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DEATH IS NATURE'S WAY OF TELLING YOU TO SLOW DOWN
If you are a smoker, be aware that you might have to suffer up to five
or six hours of abstinence if you ride AMTRAK, America's passenger
train service. "Federal regulations forbid smoking on board the
train," passengers are reminded repeatedly over the squawk box in every
car. "That includes no smoking in the rest rooms. When we catch someone
smoking on an AMTRAK train, we must remove them." We've seen this take
place several times, though in every instance, the recalcitrant
passengers, along with their luggage, are removed in some small,
station, such as the one in Lordsburg, New Mexico.
Most AMTRAK trains pause in Tucson for an hour; long enough to permit
the veteran smokers pacing the platform to suck down three or four cigs
before regaining their seats. If the air is still, the air is hazy and
the smell of burning tobacco is redolent. Only long blasts from the
engine and the time-honored call of "All-aboard!" causes the nicotine
addicts to grind out their butts and sprint for the coaches.
On a recent trip from Tucson to El Paso, I could hear the urgency in
people's voices as they began to suffer withdrawal symptoms. Some
smokers would stop conductors as they passed down the aisle on some
urgent matter. "How much more time till we can smoke," the addicts
began to ask as soon as we had passed beyond the Tucson City
Limits.
By the time the passenger train had reached the New Mexico border, a
couple of hours into the journey, one could hear the desperation rising
in smoker's voices. I was reminded of the two movie versions I had seen
of "Mutiny on the Bounty" and another old film where James Cagney led a
prison break.
I experienced a certain relief when my wife and I had reached our
destination - that being El Paso, Texas, before the passengers
took the crew hostage. It is not unusual for the local police to
remove, at the behest of Railroad Special Agents, those unwilling to
obey the Federal Law.
Before we could detrain, the aisles were filled with desperate smokers.
Many lit their "coffin nails" in mid-air as they literally jumped off
onto the platform. We wrestled our carry-ons down the steps and
began dragging the wheeled luggage toward the depot.
It was then that I saw this magnificent couple standing on the
platform. He was lighting her super-long cigarette while she lit his.
Both were holding matching silver lighters, undoubtedly heirlooms.
Tall, masterful, elegantly attired entirely in white - looking as if
they had just left a tennis match, I guessed by their cottony,
well-coiffed locks that they were in their mid-seventies. They both
were large, athletic looking people; "big-boned," my people would have
called them, with just hint of extra poundage. They even smoked with
authority.
I was attracted to them because of their air or ducal superiority, as
they gazed above the slovenly masses rushing past them toward the
depot. He had undoubtedly been a captain of Industry and she the member
of several museum boards. I had no doubt that they had left their
private compartment on the train.
As I approached them, I don't know what came over me, but I could not
resist bursting forth with that old Merle Travis refrain, "Smoke,
smoke, smoke that cigarette. Puff, puff, puff, and if you smoke
yourself to death, tell St. Peter at the golden gate, that you hate to
make him wait..." I had to stop without finishing the line, for the
consternation, horror, fear and sheer shock was no palpable on their
faces, I could not go on.
If you saw the expression on Sigourney Weaver's face when the Alien in
the film of the same name confronted Sigourney's character on the
spaceship, you've some idea of what the couple was experiencing. I am
sure they would have attacked me if I had not moved on quickly to catch
up with my spouse - who was not having any part of this tableau.
Instead of my doing what I did, I should have told them about a great
radio newsman, a smoker with whom I once worked. He asked me fill in
for him for a week or so while he underwent lung surgery. I found out
later that the cancer cells had invaded other parts of his body.
Opiates reduced the severe pain somewhat, but the worst part was his being slowly smothered for week after week.
73,
Phil Richardson, Observer and Storyteller
Phil's current post can be read at: http://www.imrightagain.com
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