Early Influences on Smoking Cigars

In the early fifties, we lived beside the King Edward Cigar Factory in Jacksonville at my Great Grandmother's house. It was a large two story Victorian home. My Mother and myself lived upstairs. My father was in the Navy stationed in Norfolk, Virginia. I can vaguely remember seeing the men who worked in the cigar factory walking home after their shift smoking a cigar. As it was in most small towns, my Great Grandmother and my Grandmother sat on the porch in the cool of the evenings. I enjoyed sitting there listening to them talk about everything and everyone while the music from the radio playing inside floated through the open windows. The cigar workers would walk by and they would tip their hats to the older women and offer a "Good Evening, Ladies", or a wave of their hand.
But when my Grandfather came home from this day at the laundry, everything changed. My Grandfather Anton "Doc" Clifton owned a laundry called the "Square Deal Laundry". He had the contract with the Atlantic Coast Line Railroad to clean the red rags all the railroad men used on the trains. This was a lucrative deal that allowed my Grandfather to enjoy a income well above the norm for that time period.
He drove into the driveway in his 1952 Ford 4-door sedan and got out with the ever present King Edward Cigar in one hand and a six pack of Budweiser Beer in the other. Budweiser was another constant in my childhood along with cigars as Grandfather in 1924 drove the Beer wagon delivering barrels of Budweiser beer to the saloons in the "Red Light District" of Jacksonville. He once gave me a sip at about age four over the protests of the women in the family. "Aw, a little beer ain't going to hurt the boy."
I watched as he came up the steps and asked how long before supper. Grandmother always said the same thing, "It'll be ready when you are. Doc." She would take the six pack from him and hand him one, "I'll put these in the "Ice Box".
He entered the screen door and headed over to his easy chair as the women made their way to the kitchen. The radio was playing the Guy Lombardo Hour and he turned it down. There was a stand alone ashtray beside his chair with kitchen matches on it. (we worry so much about the right way to lite a cigar nowadays)
I followed them in and slipped into the Living Room careful to stay on the other side of the room as Grandfather lit his cigar from the kitchen matches. After he had the end of his cigar glowing and a cloud of blue smoke around his head, he picked up the can he had sat on the radio.
"Now how in the name of Moses am I going to open this?" he said as he held up the can.
I saw him look at me, "Boy, come here."
I didn't dare speak, but I did move half way across the room.
"Go to the kitchen and tell your Grandmother I need a can opener," he would growl.
Now when he said can opener, he didn't mean an electric one that cuts the lids off cans like we have today. Or one you twist and it cuts the lids off. What he meant was a can opener that punctured the top of a beer can on one side with a large hole to drink the beer out of and a smaller hole on the other side to allow air in.
I hesitated just a half second, "Hurry up boy, I might give you a sip."
Grandmother was already coming down the hall with the can opener as I rounded the corner of the french doors leading to the hallway.
"I heard what he said and I'm not going to let you have any of that beer, she whispered as she held that can opener in front of my face. Now you get on back out on the porch till we call you in for dinner."
As the screen door banged shut behind me, I heard my Grandmother say, "Here's your can opener, Doc.
I pulled one of the porch rockers over so I could see into the Living Room to watch my Grandfather. I heard a pop followed my a hiss and I knew he had opened the can of beer. He pulled out the afternoon newspaper, re-lit his cigar, took a swallow of beer, as I watched him I believed he was the most important man in the world.
Time moved forward and Grandfather passed away, my Grandmother lost her leg due to blood clots at the age of eighty six and had to move into my home. When I would go out to the back yard to smoke a cigar, she would call me to come inside and say.
"Blow some of that smoke towards me, son. It reminds me of your Grandfather."
I obliged her and she would breathe the smoke in deeply, a slight smile would come over her face and she would say, "Doc, loved to smoke his cigars."
She has passed on now also and there are times when I'm alone on the deck smoking that I can close my eyes and see my Grandfather again sitting in his easy chair smoking his cigar.