Out of the Humidor
From the Print Edition:
Michael Richards, Sep/Oct 97
In two and a half years of smoking cigars I've come across many different situations, but none quite as good as this. I was recently enjoying my Montecruz on a very fine Saturday afternoon, one of those days with no heavy wind, which in turn means a great burn.
I refer to that great old saying: I saw her across a crowded room, or in this case, a field. I happened to be walking across an open field in search of shade when, all of a sudden, from behind me came a beautiful Mexican woman with long, beautiful black hair, a great smile--absolutely gorgeous. Before I had the chance to speak she said, "Your cigar smells great. Is that a Romeo y Julieta?" With shock on my face I replied, "No, It's a Montecruz." We both laughed.
As we walked, our conversation soon drifted to how she recalled her grandfather smoking Cuban cigars every time he visited this country. She also remembered her parents telling her stories about when Castro took control of Cuba, and the great sadness her parents endured. The land they loved, lost, and the once wealthy being left with nothing. About her grandparents having to come to America and stay with relatives and start a new life.
By the end of the story, two hours had passed, and it was time to eat. The food was great, and the spirits were better. Finally, she had got up enough courage to ask me if I had another cigar. Naturally I did. Nothing could be more beautiful than watching a beautiful woman puffing on a Partagas 150. Her cigar manner was outstanding. After the picnic was over we went to her place to enjoy some real Colombian coffee. With another cigar from--get this--her humidor. She even owned a copy of Cigar Aficionado. What a woman! I think I'm in love. Thank God for cigars. Wish me luck!
Aaron C. Shinault
I'm not a rich man. Sometimes I'm lucky if I have two quarters to rub together. Smoking a good cigar is a luxury for me. I love imported cigars, and I have found a wonderful variety in my price range, not more than $2.50 or $3. I keep them in a plastic container with a piece of cedar and a small humidifier that I bought at a tobacco shop. I reward myself with one cigar a day, usually at day's end. I find that it relieves the stress that has been building up. I'm a professional truck driver, and having to put up with weather, roads, deadlines, and bad road manners can cause the stress.
Friday, May 9, 1997, will be a day I will remember for the rest of my life. I had just finished my last pickup in El Paso, Texas, a load headed for Brigham City, Utah. It was a beautiful, sunny day. I had just crossed the Texas-New Mexico border on I-10 heading west. I saw a minivan on the eastbound side hit a guard rail at a high rate of speed. The van immediately went airborne, somersaulting end over end. The driver was thrown from the van. I pulled my truck off to the shoulder and ran across the interstate to help in any way I could. By the time I arrived at the scene of the accident, there were several people standing over the unconscious driver. The victim was a man who appeared to be in his late sixties or early seventies. He had severe head trauma, with blood flowing heavily from his ears, mouth and back of his head. To my horror I saw one of the bystanders nudge him with his foot as if he were a dead animal, saying, "This one's had it!" I dropped to my knees and felt for a pulse. The man was not breathing, but I did feel a faint pulse in his wrist. Just then another man checked on the inside of the victim's upper thigh. He also found a pulse.
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