Smoke Signals

The life of a publishing professional is not as glamorous as it might seem. The nights are frequently an extension of the days, which are an extension of the mornings—which is to say, lots of burnt coffee, dull pencils, and hectoring phone calls. The editor of this magazine occasionally slips out for a drink, it’s true, maybe a bit of dessert. If babysitting works out, the wife of the editor may come along. (Although crème brulée is outlawed from the pages of the magazine, it is welcomed at the table.)

The metabolism of this magazine’s editor is not what it used to be. This is the self-evident conclusion to be drawn from the infrequent occasions when he has a few beers and takes in, say, a rock ’n’ roll concert. It’s a simple consequence of aging. Most of us can’t handle the excesses we once could. Surely it’s a survival mechanism, the difference between burning out and fading away. The fact is, most of us are for fading away, and it’s a good thing. A generation of Sid Viciouses would be the end of the race. Anyway, the point is this: Nobody hates a hangover the way we do, and we now know that the worst hangovers have nothing to do with the beer, or the scotch, or even the champagne. It’s the cigarette smoke. Whether times have changed, whether people in bars are smoking more than ever, we can’t say. But we do know that your average gin mill today is an intensely aromatic experience. By the time the editor gets home, the dog won’t come near, the kids resist affection, and the wife just points at the shower or the couch.

Earlier this month, Michael Bloomberg proposed a rigorous ban on smoking throughout New York City. Yes, the ban would apply to bars and restaurants. Needless to say, excitable New Yorkers converged on City Hall. It’s unthinkable! It’s an outrage! What’s next, banning cell phones in public places?! (Oops, already working on that. No kidding.) But anyone who has traveled to California in the last five years can report that this type of law is not only possible, it’s terrific. Californians have embraced the ban, they self-police, they stay out later, they feel better. No one smokes in the bars, and yet the bars continue to thrive! The eyes don’t sting, the throat doesn’t burn, the hair doesn’t feel tacky as flypaper. The band is visible in living color from as far away as 50 feet.

(Just to be clear, let’s just say this: The editor actually enjoys a civilized smoke now and again. A Winston Light, an American Spirit, even a Fuente Hemingway. But we’ll gladly take it outside, if it means we don’t have to wash our clothes and person in tomato juice every time we want to rejoin genteel company. Hey, we’re all about social responsibility.)

Has this kind of thing been tried in Minnesota? Yes. Has it succeeded? Not really. Eden Prairie recently passed a weak version of an antismoking measure that pretty much just guarantees that addicted Eden Prairie civil servants will be freezing their butts off this winter. And the good people of Cloquet and Duluth have been fighting tooth-and-nail over their aggressive anti-smoking statutes for more than a year. (One might say that many of these local efforts in outstate Minnesota are doomed to failure, for the simple reason that there isn’t much to do other than smoke and drink. But that wouldn’t be nice.) There is one legitimate complaint: Business owners say smokers will conduct their affairs in that booming, smoke-choked town down the road. The obvious solution is to pass new statewide standards—hell, let’s make them national.