In regard to the “old fart” fun we’re having, I’ll share a personal story of how, once in a while, things just play out beautifully in at least one little segment of our lives: I turned the ripe old age of 48 last week. At 16, within days of securing my driver’s license, I drove to my local tobacconist and bought my first pipe, an Israeli Alpha that I still have and love. I quickly added a few Peterson pipes, a Chacom and a Caminetto thanks largely to the guys at the shop being ardent pipe smokers / collectors and actually caring enough to guide a (too) young enthusiast along the right path. They quickly moved me from the bulk aromatics I was intrigued by to Bengal Slices, EMP, Bell’s Three Nuns and other classics - usually by sharing a bowl from whatever tin they were smoking at the time. At 18 I began working at the shop, learned pipe restoration, picked up lots of estate high ends from literal cardboard boxes of recently deceased husbands’ estates brought in by their widows. We were the only Dunhill dealer in our area, so many of these returned to the shop. (The shop was run by men of integrity and these customers wives were treated fairly - as being gentlemen who served gentlemen was not negotiable) I began attending pipe shows and the RTDA. The tins started accumulating simply from convenience and opportunity. Then I fell in love with McClelland, sat with Mike and Mary at an early 2000’s Pipe show dinner where Mike convinced me to cellar my favorites from their line deep - and promised I wouldn’t be disappointed. Bill Taylor became a friend after I splurged, purchasing an Ashton Pebblegrain pot from him directly over the phone and he called back a few days after I received it to apologize as he later felt the pot’s bowl was too short and didn’t represent what he promised me, nor reflect the proper dimensions of a classic English pot. He wanted to remedy it by sending another for me to consider. I told him instead how much I loved the dimensions and how perfect it was for smoking the flake tobacco I love so much. He sent another pipe anyway as a kindness, and then two more times over the next few years, a package would arrive from Bill to his “young colleague in the states” who likes short pots. Fast forward about two decades: I’m certainly not rich - by career choice, not misfortune. However, I have a tobacco & pipe collection that through good advice, sometimes dumb luck (a close out box buy of about 4 dozen Rattray 100gram tins at $2ea when James B Russel stopped distributing them, 20 tins of Pelican and Kingfisher in 2004 when a new shop owner wanted space for humidors during the cigar boom and was clearing out “pipe junk” from the old owner, a bulk buy of nearly 100 tins at $5 ea of the original Ashton Blends (Primarily my all time favorite - Pebblecut) when McClelland first announced they were no longer manufacturing them) and twenty years of thoughtful accumulation, is almost unbelievable. So while I drive fairly utilitarian vehicles, wear shoes past their prime and don’t eat above my pay grade as often as I’d like - when it comes to the sweet leaf, I live a sweet life. After all, to be a man with a clear conscience, a loving wife, a good book and a pipe full of quality smoldering tobacco is to be rich indeed!
