Tobacco News and Interesting Information

Since Thursday was the day of the Great American Smokeout and smoking bans have been making headlines in the news for the last year, I was taken back to memories of my childhood. All my memories aren't smoky, but a few of them are.

When I was in high school, my dad and I were in a bowling league. Every Monday night, we ventured down to Salem Lanes with our Brunswick bowling balls in hand. Although we are not the sole survivors of the league, many of the people we bowled with have died — of lung cancer, emphysema, pneumonia and various chronic diseases involving the lungs.

I can honestly say that I might not recognize some of my fellow bowlers if they did not have cigarettes dangling from the corners of their mouths — and it wasn't attractive. I don't even know if some people took their cigarettes out of their mouths to bowl.

The bowling alley was so old that the scorekeeping stands had ash trays built into them. The walls, no matter how many times they had been painted or what color they were painted, were still yellowed by the smoke.

Due to the habits of many of my friends, the place was like a giant ash tray. When you walked through the doors, the smells of tobacco, nicotine, tar and other various chemicals greeted you and went home with you. My mom always made my dad and me wear ratty, old clothes because she knew we'd come home smelling like we had three-pack-a-day habits. I'm surprised she didn't make us walk to the bowling alley as the smell had a tendency to linger in the Winslow Mobile (our 1989 blue Dodge van).

Sometimes clouds of smoke hung outside the building, as if there was no room left inside for them. I think the creek next to the bowling alley must have thought the building was on fire, so a few years ago it rose and flooded the bowling alley. It is no longer in operation today.

To fully appreciate this story, you have to understand the appearance of the bowling alley. When you walked through the entrance, it was like a step back in time. Some of the people even dressed like it was 1965. Seriously, one lady we bowled with smoked like a freight train — she died of cancer or emphysema a few years back, God bless her soul — and wore the same outfit every Monday. I'm pretty sure she ironed her bell-bottom blue jeans, as there was a yellowed crease down the center of each leg.

There were no electronic scorekeepers — only transparencies with overhead projectors. There were no fancy ball returns, and frequently high school workers would run down the lanes to knock the balls back down to the bowlers. I don't know if the health department had ever looked to see if their kitchen had caught up to the times. Even the jukebox had old songs.

Their burgers were greasy and made with real beef. Their cherry cokes were made with real syrup. Their french fries were not for the faint at heart. Everything was smoked, not just the bacon. It got smoked as the waitress carried the orders to customers. The coffee even tasted like cigarettes.

On Saturday and Sunday afternoons, the bowling alley would host birthday parties for groups of small children. I used to bowl every Sunday afternoon from the time I was in elementary school with my best friend, Linley. I'm sure the smoke left behind from the leagues was good for all our lungs. And people wonder why their children have asthma. (Disclaimer to those who might be offended by this comment — I am not saying every child who has asthma got it from cigarette smoke.) That pretty much sums up Salem Lanes and its addiction to nicotine. I've got more stories from my smoky past, but I've got to save something for next year's Great American Smokeout.