My Name is John Deegan, and I have a story to tell.
Monday, September 22, 1958
The weather was still warm. The remnant of a very hot summer. It was a day I will never forget.
I had just turned 8 years old in June and was now in the second grade. I couldn’t have been more innocent as to the ways of the world, the desires or men.
I was called from my class to go to the rectory to help Father Edward O’Gorman. As a first grader, I had been in and out of the rectory and convent many times to help the nuns and priests with various tasks. I was the top student in the grade and the most compliant with anything that was asked of me.
This visit to the rectory had a profoundly transformative impact on my life.
I never thought I would be writing blogs.
My promise to myself was to do 10 to keep myself relevant in a world where things like blogs, WhatsApp, text, and in-box messages, and cell phone addiction control life itself.
My wife, Gjuli, and I were having lunch at our favorite trattoria in Lake Como the other day, both checking our phones before the salad arrived. Even though we are together all day, every day, our cell phones put us into electronic trances. Realizing we were becoming part of the nonverbal, impersonalized digital world I asked Gjuli to please put my phone in her bag. She got the hint and put hers away too. Now we had to actually talk with one another.
My new hobby, smoking cigars, was a topic on my mind so I began to explain the little I had learned so far.
So much to know. Cubans, Dominicans, Nicaraguans, Hondurans, Cameron leaf, Connecticut wrappers, Maduros. Various sizes. Churchill, Corona, Robusto, Toro, Panatela, Lonsdale, and Gordo, and ring sizes 50, 48-52, 42-43, 38. And even 60!
Additionally, there are optimal storage conditions for temperature and humidity. Of course, the proper way to light cigars is important.
Let’s not forget cigar flavor profiles. Wood, earthy, sweet, spicy, floral, nutty, chocolate, leather. Can anyone explain what leather tastes like? I can’t.
There are different levels. Mello, mello to medium, medium. Medium to full bodied and full bodied. So many tastes, so little time.
There is a cigar lounge in Lugano where I occasionally venture. I change disguises and voices so as not to be noticed and captured by INTERPOL and shoved into a cage for the duration of my life.
The men who go there are knowledgeable about the cigar world, and they share their expertise with one another. Bragging rights of a sort.
Some men, and a couple of ladies who show up, can tell you about the families who make cigars. Davidoff, Fuente, Padron, Oliva, Plasencia, Meeraphel, and on and on.
Some of the smokers who show up at Bar Havana in Lugano are rich Swiss bankers, a couple of wealthy manufacturers, an heiress or three, financial advisors, insurance professionals, computer technology experts, an Italian truck driver, a fisherman, a few local storekeepers, and even a wealthy serial killer.
I soon realized that cigars are the great equalizer. No one is there to flaunt their wealth, fame, success, stock market strategies, or driving skills. They are mostly focused on the smoking, or the sports shown on television, over the bar. A couple of the women are looking for a companion… in that regard, the richer the better.
Some of the smokers take their time drawing on their cigars from time to time. Some are power smokers who can finish a Churchill in fifteen minutes and are into quantity over quality.
Scotch, bourbon, and rum are the drinks of choice, from the most expensive to the cheap stuff. The ladies generally like white wine. The murderer likes espresso with sugar.
There is a cigar lounge in Lugano where I occasionally venture. I change disguises and voices so as not to be noticed and captured by INTERPOL and shoved into a cage for the duration of my life.
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*This blog is fiction
