Category Archives: Pipe Related Essays

Short and not so short essays on pipes and tobacciana

A day in Atlanta

Leave a reply

Tuesday, Feb. 27th was a great day for me. I had flown into Atlanta the night before for work and had all day Tuesday to use as I chose. So I planned ahead and emailed my friend John and set up a visit with him. He was able to schedule a day off as well. We made a real day of it! We started the day a bit later than planned as John overslept a bit. He must have been tired but it was his day off!

John picked me up at the Crowne Plaza near the airport at about 11:00 and went straight to the home of Joyce White, of the Tobacco Supermarket. John had spoken of the fact that Joyce stocks more pipe tobacco blends than one can shake a stick (or even a FEW sticks!) at. He was right. I was like a little kid in a candy store. It was overwhelming to look not just at the sheer volume of tobacco but the number of blends that she stocks. There were tobaccos there that I had only heard about and never seen. Not only did she have stocks of tins but another room full of bulk blends from G&H, McClellands, MacBarens, and others. She also carries a full inventory of snuff and both new and estate pipes. I was in overwhelmed heaven. After the first hour I came upstairs and visited with Joyce and John and her new Basset hound puppy. Then I headed to the basement again to pick my choices. I finally settled on about a half a dozen blends, a new tamper, and a lighter.

From Joyce’s we stopped by at John’s house to drop off a few things and smoke a bowl before we went for lunch at a barbeque restaurant just around the corner from John’s house. He had introduced me to the Old South Barbecue the last time I was in Atlanta with him and I really wanted to get back there again. It was just as good as I remembered and we finished off our plates of pulled pork and chopped beef. The green beans and onion rings filled in the gaps and the sweet tea washed it down. I can only agree with John in saying that if you ever happen to visit the Atlanta area you have give the Old South Barbeque a visit.

We headed back to John’s house after a filling lunch for an after lunch smoke. We adjourned to his back patio and a couple of chairs to smoke a cigar. John fired up one of four lovely Cuban Monte Cristos I brought him (two are saved for a special cigar smoke with his dad at a later date) and I fired up a Gurkha John took out of his humidor. They were fine cigars and were a great end to the meal we had just eaten. We talked through a wide range of topics from tobaccos, cigars, books and music. We covered even a bit of politics that was enjoyable as well. It is not often you get to talk with someone who has read the things you read and listened to the things you listen to both music and lectures, and likes the same tobaccos and cigars. We enjoyed the sunshine and watching his four dogs tear around the back yard.

After the cigars we went back in the house. We stopped in the basement shop where John has been turning out some very unique and highly smokeable pipes. We looked over the briar stash he has going and his drill press and saws. It is a great work space and I can see that some great pipes will be coming out of that place. (In fact John writes that he has just finished another pipe – a rusticated and blasted pipe. I am looking forward to seeing pictures). During the drives about town John introduced me to the music of one of his favorite artists, Lucinda Williams. I was immediately taken by the profound poetry and music she creates. We must have listened to several cds as we drove around. So when we got upstairs he popped a DVD of her Austin City Limits performance of a few years ago into the player. As we listened and watched an outstanding performance of hers we smoked our pipes in pleasure.

When the performance was over we made a quick trip to the grocery store to get something to cook for dinner. By the time we were back both of John’s stepsons and his wife had arrived home. We put on some classic rock and roll and John fixed some dinner – sausages, rice and green beans (seems green beans are a real Southern dish). I was still pretty stuffed from the lunch but managed to eat a bit of John’s fare. At some point in the afternoon or early evening John reached in his pipe rack and handed me a very nice Winslow Crown Viking pipe that he wanted me to have. When dinner was over I packed the Winslow and fired up a bowl and made our way to the car. Sadly, it was time to have John drive me back to the Crowne Plaza (it is near the airport, so about an hour from his house).

ImageImageImageImage

I will fondly remember this visit with my friend John and look forward to many more in the years to come. He does not need to worry about me coming to often as I only seem to get to Atlanta about once or twice a year. I thoroughly enjoyed the day with John and tip my hat to his hospitality and southern charm! Here’s to you my friend!

