner would not fit through so again the dental pick did the trick. I opened it up a bit then used over a 100 pipe cleaners and a bunch of q-tips to clean out the gunk. I also used a bristle shank brush to loosen things up. Once I cleaned it with lots of alcohol and many cleaners the inside was clean. The outside needed lots of attention. The Dr. Plumb painted logo (not stamped at all just a surface paint) was sacrificed to cleanliness.  I sanded the stem with 1200 and 1500 grit sandpaper to get the brown out that even the buffer did not remove. After that was done I polished it on the buffer with red Tripoli and White Diamond. The stem was actually in very good shape once the grime and oxidation was removed. I cleaned the silver portion of the stem and the faux military mount with silver cleaner and then polished that and buffed it with a soft cloth. I also used steel wool on the stinger apparatus until the roughness and grime was gone from it and it shone. I inserted it back in the pipe for the first smoke to see if it would remain. The stem was in great shape and ready to be inserted in the shank of the pipe once it was done. It still needed to be buffed with Tripoli and White Diamond before a good coating of Carnuba was applied to keep the oxidation at bay.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I removed the bowl from the alcohol bath and found that bath had done its magic. All the grime was off and the finish as well. What remained was a soft reddish briar that was clean and smooth to the touch. After bowl dried I sanded it with 1500 and 1800 grit sandpaper, being careful of the stamping that showed up on the bottom of the shank once the grime was gone. I finished the sanding with micro mesh pads in 1800, 2400 and 4000 grit. The top had some minor burned areas and the bowl was out of round so I bevelled the bowl top into the bowl to take care of the unevenness. When I finished sanding it I washed the outside down with a damp alcohol soaked rag to remove any dust and show any scratches that needed a bit more attention. Once those were taken care of I filled the bowl with cotton boles and using the ear syringe filled the bowl and shank with clean alcohol to remove any ghosts and residual tars in the bowl. I let it sit over night while the leaching process did its work.

 

 

 

 

 

 

While bowl was undergoing that treatment I took silver polish and a soft cloth and worked on the stem metal work. For the stinger apparatus I used some 0000 steel wool to clean off the staining. I buffed the stem with Tripoli and white Diamond and laid it next to the bowl.

The next day I removed the cotton boles and let the bowl dry out. I opened a can of cherry stain that I use on these old timers that matches the original colour really well. I shook the alcohol based stain until it was well mixed and then using a soft rag and a folded pipe cleaner I applied it to the whole bowl. Once it was well coated in the stain I lit it on fire with a lighter to set the stain. Once that was done I set it aside to dry well.

In the afternoon when the stain was dry I took it to the buffer and lightly buffed the stummel until it was smooth and shining. The finish looked really good. I gave it a good coat of wax and then polished the silver on the shank cap. I was able to turn the cap a slight bit and the initials that were engraved in it became visible – WGW. I took it back to the desk and inserted the mouth piece. It fit snugly into the shank and the look was as it should have been.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

(In the last picture on the bottom right the plug in the bottom of the bowl is visible. I re-stained that area of the bowl and the plug is a little less visible.)

I then turned my attention to the inside of the bowl. I needed to raise the bottom of the bowl to meet the bottom of the draught hole and protect the plugged bottom of the bowl. I mixed a batch of pipe mud – cigar ash and water mixed to a pasty thick consistency and painted it with a folded pipe cleaner and packed it in place with a pipe tamper to raise the bottom of the bowl to the bottom of the airway. I let it dry for a day until it was hard and then prepared a bowl coating with activated charcoal and my secret ingredient and painted the inside of the bowl with it. I wanted this old timer to have a chance and with the cake gone I did not want to take a chance on burnout with it. I wanted it to have a fighting chance for a long life ahead. I set it aside to dry for two days and waited for the initial smoke once it was dry.

Two days went by and the bowl coating was dry and the mud was hard in the bottom of the bowl. I had packed the pipe in my brief case and took it to work with me for the ride home that evening. After work I packed the Dr. Plumb Oom Paul with Doc Piedmont and lit it with the Zippo. Wow what a clean, dry smoke. It was smooth and full of flavour. It is a great smoker and did not heat up at all during the smoke. I carefully knocked out the ash and inspected my bowl coating and the bottom of the bowl. It looked undisturbed and solid.

When I got home I removed the stinger that was in it to give it a go without the stinger to see what that does for it…my gut feel is that this pipe will be one of my go to pipes in the future.