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PHILIP MORRIS MAGAZiNE • MAFaCM-APqiL 1289 VOL 4,NO 2 The Philip Morris Magazine Is distributed bimonthly compliments of Philip Morris U.S.A. Frank Gannon, Editor 0wen Hartley, Art Director Nadine Kolowrat, Assoc. Editor Stephen Weeks, Assistant Editor David Hume Kennerly, Director of Photography George F. Meade, Production Consultant Eric Meadows, Editorial Business Manager Guy L. Smith, Publisher Mary A. Taylor, Associate Publisher Cheryl Waixel, Publication Manager Dolly Colby, Publicatlon Assistant John R. Netson, Jr., Circulation Director Michael Malik, Circulation Manager Steven H. Weiss, Publicity Manager Senior Correspondents: V Bucce!lato, L. Glennie, D Nelson, L. Olson Correspondents: Atlanta: C Johnson, L Jones. K. Sass, Baltimore:8 Pettine!Ii: Boston: J. Keighley. Brentwood: R. Martindale; Charlotte: S. Bowers, H, Johnson, J, Jones, Chicago: A B Campbell, E. Van Dyke, P Wilson; Ctark: A. Bedin. Cleveland: C Miller, Dattas: C. Finch, E, LeMond. J Paddock, Denver: D Alford, 8. Andersan; Detroit: B. Hopkins, Ft. Lauderdate: W Lott; Hartford: A Glaeberman; Houston: J Love: Jacksonville: G. Wren: Kansas City: J Clary, Los Angeles: J B Baker, Louisvitle: 0 Ison. R Kohl: Miami: W Lott: Minneapolis: G, Burgess, Nashville: R Martindale; New Orleans: W Cashion, New 1brk: J. Boltz, M. Goid, M Irish, J Kochevar, D Laufer, E Moore, A. Miller, H. Mize, J Ramsay, A Roberts. A. Sheridan. S Strausser. L. Zuke: Philadelphia: J. Chang, J Chaump: Richmond: L Hanson. R. Moore, Rockville: R. PettinelG: San Diego: M Faulk. San Francisco: S VasqueL I Walls: Seattle: S Buckner, J Henry, St. Louis: T Johnson: 4Yashington: J Poole: Westbury: G Salvato J. Bernard Robinson, Chief of International Correspondents FEATURES CADILLAC R-wCH, BY CHARLES KURALT 6 PLAYING WITH THE BIG LEAGUERS, BY ROBERT SAM ANSON 8 REPORT FROM ARMENIA, BY GUY L. SMITH 14 Philip Morris Ma9azine is published by Philip Morris U.S.A., 120 Park Avenue, New York. New lbrk 10017; Frank E. Resnik, President Prepared by Gannon/Hartley Ltd. Editorial offices. 153 Waverly Place, 3rd Floor New York, NY 10014 Copyright' 1989 Philip Morris U.S.A Atl rights reserved, Reproduction in whole or in part without written permission is prohlbited. Publisher reserves the right to accept or reject any editoriai or advertising material. Publisher assumes no responsibility for the return of unsolicited manuscripts or art. The material is provided for the reader's information and enjoyment onty. Philip Morris U.S.A. does not endorse or assume liability for its contents. Publication date. March 15, 1989 3PA Maguiee hrDla.bers of Aserka SALAD DAYS, BY DEBORAH MADISON 27 THOSE WERE THE DAYS: MIAMI BEACH, BY ISAAC BASHEVIS SINGER 30 IO~4AIS FLA"1 .... Bl' I.ARR1' ifcGAR'1'Ijl' 34 100% AMERICAV, BY DANIEL E~'AN WEISS 38 AN AMERICAN VOICE, BYMICHELLEP.ATRICK 40 DEPARTMENTS "a INSIDE PJIM 3 * P.LI_11 RECOMNIENDS 5 ~ PM NOTEBOOK 19 ~ THE GOLDEN 100 CIRC LE 44 ~ ON THE COVER . ,'17eckeY .~'lantlt pho/ngraphP.! by Ranald C. hfodra ~

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INSIDE PM~ Left: Loading the plane in Geneva. Right: Guy Smith and Bernie Robinson aboard the 737. LOCAL LAUREATE 'saac Bashevis Singer was born in Radzymin, Poland, in 1904 and came to the United States in 1935. He is the author of more than a dozen short-story collections and novels, among them, Gimpel the Fool and Other Stories, A Crown of Feathers, and Shosha. A contributor to TheNew Yorker, Harper's Bazaar, and Esquire, he has also written in Yiddish for the fewish Daily Forward for many years. In 1978, Mr. Singer won the Nobel Prize in literature. He and his wife now make Miami Beach their permanent home. AMERICAN ORIGINAL R atrick McDonnell is a freelance illustrator whose drawings graced the Russell Baker column for The New York Times Magazine for years and can now be found in the "Scorecard" column of Sports Illustrated. His work also appears in Time, Fortune, and Parade magazines, and in advertising campaigns for AT&T and Johnson & Johnson. He is the author of Bad Baby, a collection of cartoons from Parents magazine; and coauthor of "Krazy Kat ": TheArt of George Herriman. In his free time, McDonnell paints and plays drums in New Jersey, where he lives along with 3 percent of the American popuIation. I W ithin hours of the earthquake in Armenia, Philip Morris was among the Western businesses and corporations that responded with help. We faced a formidable logistic challenge: coordinating relief efforts among the Philip Morris divisions abroad. The General Foods management is in Paris; Kraft is in Munich; Philip Morris headquarters is in Switzerland. Planes had to be found and chartered, and Soviet and Armenian officials had to be contacted. Two weeks before Christmas, two cargo planes took 71 tons of food to Armenia. Bernard Robinson, P,VIM chief of international correspondents, and Guy Smith, publisher of PMM, were aboard. Guy has interviewed the prime minister of Turkey and Pope John Paul II for the magazine. As he put it, "Our Kraft and General Foods companies make products that were very badly needed in Armenia. We're deeply moved by this tragedy, and we were in a position that enabled us to respond very quickly to people who were in very, very grave need. " The exclusive photographs from Armenia in this issue were taken by Bernie Robinson and Betsy Rich. SALAD DRESSER D Cborah Madison was the founding chef of Greens restaurant in San Francisco and is the author of The Greens Cookbook. She has worked with Alice Waters of Chez Panisse, at the American Academy in Rome, and is a contributor to the Time-Life Cookbook Series. Her special love in cooking has always been vegetables, especially herbs and lettuces. She presently lives in Flagstaff, Arizona, where she is working on a second cookbook, teaching classes, and trying to meet the challenge of cooking at 7,000 feet. YANKEE MANQUII R obert Sam Anson failed to make the Cleveland Heights, Ohio, Little League team three years running. The author of Exile and With Best Intentions, and numerous articles for national magazines, Anson currently makes his home in Bangkok, Thailand, the only place, he says, where he is the best ballplayer in town. "Getting two hits off Whitey Ford," says Anson, "makes up for all the traumas of childhood, adolescence, adulthood, and those still to come. " L"

VIRGINIA SLIMS WORLD CHAMPIONSHIPSERIES 1989 The Virginia Slims Series unites every major women's professional tennis tournament in the world, including the four Grand Slam events, The Series culminateswith the One Million Dollar Virginia Slims Championships at Madison Square Garden in November. Throughout the year, players earn points to qualify for this prestigi- ous event. Only 16 players par- ticipate, and the player with the most points at year-end is ac- knowledged as the World Champion, 19891anuary-lune VIRGINIA SLIMS SERIES SCHEDULE Australian Women's Hardcourt Championships lan, 2-8 New South Wales Open Jan, 9-t5 Ford Australian Open 1an.16-29 Pan Pacific Open lan. 30-Feb. 5 Bordeaux Ladies Cup Feb. 6-12 Virginia Slims of Washington Feb.13-19 Virginia Slims of California Feb. 20-26 Virginia Slims of Kansas Feb. 20-26 U,S, Hardcourt Feb. 21-Mar, 5 Virginia Slims of Oklahoma Feb. 27-Mar. 5 Virginia Slims of Indian Wells Mar. 6-12 Virginia Slims of Florida Mar.13-19 Lipton Int'I. Players Championship Mar. 20-Apr. 2 Family Circle Magazine Cup Apr, 3-9 Bausch & Lomb Apr, 10-16 Eckerd Open Apr.17-23 Suntory Japan Open Apr,17-23 Virginia Slims of Houston Apr, 24-30 Citizen Cup May 1-7 International Championships Spain May 1-7 Italian Open May 8-14 Lufthansa Cup May 15-21 European Open May 22-28 Internationauz de Strasbourg May 22-28 f'tench Open May 29•June 11 The Dow Classic June 12-18 Pilkington Glass Ladies Championship June 19-25 Wimbledon June 26-July 9 Because every woman deserves a shot at the top1 I SPONSORED BY VIRGINIA SLIMS CIGAREiTES. SURGEON GENERAL'S WARNING: Smoking By Pregnant Women May Result in Fetal Injury, Premature Birth, And Low Birth Weight. _P_ 71 O Phillp Morris Inc.1989 Lights: 8 mg "tar:' 0.6 mg nicotine-100's: 14 mg "tar:' 0.9 mg nicotine av. per cigarette, FTC Report Feb.'85. 120's: 14 mg "tar;' 1.0 mg nicotine- lur~~ I i~h,~a ~,,, ~~f~.•~ n G m„ ~;,.,,r;n„ .,,, .,,,.k,, cTr m,,,6„a

P~I1~7 RECOMMENDS ~_yf ~S-;s.~~_~ i ~~ CL'i Planning a spring getaway? Gear up with some travel goods that are great fun on and off the road 1. Beyond the Pail. The Box by Ciracco is made of sturdy aluminum and won't fet an ~ thing crunch your lunch. Available in two sizes for $20 and $45 from Kate's Paperie, 8 West 13th St., New York, NY 10011, or call (212) 633-0570 , 2. Carry On. Duffle off to Buffalo with a Walker conductor bag. All vinyl with hand strap and adjustable shoulder strop, this tony tote costs $40 from Dot Zero, 165 Fifth Ave., New York, NY 10010, or call (212) 533-8322 . W 3. Photo Pinish. Once you're back home, save your memories in a Don Ruddy photo album, available for $44. 95 including shipping and handling from Amalgamated, 19 Christopher St.. ~ New York, NY 10014, or call (212) 691-8695. 4. Tail Fins. These 1950s auto magnets made by Mards Magnets are also available at Amalgamated for $9.95 including shipping and W handling. S. Weigh Station. Chart your weight across the states with a handmade scale by Daniel Schnur available at Dot Zero for $70. 6. Travel Light. These silver-plated ~ matchboxes will keep your matches dry and tidy. Made exclusively for Nat Sherman for their special dgar matches, these tinderboxes are available for $30 and S35 from Nat Sherman, 711 ~ Fifth Ave New York NY 10022 or caLl 1800122 1-1690 7 Roadside Attrnttions You can't et a whe 'th t G Food d 1 d'n 6 1 h B d Th' t d d re n i ou as an o o n ae er is a car s g y w , gr g y p - s o y sey along the great American roadside is published by Abbeville Press and is available at bookstores far a list price of S 19.95, or call (800) 227-7210; in New York City, (212) 888-1969. . ~ 8. Ploce Maps. Whatever state you're in, these map place mats will get you back on track Available from Rand McNally for $4. 95 For the store nearest you, call (800) 323-4070. n