A magic first smoke

1 Reply

Blog by Steve Laug

The evening was exactly right for the christening smoke in my new Dunhill 3108. I was sitting on the front porch of the cabin in Pt. Roberts Washington. Pt. Roberts is only accessible by going through Canada and then re-entering the US. The sky was overcast a bit with the moon peeking through the clouds. The evening air was crisp and clean, with just a faint tang of the ocean in the breeze. I sat back in the Adirondack chair with my feet up, a bottle of Negra Modelo – a Mexican Amber Ale and the new Dunhill in hand. I held it and looked at it carefully enjoying the feel of the shape in my hand. On the arm of the chair I had a couple of tins of tobacco as I was still deciding on the first smoke. I cracked the tin of Anniversary and took a deep breath taking in the tang of the Virginia in it, the spiciness of Perique. I closed the lid. I opened the tin of Dunhill’s Elizabethan Mixture and did the same…. decisions. Finally I clumped together the first bit of EM and stuffed it into the bowl, the second bit went in, the final bit tucked in and tamped just so with my forefinger.

I held the bowl in my hand and sniffed the smell of the new briar and the tobacco melding together. I struck the first match and charred the load, then tamped and gave it a good light. The taste of that smoke coming into my mouth, the cloud of it that hung in the night air all lent a special nose to the evening. I just sat back and enjoyed the moment, lost in the first smoke. The tobacco burned well, effortlessly really as the bowl warmed to the touch. The blast on the briar radiated the warmth to the hand in the chill air. It was one of those moments when all the senses combine for a great experience. The tobacco taste and smell, the warmth of the briar in the hand, the smoke in the air curling around the pillars of the porch, the sound of the fire crackling away at the tobacco in the bowl all combined for a moment in which I just disappeared for a time.

The bowl lasted 30 minutes maybe more, I lost track of time really. The magic of the smoke was such that I really mentally left the confines of the porch all together. Lost in thought, living in the sensory moment, was a joy. The tobacco burned slowly and evenly to the bottom of the bowl as I enjoyed the mellow taste of good Virginias and the slight spice of Perique melding in the smoke. The briar was warm but not hot all the way through the smoke, it felt good in the hand and against the cheek occasionally…. as the smoke thinned and the fire reached the end of the tobacco in the bowl, the smoke came to an end… I just sat for a bit thinking and tasting the flavor on my lips and gums… this is pipe smoking at its best….

Probably should go in now… getting cold… seeing my breath…

My Dog and My Pipe Tobacco

Leave a reply

I have a seven year old black and tan Cocker Spaniel male, Spencer, who decided that he liked pipe tobacco very soon after he became a part of our family. His decision regarding tobacco is unique among the dogs we have had in the past and the second Spaniel, Bailey we have now. Bailey could care less about my pipes and tobacco and truly seems oblivious to my habit. But not Spencer, he is mildly obsessed with it. Mind you, he has not gone so far as to take up the pipe… yet! But he does love pipes and tobacco. I was going to say my pipes and tobacco but that does not reflect his perceptions regarding them. He often joins me on the front porch when I go to have a pipe. While I load the pipe he sits on my lap, or on the couch next to me, trying to get his nose in the jar or the tin. He does not eat it, but merely sniffs and snorts in the smells. He does the same with an empty pipe and pipe cleaners when I lay them on the table in front of the couch. So far he has not tried to pick up the pipes at all, just snuffles and snorts as he breathes in the smells and aromas as deeply as he can. I am do not trust him so when I am finished with a pipe I put it back in rack on the top or my cabinet in the basement. Why leave it out to tempt him?

Lately he has taken his love of tobacco to a new level. He has turned his attention to my jarred tobacco and tobacco tins. I used to store them on the lower shelves of my bookcases in my office. Over the past months I have come home from work to find that my daughters have put the tobacco on my desk. Each time I have taken them off the desk and returned them to their place on the shelf again. This turned into an ongoing repetitive task…until this past week. I had come home from work and went to the office. There they were on the desk as usual and I got busy returning them to their original spot. My daughter walked in asked me the million dollar question.

“Why do you keep putting them back on the shelves? I am the one who has put them on your desk. Three times this week alone, Spencer has snatched a tin or a small jar of it by the edge of its lid and carried it to his kennel (his wannabe “man cave”). I have had to trick him with a dog treat to get him to let go of it and give it back. He just lies there, holding it between his front paws, with it under his chin and guarding it as if it was his treasure. He literally stares at me and growls that this is now his tin. He thinks it belongs to him. Can we move them somewhere else please?”

I had to laugh as it finally made sense why the tins and jars had been repeatedly appearing on my desk. It never was just one or two tins, no it always seemed to be at least half a dozen or more. There were times when I came home and found the mess on my desk and groaned that they had moved them again. Now I understood the reason for them being on my desk. So this past weekend I moved the tins and jars to the top of my pipe cabinet. At least they will be out of his reach should he try to get them again. Spencer watched me move them with a questioning look in his eye. The way he followed me back and forth between the shelves and the cabinet made it very clear to me how frustrating he found this whole ordeal. It looked to me that if he could have talked he would have asked, “Why are you moving my tobacco?” But hey, who am I to try to figure out what is on his mind.

