Looking back, it seemed obvious what to do with a cigarette (if one must do anything with it). We’ve been watching people light up since Casablanca; remember Now Voyager, and Paul Henried’s two cigarette light--one for him and one for Bette Davis? And on the deck of a ship, no less! We watched the other kids at school, the guy waiting for the bus, the business woman upon finishing her restaurant lunch. We knew what to do the first time. Oh, a few sputters, a few watery eyes and irritated noses, perhaps, but we were cool by the third butt. It was quick, easy, and for a while, it was cheap. Then the Surgeon-General stepped in and ruined everything, right? And all those extremist non-smokers who didn’t want your smoke in their lungs (especially the fanatical former smokers who had "gotten religion" and wanted to force their newfound "faith" on you). Besides, pipes were for grandparents, inventors, and professors, weren’t they? We knew what to do with a rock tune, too. Maybe our parents didn’t know what to do with us, but we knew an easy study when we saw--or heard--it. Instant gratification. No need to think, to adjust, to analyze. And I’m not knocking rock and roll--I love it, from Bill Haley to The Beatles to Credence to The Eagles to Hanson--but I also love jazz, opera, symphonies, and Broadway show music. If it has a melody and is well done by the performer, I’ll give it a whirl, which means Flamenco, Welsh coal miners, ragtime, belly dance tunes, or music of Cossacks, Jews, Gypsies, and Hindus. Well, this is supposed to be about pipes, and I don’t mean Wurlizers or home plumbing. But there is a useful analogy here. Give classical music a chance some time--the journey takes time and some effort , but when you reach your destination you’ll be glad you made the trip. And don’t give me that "Dead White Guy’s Music" bit. Have you seen Elvis lately?
But let’s get back to pipes, as in Savinelli, Ser Jacopo, or Peterson. No doubt it’s all been said before, by Carl Weber, by Alfred Dunhill, by Carl Ehwa, and by your handy dandy pipe shop how-to brochure. And, of course, any veteran pipe smoker worth his salt has a few opinions he’d be more than willing to lay on you, even without your asking him. Seriously, though, do look at the how-to article on this web page for some good, basic information; I don’t claim it as the last word on the subject, but I do think you’ll find something useful there. In a way, I’m writing this piece with cigarette smokers in mind, although I don’t know why they’d be looking through a pipes website. Maybe, in the recesses of my subconscious, I’m planning to hand this out to any random cigarette smokers I encounter in public, sort of like passing out religious tracts to the unsuspecting. "Save your smoking soul--switch to pipes!"
Let’s look at a few reasons to switch. Pipe smokers live longer than cigarette users; some stats show non-inhaling pipe smokers who limit themselves to less than half a dozen medium size bowls a day live longer than non-smokers. It’s the relaxation factor. Pipe smoke smells better, and so do pipe smokers. Take this challenge: 1. At the end of the day, take off the shirt you’ve worn while smoking a pack or two, and give it a good sniff. 2. Do the same with the curtains in the room where you smoke the most. 3. Quit for a week, if you can, and kiss a female smoker. Sometimes, in the company of non-smokers, when I mention that I smoke pipes, those people usually say, "Oh, I don’t mind pipes; they smell good." Maybe they’d say something else in a small closed-in space but, nevertheless, it’s clear that the hostility reserved for cigarette smokers is not directed toward pipe smokers.
If one is going to switch, though, it will be because he or she is convinced it will provide as much pleasure as cigarettes did. It’s an acquired taste, as the saying goes, Or, better, it’s an acquired process. Pipes are symphonic. As one fellow said in a recent magazine article, "Pipes are high maintenance." Pipe smokers will say, "That’s the whole point!" It’s a complete experience, rather like the difference between a candy bar and a good meal; the one gives you instant gratification, requires little time, needs no effort to enjoy it, while the other asks a little patience of the partaker, but rewards him with a rich experience of taste and relaxation. Maybe another comparison would serve better. People say that beer is an acquired taste, that they had to get used to it. But now they love their beer. Well, fine. Now give pipes a chance. Buy a pipe, get some good tobacco, get a little advise, and start acquiring.
Yet, pipes are not for everyone. You must enjoy the ritual; the packing, lighting, and artful smoking. The great variety that exists in the world of pipes, while a delight to the pipe smoker, may be just a confusing, complicated "high maintenance" nightmare to a cigarette smoker. There are so many kinds of pipes. They are small, medium, and large. They come in many finishes and colors. There is an almost endless variety of shapes. There are many materials from which to make pipes, too, but most are of briar or meerschaum. And there are as many different tobaccos as there are pipes. There are mild ones and strong ones. Some are spicy, or sweet, or nutlike. Almost every flavor imaginable has been used in pipe tobacco. Of course, many veteran pipe smokers eventually settle on one or two favorites, but for those who love the idea of so much variety--a whole orchestra of rich choices--nothing has as much to offer as pipe tobacco.
Let’s be frank. Probably the biggest stumbling block to becoming a pipe smoker is tongue bite. It’s not price, because, over the long haul, pipes are cheaper than cigarettes. And it’s not skill, because anyone with a little patience can learn the process. But if bite is the only obstacle in your path, take heart. If you’re not worried you’ll be branded a wimp, or eccentric, or professorial and you’re not put off by the amount of time required, (you can carry pre-packed pipes in a case everywhere you go) to prepare and light a pipe, then don’t let the temporary problem of tongue bite put you off. Choose a good pipe, and good, mild tobacco; pack and light your pipe in the recommended manner; draw slowly and conservatively. Use pipe cleaners generously. Don’t hold the pipe in your teeth for any great length of time. Start out with a single bowl a day, then add one more on a weekly basis. There will be a little bite no matter would you do, but it can be minimized.