Mickey Mantle and Whitey Ford offer the ultimate baseball fantasy-being a Yankee for a week. . i ven from 60 feet, six inches, the steely glint in Whitey Ford's blue eyes was J~ unmistakable. He'd been easy on me for the first two pitches, both of which had blurred by for strikes. Now, with runners on second and third, two outs, at the bottom of the ninth, a run behind in the big game, he was going to stick the next one in my ear. Whitey squinted for the sign. "A little chin music," I could hear Moose Skowron urging him from the op- posing dugout. "Yeah, Whitey, " echoed a chorus of voices. "Let him suck on a little horsehide. "As he went into his stretch, Whitey only smirked in reply. "Stay calm," I whispered to myself, waving my bat at the mound, the way I had seen Dave Winfield do it in Yankee Stadium. "Just remember what the Mick told you: 'Keep your eye on the ball. Watch it. Wait for it. Let it come to you. "" Easy enough for him to say. He was Mickey Mantle, one of the greatest of all time. And who was I? Someone who hadn't even made the Little League in Cleveland Heights, Ohio; an out-of-shape, over-the-hill, forty-something scribbler with a body Baseba!l is a game for kids of all ages. like Tommy Lasorda's, facing one of the greatest pitchers of all times. The bat was slippery in my hands; I could feel the sweat running in rivers be- neath my pinstripes. There was a tangle of arms on the mound; then, suddenly, it was coming toward me-a dancing white sphere no bigger, it seemed, than an aspirin tablet, moving at what ap- peared to be Warp Factor Eight. In terror, I recognized it for what it BY ROBERT SAM ANSON iaNOTOORAPlfS BY RONALD C. MODRA was-"the Alligator Mud- Ball," Whitey called it-a pitch that, defying the laws of common sense and New- tonian physics, broke up and in, usually leaving the hapless batter it was aimed at an impotent puddle of frustrated flesh. No time to worry now, though. In a nanosecond, the demon thing Whitey had loosed would be on me. Watch it.... Watch it.... Wait .... Wait.... Wait.... Now! Dimly, I was aware of the bat whistling forward in an arc-dimly, because my eyes were closed. Then, I heard something: a distinct crack, a sound remembered from a thousand far-off Sat- urday afternoons. My eyes snapped open in shock. "Go! Go! Go!" my team- mates were screaming, whether at me, standing there dumbly frozen at the improbability of what had just occurred, or at the ball, which was rising on a gentle trajectory toward left field, was hard to tell. But I didn't really care. I was nine years old again, the world was wonderful, and I had just smacked the stuffing out of Whitey's best. It was a fantasy, of course, the kind of fantasy that little boys who grow up on baseball diamonds dream of. Only, PHILIP MORRIS MAGAZINE! MARCH.APRIL 1999 9

for me and 53 other not-so-little boys who came together in Orlando, Florida, for seven magical days last November, this was one fantasy that came true, thanks to The Mickey Mantle/Whitey Ford Fantasy Base- ball Camp. Founded four years ago by Whitey and The Mick, neither of whom has managed to get the game out of his blood, the camp is located at the superb spring training facilities of the Kansas City Royals. It offers aging, would-be jocks the chance to do what fate, career choices, or (as in my case) plain lack of ability otherwise pro- hibited. We can don the Yankee pin- stripes and rub shoulders with the star-studded likes of Ralph Houk, "Moose" Skowron, Hank Bauer, Mickey Rivers, Enos Slaughter, Clete Boyer, Johnny Blanchard, Mike Ferraro, and a benchful of other former Yankee greats. Putting aside the cares of the humdrum, workaday world, we can be (or at least pretend to be) real live major leaguers-and, in the bargain, maybe even get a hit off of Whitey himself. I got two of them during my three days of fantasy playing, which more than made up for the four strikeouts and pulled Achilles tendon invested in getting them. I also got a Yankee uniform; a baseball card with my picture on it; a mock cover of Sport magazine, proclaiming me the American League MVP; a baseball autographed by Mickey, Whitey, and all my other Yankee "teammates"; a genuine Louisville Slugger; a team picture; ten bucks won off Hank Bauer playing poker one night; a sunburn and a horse-sized hangover; a score of new friends; and enough tales-particularly if I stretch the truth a bit-to last a lifetime. There was, for instance, the homer .... But that is getting away from the storv. which bevins. as all eood baseball stories should, on a cloudless sunny day in a dugout redolent with the smell of sweat, resin, and chewing tobacco, the last being periodically ex- pectorated by Ralph Houk, the skipper of the team to which I have been assigned. "The Major," as Houk is called, in tribute to his World War II Army rank, was, in real life, manager of the 1960 Yankees, arguably the best baseball team ever. He remains a shrewd judge of talent. When I present myself for the first of two nine- inning games the campers play every day, he takes a quick look at my physique and pencils me in as the alter- nating right fielder, batting ninth. As I lumber out onto the field the first time, awkward in my new cleats, he imparts a bit of advice: "Try to avoid gross embarrassment." Fortu- nately no balls are hit my way, and I do. Back in the dugout, as a short-lived rally fizzles, I meet my teammates. Except for their ages-many on the far side of 40-and their passion for Yankee baseball, they are a diverse lot. The center fielder, George Lesesne, a slow-drawling, semiretired general contractor from Columbia, South Carolina, played minor league ball in his youth, but gave it up after too many bus trips and $150-a-week pay- checks. Playing left is Mike Shilling, another contractor, from Baltimore, Maryland. "Bulldog," as The Major has dubbed him, after his gritty style of play, is one of many in camp who was given his fantasy week by his wife for his 40th birthday. The team's power hitter (and destined to be named the camp's MVP) is short- stop Dale Whittenberger, a quiet Quaker from Bucks County, Pennsyl- vania. A veteran of three previous camps, Dale attributes his home-run stroke to the beer he drinks at breakfast, during the game, and after the game. Coming to fantasy week, he says, "makes me feel 24 years old all over a¢ain." .loe Melleski pitches vahile Mick "The Quick"Rivws b During "The Star Spangled Banner, "players w

1t hat has four legs, tvno gloves, one ball, and looks like tandem break dancing?.q trso-man tie-up at third base. ks forsernnd. R Er-Marine and former Yankee great Hank Bauer is still tough as nails. Soakin s 1 ' h ore m h Mickey autographs a bat in the dugout. g usc es ~n t e rm rrlpool. Dick Fox sits in the dugout with The, ilie ~ flnd former fireballer Whitey Ford still throws smoke. PHILIP VORRI3 4ACAZ[\E, IUACiir.4aSL t9p9 71

u.aa, na aivcSi ment banker from Scarsdale, New York, is a Lou Gehrig type: tall, steady, and dignified. As a teen-age pitcher, he got a contract offer from the St. Louis Cards and has wondered ever since what life would have been like had he not chosen mar- riage and busi- ness. Alternating with me in right is the team's swaggering cheerleader, Joe Diamond, a New Jersey-based pub- lisher of stock prospectuses. "Joe D.," as he is inevitably nicknamed, put out more than any of us to be here. First he lost 113 pounds. Then, to soften up his wife, he bought her a Jaguar for her birthday. "When you add it all up," he says, "I figure it cost me a year of starvation and about 44 grand to play ball for a week." He swears it was worth it. But in four days, the campers, most of whom have spent their off-hours soaking in whirlpool tubs, have used 440 rolls of tape and four dozen Ace bandages-more than a major league team does in the course of two spring training camps. "Fantasy baseball?" an aching Stuart Fersht of Manhattan grouses good-naturedly from the end of the training table. "They ought to call this Fantasy Hospital." Heads nod all around. Mickey smiles. Though his fa- mously aching knees prevent him from doing anything more than con- ducting a home-run hitting demon- stration, he is the soul of the camp and the continuing idol of even the real Yankees. "Funny,"he says, "in some ways I'm even more famous now than when I was playing ball. And all be- cause of a game." "That's the great thing about it," his friend and fellow Hall of Famer Whitey Ford comments. "Baseball is just a game, and almost anyone can play it." Everything builds up to the big game on the last day, when the 54 campers play against the real Yankees. The Major, who is emerging as the George Burns of the camp, sets down the training rules for the night before the big game: "Anyone in bed before 3 a.m.," he deadpans, "won't be al- lowed to play ball tomorrow." We bow to his rules and, after dining and discoing with a young woman who claims to be Minnie Mouse at the nearby Walt Disney World, we wind up in Hank Bauer's hotel room. A red-hot poker game is in progress. Mickey, who is passing around an open bottle of Dom Perignon, is telling great, unprintable stories of his days with Billy Martin. By the time the evening breaks up, we have met The Major's curfew with room to spare. Everyone is a little red-eyed the next afternoon, but no less expectant. We're playing in the big stadium with the Omniturf and the flashing score- board, just like the real thing. With the exception of an unfortunate who o tie is s oe laces, injuries are forgotten. It's time to do or die. After the World Series-style in- troductions, The Major calls us to- gether for a pep talk. "Men," he counsels, "if they get too far ahead, start a fight. There's five times as many of us as there are of them. We're bound to win." It would have required a brawl to save us. By the 11th inning, when my team came up to bat, the campers were on the short end of a 20-to-1 score and even the watching wives were ready to pack it in. We lost 21 to 1. In the locker room afterward, there is a lot of beer drinking, address ex- changing, and promising to see each other at the next fantasy camp. There are guffaws and teasing, jokes about holding the next fantasy camp at Lourdes. Then, reluctantly, we begin unbuttoning the pinstripes that have made us Yankees for a week. Before tucking the uniform away in his duffel bag and heading to the showers, I see one guy kiss his. Gradually the locker room begins clearing out. Glen and I linger longer than the others, looking up at our name tags, alongside those that identify the lockers of Mickey, Whitey, The Major, Enos, and Moose. "Gosh," Glen says at last, putting into words the thought that is on my mind, "do we really have to go back to the real world?" On the way over to the bus that will take us back to the hotel and the con- cluding awards dinner, a little boy comes up to me with his autograph book. "Hey, mister," he says, "you're a Yankee, aren't you?" "Yeah, kid," I answer, reaching for his pen. "I suppose you could say I was." E] Those interested in finding out more about The Mickey Mantle/iti'hatey Ford Fantasy Baseball Camp should write: P. 0. Box 68, Grayson, KY 41143-0068, or call Wanda Greer at (606) 474-6976. In New York, call (212) 382-1660. 12 PH1LlP NOARIS MAGAZL"!E! 1LARCH-APAIL 10

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I _a II1iRI1It A firsthand account of a harrowing visit to the devastation in Armenia. 0 ur chartered Norwe- gian cargo jet enters So- viet airspace over the Black Sea. Two hours and 12 minutes later we make a slippery landing in a rainy, icy mist in Yerevan, the capital of earthquake-ravaged Ar- menia. The tarmac is jammed with planes from all over the world, along with cargo jets from Aeroflot, the So- viet airline; the Soviet Air Force; and a big U.S. Air Force Starlifter. We are bringing 71 tons of food in the Philip Morris relief shipment (General Foods canned beef; Kraft rice, condensed milk, and cheese; Maxwell House coffee; and Tang powdered orange drink). We are also carrying special Red Cross relief sup- plies, including telex machines and winter clothing and shoes for children. As Soviet soldiers begin to unload our plane, I walk across the tarmac in- to the terminal. It looks like an older building that was constructed in the 1920s. "Are you from America?" a girl in her twenties asks in halting English. "Yes," I reply. Smiling, she says, "Thank you for coming. We need your help!" Officials of the Soviet Foreign Min- istry quickly arrange for our group to visit the devastated areas. Amid an awesome disaster, clearly the Soviet Union has opened itself to the world. The Hotel Armenia is a beehive of activity. People from around the world have come to help. There are Finns, Swiss, French, Britons, Ameri- cans, and the ever-present search dogs. You can feel the electricity of a .4 Sovret rlrmy ~IL4SH unit at Spitak soccer freld. common purpose, and the language barrier doesn't matter. We meet Nick Sol, a doctor from Colorado Springs, and Ed Herndon, a rancher from Stratton, Colorado, who has had some paramedic training. Neither of them has ever been outside the United States before. They were strangers until they met on the way to Yerevan. Like many of the volun- teers, they had made quick, impulsive decisions to help. Nick, for example, heard about the earthquake on his car radio on Saturday; on Sunday he at- tended a meeting; on Monday he was on a plane headed for Armenia. Early the next morning, we pile into an old green van and start the two- S hour drive to Spitak, high in the Cacausus Mountains and at the epi- center of the earthquake. Our group includes Phil:p Morris Magazine Chief of International Correspondents Ber- nard Robinson, myself, and Dimitri Sabbagh, a London-based video cameraman. We are accompanied by Vladimir Dalanian of the Armenian Council of Ministers. Early in the drive, things look normal. Farther along, we see a barn col- lapsed in the middle of a field. And then, Spitak. As far as the eye can see, there is indescribable devastation. It had been a busy town of 20,000, with two big facto- ries and a soccer stadium. Authorities say as many as 18,000 died. The massive earthquake hit at 11:41 a.m.-the worst possible time, with children in school, women in their homes, workers on the job. The poorly constructed buildings shook, and then crumbled. "If you were in- side, you probably did not survive," Vladimir says grimly. On Spitak's steep, winding streets, where low houses had stood close to- gether, we see two old women sitting outside at a sma11 fire. One of them comes over to welcome us. We tell her we are Americans. With great dignj ty, she gestures an invitation to join them. She ushers us through the still- standing door frame of what had been her home-although we could have easily ~ V BY GUY L. SMITH

