The elderly PA smoker I met at my wife's after-hospital rehab -- she'd had hip surgeries -- we called C.S. He was from an adjoining state but had ended up in N.C. He was a former car salesman, Dodge automobiles, and had changed later in his career to selling eighteen wheeler truck tractors. He was a good conversationalist. Occasionally he had lapses -- he was in his late eighties -- so he thought his wife's photo was on the wall in every room because the staff moved it every time he moved. But mostly, he was sharp, and we always tried to have meals with him in the dining room, and shared our real butter from home and other tidbits. He tried to escape to the benches out front of the facility to have a smoke, but it required a staff person to accompany him, and that was often a problem, and we were limited in spending time on that. I bought him a MM cob and an inexpensive briar to replace pipes a friend had ruined with inexperienced reaming. He smoked only Prince Albert, ever. My favorite yarn about him -- a little sad, but also endearing -- was that he had a powered wheelchair, but got to tearing around in it so fast, staff decided he was a hazard and put him back into a manually pushed chair. He probably remembered when he was driving those Hemi Dodges. I really liked the guy. He went out with his flags flying.