Over time, if you stick to this regime, bite can be eliminated completely. Later, when you try a stronger tobacco than you’re used to, there will be bite, but this too will pass. One fellow I know, who smoked nothing but super mild tobaccos, deliberately smoked strong tobaccos over a protracted period, quit smoking for three days, then went to medium-mild blends and swore there was no bite. He had smoked nothing but the mildest of tobaccos for decades, but wanted to try some other, more flavorful blends, mixtures that always gave him tongue burn whenever he tried them. His experiment worked. Doubtless, there are dozens of other strategies out there. Just ask an "old pro" next chance you get. Read books and magazines, surf the Internet, join a club, ask a knowledgeable tobacconist, and arm yourself with information.
Ready now? Pick up the baton. Ascend the podium. You’re about to conduct your own orchestra of tranquillity. Begin with an overture: a light, sweet, ultra mild golden Cavendish with just a whiff of vanilla. Next, a symphony, full and brassy: a rich, powerful black Cavendish, laced with cherry and chocolate. Then conclude with a nice divertissement for strings: a light Burley and Virginia with a hint of almond. Make yourself one with the music. Relax, unburden your mind of all concerns. Let the sounds flow over you. You are the music; the music is you. Your pipe is your vehicle into the state of perfect contentment. Your worries are gone, worldly cares dissipated. Ah, cigarettes were never like this! The last puff is gone, the light in the bowl extinguished. The scent lingers a while and you relax in the afterglow of the perfect smoke. The melody fades, but a bright tune remains behind in happy memory. At the end, as night deepens, you are all adagio!
The pipe engages us emotionally as well, if we let it. The feeling of tranquility, of having slowed life's pace for a time, of being in control-- it's all there. Yes, I said control. What could be more symbolic of man's ability to bend his environment to his own will, than to have fire, fully under his power, at his fingertips? Is that not the dream of The Ancients--to tame fire itself? The pipe is a pleasure, in and of itself, but it also enhances other pleasures. A good meal is made better by a bowl of fine tobacco afterward; a favorite piece of music is somehow enhanced by the presence of a pipe. If you are inclined toward poetry, picture this: you are in your favorite chair, close by a roaring fire, snowflakes falling outside your window. You read Robert Frost's "Birches" as you puff away on your oldest and mellowest pipe. The words dance in your mind as the smoke curls up toward the ceiling, while outside the snow seems to mimick the rise of pipesmoke as a breeze catches the flakes and sends them skyward. How different than the frenetic pace of cigarette smoking! What contrast to the pleasant, yet somehow unpoetic, ritual of the cigar devotee! The pipe, the cigarette, the cigar--all produce smoke, yet that is where the similarity ends. What other medium so engages the senses, conquers anxiety, puts one at peace, and produces a tendency toward contemplation, tranquility, sober reflection, and aesthetic enjoyment? Pipe smoking is an ancient art, yet fully appropriate to our so-called modern age; not only appropriate, but perhaps necessary. It is pleasant to think, however fanciful, that pipe smoking has had a good effect upon the world; that somewhere, someone, from time to time, while smoking a pipe, made a beneficial decision without haste, had a good idea achieved in contemplation, or reconsidered a harsh word or cruel action which, under less tranquil conditions, would have been impossible. This is the ideal world that pipe smoking can evoke, even if it cannot actually produce it.
Of course, one can be too idealistic, too poetic. Stalin was a pipe smoker, after all. Yet there is this feeling of a brotherhood of like-minded puffers out there, not withstanding the odd misanthrope who may prize his briar but detest his fellow man. You may pass someone in a parking lot, or public park and, somehow, because this individual is enjoying a pipe, you may feel instant kinship, or at least have the thought that here is a kindred spirit. And it may be only a feeling, as are Mom, Apple Pie, and the perfection of American values to some degree. We like to think Tom Sawyer is still out there somewhere, free and full of adventure; that Sherlock Holmes is still solving cases; that children are all innocent and little old ladies are all sweet-tempered; and that brotherly love, world peace, equality, fairness, and a reasonable price for everything we want is possible. But we know this is rarely so. Yet good triumphs often enough, kindness overcomes meanness with a modest degree of frequency, and we do occasionally achieve some measure of humanity; this allows us a benevolent view of the world, the pipe smoker’s almost innate sense that those treasured moments of tranquillity and peace that the pipe affords might, given the right time and right circumstance, become a new paradigm. But the pipe smoker is also a realist--more so than most. He thus prizes those special moments with his pipe knowing, regrettably, that these times are, all too frequently, like small islands in a turbulent sea: only little havens among the crash of violent waves; only brief interludes between the storms. But he will cling to those moments, and find them all the dearer for their rarity and brevity; he will fill, tamp, light, and puff, then relight and puff some more, and like Merlin, or Homer, or Frost, or Einstein, or Spielberg, make magic, bringing out of chaos, order; out of confusion, good sense; out of rashness, judgment; out of contempt, respect; and out of despair, hope. He will, with his pipe for a wand, his pipeman’s ritual for an incantation, and his white puffs of fragrant smoke for a spell, separate the light from the dark and make, perhaps for the space of only ten or twenty or thirty minutes, one bright and happy place, inviolable, unassailable, and incorruptible.