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Bread was all many had to eat for several days. ED HERNOON worked at the hospital when I first got here. There was a girl, about 14 years old, who had been found trapped under a building. Her legs were bro- ken and she was partially paralyzed on her right side. She did not understand me, of course, but she would follow my gaze and try to re- spond in some way. Every time I went in there I tried to be real upbeat, which was hard because there were a lot of people in that hospital hurting. You'd try to smile. I told her I was from Ameri- ca and I'd visit with her and walked around it. They offer us some of the bread that has probably been their only food for several days. They tell us that their families are all gone. We drive to the soccer field. The su- gar factory at one end is a pile of rub- ble. Coffins are stacked everywhere, some filled, some yet to be filled. At the other end, the Soviet Army has set up a MASH unit. Incredibly, it is reminiscent of M'A'S"H on TV- the nurses, the doctors, the surgery, the suffering, even the colonel. Espe- cially striking, though-as we stand amid the rubble, victims in tents, cof- fins stacked everywhere, Soviet sol- diers and tanks, a MiG jet flying low, and a helicopter landing-is what the veteran Soviet colonel says. Told why we are here, he says, "Thanks to Hear,y stones weigh down coffins on their way to burial. hold her hand and try to be of some comfort because I couldn't speak her language at all. It came down to the last day and I was going to leave and I went in one last time to see her. I told her I was go- ing home and held her hand a little while. When I got up she had one lone tear in her eye, and it just about broke my heart. When I got to the door I turned and looked back at her and I waved. And the hand that had been paralyzed ... she moved it ..* moved the fingers a little bit, and waved back at me. I was euphoric. I'll never be the same. Ev- ery time I sit down and play with my kids, or get up and go to the refrigerator, or lie down in a nice warm bed, I'll appreciate it like I never did before. Just how special life is." America for helping." The colonel invites me into one of the tents. Inside it is warm. In a dark corner, a badly injured man lies on cot. Alongside the cot there is a little boy. His name is ~ Ashad. He is taking care of his father. The father says that the Soviet doctors "were of great help to him." He also expresses gratitude to the United States. I ask about his family. Two daughters and Ashad, he says. One has been tak- en to Yerevan for surgery. About the other daughter, he says nothing. I do not ask about their mother. a Standing on the soccer field, we notice a small yel- low car drive up. A large coffin is strapped to its roof. Five men get out and walk to the coffins. They pick up a small one: a child's coffin. They place it in the car's trunk and drive off. Not one of them has spoken a word. As we drive farther to what had been a busy resi- dential section, we see that the rescue effort is subtly, terribly changing. Within a few days, the chances of finding any more survivors will be outweighed by the dangers of disease from open sewage and decaying corpses. We talk to Ian John- stone, a fireman from Lancashire County in England. His brigade spe- cializes in rescuing people from collapsed buildings. They have been here, liv- ing in tents, for almost a week. At first they found a few survivors; now they are finding only bodies. He tells us that the Armenians are religious peo- FRIENDS IN NEED Philip Morris was one of dozens of U.S. businesses, lar and small, that sent donations of supplies or cash to I menia. • Johnson & Johnson sent more than $500,000 woi of medical supplies. The tradition of aiding are struck by tragedy is hardly new; the company sE help to victims of the San Francisco earthquake bc In 1906. • The Mobil Foundation contributed to the relief orgai zation, Americares. • Mediflex donated 5,000 sets of tubing for blood trar fusions, and Baxter Healthcare donated 10,000 blo collection bags. . ruU .trs...-d na..___l e.._.__. u -----•d---

If you were inside, you probably did not suruive. ple who set great stock in being able to bury lost loved ones. But soon it will be necessary to bulldoze and level the ruins, wheth- er or not all the victims have been found. Where people had lived, now muddy streets are filled with milling soldiers and refugees. The destruc- tion is capricious, almost taunting. At one intersec- tion, the buildings on all four corners are just shaky skeletons, but the overhead traffic signal is still work- ing; its lights change from red to green over the gro- tesque landscape. As we depart Spitak for Leninakan, also hard hit by the quake, I see our cam- eraman Dimitri deep in conversation with Vladimir. They are both studying a piece of paper. I ask Vladimir what's going on. He tells me that Dimitri has family in Leninakan, but NICK 301 his isn't like anything I've seen before. It makes M*A *S*H look like kindergarten. They're using disposable supplies that they've re- ceived from us over and over and over again. They're us- ing equipment I have never seen in my career and didn't even see when I was in school, or when I was a kid and went to the doctor's of- fice. That's how old these supplies are. Glass syringes, with needles being reused. I watched instruments being sterilized in alcohol for surgery. It makes you think and it makes you a little scared about things. I don't see my parents as often as I should. When I go back the first he didn't want us to think he was unprofes- sional by mentioning it until we were leaving. He has asked Vladimir Bn'tish fire ftghters sift through the rubble. thing I'm going to do is go see my parents and my fami- ly. It reinforces how fragile life is and that it's a good thing to hug the people you love every day, and take care of things and enjoy yourself, because this sort of thing can happen anywhere. This place is far away, but it isn't so different. Men still to check up on his family later. I say that we will immediately go and find them. It takes a while to find the building. • AT&T donated fax machines and communications equipment. AT&T operators were instructed to accept collect calls from Armenia-although such calls had never been allowed from the Soviet Union before. • The Shop Rite grocery chain donated trucks to transport donated goods within the United States. • Lipton donated enough dried soup to feed 200,000 people. • Echo Housewares donated 5,000 can openers. • The Apparel Foundation donated more than $3 million worth of clothing. • PepsiCo, Bankers Trust, Citicorp, and R. H. Macy & Co. sent checks. • Chrysler set up an employee matching fund to cover employee donations up to $150,000. It also donated the use of a Gulfstream aircraft to fly supplies and doctors to Armenia. We all breathe a sigh of re- lief when we see that it is standing intact. Part of the ceiling has collapsed, but there is little serious dam- age. It has been aban- doned, but some people living in a tent nearby tell us that no one has been hurt in it. We leave greetings and messages from Dimitri. The drive back to Yere- van is long. Vladimir's wife had packed food for every- one. The Armenian bread and hard-boiled eggs taste love women. Children still love to hug their daddies and momrnies. There's not that much difference. This is a good example of the world coming together for a catastrophe, and that's wonderful. Nowwe cansee that if the politicians aren't in- volved, the people themselves take care of each other." good. But our thoughts remain with the old women in Spitak, with the col- onel, with little Ashad, with that small yellow car. We arrive in Yerevan. Our air- plane, which has come from Geneva with the second half of our shipment, is now ready to leave. We must imme- diately depart. From the air at night, with a bright moon lighting the snowcapped moun- tains and sending long shadows down the dark valleys, the Armenian landscape looks beautiful. Hard and beautiful. We're thinking about the hardness of the land. The brutality of nature. And the absolutely un- quenchable spirit of the people. The plane is dark and quiet as we fly away, fly home. (] PHIL.IP `,IORRIS MAGAZINE, MARCH,IPRIL 1999 17

Enough is... Enough Taxation! A national poll finds a majority of Americans do not support an increase in cigarette taxes. America's smokers already pay an extra $10 billion in cigarette taxes to fund government programs. And these taxes hit hardest those who can least afford them. We must find better sources for new revenue. Enough Legislation! A majority of Americans do not support smoking bans, according to a national poll. With govern- ments considering new rules and regulations telling us what to do and when, anti-smoking laws are wasting valuable time and money in America's legislatures. Enough Control! Even off the job, some employers are ordering smokers not to light up. Reasonable people agree that no one should be able to dictate what legal activities we can or can't do in our own homes. Enough Censorship! Freedom of speech-including the freedom to advertise-is a right we must preserve. A ban on cigarette advertis- ing is not supported by the majority of Americans, according to a national poll. Those who would ban cigarette ads to protect us from words and pictures ignore the First Amendment. Enough Harassment! Recently, a woman who was smoking in a smoking section of a restaurant was assaulted. Across the country, smokers are being subjected to physical and verbal attacks. No civilized person approves of such actions. Enough Discrimination! Singling out one group of people to pay more than a fair share of taxes, firing someone who smokes at home, or harassing someone in public is discrimination. Americans want and deserve better. Eno~ is en.~u,gh! A national survey finds a majority of American adults do not support more restrictive or tougher anti-smoking measures. "~. T H • E TQBACCO INSTITUTE 1875 I Street, N.W., Suite 800 Washington, D.C. 20006 800-424-9876 Poll data obtained by a nationwide telephone poll of 1500 adults conducted by Hamilton, Frederick & Schneiders in December, 1988.

NOTEBOOK 4 THE U.S. CHAMBER Of COP f you're an average smoker, you are paying close to $270 a year in federal, state, and local excise taxes. Those taxes account for 40 percent of the cost of a pack of cigarettes; in some areas, it's closer to 50 percent. And there are plans afoot to raise excise taxes on cigarettes even more. Excise taxes are bad for American workers and bad for American business. The National Association of Manufacturers unequivocally op- poses them. So does the U.S. Chamber of Commerce. The Cham- ber is one of the leading voices of American business, and we asked its vice president and chief economist, Dr. Richard Rahn, about the Chamber's position. PM: Why is the U.S. Chamber of Commerce opposed to excise taxes? RAHN: The U.S. Chamber of Commerce opposes the increase of any tax, including the excise tax. Tax increases tend to slow eco- nomic growth. They take money from the private sector, which uses it for investment and job creation, and transfer it to the government, which spends it less efficiently. Higher taxes of any kind, including higher excise taxes, will make America a poorer country offering less opportunity, rather than a richer country offering greater opportunity, to its citizens. PM: How do excise taxes, in par- ticular, tend to slow economic growth? RAHN: If you tax a product, its price goes up, and demand for the product is likely to decline. Lower demand will have a negative effect on the in- comes of those people involved in the manufac- ture and distribu- tion of the pro- duct, and to a certain extent reduce their abiJ- N EXCISE EXTRA MERCE SPEAKS OUT ON EXCISE TAXES TAX FACTS L ast year, cigarette taxes were increased in four states: in Michigan by four cents, in Rhode Island by two cents, in Iowa by eight cents, and in California by a whopping 25 cents. Cigarette tax increases have been proposed in eight states for consideration in the 1989 legislative session: State Proposed Increase Arizona 10Q (to 25d) Arkansas 10Q (to 31¢) Missouri 6S (to 19(;) Montana 1Q or 54^ (to 17Q or 21C) New Jersey 1¢ or 5Q (to M or 32(;) Oregon U or 8Q (to 30S or 35C) Texas .52 (to 26.5d) Wyoming 4¢ (to 12¢) Sourcr. The Tobacco lnstitut# ity to purchase goods and services. In addition, any increase in a con- sumption tax, such as the excise tax, diminishes the real incomes of the con- sumers who purchase that particular product. It takes money directly out of their pockets and channels it to the government. There is no "free lunch" when it comes to taxation. Any tax in- crease takes money out of the private economy and has a dampening effect EVERy T(ME I NP.N qN6 F AtXmENf ! ~5inx 0iv G!(~RET r. 5W DON'T SMp1CEA$ SOPPpl)-T ENVUVI4 %voRTN`f" C~6SES ? on economic growth. PM: During the campaign, President Bush promised the American people that he would not raise taxes. Can he keep that promise? RAHN: I think the chances are pretty good as long as the American people and the American business com- munity join together to support the president's commitment. I believe the president understands the economics and the politics of this issue, and re- mains strongly committed to keeping his promise. We all know, however, that he faces strong pressure from the media and from some members of Congress to increase taxes. I believe it would be tremendously helpful if your readers would write to their congres- sional representatives and ask them to hold the line on excise taxes and other forms of tax increases. The president can keep his promise, if we all pitch in and help. PM: Are excise taxes a reliable way of raising revenue for the gov- ernment? RAHM: When people estimate the revenue that will be generated by an excise tax, they assume that demand for the taxed product will remain constant. Since the tax itself often causes demand for the product to decline, the revenue raised by the tax frequently falls short of the predictions. PM: In recent years, some legislators have tried to take the sting out of ex- cise taxes by "earmarking" the reven- ue for popular programs. What are the consequences of "earmarking?" RAHN: The whole notion of "ear- marking" is a misleading one. The truth is, Congress has no effective en- ~~ forcement mech- Q anism to ensure .-~ that earmarked ~ money gets to the ~ project for which ~ it is intended. ~ Even in the cases iki of earmarked .p trust funds, such " as the highway C

