The kids practice, of course. They sneak cigarettes in bathrooms, in the school yard, outside their own neighborhoods. They work hard at learning to inhale without coughing or becoming ill. The girls practice tapping away the ashes; and at first they tap so diligently and so continually that their cigarettes look more like pretzels than fine, clean, sparkling white super-filtered royal-lengthed creations of superior tobaccos.

And then comes The Day—when somehow it is all right to smoke in public! When I was a high-school senior I couldn't take three steps out of the front door of my house without "lighting up." I wanted the world —and particularly several cute girls in the neighborhood—to know that now I was a "man." (Funny thing —but that habit persisted until the day I finally gave up smoking!)

I remember the girls I dated in those days. The most longed-for gift in their circle was a cigarette case-and-lighter "set." Put three girls at the same table, and they would be sure to compare their sets before discussing which brand of cigarettes each smoked, and why. (Chances are they all smoked the same brand, the one that then seemed to be the choice of the sophisticated, the knowledgeable, the fashionable.)

OUR LEAST EXPENSIVE LUXURY

What else in America is so inexpensive a symbol of "maturity"? A car costs several thousand dollars—but a pack of cigarettes can still be bought for little more than a quarter. What else provides such easy conversation? Who among us can't explain now—or couldn't explain then, in our teens—that Flubbs are the cigarettes we like best because they're easy on the throat, because they're packed so well, because we like their shape and size and fresher taste?

Moreover, what else in America is so ideally fitted to informal sociability? The Indians extended the peace pipe; we say "Have a cigarette." We can say it to a new acquaintance; the gesture breaks the ice, and costs us less than a penny and a half. We don't hesitate (well, many of us don't) to ask a stranger for a light (and imagine how many friendships have begun that way). When conversation lags, and boredom might result, the gap can be filled with a cigarette and all the chatter and gestures that go with it. Cigarettes are social first aid for the teen-ager, and their usefulness lingers on. After oxygen, water and food, in that order, tobacco is the fourth item of human consumption (no pun intended).

In sum, then, I realized that I had waited with expectancy for the day—thirty years in the past—when I could first smoke in public. I had rehearsed for it, and I had learned to like the taste, the feel, the look, and the many social uses of cigarettes. I still did.

I continued to smoke. And as you know, I wasn't alone.

CHAPTER FOUR

In golf and in bowling the way to overcome a bad habit is to substitute a new—and good—habit. You discover that you're holding the club or the ball incorrectly; you learn how to grasp it correctly; you practice until the new grip becomes your habitual grip.

You can change almost any habit in the same way— your work habits, your approach to a sport, the way you drive or stand, the way you speak.

But I found that there's one thing about the smoking habit that's unique.

There isn't any other physical activity you can substitute for it.

Sure, you can nibble on mints, chew gum, drink water, or even suck your thumb if you wish—but don't tell any cigarette smoker that anything other than tobacco will satisfy his craving for a smoke.

Let me list some of the "new habits" that didn't work for me.

—Carrying a pipe, clamping it in my teeth when I wanted a cigarette. I felt silly.

—Carrying a cigarette, holding it, even putting it to my lips, but not lighting it. (Eventually I lit it.)