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Kicking the habit not easy, but it's the right message

Five O'Clock Shadow

By Charles Deal | Special to the Record

Published: August 23, 2009

Following a recent column on smoking, some readers — actually about six — wanted to know if I favor smoking, have ever smoked, or still smoke.

A habit that has traditionally been an individual's choice has become an issue for the military. In a combat zone, there are few pleasures. Like the powers that be, I agree that tobacco use and a beer make sense when facing an enemy or worse, fear of the unknowns.

A smoker in my final years of high school, I took along the habit to Air Force basic training in Texas, where I quickly learned the shortfall of devil tobacco. We could only smoke when the smoking lamp was lit by order of our flight sergeant in charge.

Craving a nicotine fix one sweltering afternoon, I declared my own smoking lamp approval and broke the banning regulation. Suddenly, Sgt. Jones was heading in my direction, putting me in mortal jeopardy.

Like someone with a mouthful of scalding coffee (whatever you do next is wrong!) I needed an out.

In panic and spotting no nearby butt can, I squashed the glowing cigarette into the palm of my left hand. Squelching a high-pitched scream saved my day and whatever else and, perhaps, a week of KP on 18-hour shifts.

Getting rid of the smoke was the next issue. I was frantically wig-wagging both arms by the time the sergeant was up close, wearing an inquiring expression. Desperate, I mumbled something about extra exercise.

The topkick bought my story, making my wound feel much better. In an era when smoking was considered manly, I was fashionable at long last.

Long before smoking was in the same category as Russian roulette — a one-in-six chance of killing yourself — cigarette packaging required no warnings, not even a declaration of nicotine content.

Years slipped by. I smoked for another 10 years and was editor of a newspaper on the Florida Keys when the Beautiful Wife and I adopted a son. He was nine months old when we picked out each other in the setting of a sun-splashed city park in Miami.

A year or so later, I recalled that my dad, Archie Deal, was a heavy smoker until spending some time at old Richard Baker Hospital in Hickory. He quit cigarettes, pipe and cigars, going cold turkey. His reason: "It wasn't the right message for my boys."

On June 10, 1963, at about 10 in the morning, I dumped my smokes into a waste basket, never to light up again. The reason: It wasn't the right message for our son.

Never looking back wasn't easy. First, I found after jacking a piece of copy paper into a typewriter to tool out a story, my fingers didn't want to work. And picking up a phone to take a call, my mouth wouldn't cooperate.

In both instance,s I would have first lit up what Dad called a "coffin nail." The struggle continued.

Somehow I didn't fall off the wagon. My tradeoff for smoking was consuming a huge stash of Lifesavers.

About 20 years later, the century-old Lutz Drugstore space was converted into the new home for The Hickory News. The building was designated as one of the first smoke-free businesses in the downtown business district.

Some on the staff were not happy with the change. Smokers were even more miffed after learning restrooms were not a sanctuary to escape the smokeless rule.

Once you have kicked the butts, it's difficult not to mention your success.

Some hooked smokers, who have quit hundreds of times, offer sharp rebuke:

"There's nothing worse than a reformed drunkard or a smoker who has kicked the habit."

Charles Deal is a former newspaper editor and publisher. Reach him at chazdeal@aol.com.