The man I knew some 40 years ago is mostly likely passed on. He was probably in his mid 50s then but seemed much older to me. I've always remembered him. Looked a lot like Peter Graves as I remember. You see, this man smoked a pipe all time. Once every week we would meet up and he would teach me about life. He was like a grandfather to me. All the while he spoke he would take out his pipe, pack it, and light it and dispense his wisdom with swirls of smoke around him. He would use his pipe like a pointer to emphasize the important parts. I watched this ritual repeat for many years until he was no longer able to smoke due to health issues not related to pipes. I grew up and moved away and we lost touch with other. I became old enough to smoke a pipe myself and I remembered his ritual. How he carefully selected tobacco from a jar and loaded it with precision into a old worn and charred pipe. After some trial and error I had my own pipe going well and began what would become a decades long journey into the world of smoking pipes.
