It all started because I forgot to grab a pack of cigarettes
ere I went on the midwatch. That led to one of my best decisions ever.
Conditions were right. I had only been aboard the USS Hunley
(AS31) for two days. I didn’t know a soul, unless you count the personnel
officer who told me he was assigning me to a crappy detail because he didn’t like
Vietnam veterans. (I had foolishly asked for East Coast duty as my new assignment.
Big mistake).
That afternoon, I had gone to the PX on board and bought a carton
of Marlboros. It cost me $2.10, or 21 cents a pack. I had smoked a half-pack up
when the messenger from the quarterdeck woke me up for duty guarding the chow
hall. About 0015, I realized that I had forgotten my cigarettes. Send me aft for
a fathom of waterline, but I was pissed. Few people were awake, and I could have
easily snuck out on the main deck for a smoke.
I thought about it a lot for the next hour or so. I had been
accustomed to sometimes three packs a day on my last assignment, depending on
how the watches fell. (We had stood 6 on and 12 off).
Somewhere around 0130, a drunken sailor weaved across the empty
chow hall heading for his bunking area. I had a flash. He probably had cigarettes
and would gladly share one with a shipmate. I started across the deck.
Something made me stop. “Here you are,” I said. “Going to accost
a perfect stranger and beg for a favor. You can make it until you are off
watch.” I turned and waited. It made me have something to look forward to on
what was turning out to be a miserable tour of duty.
My relief came, and I rushed forward to where I bunked,
thinking about that beautiful package of Marlboros, the same ones that cowboy
smoked. They were, the claim stated, as fresh as the great outdoors.
Reaching my bunk. I had another thought. “You’ve gone for
hours lad. Can’t you wait until morning? “Yeah. Why not?”
Morning, and another thought got underway. “Hell,” I says to
myself, “you’ve gone over 12 hours without a cigarette. What if you went all
day in addition to that?” Guess what I did the next day? I just didn’t smoke
and began training myself not to think about it. Luckily, I didn’t have anyone
much with whom to talk about it. Talking about quitting is a sure sign you’re
not going to succeed.
That was 49 years ago. I threw the half-used pack away a
month later. Two months following that, I sold the rest of the carton to a
shipmate. I shit-canned my Zippo lighter that had gone to war and back with me
then, and my deliverance was complete.
Here’s the deal. Breaking the habit of smoking is real
simple. You just quit. You don’t taper off. That means you haven’t quit. You
don’t use pharmaceuticals. That only signals to your brain that you are too
weak to quit. You don’t talk about it. That uses up much of the psychic energy that
is required for resolve. Mainly, you just don’t smoke.
It helps if you are thrown, as I was, into a new environment.
I never associated life aboard a ship with smoking. Mainly, you just don’t
smoke.
Is it easy? Hell no. For 20 years or more, I would dream that I
had resumed smoking and boy did it seem nice. I would awaken and, after some time, would remember that I had quit years before and never started back.
That was 1968. Some 15 or so years later, I ran a complete
marathon, 26.2 miles. Okay, I waddled the last three miles, but who was counting?
Now, when I enter a downtown bank building when it’s below freezing and see office
workers huddled against the wind, shivering and puffing, I can’t help thinking
how simple salvation would be. Mainly, you just don’t smoke.
Don’t blabber to me about how you plan to quit smoking, or
how you haven’t smoked a cigarette in eight hours. Don’t go spending good money on
drugs to help. Save that money for wine or Four Roses to celebrate
anniversaries of your victory. Unlike other victories, you don’t have to do
anything. You just have not to do something.
It ain’t no big thing.
Mainly, you just don’t smoke.
 |
| They say he died of cancer. |