PM NOTEBOOK trust fund, a lot of that money gets diverted to pur- poses other than those for which it was raised. Even assuming the ear- marked money gets to the right program, this only frees up money from general revenues to be spent on ad- ditional government pro- grams. The net effect is an increase in the size of government-something the American people have clearly shown at the polls that they do not want. I cannot stress strongly enough how closely this issue of taxation is linked to the role government plays in our lives. Our experience with authoritarian regimes throughout the world shows us that the greatest threat to individual liberty today is government. If you want to live in a country of economic growth, individual oppor- tunity, and liberty, you do not want to have a big gov- ernment with high levels of taxation. Dr. Rahn earned his Ph.D. in business economics at Co- lumbia University. He writes frequently on tax issues and has been a guest commentator on such programs as the Today Show, Good Morning America, and the MacNeil/Lehrer News- hour. He served as an economic adviser to President George Bush during the 1988 campaign. Over 200,000 of our readers returned the postcard that ran in our Fall 1988 issue indicating that they would like to participate in pro- grams to help stop unfair taxation. You can too. Anyone interested in more information may write to: Excise Taxes, Philip Morris Magazine, 120 Park Ave., New York, NY 10017. TEA FOR THREE Author Tama Janowitz (right), her na#her and feftow author Phy1ra (left), and film producer Ismail Merchant at the first of a planned series of Mterview Evenings. Held in the ballroom of the Andy Warhol Foundation for the Visual Arts In New York last December, the event was sponsored by PMM as pert of its continued support for the arts aned the literary community. THE PIPE SMOKER'S EPHEMERIS J S Y I L E H 0 D F P T X 0 T L S A W E Z A 0 0 K C D F W K E 0 P F V D P F T 0 N A S M G P K J M N I W H U X Z V M U A T N A A C C H P F 0 0 S W H L E 0 W F R C N S C L 0 K T Y M I G S S L U L P X K N I W R V B H W I H A U C E R R P N U C H F Z E K B L W H C M R W M H E L J V A Z X I T D S N H T Z I A P L Z X A L R S 0 T R L S G U B H K W I B 0 G I Q M A W C R R K A V I G Z L W D I X X R C T 0 H A S A H Q Q U U C N X C R Q D K D V B T L U Q U H L C D I F S C H U T F N E Y P E H N T E U DJ N 0 K M 0 V N K M I 0 M M F V R A D X 0 U A E P J S P R LO R A S I D Y T C D U D F R C L R L 0 B M A D F M K P W D S Y B 0 K I T F A B Y I P R W R N I M Q K L A R N Y U W C E R Q E B FIND THESE HIDDEN WORDS: (ANSWERS IN NEXT ISSUE.) BRIAR PIPE CALABASH POUCH CASTELLO RADICE CLAY ROANOKE CORNCOB SMOKER COTERIE SMYRNA DUNHILL TOBACCO HUMIDOR TOMDUNN MEERSCHAUM TURKISH NICOTINE VIRGINIA s [Reprinted from The Pipe Smokers Ephemeris, pub- lished by Tom Dunn of College Point, New York. Puzzle created by Jack Christoffel of Westminster, California.j

A a res- taurant owner, I find the smok- ing restrictions implemented last year in New York City noth- ing short of a nightmare. The city now says that I must set aside 50 percent of the seating area in my restaurant as a non-smoking section. In my case, as I am sure is the case with all restaurant owners, the re- strictions have not solved any problems. They have created one where there were none before. I have been in business in New York City for 28 years and have never had a problem with smoking in my restaurant. My patrons have always been fine regulating them- NOTEBOOK PERSONAL TOUCH r gal NONSMOKING SECTIONS: AN UNNECESSARY EVIL Andrg Sottner Is the head chef and owner of Now York's Lvt6ee. selves, and I have never re- ceived anything but compli- ments on my restaurant's atmosphere. Restaurant owners are in the business to please our customers, and at Lutece we take great pride in our service. I don't have many tables in my restaurant, and we are always busy. In the past we have always been able to seat people as soon as a table becomes free. Now, patrons must wait for tables to open in the smoking or non- smoking sections. Cus- tomers do not like waiting and being told where to sit. Being in business as long as I have, I have quite a few regular customers. Many now cannot sit at their regular tables, because I have been forced to split my restaurant into smoking and non-smoking sections. Fur- thermore, Lutece attracts many of the thousands of foreigners who visit New York each year. Laws that limit smoking are uniquely North American, and foreign tourists do not un- derstand our restrictions. I now find myself trying to ex- plain to them that they cannot smoke in the area in which they are sitting. It dis- turbs me that I must run my business this way. There are many other reasons why the restrictions are just not practical. My restaurant has four small rooms, two of which must now be non-smoking. Often in parties of four there are likely to be smokers and non-smokers. Because smokers must sit in one area, non- smokers in the party are now ex- posed to much more smoke than they would have been before. I am fortunate that I have a large clientele, and there are always people to fill my tables. Restaura- teurs who don't have crowds end up with empty tables while cus- tomers wait for seating to open in their preferred sections. The amount of money lost from just one empty table a night over a full year could be devastating to a restaurant owner. I am a non- smoker and have never smoked in my life. For 28 years I have run my res- taurant without a problem. But all of that has changed now, because the New York City Council is telling m ~e how to run my business. Andri Soltner Soltner is the owner and head chef of Lutece in New York G'ity. ~ The New York Times has called Lutece "a 28 year-old legend. "It is recognized as one of the world's fanest French restau- rants. Lutece isfamous not only ~ for its f:nc food but for its superb service. ~ I

TOBACCO & FlLM: LIGHTS, DMERA, CIGAR! C igar smoking has had a great history on the sil- ver screen. Yet no one, to my knowledge, has rated the ten best cigar scenes ever filmed. Cigars have been used to create ten- sion and heighten suspense, to light dynamite sticks, or simply to give a character something to do with his hands. After years of study, I have come up with five cri- teria by which a cigar scene can be judged: 1. It must be a scene in which a fine cigar is smoked. 2. The cigar must be pos- itively identified. 3. The cigar must be smoked with genuine plea- sure. 4. The scene must not add anything to the plot of the film in which it appears. 5. The length of the scene is of no particular impor- tance. Rules number one and four will explain the absence of the film Stalag 17 from my list. True, the scene in which William Holden lights a cigar to let Peter Graves know he knows Graves is the collaborator is a dramatic moment, but it violates rule number four, which states that a scene must not add anything to the plot. In addition, the ci- gar Holden smokes violates rule number one. It was judged to be sub-par. It is in this spirit, then, that I offer the results of 20 years' work-the ten best cigar scenes in film history. (The films appear in no particular order.) 1. DoctorZhivago (1965) That is indeed a Havana cigar butt Sir Ralph Richardson is waving around with such excite- ment. It appears to be the partially smoked remains of a Por Larranaga Corona Claro. Though the scene does not last more than a mi- nute, Richardson invests memorable feeling in his line: "I am about to smoke the last half of the last En- glish cigar in Moscow." 2. Lifeboat (1944) This film has earned its place on the list, if only for the extraordinary length of time a cigar is seen on camera. The manner in which Henry Hull nurses his solitary Bolivar Corona Gigante through a storm, a poker game, a drought, and finally, through the murder of Walter Slezak, is a lesson in platonic cigar love from which many smokers could benefit. The most wrench- ingly dramatic scene depicts Hull's unfortunate discov- ery that the box of Havanas he has rescued from the sinking ship contains only one cigar. 3. P.J. (1968) Raymond Burr will forev- er live on in my mind as the granddaddy of cigar misers. With an entire humidor filled with expensive Cuban cigars, he actually kept a special section for the butts of half-smoked Romeo Y Julieta Clemencaus. Some connoisseurs (of cigars, not films or morals) even believe that the look in Burr's eyes as he fondles his cigar-butt treasures almost exonerates him of the murder of the beautiful Gayle Hunnicut. 4. Witness for the Prosecu- tion (1958) Who but the most phleg- matic of cigar smokers would fail to feel a frisson of

P M NOTEBOOK terror watching Elsa Lan- chester trying to ferret out Charles Laughton's hidden cigar? Laughton's ingen- ious ability to keep his cigar lit in the face of Lanchester's determination to deny him this pleasure, his deft cigar- frisk of the solicitor, and his willingness to listen to the boring details of the case in order to satisfy his cigar craving are perhaps the main charms of the film. 5. Citizen Kane (1941) This classic film actually contains two memorable ci- gar scenes. Joseph Cotten is riveting, with his sensitive relighting of his Partagas Lusitania after Orson Welles discovers him drunk over his typewriter. Of course, it's true that he's fired by Welles after he re- lights it, but the pleasure of the moment is unspoiled. Later, Cotten's portrayal of an old man yearning for a cigar is unparalleled on the silver screen. Who among us doesn't feel the emotion as Cotten tries to enlist a young reporter to sneak a "see-gar" into his old-age home? "You don't happen to have a good see-gar on you?" he asks. "I have a young physician who thinks I shouldn't smoke." Thrill- ing words, topped only by Cotten's final plea: "You won't forget those see-gars, will you? Make 'em look like toothpaste or something." If there is a more moving moment in cigar film histo- ry, I haven't seen it. The onl flaw in the film is that y Welles, a cigar smoker him- never allows us to see if }~} self, the reporter kept his promise. 7. Charlie Bubbles (1968) Albert Finney smokes what have definitively been identified as Montecristo • #1 s while getting crimc brultt pushed inrti h;~ Fa-A• ••J'"_

PM NOTEBOOK while watching a soccer game; while watching tele- vision monitors in his Geor- gian home; while driving his Rolls Royce; and in my fa- vorite scene of all, while drying Colin Blakely's trou- sers in the men's room at Hyde Park. 8. The Formula (1980) Proof that a memorable cigar scene need not contain smoke is this film about ci- gar theft. George C. Scott insists that a homicide de- tective return 12 good cigars to the humidor belonging to his (Scott's) murdered friend. Even though the ci- gars aren't of the highest quality, you can't blame the police officer for not want- ing them to go to waste. 9. The Seventh Veil (1945) Every cigar smoker will appreciate the wily manner in which James Mason at- tempts to get the no-good artist to paint Ann Todd's portrait. He offers him a de- lectable supper and an im- peccable cigar, an exquis- itely aged Ramon Allones Magnum. While of no real importance to the film, and lasting all of 27 seconds, the scene is drenched in pun- gent cigar atmosphere. 10. The Maltese Falcon (1941) Many admirers of this classic whodunit hold the mistaken notion that Sidney Greenstreet doctored Humphrey Bogart's drink so Elisha Cook would have an easier time of kicking him in the ribs when he blacked out. This was not the case. New evidence from Green- street's secret cigar diary supports the theory that Bogart actually fainted with pleasure from the H. Upmann Double Corona offered him by the Fat Man. Greenstreet's cigar per- sona is so profound that many of his fans are still not certain whether he was smoking one when he pro- posed to Elsa Lanchester in Three Strangers (1946). So beautifully did he portray a panic-stricken cigar smoker that he has long since been forgiven for smoking ciga- rettes in The Mask of Dimitrios (1944). There are many other fine actors who knew their way around a fine cigar, and no piece on the pleasures of ci- gar smoking would be com- plete without giving them a mention. The list is only partial, but it is dedicated to all screen actors who have consistently shown the proper cigar delicacy in their roles: • Charles Coburn for the Rey Del Mundo lons- dales he smoked in The Paradine Case (1948); • John Huston for his masterful portrayal of a cigar-smoking cardinal in The Cardinal (1963); • LeeJ. Cobb for On The Waterfront (1954); • Edward G. Robinson for Key Largo (1948); • Eugene Palette for the patient manner in which he smoked his Montecristo #2s in 100 Men And A Girl (1937); • Simon Ward for his sensitive recreation of Win- ston Churchill smoking his first cigar in Young Winston (1972); • Finally, there's the film Cuba (1979), in which for 41 tantalizing seconds Sean Connery walks through a factory in which Cuban ci- gars are being made. -Sanford Levine Levine is a New York-based writer whose mother used to keep him homefrom school on rainy days so they couldgo to,Joan Crawford movies. Hisfavorite cigar is a Montecristo #1 and his favorite cigar scene is in Wit- ness for the Prosecution. CONTEMPORARY CIGAR STARS Actor-director-mayor Clint Eastwood made his mark as laconic drifter in Sergio Leone's spaghetti westerns. Michael Douglas smoked a few fine cigor: while playing greedy Oordon Gokko in Wall Street.

