Tag Archives: Pipe memories

Look What I Found

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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!

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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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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.

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 surprise gift awaited me at the door

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I was just going through some files on my hard drive and came across this one and relived the event that I had written about. Do you ever have those moments when the event you are recalling comes alive again and you can see the people, hear the sounds and smell the scents yet again? That is what happened to me. I was up with my dogs early this morning as our alarm went off with a malfunction. Instead of going back to bed I decided to look over some older files and see what could be deleted. I came upon this one and just sat and relived the moment again. I remember very clearly getting a call from my daughter saying “Dad, Don dropped by a box for you. He says it is pipe tobacco that a friend gave him. Since he does not smoke a pipe he wanted you to have it.” Throughout the day I kept thinking about what could possibly be in that box. You will see why I wondered about it, beyond just curiosity when you read the rest of this tale. Here is what I wrote that afternoon when I got home and opened the box from Don.

…Over the past four years my family has been saving bottles for a homeless fellow who dumpster dives across from our house. He has an organized route through the lanes in our area searching for bottles. He pushes a grocery cart with his dog attached by a tether. He climbs into the rubbish bins and ferrets out empty returnables. He makes enough on them to provide for himself and his dog, Spaz, a little wiry terrier cross that looks a lot like Don. Over the years as I was walking by I would talk with Don. Over time we have become friends. He has been in our home for dinners on many occasions and a guest at Christmas, Thanksgiving and Easter. My wife will often make him a sack lunch and leave it on the step when we are not here. Don has become part of the family. He stops by almost weekly for a visit and a cup of tea or water. He brings his dog for a visit as well.

This morning he came by to deliver a package for me while I was at work. Some buddy of his was given a big express post package of pipe tobacco and he knew I smoked a pipe so he thought of me. My wife and girls called me to let me know. I spent the day wondering what he would have found. I also wondered about the reality of the story and if I was not just getting some of the fruit of his dumpster diving. The girls would not give me any hints other than it was a fairly large box. They certainly know how to wreck my concentration. When the day was over I packed my bag and headed home with expectation for what awaited me on the dining room table. What was it that Don brought me?

I got home and my wife and the girls were sitting on the porch with Don and Spaz. They were sipping tea and just visiting. Don had that twinkle in his eye that I had come to learn meant mischief and I really wondered what he had brought me. I grabbed a chair next to him on the porch and in front of it waiting for me just like a Christmas present on Christmas morning was a large box. It was a little worse for wear from the ride in his shopping cart. I fully expected it to be full of some tins of Amphora or something of a similar ilk. I opened the box and found a large bag inside. That bag was tied shut. I untied it and inside, double and triple bagged were these baccies. I was flabbergasted. I could tell by the look on Don’s face that he was enjoying my surprise and wonderment at his gift.

The Pease Classic Collection: (Sample 1 ounce bags)
Charing Cross
Abingdon
Blackpoint
Kennsington
Piccadilly
Stratford

The Pease Top 5 (Sample 1 ounce bags)
Barbary Coast
Haddos Delight
Cairo
Cumberland
Robusto

Aromatic sampler (1 ounce sample bags)
McClellands M55 Georgian Cream
Peter Stokkebye PS31 Optimum
Peter Stokkebye PS38 Highland Whiskey
Lane Hazelnut
McClellands 715 Raspberry and Cream

Dunhill (2 4 ounce Sample bags)
Dunhill A2000 Toasted Cavendish
Dunhill A3000 Black Cavendish

I opened my work bag and took out a pipe. I opened some Charing Cross and loaded the pipe. Don fired up a cigarette from his own makings and we sat and drank iced tea and enjoyed the beauty of the day. These were blends that I had not tried and were on the list to get. If I was to put together a list of baccies that I wanted to smoke it would have included many of these blends. I was grateful to my friend for this opportunity. I will never forget his kindness to me. One who had little in terms of the goods of this earth gifting me like this was incredibly moving. I just publicly want to acknowledge his gift to me! Thanks Don!

When I look back at that moment and the gift Don brought me I am still blown away by his generosity. Many of these tobaccos I had never had before. The Dunhill Tobaccos were ones that I was not familiar with and the aromatics were not ones I had tried before. The Pease samples were the first to go under the flame and I enjoyed them all. About a year ago now Don disappeared. I don’t know if he moved on or if he died. He struggled with major health issues and was literally wasting away. I will never forget him or his kindness to me. It was good to relive this moment today.