No matter how long I have thought about it I still have to say that I am not sure what it is about the jars and tins that capture his attention. It does not seem to matter if they are open or sealed. If had been just the open ones I would be able to say that he liked the smell of the tobacco. But that does not help explain the attraction of the sealed tins and jars. His thinking is beyond me on this one and I figured I would never understand it. I gave up. However, just for fun I decided to leave a couple of jars and tins on the bottom shelf of the bookcase to see what he would do.

On Sunday morning the two of us were down in the office early enjoying our morning ritual – me with my coffee and Spencer with his dog food. We played a bit of fetch with his chew ball and tug of war for a while as I sipped my coffee. I rubbed his ears and he rolled his head into my hand with a groan of pleasure. Eventually he stretched out in front of the bookcase where the tobacco was stored. He lay there quietly for some time without even a move toward them. But as soon as he noticed I was engaged cleaning a pipe and not watching him, he snatched one of the jars by the rim and was made a beeline for his kennel. He glanced over his shoulder and ran into the next room. I called after him but he ignored me and buried himself deep in his kennel. I went to the kennel and got down on my hands and knees in front of it only to be greeted with a growl as he held onto the jar. I retrieved a treat and we negotiated a trade. He grudgingly let go of the jar and I took it back. He followed me as took it and the remaining jars and tins to the top of the cabinet. He eyed me suspiciously and gave me his unhappy grumble. When I was finished he checked to see if I had moved them all. Once he noted that they were all gone. He flopped on the floor in front of the shelves and watched as I cleaned pipes all morning. A couple of times he grabbed a used pipe cleaner and chewed it. He made it clear that he was not impressed by my moving his stash.

Any of you have animals that want to share your tobacco cellar?

Smoking under an umbrella

Leave a reply

Ugh, another rainy day in Vancouver. Not the normal drizzle that is pervasive throughout the winters around here, but a full downpour. It’s June 2 so summer weather should be happening. I should be wearing shorts and sandals not a sweater and slicker. But what can you do – weather is one of those things that you can complain about but not control. The complaint seems to accomplish nothing other than to make you miserable. So I picked up my umbrella – it does not often get used in the winter rains as a drizzle is manageable with a wide brimmed hat – and I headed out into the rain for my walk.

Before leaving the dry zone of my front porch and entering the downpour, I packed a pipe with some Dark Twist to smoke while I was on the walk. Smoking in the rain has always been something I have avoided for the most part. On occasion, I have turned my pipe upside down to keep it going in the drizzle and tried to enjoy the smoke but it was always a pain. This evening the umbrella was a godsend. The pipe would stay dry and keeping it going would be no trouble. I could smoke it right side up!! The umbrella formed a dome shaped smoking room around me that not only kept things dry but also created a zone that held the smoke around my head. If you can picture a person walking in a cloud of smoke you get the picture of the still air that held the smoke in place as I walked. I got to smell my own tobacco and live with the room note in a limited space.

I had avoided smoking with an umbrella in the past as it seemed like it would be just one more thing to hold onto while I was walking. I had all kind of discussions with myself about how I could not tamp or manage a lighter and a pipe and an umbrella at the same time, but this time I just did it. No excuses, no rationale. I made sure to fire the pipe and tamp and relight before I started on the walk and just figured I would deal with the issue of tamping and relighting should I need to when it occurred.

I started down the sidewalk walking under the trees, enjoying the smell of the tobacco and the surprising experience of a good smoke. The pipe did not go out nor did I need to tamp for awhile. I just enjoyed the moment of the smoke. It was almost like taking a mobile room with me. It was quiet with the pattering of rain on the umbrella. Traffic was at a minimum as it was after dinner. The light swish of cars going by a block away on the busy street near home was not an interruption. In the course of my walk I met an older woman (older is now a relative term for me in this 57th year!) who looked at the pipe and said how good it was to see someone smoking a pipe out and about! She said it brought back memories of her father and uncles who were all pipe smokers. She smiled as she walked by! Contentedly I walked on in the rain enjoying even more the solitude and pleasure of the pipe after that kind of comment.