PM NOTEBOOK KEEP IN TOUCH LETTERS TO PM MAGAiINE NO RESTAURANT FOR THE WEARY My wife and I recently had a very pleasant day traveling around southwestern Colorado, enjoying all the beautiful autumn colors. We stopped at the Telluride Visitor Infor- mation Center. The receptionist was very helpful in finding us a place to stay and also gave us a map that showed the locations of the restaurants in town. Since we had not eaten since early morning, we checked into our condo, then we went downtown to a restaurant. After the hostess seated us, I asked for an ashtray. The hostess said Telluride had an ordinance that prohibited smoking in restaurants unless they had two ventilation systems-but no restaurants in Telluride have two venti- lation systems. I was very angry and upset, because I like to smoke before and after meals. My wife and I left. My wife bought two hot dogs at a place that had carry-outs. A hot dog can be a very disappointing meal when you want steak with all the trimmings. The next morning, I went back to the Telluride Visitor Information Center. The same receptionist listened to my complaint about the no-smoking ordinance affecting all of their restaurants, and my feeling that the map should have provided this information. She took my name and address and told me my complaint would be relayed to the town council. She was quite nice, and had a caring attitude. I am very upset and angry over this experience. I feel that, as a consumer, I had the right to know about the ordi- nance. Had I known, I would not have spent my time or money in that town. I feel this is reverse discrimination. What hap- pened to my right to know? Who protects me? Jesse W. Whitchurch Maize, KS Editor's Note: TheAmerican SmokersAlliance is a new national or- ganization intended to eliminate discrimination against smokers and to restore and defend smokers' rights. Interested individuals may contact.• American Smokers Alliance, 3401 West End Aae., Suite 560, Nashville, TN37203 (615/383-4971). • VIVA LAS VEGAS I would like to share with your readers an experience I had in Las Vegas. I was once playing blackjack next to a gen- tleman who had a cigar in his mouth. A woman sat down and started to complain to the dealer about the cards she was getting. Then she turned to the gentleman with the cigar, coughed and waved the air with her hands, and rudely demanded that he extinguish the awful smelly cigar, because she had a very serious lung condition. There was a short silence and he turned to the "lady" and said in a soft voice, "Lady, you don't have a lung problem, you have a brain problem, because I don't smoke these cigars, I chew them, and this cigar isn't even lit." I burst out laughing, and shortly after that the woman left the table. Don Hegg Garden Grove, CA GONE BUT NOT FORGOTTEN PMM has been in my house for close to a year now, and I have yet to keep a single copy of it. If I do not give it away to visitors, friends, or in-laws who request it (always in the coyest of terms) for some special and hitherto undiscussed study of America, I lose the magazine to my daughter and her love of pretty pictures. Merle C. Harton, Jr., Ph.D. Slidell, LA • DELIVERANCE Thank you for your Fall 1988 edition which arrived on Oc- tober 15th. The day of its arrival, I was sitting at my type- writer trying to put together a petition and wishing that I had your publication to help me. My inner voice told me to look in the mailbox and, lo and behold, there was PMM So far so good. I turned to the"PM Notebook" section and there I found a letter from a reader in Plattsburg, New York, which I could have written myself. More importantly, there was the address of the Tobacco Institute, offering information that just might aid my fellow smoker employees in our fight to reverse or, at the least, ameliorate the total ban on smoking imposed by Pan Am World Services, Inc. in its headquarters in Cape Canaveral, Florida. Without prior warning, a smoking ban went into effect on October 12, 1988. Smoking is now permitted only on a small screened-in porch and at the em- ployee entrance. Pan Am said this would create a "healthy environment." Of course, the company did not say that it would create a healthy environment for "all" employees! The stress level of most employees in this building is very high, and a normal work week usually exceeds 50 hours in a five-day period. It seems that Pan Am is daring its employees to survive. Endure the "normal" stress; endure the added stress of not smoking in your private office; produce, produce, produce; and "Have a nice day!" Rennell Ponder Cocoa Beach, FL Editor's Note: The Tobacco Institute, an industry organization, continues to examine carefully the issue of smokers' rights in the workplace. Yl'e suggest thatyou and others concerned about this issue write to: Susan M. Stuntz, Vice President, Issues Management, The Tobacco Institute, 1875 IStreet, N. W., Washington, D. C. 20006. • ALL KOOPED UP I have been receiving your wonderful magazine for a while and meant to write earlier. It is an interesting publication, and offers a forum for smokers. I have been wanting to voice my opinion on smokers' rights for a long time, but if we smokers state our opinions in a crowd of non-smokers, they act as though we are outcasts. It seems no one is immune to the tactics of a few; in the case of smokers, it's Surgeon General Koop who is trying ~HIllP uoRalS MAGAZIVE! 3lABCHAPRIL ~9l9 25

NOTEBOOK KEEP IN TQUCH hard to make a name for himself, to perhaps someday be part of our history. Whatever his reasons against smoking, we should be al- lowed to do what we enjoy without harassment from others. Do we tell a friend he must give up his cocktail at a party? Of course not. Angie Monnens Richmond, MN • SIGN OF THE TIMES In the Fall 1988 issue, you inserted a ta- bletop sign. I have used it on my kitchen table and absolutely everyone who sees it thinks that it means "No Smoking. " The simple fact is that the color red in this case means "prohibit" and no one reads the copy. Green means proceed, or go. Your magazine has excellent graphics, but this insert missed the mark. Please accept the enclosed sketch with my compliments. Ed Brody Holliston, MA Editor's Note: Derf Industries, which designed thepopular tabletop sign to whichyou refer, replies that the color red is used because this is an international symbol that is recognized by all nationalities. They thankyou, however, foryourinterest, andforyoursup„gestion. • oRUPE SCOOP I read with interest your article entitled "Pumpkin!" [PMM, Fall 1988], picking up a number of fascinating pumpkin trivia facts. You clearly explained the botanical relationships among the cucurbits and how pumpkin fruits are really berries. I would be remiss, however, if I did not write to correct a very common misconception contained in the article. While pumpkins may be berries, raspberries are not. Raspberries are really aggregate fruits, derived from the collection of many small ovaries of single flowers. Each in- dividual fruit in the aggregation is technically a drupe. Thomas M. Ombrello, Professor Biology Department Union County College Cranford, NJ • WITH RESERVATIONS I just received my very first copy of PMM. Have you done an article on Northwest Airlines' no- smoking policy? For your use or information, I am at- taching my complaint letter to Northwest and have high- lighted the pertinent information. I realize it is a rather long letter, however, I believe the airline needs to be no- tified. The smoking issue is not the issue of my letter, al- though it does have some weight; the issue is the airline is using the no-smoking policy as a "gimmick" to attract cus- tomers as a substitute for reliable, efficient service. Ever since I returned home from vacation and told people about my trip, even the non-smokers told me never to fly Northwest, because the service was unreliable. I wonder where those people were when I made reservations? Also, it was my misfortune to have made the reservations before the no-smoking rule was announced, and I had a non- refundable ticket. In this day of smoker against non-smoker, it's nice to have PMM to have other smokers to relate to. Cheryl Accurso Ridgecrest, CA Editor's note: To find out more aboutyour rights now that a ban has been instituted on smoking during airline flights of two hours or less, write: The Committee for Airline Passengers' Rights, c% David Goldfarb, Chairman, NewJersey Chapter, 576 CentralAve., East Orange, NJ 07018. • WRITE ON I have been receiving your magazine for over a year, and I enjoy it very much. While I think the writing and photog- raphy of the articles are excellent, my favorite section is "PM Notebook." It is reassuring to know there are people who share my concerns over the ever-increasing restric- tions against public smoking in this country. Sometimes I feel like I am beating my head against the wall and that "smokers' rights" is a thing of the past-the only hope I have is that enough of us will draw the line and say, "I'm mad as hell and I'm not going to take it anymore!" Carol D. Weinheimer Syracuse, NY NO SWEATS As I am currently in my first term of the city coun- cil, I greatly appreciated the cartoon in the Fall 1988 issue on page 24. My only wish is that I could have a sweatshirt made with this on the front of it. Thanks for bringing a smile to my face. I enjoy the magazine immensely. Keep up the good work for those of us who continue to smoke! Diane Beranek West Liberty, IA • p~pDERAITIRE ESSENTIAL ...~,..~~..,~,.. OOPS! In our January-February 1989 issue "Best of America Sweepstakes," the Apple® Computer pictured was incor- rectly referred to as a Macintosh SE. It is, in fact, a Mac- Intosh II. Due to this inconsistency, the winner of the com- puter will be awarded his/her choice of the Macintosh SE or the Macintosh 11. Philip Morris Magazine regrets the error. 26 PH[LIP S€ORRIS NAGAZIVE/MARCHAPRIL €989

® I How to find taste-tantalizing salad makings in your supermarket, your garden, or by the side of the road. W hen I was a kid, salad was a wedge of iceberg lettuce plus that bottle of orange dressing. It was dependable and constant, a kind of fixture on the dinner table. And, as kids, we thought it was fine enough. Certainly I had no idea that there could be any other kind of salad-and, in fact, there wasn't much in the way of alternatives, be- cause iceberg lettuce was enjoying its big moment as the perfected salad green that could be shipped any- where in the country and arrive days later big, wet, and crispy. Iceberg's toughness was a boon to growers, shippers, and store owners; and, for consumers, it meant they could have salad any time of the year. But the nature of salad has, like that of many other of our foods, been changed by our steadily growing in- terest in how and what we eat, and by our awakened curiosity about foods that have real character. To- day we look for discernible flavors, beautiful colors, and varied shapes and textures. In the garden this change has been taking place gradu- ally over the past 15 years, starting with the efforts of a few impassioned individuals who were perhaps hap- pily exposed to the wonderful varie- ties of greens in other countries. That's what happened to me. i BY DEBOR AI !OTOGRAMS B One day in Paris, I found myself in the famous seed store, Villmorin, looking at about 40-odd drawers, each holding seeds for a different kind of salad green. I was aston- ished, for I had no idea so many varieties existed. I couldn't resist buying many packets and taking them back to the farm I lived on in California. A year later, as the chef at Greens restaurant in San Fran- cisco, I was serving the harvest of my curiosity to hundreds of customers. Of all the many dishes served at Greens, salads are my favorite. They have a pure and simple beauty that is ever-changing, and their fleet- ing charms always seem relaxed and uncontrived, because all they need is care in handling and a simple dress- ing of fine oil. Salad greens have become serious business for some and affected us all, as evidenced by the much wider of- fering in most supermarkets and seed catalogs. Some areas are posi- tively luxuriant with variety. Today, a salad is a wonderfully complex event, with a surprising range of colors, tastes, and textures, the specific composition reflecting one's own tastes and what is availa- ble. Pricey and enticing packages of mixed greens, called mesclun (the Provenpl word for mixture), are now sold in some specialty stores, but, if you have a small garden or an eye for wild plants, you can easily H MADISON ILL WESTHEIMER q 11 i: tY.Wi .

