Did you happen to catch the news about CVS disbanding all its tobacco products? I, among many, applauded the move. So did 7,700 CVS locations throughout the country, whether they wanted to admit it or not. They’ve even given themselves a new name: CVS Health.
You never would have thought so a decade ago when I was a special customer. I purchased my pipes and tobacco at that chain, along with any accessories I might need to suffer the consequences.
Finally in 2006, after 40 years, I ditched the habit when my cardiologist read me the riot act. The first procedure was stints to correct three blocked arteries.
“If you want to see your grandchildren grow up, do yourself a favor and quit,” he warned me. He didn’t have to tell me a second time.
Three years later, I went through a triple bypass and was lucky to escape alive. I suspect the smoking had lingering effects on my health.
The other day, I walked inside a CVS for an errand and encountered the store manager working the aisle. Being the nosy reporter that I am, I posed the following question, just to satisfy my curiosity, not to write this column. The move had gone into effect a week prior.
“Have you seen any impact from closing down the tobacco sales?” I asked him.
“Quite a bit,” he answered, thinking others would also be appreciative. “I’ve lost a number of regular customers. People came here just to buy cigarettes and cigars.”
“What about pipes?”
“Not so much,” he revealed. “That’s been dwindling right along.”
“Being a New Hampshire store, they come here to save on taxes and buy them considerably cheaper than across the border in their home town,” he added.
The man told me something else that was astounding. He said one out of every three customers came into his store just to buy tobacco, rarely another product.
“We’d be contributing to their detriment at the front of the store and helping with the cure at the rear,” he pointed out.
For some time now, these products were being sold from behind the counter while sedatives and other health-related items were showcased at the back.
Two doors over from him is a tobacco shop, right across the street from yet another.
He then revealed another thought on the matter.
“Now that CVS has abolished its tobacco sales, don’t be surprised to see the other pharmacy chains follow suit,” he said. “We’re in this business to promote healthy lifestyles, not cancer.”
Choosing to ditch my pipe was no easy matter, let me tell you. For months after, I had an urge to rekindle the flame. I kept some of my precious Meerschaum pipes that were gifted to me over the years. Pipe-smokers formed their own fraternity, much like cigar fanciers. We shared one another’s tobacco and patronized each other’s smoking parlors.
At one time, maybe half my church population indulged in tobacco. Bingo was another story. A dozen people retreated to smokeless quarters downstairs while 100 or so puffed away in the main hall. It was so bad, the stench would cling to your clothes.
Then, the state passed a law that banned smoking in public halls. We lost some folks, but not enough. In fact, the atmosphere became a lot cleaner—and amicable.
I belong to a church now where overt smoking does not exist. People don’t even go outside to light up anymore. The very last guy, a close friend, ditched the habit only recently. He had it so bad, he’d sit by the fireplace at home and blow the smoke up his chimney.
Our big church fundraiser these days is a Cigar Night in place of Bingo. We pack the place because it means revenue for the church to keep it operating. But here’s the rub.
Of the 150 folks attending, only a small percentage light up a cigar outside. The rest do not indulge and look to pass off their gift coronas to others.
They come for the food, drink, and hospitality, not the cigar. And the church raises money.
I vividly recall my very first day working at the Gazette. Most everyone in the newsroom had a cigarette dangling out of their mouths with ashes that covered their desks. I had my pipe going like a Bunsen burner. The reporter next to me was into cigars. Some of the pressmen used spittoons. That was the culture of the 1960’s. Those who didn’t indulge withstood the smoke, sad as that seems back then.
Toward the end, some four decades later, the newsroom took on a smoke-clean environment. Yes, one or two would adjourn outside to smoke, feeling like they were outcasts.
As faults go, my pipe is now history. And the chocolate that’s taken its place has become a worthy substitute.
Tom Vartabedian
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