None of the antis seemed to be about – I guess the rain must also be harmful to our health! As this was the case I walked through the neighbourhood park (illegal to smoke in the parks in Vancouver). The park is a great green space that takes up a square block in the centre of my neighbourhood. It is filled with large Chestnut, Oak, Fir, Pine, Cedar, Maple and Cherry trees. The grass is long as it has been too wet to mow and the smell of the rain is a pleasure in the park away from the street and the cars. I walked to the overhang at the school next to the park and set the umbrella down so I could tamp my pipe. I decided to just stay there in the dry space for a few moments and smoke my pipe while I watched the rain. It was as if I was the only one out walking this early evening.

I shook out my umbrella and then continued my walk. I finished my pipe under the umbrella as I walked home. It is amazing to me how the pipe gave me a different perspective and attitude toward the rain. It was far different than my usual whine about the rain and the damp and it being June!! I came home in good spirits and settled down with a good book knowing that I did not have work in the yard or garden this evening!

Look What I Found

Leave a reply

The lid came off the old tin with a whoosh of air. The bouquet of rich, earthy tobacco filled the small space under the stairs where my desk sits. I sat and inhaled that smell for the longest time… But I am getting ahead of myself.

That tin was a “treasure” I had found in an antique store by the railroad tracks in my home town on a yearly visit with family. I still remember visiting the shop and wandering through the three floors of detritus that has come to be called antique. Strange how the things that I grew up with and regularly threw away are now collectible and “valuable”. I have developed my own method of scoping out these old shops, sorting through the plethora of stuff, to find the pipes and tobacco items that catch my eye. As I enter these shops, I suppose I could ask the clerk if they had anything that might interest me, but that has always seemed too easy and it feels like it robs me of the thrill of the hunt. So when I come into a shop I scope out the sales floor and then begin the winding wander through the shop. I usually do a fairly quick walk through on the first pass just noting things that might possibly be worth spending a bit of time picking through. On the second pass I spend a bit more time at the likely spots.

On this particular visit to the railway shop I had passed through all three floors and saw a few chewed up pipes and old tins. On the second pass through I saw this old tin that I had missed on the first pass – a big tin actually – the old 1 pound metal tobacco tins of days past. It had the metal opener attached that allowed the pipe smoker to lever the lid off and then reseal it so the tobacco would not dry out. I picked it up fully expecting it to be a typical old empty. But it was not empty. I shook it carefully to listen to what was inside. I know you all will be saying I should check to see if it had been opened but I did not do that! I shook it. Over the years of hunting I have found tins full of herbs, spices, grass seeds, nails, screws, and any number of things that give it weight and can fool you, so I shook it! This time there was no loud rattle or telltale noise that would identify one of those inside. There was only the familiar sound of tobacco inside the can. Once I figured that out I began to get more excited.

I examined the can for rust. There was none. I shook it again to listen to see if it was dry sounding. It was not. Then I checked the seal on it and found that not only was it still sealed but that the tax stamp was unbroken. It was sealed and not even torn. The date on the tax stamp said 1954. The paint and picture on the tin was in great shape with no scratches or dents. It was like being transported back to the 50’s to a time when the can was new. I was pretty excited because the odds were that I was holding a tin of tobacco from at least 1954 and it was sealed and available to me. I carried it to the front of the store and asked the clerk what they were charging for the tin.

“$10 is all for that old tin,” she said as she looked up sleepily from the romance novel she had been reading.

“Consider it sold!” I said. And with that I took out my wallet and paid the $10 and the obligatory share that the governor of the state claims as his due on every item purchased in his state. I carried it out to the car and placed it in the back with the other things that I had picked up on my hunt. It would sit there until I returned to Canada and carried it to my basement study.

Now fast forward to the opening lines of this tale. I popped the tin open and prepared to smoke a bowl of the aged tobacco. It was a nice crimp cut and it packed really well. The aroma was pleasant in the can and the bowl. It was a bit dry from the years of sitting but still hydrated enough for me. I lit the pipe and sat back and enjoyed the first of many bowls that I would enjoy from that big pounder. The nutty taste and the sweetness was not that different from the new versions of this old blend but the depth and fullness far outstripped them. I just sat with the tin open and smoked my pipe full and let the memory of the find carry me a bit. That was a banner day and a great find. It is finds like this that keep me on the hunt and always stopping to see what “treasure” the little out of the way antique shop might reveal to the searching eye.

Oh, you want to know what the old tobacco was. Some of you may have already figured it out but I probably ought to let the rest of you in on it. It was a tin of 1954 Prince Albert and it is still with me!

antique-prince-albert-tobacco-tin_4606107

A Volkswagen Bus, a pipe and a Tootsie Pop

Leave a reply

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

2 Replies

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.

Image

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

Leave a reply

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

Leave a reply

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

2 Replies

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.