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mix your own. Even the su- permarket offers some in- teresting possibilities you might not have considered. The myriad varieties of lettuce and chicory will probably form the basis of your salad. They can fill a salad bowl with colors rang- ing from bright chartreuse to deep bronze. Their textures can be tender and creamy, or buttery and crisp. The leaf shapes may be broad and straight, or curled and so highly indented as to be lacelike. Their tastes will range from sweet to mildly bitter. Use tender leaves- whole if they are small, torn in pieces if they are strong- tasting. If you are growing your own, pick the leaves_ one at a time while the plants are small. Don't worry; they'll regenerate. In summer and spring, the leaves, branches, and flower petals of herbs make pretty and aromatic addi- tions to a salad mixture and al- ways surprise the tongue with their pungent, sweet tastes. Use them moderately, so they don't over- RTED SPINACH SALAD This salad has been a favorite since the restaurant opened. The spinach is tossed with aery hot olive oil, which cooks it slightly. sweetening and softening the leaves. Since the feta cheese and the olives are both salty, no additional salt is needed. 1 small red onion, quartered and thinly sliced 3 to 4 slices bread per person, for croutons 6 tablespoons olive oil 8 to 12 Kalamota olives 1-pound bunch spinach 1 clove garlic, finely chopped 1 tablespoon mint leaves, finely chopped 2 tablespoons sherry vinegar 6 ounces feta cheese Preheat the oven to 400° F. Cover the onion slices with cold water and refrigerate until needed. Brush the bread with some of the olive oil and toast it in the oven ven until it is crisp and lightly browned, 6 to 8 minutes. Wash the spinach, using two changes of water if the spinach is very sandy, and spin dry. Drain the onions. Put the spinach in a large metal bowl and toss it with the onions, garlic, mint, olives, and vinegar. Break up the cheese and crumble it over the spinach. Heat the rest of the olive oil until it is very hot, butjust short of smoking. Immediately pour it over the salad, turning the leaves with a pair of inetal tongs, so that the hot oil coats and wilts as many leaves as possible. Taste, and season with more vinegar, if needed. Serve the salad with the croutons tucked in and around the leaves. Makes two large, or four to six small salads. From The Greens Cookbook, by Deborah Madison with Edward Espe Brown (Bantam Books. 1987). -, ~ whelm other Don't your greens. forget parsley, with the leaves left whole. It has a clean, re- freshing flavor that is not com- monly known or appreciated. Pungent, hot greens make a good, strong ad- dition to a salad. Among them are watercress; the young, fresh leaves of rad- ishes, beets, and turnips; a few small leaves of the brilliantly patterned "salad savoy'' now available in su- permarkets; thinly sliced cab- bages; and the feathery greens of fennel bulbs. The cress family also includes nasturtiums (both their small leaves and the flowers can be used) and various land cresses that are easy to grow in a garden. All are peppery and warm on the tongue. Arugula, or rocket, is an- other pleasant and currently popular green. It is a snap to grow, and its flowers can be used as well as its leaves. Wild greens are my favor- ites to include in salad mixes. These usually have lots of character. Everyone knows dandelion greens, but there are also wild mints, purslanes, miner's lettuce, chickweeds, lamb's-quar- ters, and wild members of the goosefoot (spinach) fam- ily. Pick them while they're young and tender and try not to gather them where cars are passing by. What else? Garden thin- nings-tiny lettuces, shoots of scallions and leeks, chards, turnips, radishes, or small, tender herbs, such as basil, chervil, or parsley. Of course, you might not find these in a supermarket, but look at the greens on a bunch of beets the next time you bring some home, and see if there aren't some hidden tender leaves just per- fect for putting in a salad. Compose a mixture that you like to taste and look at-lots of strong flavors and bright colors, or perhaps something delicate and soft with just a few flavored ac- cents. Handle your greens gently so that they do not break and bruise. Make sure they are clean and dry. Take six good handfuls or so, toss with about four tablespoons of green, fruity, scented olive oil mixed with a strong red vinegar to taste-or, for a more delicate salad, a cham- pagne vinegar and a few pinches of salt. Toss lightly to coat each leaf and add freshly ground pepper if you like. And rejoice in this bright and flavorful depar- ture from salads past. 1] PHILIP MORRIS `dAGAZI4Ef SfARCH,4PRIL 049 29

=0-. s F I R S T I N A S E R I E S O F P R O F I L E S O F A M E R I C A N T O W N S _- THUSf %VERETHf DAYS: Isaac Bashevis Sill;er In 1948 when my wife, Alma, and I visited Florida for the f-ir_ st time, the face of Miami Beach resembled that of a small Israel. All around us, from the cafeterias to the streets, con- versations in Yiddish re- sounded as thick as those one would hear on Yarkon Avenue in Tel Aviv. It was remarkable: Jewishness had survived every atrocity of Hitler and his Nazis against the Jews. Here, the sound of the Old World was as alive as ever. For me, a vacation on Miami Beach was a chance to be among my own peo- ple. In those days, Miami Beach was a magnet forJew- ish people-a place where they flocked like geese to rest and warm themselves in the sun. The hotels and streets were crowded with Jewish tourists, Americans and expatriates from South America, Germany, Poland, Austria. It was a hub ofJew- ishness, and a great source of material for some of my stories. Alma and I had not had a vacation since 1940, when we were married. (I was lucky to have a wife who did not resent being married to a poor writer. ) But it was a particularly cold winter in Oil MiamiBf8C New York in 1948, and we had saved some money, so we decided to buy two train tickets to Miami. All night we traveled in the coach, sitting straight up in our seats, dozing here and there, until the early morn- ing, when the conductor told us to step out of the train at Deerfield Beach for a glass of fresh orange juice. That first sip was nothing less than ambrosia, espe- cially after such a long jour- ney. In my native Poland, orange juice was considered the most healthful beverage to drink. Even today, Alma carries home bags of oranges from the grocery LI a n d squeezes glasses of fresh orange juice for breakfast each morning. When we arrived at the train station in Miami, a taxi took us to Miami Beach. As we rode over the causeway, I could hardly be- lieve my eyes. To me, being at a summer place in the winter was a great event. It was almost unimaginable that in Miami Beach it was 80 degrees while in New York it was 20. Every- thing- the buildings, the water, the pavement-had an indescribable glow and brightness to it. The palm trees especially made a great impression on me. BY ISAAC BASHEVIS SINGER PHt9TOO3tAP4dS BY BERNA'atl'r -M. LYNCH JR. 30 PHLIP MORRIS S4AGAZ1NE, i{.ARCHAPRIL !~ After 15 minutes, the driver let us off at the Pierre Motel, where Alma had made reservations. Owned by the brothers Gottlieb, it was a modest place but still had its own charm and a good clientele. We were given a nice room with a balcony, where I worked ev- ery day. It was in those years, at the Pierre Motel and later at the Crown Motel, that I wrote the chapters of The Family Moskat, my first big novel, which ran as a serial in the Jewish Daily Forze ard . In the 1940s and 1950s, Miami Beach was in its so- called heyday. The streets were never empty of people, and on every corner a ven- dor was selling some exotic combination of fruit Alma and I enjoyed immensely: Papayas, mangoes, grapefruits, coconuts, or- anges, bananas. During the day, planes with long streamers flew over the beach advertising dinners S with seven courses for $1.50 C> on Washington Avenue. ~-,Z Rather than eat in the hotel 0'3 (where Alma had trouble O~' explaining to the maitre d' N how to prepare a vegetarian ~~ meal for me), we often had . ~, dinner with acquaintances. ,T and old friends at one of the

"After traveling all night, the canductor told us to step out for a glass of fresh orange juice. That first sip was nothing less than ambrosia." "We were given a nice room with a balcony, where 1 worked every day. It was at the Pierre Motel that I wrote chapters of The Fam/lyMoskat, my first big novel." Several years ago, the street near Singers apartment on Miami Beach was named in his honor. Zoqaz3~32q.A~ One morning Singer returned £ at Sheldon's to ~ the Nobel Paving paradise: "Many so that big ones I feel, was "In those days, iarni Beach a placF where they ; warm i'ipmselves

~ hame after eggs and bagels t learn he had won ~Prize. ~ small hotels have been knocked down ican be built. But something, lost in the process." was like a magnet for Jewish people- flocked like geese to rest and in the sun." many cafeterias. We ate lins Avenue in Surfside. and Alma says I turned heartily: Borscht, sweet- By then, we had fallen in white as a sheet! Two and-sour cabbage, mashed love with Miami Beach all months later, and after potatoes, salad, bread, cof- over again, and Mrs. Rosen many hectic shopping trips fee, and dessert. suggested we buy an apart- to buy clothes for the big The cafeterias were nos- ment in her building. For event, we flew to Stockholm talgic places for me, and I five days, we struggled with with a party of my editors loved going to them. They the decision: Should we and and close friends. It was an reminded me of the Yiddish could we afford to buy an ecstatic moment for me Writers Club in Warsaw, apartment? In the middle of when the King of Sweden where I had rubbed elbows the night, we debated handed me the prize. with not only some of the whether it was worth the But just because some- greatest Yiddish writers and high price. In the end, we one has won the Nobel Prize poets but English and Ger- bought an apartment with a does not mean that life mans as well, such as John splendid view of the ocean changes dramatically. After Galsworthy and Hans where we live all year round all the ceremonies had Heinz Ewers. The same today. ended and the rush of in- food was served and the One block away on Har- terviews was over, life went same conversations took ding Avenue is Sheldon's on as before. I continued to place. I noticed that write each day, and often people met u every winter Alma here again acciden- ~~ch wave and I returned to tally after a long sep our apartment on aration during the ~ Collins Avenue. Hitler era and a lot . From this oasis of of tears of reunion e~ch s e a~ 1 S comfort, I have were shed. The pondered the many great debate back changes that have then was whether or ~ taken place on Mi- not Stalin was a kind S~~ a great ami Beach since of Hitler; usually 1948. The cafeterias the conclusion was . » have gone and large that adet of the same reve atlon to me. taken r their placee m evil stuff. the fruit vendors and Besides the cafeterias, drugstore, where Alma and orange juice stands have Alma and I also went to I often have breakfast. One been replaced by supermar- small, out-of-the-way res- morning in 1978, 1 went to kets; many small hotels have taurants-genteel places Sheldon's to have some eggs been knocked down so that where the waitresses wore and bagels. Earlier, the sec- big ones can be built. But black dresses, white aprons, retary of the Institute for something, I feel, was lost in and ruches in their hair, and Jewish Research on Miami the process of all these grand served you with gracious- Beach and two neighbors changes. The charm Miami ness and dainty food. For had called to tell us they had Beach had 40 years ago just Alma, Miami Beach was heard on Good Morning A mer- isn't here anymore. heaven. She didn't have to ica that I had won the Nobel They say Miami Beach cook and she could go shop- Prize, but we had dismissed will make a comeback, and ping (at least look in the it as just a nomination and who knows, maybe it will. windows) on Lincoln Road, not the real thing. (Later we Right now an exodus to where all the fashionable found out that the reason we Hollywood [Florida], Boca women of the day shopped. didn't hear anything was Raton, and Fort Lauderdale It was the Bal Harbor Mall because the Nobel founda- is taking place. Neverthe- of the 1940s. tion had sent the telegram to less, for me, Miami Beach is For some reason we our New York address. ) still one of the most beau- stopped coming to Miami When I returned to the tiful places in the world. Beach in the 1960s, but in apartment after breakfast, Nothing can equal the 1973 I was invited to give a Alma was calling out to me splendor of nature. Every lecture at Temple Israel in excitedly. Mr. Weber, my day, as I sit on the beach downtown Miami. A for- editor at the Forward, was on looking out at the ocean, mer neighbor of Alma's in the telephone. He told me each palm tree, each wave, Munich, Mrs. Rosen, hap- that he had heard on the each sea gull is still a great pened to come to my lec- transatlantic wire that I had revelation to me. After 15 ture. Afterward, she invited won the Nobel Prize. My years, Miami Beach feels us to her apartment on Col- hands grew completely cold, like home. 0 ~ ~ PHILIPMORRISMACAZIVE/SIARCH-APRILil~$9 33

( to the other. And another 1,500 people drive the trucks and support vehicles (including 15 on-the-road bicycle shops) that keep this town on wheels moving. Iowa towns compete fiercely to get RAGBRAI to camp overnight in their midst. In addition to the genuine hospitality spitality the towns like to show, it is esti- mated that the bike riders inject a total of $150,000 into each town's economy. The RAGBRAI route changes every year, so the towns and the cycling are always different. The road goes on for 435 miles. Most riders camp in tents every night, although many of the less adventuresome write ahead to the local chambers of commerce and plead for sleeping-bag space on the floors of private homes and businesses. Here's what it was like for one rider on the road with RAGBRAI. DAY ONE 58 Miles - Sioux City to Ida Grove - We roll out early Sunday morning past a seemingly endless lineup Party pedaler 36 PHIUP MORRIS MAGAZI\E i NtSRCHAPRIL I>89 Intent on rest. of people sitting on their front lawns to wave and wish us good luck. Some people perch on stepladders to shoot pictures. The road is virtually gridlocked with bicycles. Just outside of town, a church is holding an out- door service to accom- modate the riders. Prerecorded organ music is playing on boom boxes as worshippers on wheels make their own impromptu pews. Not a mile goes by with- Off team from Des Moines. Each Me Off has his or her indi- vidual nickname emblazoned above the words M e O f f- Throw, Flip, Cut, Cool, Dust, Flog, Turn, and 20 more. The rolling Iowa countryside is occasionally punctuated by small towns right out of Grant Wood paintings. After a tough, Rolling along the Iowa countryside. but not killing, day of cycl- ing, my group winds up spending the night in an Ida Grove funeral home where, appropriately enough con- sidering my physical condi- tion, I sleep like a dead man. DAY TWO 50 Miles - Ida Grove to Carroll - Outside the town Ride with pride and then juice up. out some local Lions 'or Kiwanis club, or just some farm children, setting up a stand to sell homemade cookies, fruit, and bever- ages. The prices are always half what you would pay anywhere else. Dozens of bike teams ride in RAGBRAI and in- formally compete to have the most colorful name. Riding next to me are mem- bers of Team Road Kill from Minneapolis, with T- shirts that graphically match their team moniker. Just behind us is the Me of Arthur, the residents of a nursing home serenade us with their band, the Kitchen Sinks. Every "musician" is 80-plus years old; every "instrument" is a wash- board, flyswatter, or kazoo; and every song seems to be "A Bicycle Built for Two. " As we pull into Wall Lake, a sign announces that this is the boyhood home of Andy Wliams. Another sign announces "Bicyclists! Have Your Head Examined at the Wall Lake Medical Clinic. " A more serious sign lists all of the clinic's specialties. Since it doesn't include the one medical procedure I really need - a thigh transplant - I decide to forgo a visit. Wall Lake does have the best street festival of all the towns we have hit so far. One of the prime attractions is a Sno-cone stand run by some children. To draw a crowd, they have brought out their pet baby crocodile. In an amazing display, the croc is kept in a small wooden box while tame mice run up and down its back. A crowd of garishly clad bikers hovers anxiously over the box, because the kids promise that, when the croc gets hungry, he will munch on a couple of the mice. DAY THREE 75 Miles - Carroll to Boone - Today I meet one of the legends of Belly up to the barbecue. RAGBRAI, Crazy Ray of Mystic, Iowa. Crazy Ray appears to be the most popu- lar man on the ride, because he keeps his water bottle O -a I

