Again, all I know about pipes I had to learn on my own, and with help from my friends.
There once upon a time was an old man in Springfield Missouri, who along with his son ran a pipe shop across from Battlefield Mall. His heyday there was the late eighties to about the time of the cigar boom. His specialty was selling meerschaum pipes, mostly to Campbellite mothers, I suppose.
Springfield Missouri is home to more different Christian sects than any place on earth. It is the buckle of the Bible Belt.
My family, on both sides, were Scottish Campbellites. My mother would never say a word when she heard recitations about the Ozarks being founded by the Scots Irish, but I knew better than to lump drunken, superstitious Irishmen into the descendants of the Celtic mercenaries, so prized by the Romans they kept them them as hind guard to protect and advise Roman generals.
I had to avoid letting my mother see me wear something green on St Patrick’s Day. Campbellite mothers view St Paddy’s day as just another excuse for drunken Irishmen to drink green beer.
The ancient Celts were a widespread group of tribes whose rich culture has been identified through burials, artifacts and language.
www.history.com
The old man had his shop in the same strip mall as an extremely popular hairstyling salon (beauty shop) across from Battlefield Mall.
No woman wages a battle more devotedly and successfully against the inevitable theft of her youthful beauty than a Campbellite mother. Before she needs to she’ll go to a beauty shop once a week for maintenance and repairs.
(For all of my life, I’ve never seen why other men get all stupid in the presence of beauty queens. Scottish Campbellite women look like that until they die, then another one does their hair and makeup so they are buried, beautiful.)
The old man was a quick enough merchant to cater to the next door Campbelitte queens and sell them the best grade of meerschaums they would gift to their sons, husbands, brothers and boyfriends. His tiny shop in the late 1980s was reputed to sell more dollar volume of meerschaum pipes than any other retailer on earth.
My mother bought me my Beckler carved meerschaum there, for my 30th birthday in 1988. I visited the shop soon after.
He had an entire series of those cutaway meerschaum pipes that illustrate the coloring process of meerschaum pipes.
I used to watch him show pipes to the former beauty pageant winners, now mothers, in that shop.
He said that a meerschaum boiled in beeswax colored much more quickly than one not cured in such a manner.
Meerschaum is extremely porous. The pipes are carved still wet, and boiled in beeswax. It’s not necessary to wear white gloves to smoke meerschaums, as once was thought.
Tobacco smolders at nearly a thousand degrees. Water boils at 212 at sea level.
The oil rich smoke from the burning tobacco travels though the meerschaum until it’s cool enough the beeswax traps it. Thence, the beautiful colors, are only just under the surface.
(And he’d show those mothers those cutaways)
If he ever missed a sale, I never saw it happen.
Every time I was in his shop he’d ask about Mama, and I never had the heart to tell him that he truly, didn’t want to know.
He was a widower, an extremely nice old man, and I’d watched Mama break the hearts of three husbands, at least a dozen fiancés, and beaus too numerous to count since my father died in 1971.
My mother, could play a guitar, and sing like a caroling angel.
So can Rhonda Vincent. Mama, would approve, she surely would, of Rhonda Vincent:
Last year at the age of 60, Rhonda Vincent was inducted into the Grand Ole Opry. My mother turned 62 in 1988.
But my mother, never had to dye her hair blonde. She would have, if it meant being part of the Grand Ole Opry, but she never had to, you know?
THE PRETTIEST FLOWER THERE
Rhonda Vincent