TO SMOKE OR NOT TO
SMOKE
CIGARETTES, THAT IS THE QUESTION,
HERE'S WHY AND HOW
by William Murdoch
WHY MY FRIEND'S TRUE STORY WAS WRITTEN FOR YOU
Art's story is offered to advise those who have not started to smoke and for those persons who now smoke cigarettes. Its intent is to be helpful by saving you thousands of dollars over your life that you can put to better use. You may have heard the phrase "Tough Love." That is when a close friend risks losing that friendship by telling you like it is—for example, telling their friend or family member to stop a habit that can damage their health.
How many times have you heard someone say, "Don't tell me what to do." "I just hate it when someone tries to tell me what to do." The author asks for the sake of your future good health and financial net worth that you read on. I hope that you will find Art's story motivating and helpful to you and others you know. My life-long friend Art was a tall, strong very handsome blond, blue-eyed man and a fun guy who really enjoyed smoking his favorite Camel cigarettes, and loved life.
ART'S STORY—TOUGH LOVE
Once upon a time I walked into a Seattle hotel restaurant and lounge. The host escorted me to a table. After ordering my lunch I looked up and saw a man sitting at a nearby table. He was having a drink and lunch. We were the only two customers. In the mirrored wall I noted that he had blond hair and was well dressed, wearing a beige sport coat, brown slacks, a white dress shirt and a bright colored bow tie.
As a non-smoker, it had been fascinating to watch the unique way each cigarette smoker lights up a cigarette. That is what caught my eye. He reached into his jacket and took out a pack of Camels. I watched him open the cellophane, the tap of the upended pack on the opposite hand, to expose the cigarettes. One was neatly chosen, twirled to his lips and lit by a flick of his lighter. Then, the deep inhale, the upward flair, as the smoke was forcefully exhaled, wafting up and outward. Then, the manly tilt of the hand holding his cigarette aloft. He soon finished his lunch, ground the cigarette butt into an ashtray, and paid the check. He looked back for an instant, seeming to recognize me, and then left.
Some time later, I had finished lunch and went out to the street. He was crossing from the other side. As we were about to pass each other, he said, "Hello," haven't we met before?" "You looked familiar to me when I glanced at you before I left." "I wasn't sure, I thought you looked like a former Navy buddy. I guess I was wrong." We talked for a few minutes and realized we had mutual friends. He said, "Call me, we can get together sometime soon." We exchanged telephone numbers and parted. That was the beginning of a friendship that would last for nearly a lifetime.
The next week he phoned to ask me if I would bring a date to a party being held at the home of a friend of his. That night we arrived at a party in full swing. The handsome group of young men and women seemed to all be talking at once—really enjoying themselves—some with a drink and a cigarette in hand. The room was blue with smoke but as a non-smoker I soon got used to it. There was no knowledge or concern about residual smoke in those early days. I had tried a cigarette once but it reminded me of my childhood when I had to smoke medicinal cigarettes. I had asthma and the smoke was supposed to clear up my lung congestion. I really hated to smoke those medicinal cigarettes. That is the only reason I did not start to smoke cigarettes. I hated the thought of it as the harsh puff of my first and only cigarette caused me to gasp for breath and feel nauseated. As we left we thanked our host and hostess for a wonderful time.
I would see Art quite often as our social lives seemed to blend into the work and social lifestyle of those days. I had met Art by chance and our friends and we had fun times together. The women we both knew enjoyed dancing with of us but especially with Art. He was an excellent dancer, and loved dancing to the energetic beat of the South American salsa music. He and his sister had won dance contests in the past. To entertain the partygoers, he would sometimes do a solo dance. He could dance as brilliantly as many of the dancers seen on the New York stage of that day. As a teller of very funny jokes he was often the life of the party. Yet, Art enjoyed his favorite Camel cigarettes with the best of them. I thought there was nothing wrong with that at the time.
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