Tom Bechen plays hayseed. filled with peach schnapps. Whenever people pass him and ask for a shot, Crazy Ray gladly obliges. We were warned that the biggest hill of the whole week is the one leading into Boone. Twenty miles before the hill, a roadside beverage stand advertises "Last Stop Before the Boone Hill. " Nineteen more stands fol- low with the same sign. After 74 miles against the wind in 90-degree heat, the Boone Hill proves to be ev- erything that people have promised. In an effort to keep their minds off the end- less hill beneath their tires, riders in front of me sing the theme song from "The Flintstones. " I can't re- member all the lyrics, so I end up walking the last half' of the hill. As we pull into Boone, a sign proclaims this to be not only the birthplace of Mamie Eisenhower, but also the home of the Mamie Eisenhower mu- seum. seum. But most riders head for the local car wash where the Lions Club is spon- soring 25-cent showers. DAY FOUR 51 Miles - Boone to Des Moines - The Iowa pork pro- ducers have huge grills set up along the road selling thick three-dollar pork chops. They do a brisk business despite the fact that it's only 7 a. m. Polk City celebrates the arrival of RAGBRAI by passing out 7,500 pieces of birthday cake in honor of a local rider. After waving and saying "Hi" to hundreds of people along the route, the girl rid- ing next to me mutters, "I feel like Miss America walk- ing down the runway. " Coming into Des Moines, we literally ride down a red carpet into the campgrounds at the state capitol. There seem to be .4nne Bauer is a wheel sport. parties everywhere along the bike route and, when- ever a group of pretty girls rides by, guys yell out, "Free beer!" DAY FIVE 72 Miles - Des Moines to Oskaloosa - The first town out of Des Moines bears the oxymoronic name of Pleas- ant Hill. The Pancake Man works with the local fire depart- ments and civic clubs to griddle up a couple of thousand of Aunt Jemima's finest, sausage, and orange juice. Three bucks for all Campground at the capitol. you can eat. To accommodate the many riders who like to get a pre-dawn start and ride in the cool of the early morn- ing, the volunteers and the Pancake Man, himself, have to be up by 2:30 a. m., since breakfast starts at 4 a. m., which is also the time when the hard-partying Rogues team rolls into camp, fulfill- ing the other meaning of the term RAGBRAI (Register's Annual Great Beer Run Across Iowa). DAY SIX 74 Miles - Oskaloosa to Fairfield - As we pass a farmhouse outside Os- kaloosa, some local children hold up a sign asking, "Where are You From?" A couple next to me yells back, "Waterloo!" and then adds, "Where are vou from?" The kids yell back, "Right here! " I pass a rider whose bike looks like it just rolled out of the Smithsonian. Its owner, 63-year-old Stan Arlton of Fergus Falls, Minnesota, tells me he bought the bike secondhand when he got out of the Army in 1946 and rode it across the country wearing his Army uniform and combat boots. DAY SEVEN 55 Miles - Fairfield to Fort Madison - It's the last day. To celebrate, the biking gods have blessed us with a 25-m. p. h. tail wind. We come into the tiny town of Stockport, where the number of American flags lining the road (300) is larger than the population. People are flocking to the Church of Christ, where they have the greatest gift of all - a working restroom. The next-to-last town of West Point features the most suitable RAGBRAI monu- ment of all - a 15-foot-high "sculpture" of hundreds of rusting bicycles, dubiously named Mount RAGBRAI. The locals had been scour- ing junkyards for months. We can see the end, the Mississippi River, from two miles away as we streak to- ward Fort Madison. With the wind at our backs and a long downhill ahead, we roll Crossing the Des Jloines Riverr into the town. The bank thermostat reads 98 degrees. People are cheer- ing, including a group of white-smocked women standing in front of Bill Hill's College of Cos- metology. The town's merchants are celebrating with a sidewalk sale down Main Street. The traditional end of RAGBRAI comes at the Mississippi, where cyclists dunk their front tires in the muddy river. One week. 435 miles. Several hundred cookies. Too many hills, too many beers, and RAGBRAI comes to an end. But like thousands of others, I'll be back next year. El PHILIP!doRRISNAGAZISEI SIARCHAPRIL 1989 37 ~ ~

07(0 AMERIC Here's how we live, love, eat, think, dress, play, shop, sleep, vote, worry, diet, and dream-among other things. 1% of Americans read the Bible more than once a day. 2% of Americans are at their best after midnight, ® 3°,% of Americans think Elvis Presley was history's most exciting figure. 0 4% of American households contain six people or more. 5% of Americans go to McDonald's each day. 6% of American workers walk to work. 7% of American teenage girls own golf clubs. 8% of Americans, if they had the ability, would love making an Evel Knievel-type jump on a motorcycle. 9% of American adults sleep nine or more hours a night. 10% of American truck drivers are women. 11 % of Americans speak a language other than English at home, 12% of American adults have 17 or more dental fillings. 13% of American endangered species are dams. 14% of Americans snack ali day. 15% of American married men say they do most of the cooking in the household. 16% of America is Alaska. 17% of Americans have consumed beer in the last 24 hours. 18% of Americans are underweight. 19% of American wives who vary locations to make sex more I# .~i 0 ~ v interesting choose o the outdoors. "I ' - t ~ ~ 1 .. 1 \., , /t . From IOO,7~AmerimnbyDonielWeiss. Texicopyright' 1988by Donie! Weiss. Reprinted by permission of Poseidon Press. 33 PHILIP.bfORRIS,l4aGAZIVEr!AARCH~kPR[L t989 20% of Americans would rather have a tooth pulled than take a car in far repairs. 21 % of American families own U. S. savings bonds. 22% of American potatoes are french-fried. 23% of Americans own a cat. lai~_ 24% of Americans always feel rushed to do things. 25 % of American banana-eaters eat less than one quarter of a banana at each sitting. 26% of American wastepaper is recovered and reused. ~. ~ V ® 27% of American women think they would do better than average in a fistfight. 28% of Americans think that their jobs are very exciting. 29% of America is forest land. 30°,% of Americans smoke cigarettes. 31 % of American women think the man should pay for every date, 32% of Americans like to take chances. BY DANIEL EVAN WEISS 34% of Americans have gone to the movies in the lost month. 35% of Americans go out for dinner once in an average week. 36°,% of American women executives say that wearing perfume heips a woman's career. 37% of American households have vegetable gardens. + G 38% of Americans dislike rock music. 39% of American households own a dog. 40% of Americans, if they had the ability, would like to try arguing a case before the Supreme Court. 41 °,% of Americans believe it is important to be well dressed at all times. 42% of Americans cannot name a country near the Pacific Ocean. ILLUSTRATIONS B f PATRICK McDONNELL 33% of Americans would have little or no interest in being transported 100 years into the future. • -= ' - 6

43% of Americans think they exercise enough. 44% of Americans live in states with populations of more than 10 million. 45% of Americans live within 15 minutes of their best friends. 46% of Americans say television news portrays politicians too favorably. 47% of American women think a man reaches his prime in his thirties. 48% of Americans often eat tomatoes. 49% of Americans want to live to be 100. 50% of American men are less than 5' 9" tall. 51 % of Americans often drink coffee. 52% of American workers live within 20 minutes of work. 53% of American companies have a woman on their boards of directors. ~'•~r'°~ ~s c e .a 1 54% of Americans think mowing the lawn is risky. 55% of Americans, even if they had the ability, would have little or no interest in racing a car at the Indy 500. W ;1 x F P 56% of Americans are at their best in the morning. 57% of American cheese is American cheese, 58% of Americans like stuffed peppers. 59% of Americans think the universe is remaining the same size. 60% of Americans do not spend a lot of time on their personal appearance. 61 % of Americans read the daily newspaper. 4ik 62% of Americans do do-it-yourself projects on a regular basis. 7-M 63% of Americans who believe in life after death think it will be a paradise of pleasure and delights. 64% of Americans live in the state where they were born. 65% of Americans make a real effort to eat vegetables such as brussels sprouts and cauliflower. 66% of American men believe in love at first sight. 67% of Americans believe files are being kept on them far unknown reasons. 68% of Americans do not like others to notice and comment on their appearance. 69% of Americans believe in having as much fun out of life as possible. 70% of Americans own running shoes but don't run. 71 % of American men think women should call men for dates. 72% of American adults would choose their in-laws for friends even if they were not related. 73% of Americans have had a headache in the last year. 74% of Americans say that, if they had their life to live over again, they would continue with their formal education. 75% of Americans, if given enough money to live comfortably for the rest of their lives, would still keep working. 76% of American owners of small businesses do not have a college degree. 77% of Americans have never wanted to hold a position in government. 78% of Americans often eat potatoes. 79% of American fathers are in the delivery room when their children are born. 80% of American dog owners give their pets table scraps. 81 % of American widowed, divorced, or separated women think marriage is o commitment for life. 82% of American entertainment celebrities watch their own performances on film ar TV. 83% of American companies have fewer than 20 empioyees. 84% of Americans believe heaven exists. • 85% of Americans did not see Halley's comet. m 86% of American men use deodorant. 87% af Americans prefer not to work around people who don't use deodorant. 88% of American women say that, if they could afford it, they would rather stay home with their children. 89% of American grocery stores sell motor oil. 90% of Americans think driving a car is risky. 91 % of married Americans think playing a musical instrument is something you'll always be glad you learned to do. 92% of American households have telephone service. 93% of American transportation toys cannot he ridden on. 94% of American men would change something about their looks if they could. 95°,% of American peanut-eaters eat at least nine at a sitting. 96% of American schoolchildren can identify Ronald McDonald (who is second only to Santa Claus). 97% of Americans think their spouses are honest with them about anything really important most or all of the time. I ~ 98% of American households have at least one television. ~ 99% of American £; women would change something about their ~i looks if they could. ~ 100% of Americans are, if O nothing else, Americans. El PHILIP MORRIS NAGAZINE/1rARCHAPRIL 1989 39 i

