My wife's dad was a World War I U.S. Army veteran, a teenager when he joined. He was strictly a cigar guy, and married late, lived in his wife's family home and had to smoke outdoors. In the Army, he stood inspection, placed in the back row for an inspection by General Pershing, who was also from Missouri. The general had the entire brigade about face and inspected the back row, and took special notice of the teenager, letting him know that he was also a Missourian. I love that story. Pershing didn't forget his roots.