One hundred forty-one years ago (no, this is not when I was
six nor when I smoked my first cigar) an ice jam broke at the confluence of the
Missouri and Niobrara Rivers. For the
first half of April water rushed through farm fields and city streets, filled
the tributaries and over-filled the Missouri River. The river grew to widths of many miles
through long stretches of its course. The
same river that three quarters of a century earlier had taken Lewis and Clark
through the Louisiana Purchase, into the western territories and on to the
Pacific swept away farms, fields, ranches and large parts of cities like Omaha.
In March of 1881, James Garfield became the 20th
President and the riverfront town of Weston, Missouri was the second largest
port on the Missouri River – larger than Kansas City or St. Joseph. By the end of April, the Mighty Mo had cut
herself a new channel and Weston was no longer a river port town. By the end of September when the river was
back in her new banks, Garfield’s Presidency had lasted only 200 days and ended
with his assassination. The Great Flood of 1881 changed commercial
life forever in the region.
In the midst of the heat wave of 2012, on one of those
really hot days, 104 in the shade, we went to Weston. A small, historic town north of Kansas City
located on the Missouri River and the BNSF Railroad line. Its city hall is located near the campsite
Lewis & Clark used in 1804. Weston’s
main street runs down to the railroad tracks and the old port buildings sit on
dry land with the river running a couple of miles away. The town’s heyday has come and gone. Now merchants occupying historic (old)
buildings are attracting seekers of an experience reminiscent of a quieter,
calmer, simpler time.
So, while Winnie was occupied in a store with unique
clothing from the Pacific Rim, I found Corey Frisbee, tobacconist. A half block off of Main Street in a building
with wood plank flooring and an oriel window in front sat Corey hand rolling
fine cigars. The cured leaves of tobacco
where flattened on a wooden desk using small tools but mostly his fingers and
hands. When I asked about the uniqueness
of each type of cigar, he answered in a tone that suggested a gentle plume of
smoke wafting in circles toward the ceiling but his eyes never strayed from his
task.
The entire room held the fragrance that only fresh-cured
tobacco leaves can impart. The process
of selecting the right cigar progresses slowly and carefully considers the
blend of leaves and the sharpness or smoothness of the flavor they create. This is an old trade. It was here when Lewis and Clark camped
across the street and in the town when it was a thriving port city. It remains today and is done in the same way. I bought two panatelas.
I make no attempt to extol the virtues of tobacco nor deny
the ill effects for those who indulge in smoking. However, in this place the connection to ages
past and to the real people whose lives depended on the commerce of Weston,
tobacco is a ribbon of consistency that runs through the ages when rivers cut
new paths and drought decimated the livelihoods of thousands of people. I confess to enjoying a good cigar. Many people say that smoking is
relaxing. In my experience, a person must
first relax in order to enjoy a cigar.
When facing flood or drought, or other life vicissitudes being required
to relax could be a form of self-prescribed therapy.
The history of tobacco, and therefore cigars, is not
pretty. From the African slaves brought
to America to work the ‘bacco fields to the role of embargo against Cuban
cigars as a political move against Fidel Castro, cigars do not seem virtuous. Cigars are often props for fat cats and
gangsters. With the clear link of
smoking to cancer being indisputable, cigars appropriately carry the stigma of
senselessness or addiction. But amid it
all, they command a high price while they retain their mysterious, historic
allure.
So, while I sat on our back porch on the first evening when
the heat wave of 2012 had granted us a short reprieve, I smoked one of my
Weston cigars. As I did so, it occurred
to me that without cigars, there never would have been a cigar box. Grandpa might never have been able to teach
me about the treasures that can be stored there. So, don’t take up smoking but it seemed
important to say a word about cigars for inclusion In The Cigar Box.
--td