AN AMERICAN VOICE I Playwright August Wilson started hearing the voices of the people he grew up with all his lafe. And he started zmriting them down. ru he Hollywood fans will have a chance to see gossip mills are their champ wrestle with overtime in gleeful anticipa- tion of the ego- maniacal ex- cesses expected of Eddie Murphy as he prepares to already grinding make his dramatic debut in the filmed version of the Pulitzer prize-winning play, Fences. In the play, the son's role (Murphy's role in the film) is small but meaty; the character is intriguing but undeveloped. The Broadway play- and the Tony award for best actor-belonged to James Earl Jones, who played the son's father. The question now is, will Eddie Murphy be the box office tail that can make any literary dog wag on cue? Rumors are already afield that Mr. Murphy has requested that the son's role be rewritten, to be clarified and expanded. Mr. Jones is no slouch in the ego depart- ment, and his reaction to this situation is not yet known. But the reaction of the playwright-who_is also writing the screenplay-is known: he couldn't be hap- pier, and he couldn't care less. With the screen version of Fences, Murphy will trade his comic's mask for the part of Cory Maxson, the ornery son of a bitter garbage man in the Pittsburgh of 1953. For the first time, Murphy heavyweight drama, and critics will get to judge the breadth and depth of the star's talent. But the real talent behind this history-making film belongs to a man who has not seen a movie in nine years; a man who doesn't hang out in Hollywood; a man who seldom steps out at night. He is August Wilson, the Minnesota playwright who swept Broadway with a mighty gust of_ brilliance just a little more than four years ago. Now he is writing the screen version of the play that won him the 1987 Tony, Pulitzer, and New York Drama Critics Circle awards. Does August Wilson worry about what Holly- wood will do to Fences? "Look, I'm contracted to do the screenplay and a set of rewrites," says Wilson with a wave of the hand. "I'm going to hand it in and say, 'Here it goes. If you want to mess it up, it's on you.' They can do whatever they want. They can make it a musical. But they can get somebody else to do it. I' m not about to let five people sitting around a table tell me what to write. " These are strong words from a gentleman who radi- ates serene calm. Balding beneath his black leather cap, Wilson, 44, has the flawless skin of a six-year- old and the steady gaze of a swami. Settled in a rear booth of his favorite Man- hattan coffee shop, he chain- smokes and explains his take-it-or-leave-it stance: "Whatever they do with the film, my play exists as a thing in itself. It's a part of literature. " Indeed it is. And so are Ma Rainey's Black Bottom, the drama that marked Wilson's 1984 Broadway debut, and 1987's,joe Turner's Come and Gone. Ma Rainey is a dark look at the demimonde of black recording musicians in the 1920s. It won the New York Drama Critics Circle Award for best play-quite a feat for a playwright who had been practically un- known. Joe Turner is popu- lated by the rootless inhabi- tants of a Pittsburgh board- ing house in 1911. Although it had only a short Broad- way run, it garnered much critical praise. Wilson is built like a wrestler, and he will need the stamina to match, be- cause he has set himself a Herculean task: to trace the course of 20th century black life by writing a play about each decade. The most re- cent installment is the critically acclaimed The Pi- ano Lesson, set in the 1930s. It opened last December at the Goodman Theater in Chicago. For a long time now, his- tory has been the strong rhythmic backbeat in the - BY MICHELLE PATRICK ~ PHOTOGRAPH BY MARY ELLEN MARK 40 PHiLIPWORRIS'AAGAZI' N£tSL4RCHAPRIL1589

a improvised music of August Wilson's life. It was history that caused him to abandon school forever, when a tenth grade teacher accused him of plagiarizing a research paper on Napoleon. Find- ing himself at loose ends, the 15-year-old spent the next five years in the reading room of the Pittsburgh pub- lic library. Alone there, without a teacher or a guide of any kind, he educated himself, reading "anything and every- thing. " Practically ev- erything he has learned, he has taught himself. What he couldn't get from the li- brary, he got from his hard- working, re- silient mother. Head of a house- hold that in- cluded six chil- they want to give her a certificate to go to the Salva- tion Army and get a used washing machine.. . . "My mother told them what they could do with their certificate. That was when I started helping my mother wring the clothes. " What Wilson didn't get from his mother or from his own efforts, he got from other struggling writers and artists in Pittsburgh's rugged Hill Street district. "I'm not about to let five people -- sitting around a table tell me what to write. " dren, she worked as a janitor in the county courthouse. "We lived in two rooms at the back of Bella's grocery store," Wilson recalls. "We didn't have a telephone. We didn't have hot water. But we did have a radio. One day, in 1958, when I was ten, they had a radio con- test. Morton Salt had just come out with a brand new slogan: 'When It Rains, It Pours.' They announced that slogan over the radio and said, if you could name the product, you would win a brand new Speed Queen washing machine. "My mother is scrub- bing clothes on the wash- board, and she is listening, and she knows the answer. She gives my sister a dime and tells her to run next door, dial the number, and say, 'Morton Salt.' "So, they announce that my mother is the winner of the Speed Queen washing machine. My mother, natu- rally, is ecstatic. But, when they find out she's black, 42 PHILIP MoRRIS'.4tCAZINEIMARCH•APRIL ISM We all "They were artists about five years older than me," he says. "They en- couraged me, nurtured me. These people be- came my lifelong friends. They sanctioned my life. We had con- certs, poetry readings, started a little magazine. took care of each other..., I was 20 years old and had just left my mother's home. This was all I had ever imagined could be. " life Supporting himself with a series of menial jobs, Wilson began the long pro- cess of teaching himself to write. First he wrote "perfectly horrible" poems. "If you've got a way with language, you can re- ally fool yourself," he says, smiling ruefully. "I was writing stuff that had no meaning, stuff like this"- (he recites with mock seri- ousness): Though lovelier mo- tion She dropped from her immortal baggage A splintered pump And hell's mansions rocked in torn winds For whom must we pray? "Now, what is that?" he says, with a self deprecating shrug. "I was imitating ev- erybody, all at the same time. Finally, in 1973, I Ma Rainey's Black Bottom was lVilson'sfirsthtt. Fences, starringJames EarlJones, opened at Yale Repenory Theatre and wrote a real poem, some- thing that wasn't preten- tious. The essence of the poem was: 'I got up this morning and went riding on a bus.... I just thought I'd tell you that.' That was the most honest thing I had ever written. After that I never looked back." Years later, Wilson would write pseudo-historical short stories under the pen name of Ron Morales de Niza, a Spanish writer he had invented. Claiming to be Morales' English trans- lator (though he spoke not a word of Spanish), Wilson would circulate the stories among his friends. The fan- ciful tales were filled with concocted dates and fabri- cated incidents in European history. No one ever doubted that they were the work of a literary Spaniard. Ten years ago, history was still providing a founda- tion for Wilson's life. In- spired by love, he left his native Pittsburgh for St. Paul, Minnesota. While he courted the woman destined to become his second wife, he landed a "straight" job as official playwright for the Science Museum of Minne- sota. There, he wrote chil- dren's dramas about the his- tory of science. But it was six more years before Wilson, in his own words, "became a play- wright. " Before then, he was just stuffing lofty-

oe Turner's Come and Gone was set in Wison'slaometorun ofPittsburgh. -.~~.- -- -__ went on to win four Tony awards and a Pulitzerpriz,e. sounding words into the mouths of characters. "For a long time, I didn't respect and value the way black people talk. I thought you had to change it to make art out of it. But, in 1979, when I wasn't living in Pittsburgh anymore, I started hearing the voices of the people I'd grown up with all my life. And I started writing them down. " To illustrate how he works today, Wilson talks about Two Trains Running, the piece he is currently writing, a drama set in the 1960s. - "I don't have a story. I don't have an outline. I'm trying to figure out who the characters are. And when I do that, I trust that they'll tell me. " Wilson talks to his char- acters the way a medium communes with the spirits, but he does it in noisy bars and restaurants. Sitting with a legal pad and pencil, he invites his characters to sit with him and, most often, they do. Two Trains Running has a restaurant owner named Memphis, and a 322-year- old woman named Esther. According to Memphis, "People be surprised when they find out Esther is only 322, 'cause she look 500." The play also has a waitress named Reesa, who for some reason has just slashed her legs with a razor. Wilson is still trying to figure out why. There is a funeral parlor across the street from Memphis' res- taurant, where a corpse named Prophet Samuel is laid out. People used to rub Prophet Samuel's head for luck, so now they are lined up around the block for a last rub. They are so frantic that a guard has to watch over the body at night. Next to the funeral parlor, there is a butcher shop owned by a guy named Lutz. "Every morn- ing, " narrates Wilson, "a guy walks into Lutz's shop and says, 'Give me my ham.' And Lutz says, 'Take a chicken instead.' wife goes to sleep. About 11 p. m., he will slip into his study, load his Walkman with blues, and start writing his script longhand on yel- low legal paper. His cat, Maxwell, will slink in and pounce on the desk. As Wilson writes, he will pile the finished pages on Max- well's napping body. When Maxwell stirs, the play- wright will know it's time to quit for the night. That will be around 3 a. m. After about two months of this process, Two Trains Run- ning will be a play. Wilson will type it up on his word processor. Like his other successful dra- mas, it will prob- ably be launched by Yale Reper- Practically everything he has learned, he has taught hinzself. And the guy leaves with nothing. Lutz and the guy have been doing this for nine years. " The playwright can eas- ily recite samples of the dialogue he and his char- acters exchange: Memphis: I give her everything I had for nine years. No, I give her everything I had when I met her. Then, I give her everything I can get hold of for the next nine years. And then when she was leaving, she wouldn't even shake my hand! Wilson: You must have done something awful wrong. Memphis: I asked her to get up and make me some bread, and she got up and walked out the door. Reesa: She didn't like the way you treated her. After many conversa- tions like this one, Wilson will have compiled a mass of character and story frag- ments. He will take them home to his two-bedroom apartment and wait until his tory Theatre, under the di- rection of Lloyd Richards. It will probably play at re- gional theaters across the country, and Wilson, as al- ways, will probably travel with the show, watching each performance and re- writing continually. Perhaps, as Ma Rainey Fences, and Joe Turner did, Two Trains Running will find its way to Broadway. Maybe it too will attract the atten- tion of a well-known star or a Hollywood mogul. Possi- bly they'll ask August Wilson to write a screenplay based on the original drama. There is, of course, a chance that that star or that mogul will want to tamper with Wilson's work. Maybe they will want to write in a rock star, or create a slot for the Rockettes. That's okay with August Wilson, as long as the check clears and they leave him alone. The play itself exists inviolate. Nothing can change the way he wrote it. And for now, August Wilson must write today's words in his continuing attempt to make some more sense of his, and our, past. 11 -----~--c~-~-=-----_..._.--_..~----~_ - PHfCIP NORRIS StACAZ1SE, 4LARC&APRIL 1989 43

11 f you think Thomas J. Ebdon of Sarasota, Florida, has lost a step just because he turned 100 years old this January 24, then think again. Ebdon is as sly as a fox and as quick as one, too. He's got a comeback so fast that 73-year-old spitti' image, Thomas J. Ebdon Jr., is hard-pressed to keep up ... but gives it his best shot anyway. "Got any advice for the youngsters?" I ask Mr. E. Senior. "What's the secret of a long life?" "Cheap whiskey and cigars and smelly pipes," chirps Junior, getting a baleful look from Pop. "Tell 'em," Senior dead- pans in response, "to be care- ful what they say. And to drink good whiskey." As for pipes, Ebdon says he's been smoking one since 1919, the same year he took inventor Alexander Graham Bell on a personal tour of the Panama Canal. Ebdon, born in Houston, went to Panama for a month at the age of 18, and wound up working on the canal as a mechanic and train engineer for 44 years. He shook hands with four American presidents-both Roosevelts, Harding, and Taft-and dined with World War I General John "Black Jack" Pershing. "Bell was a chunky sort of fellow and had a beard," Ebdon recalls. "I was sup- posed to be working, but I POP CHARMING him up to the control house and said to the superintendent, 'I want to in- troduce you to Alexander Graham Bell.' He said, 'The hell you say! "' Ebdon laughs. How did he recognize Bell in the first Dusty Rhodes, as keeping up with history in the making. Like all folks his age, Ebdon has been an eyewitness to miracles. He re- members the first automobile, seeing his first movie (The Great Train Robbery) in 1903, and glimpsing Halley's comet-twice. But it's space travel he finds most amazing. "That's the greatest feat," he states em- phatically. "There were six men on the moon, and all of them came back." "Twelve," his son cor- rects, setting off a stubborn flurry of head shaking. "Six trips and two men each." "I think you went through this before," Mrs. Ebdon Junior interjects. Ebdon concedes and allows that he wouldn't have minded a jaunt to the moon himself. Besides, he chuckles, pointing to Ebdon Junior, "This fellow has often told me he'd like to give me a kick and put me into permanent orbit." His son sighs, "That's true. " Ebdon and wife Emma married in 1913. They had four children and 22 grand- children and great-grand- children. Emma died in 1974. "1 don't know how she put up with me for 60 years," Ebdon declares, yet gives a charming hint as to what a sweetheart he really is. "Who," I ask, "aside from your wife, is the most beautiful woman of the Thomas Ebdon has seen a lot, inclnding Halley s comet-trmice. was loafing and I saw him. I asked, 'Are you Alexander Graham Bell?' He said, 'Yes sir.' I asked what he was doing there all by himself and he said, 'I want to be alone. "' But Bell agreed to a little sightseeing-over the locks and in the operations tunnels. "Then I took 44 PHIUP StoRRIS 1f.AGAZISE141ARCH,APRIL IW, place? "I had seen his picture in the newspaper. I've been reading the news- paper," he chuckles, "for 100 years." These days he is as likely to be checking the winning lottery numbers-a long- time hobby-or scanning TV listings for matches featuring favorite wrestler BY C.J. HOUTCHENS PHOTOGRAPH BY HARRY BENSON century in which you have lived?" Ebdon ducks his head, feigning shyness, and takes my hand in a tight grip. "Well, we'll start out with you," he kids. Ebdon Junior rolls his eyes. "Oh, Pop," he groans, defeated. "Let go of her hand." [I

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