Ancient History

Yeh, something similar with my dad. I was just out of college and had taken a job as an art professor, when my dad passed. It was still in my mind having grown up working as his slave in the jewelry store that I never wanted to go back to that horrid job, when he passed. We allowed all of his jewelry tools to go to his (at the time) current master jeweler on staff, who just sort of dropped off the map soon after. Then by the very next year, I had taken a job as a bench jeweler. After a few years, I started longing to have some of the tools that I associated with my dad, like his ancient set of dividers, ring mandrel, etc... It isn't pipe stuff, but similar feeling.

Your lucky to have the vivid memories of your Dad's pipe experiences. Sorry you don't have the keepsakes of pipes, but the memories are nice.

I would focus on the memories, and not the pipes. Can't do anything about the pipes. My grandfather smoked Middleton's Cherry Blend. That is a childhood memory for me, my ancient history. That must have been cool, going to The Club with your dad.

The memories of my grandfather occasionally smoking a pipe are faint.

He passed away during my middle school years.

When I started smoking cigars in my early 20s my Mom, his daughter, told me he only smoked his pipe once a week.

It was always on Sundays immediately following church. He'd sit in his library/den, play oldies on the radio and smoke a relaxing bowl.
In Dillwyn VA, Grandpa was the mayor, owned the only car dealership in town, ranched cattle and also owned the only drugstore/dentistry/gas station facility. On paper he sounds like Boss Hogg, but in reality he was just the opposite. He gave most of his small fortune away.
Sadly, his pipe collection was also given away...

Being of the nostalgic type, I find myself keeping things that belonged to special people in my life. Neither of my grandfathers smoked pipes, but I have a few mementos of theirs. A tie pin, panama hat,.22 rifle. Little things they either gave me or I received after their passing.

Having no children of my own, thankfully I have a niece and nephew to pass things on to.

Connections to items keeps those loved ones alive, at least in my mind.

What a great story, thanks for sharing that. What a shame they are not still in your possession. My father was also a pipe smoker when I was younger. He eventually gave it up and started cigs (I deduced he wasn't "that" into it) and my mom sold all his pipes (6) in a garage sell when I was about 15

I fondly remember one grandfather smoking this pipe.

Usually in the basement watching him plane wood, or stoke coal in the fire. This was his last pipe, which I inherited since I was the only grandchild who smoked a pipe. It's probably my worst smoking pipe, but I stuff it full of Prince Albert every once in awhile when I'm feeling nostalgic. Sometimes I even pull out a wood plane just for the full experience. He died when I was in grad school, and I had been smoking a pipe several years by that time, but I don't ever remember smoking with him.
This is my other grandfather's pipe (or possibly his father's).

I haven't smoked it yet as it needs some repair. And I don't really remember him smoking it, but I was quite young when he died. I'm sure it would have been in the little shed/workshop he maintained out back, as he was not allowed any of his bad habits (Cigarettes, whiskey, or Limburger Cheese) in the house.
I also have a couple of my father's pipes. One savinelli featherweight that is superb and merits a prominent place in my rotation. One is an E. A. Carry that I bought him, but just don't enjoy smoking any more. I do recall smoking a pipe with him on occasion--usually while fishing, but he was less than enthusiastic about my smoking anything.
I do feel fortunate to have these little physical reminders of men who meant a great deal to me.

Great thread/posts. Hope there are some more stories to tell.

I inherited my grandfathers collection of pipes, around 12-15 or so, when he died. I was 17 and living at my parents.
My mother detested my grandfather and tossed them out on a sweep of my room. I cannot even remember what kind they were. I wonder if that is why I am so PAD crazy now... who knows?
To be fair, my grandfather was a complete prick, but that didn't really justify the invasion of my space.

My father's foray into pipes was short lived. He smoked a pipe in the late 60s into the 70s when I was a young boy but I do remember things clearly. Empty Borkum Riff cans held loose change on a dresser years after he switched to cigarettes. I remember a 6 pipe holder full of pipes but the only one I recall was a medium sized sultan meer. My grandfather smoked a pipe as well. He seemed to stop only to sleep or eat. Amphora Brown. He only smoked one pipe at a time. A Grabow or Medico. He smoked one pipe for about six weeks when he bought a new one, throwing the previous pipe away, probably because it got sour from no rest! I still smoke Borkum Riff, in fact, I'm smoking it right now in a Kaywoodie 7c, the perfect Kaywoodie pipe IMHO. I lament the loss of Amphora here in the U.S. I preferred the Red. If I close my eyes, I can still recall the aroma of his pipe, his constant companion.Good memories. My Dad? He became an anti to the nth degree and remains so to this day.
Mike S.

My grandpa was born around 1888. He didn't smoke a pipe, he rolled his own Bull Durham. It came in a cloth sack with a draw string.

I remember he could roll a pretty respectable looking cigarette -- while he was stone drunk! :lol:

I remember my Pepere (grandfather) smoking a tobacco that I can only describe as "billowing" fluffy clouds. It didn't have a harsh smell, it was almost a light tobacco smell. I remeber it came in a yellow tub, with a house on it. It seemed to be a pretty common style as he always had it. Yet, as common as it was, I've lost track of the name. I remember after lunch on Sunday we would go to the park, and he would send me off to play in the jungle gym while he and my dad would chat as he filled and lit his pipe, then eventually he would volunteer to push me on the swings, while never taking the pipe out and continuing his conversation, as his pipe continues to billow a light whitish smoke. Sometimes it's the memories that mean the most, let's you know those that passed are still being remembered!

My Dad was not around much when I was younger so it was the clues around the house I found which told me smoke was being enjoyed. I would find his pipe in the large ashtray we had and it smelled of cherry. I would have my nose in it as often as I could. I would also find H.Upman tubos from Cuba as he was a world traveler and would pick some up in the various shops around the globe which offered the stogies. My parents split when I was 8 in the late 70s and he left quite a few things behind, the cigars were part of this treasure. I remember trying to smoke one of the cigars while hiding and getting quite sick after inhaling the smoke...lol. My mother smoked Lark (sp?) cigarettes which had charcoal in the filter and they tasted awful, but I still would sneak packs from time to time until I was old enough to have some money to buy my own (They didn't card me even though I was smoking at 14...Camel lights). When I got to be 23 or so I started smoking cigars and a few years later bought my first pipe. I remember the tobacco I got was a cherry Cavendish and this brought back some great memories like the time he was smoking his pipe in the Den and he would put the oversized headphones on my head so I could listen to David Bowie's "Fame" and was mesmerized by the part when Bowie's voice modulates from being very high to very low while singing the word "Fame" over and over, it would also be changing channels so it seemed like the music was flying from one ear to the other while taking a path over and through my head...it was magical. My father and I were never that close, later in life he looked at his kids as being things that got in the way of his playtime, but he tried as best he could when we were young. The memories for me are bitter sweet. They remind me of him but in that remembrance I grieve a father I never really had but longed for. Later in my life I found that I could heal some of those wounds through effortful relationships with my two daughters. I have tried to give them as many memories of me as possible. Dad had only that one pipe and he left the ranks of pipe smoking pretty quickly when he discovered that there were other things he could smoke which were more psychoactive. I don't know what happened to that little brown pipe, but it is still in my psyche.