Paperwork: Smoking used to be ‘cool,’ especially if you had a Zippo

“Smoke ‘em if ya got ‘em.”

My dad and thousands of other veterans who survived World War II came home with that bit of wisdom. When soldiers took a break it meant enjoying a cigarette – if they were lucky enough to have them.

And, like many others, Dad’s choice for years was the unfiltered Camel. Perhaps it was a badge of honor, a measure of toughness. Manliness.

The keyword for smoking in my generation was “cool.” Tough guys in the movies showed how cool it could be. And my dad made it cool. I couldn’t wait until I could be cool.

I grew up in a cloud of smoke. It would be years later before I’d realize how smoke permeates the walls of a home.

Both parents were smokers. (My mom’s doctor advised her to smoke to help her relax. She smoked up to her final days.) Dad quit as he edged into retirement. Before that he smoked a lot but did give up the Camels.

My history of smoking is hard to pin to specific dates. I have a vague memory of taking a puff when I was in fifth or sixth grade, but it was not until I was in college working at a campus newspaper that I tried it properly. Being a newsman and smoking seemed to go together well.

I don’t remember who showed me the basic process but I should thank them for stressing the importance of sucking all that smoke down into your lungs and savoring it.

GAAASP, GAG, HACK-HACK. Yeah, it was horrible and one lungful was enough. I was told to give it time, but I chose oxygen over smoke.

A few years later I tried smoking again – my way. That meant recycling smoke through the sinus system vs. the lungs. I smoked off and on through the 70s and some years after. I enjoyed the taste, but more important, I was finally cool. I always understood the danger but during those years smoking was accepted and not immediately labeled stupid.

I enjoyed cigars now and then with cognac (which puts “cool” on a higher level), and went through the pipe-smoking phase (especially “cool” for writers) but that involved way too much work.

You could say I smoked over several years but I was never a proper smoker. (I’m never sure how to answer those medical questionnaires that ask if I’ve ever smoked. It’s hard to say, “Yes, but I was never very good at it.”)

I’m sure my lungs absorbed smoke but it did not invade them. It was not healthy. But when I quit I did it over night. I was never addicted to nicotine. I don’t crave it.

Well ... perhaps I miss the “cool” part. A little bit. Looking back at my dad smoking, I think what I really wanted more than cigarettes was that Zippo lighter.

The lighting process is a performance. Swift. Slick. The flip-click of the lid opening. The rasp and spark and burst of flame. The hands cuffed just right, head bent so the flame illuminates the rugged chin and telling eyes. The glowing cigarette tip followed swiftly by the snap-shut of the Zippo. Sometimes my dad would slap his leg with the lighter, snapping the lid shut.

This little boy thought all that was cool-cool-cool. And that’s all smoking was really about. Being cool.

Until ... it wasn’t.

• Lonny Cain, retired managing editor of The Times in Ottawa, also was a reporter for The Herald-News in Joliet in the 1970s. His Paperwork email is lonnyjcain@gmail.com. Or mail The Times, 110 W. Jefferson St., Ottawa, IL 61350.