The brisk and friction-free ascent of Barack Obama has changed the political climate in a way some thought might take a decade. Bluntly put: Is the nation ready for one of those people to be elected president?
You know: a smoker.
A smoker! And not even cigars, which can be viewed as a minor, if stinky, failing. No, he smokes cigarettes. Evil capitalist-inspired poison-soaked death wands. He may even smoke cigarettes indoors. Around other people. Might this kill his campaign? Or at least make it breathe with difficulty 30 years down the road?
Granted, his wife said she made him quit. Sources say he's chewing nicotine gum, a ghastly but effective substance that actually tastes like dead butts. He might just white-knuckle his way through the campaign as a reformed addict, and he'll certainly have the press's goodwill on his side: Should he ever choke on a pretzel, no one will whisper that he was secretly lighting up. Even if there was a wet towel under the door.
Then again, smoking could actually help. It's an iconic photograph waiting to happen: Give him shades, a snappy suit and a fedora, let the light illuminate the curling tendrils of smoke from a fresh-struck stick, and it'll give Obama a retro rat-pack cool that 10,000 anti-smoking ads can't counter.
But we're not likely to see it. His campaign would rather he be photographed kissing Strom Thurmond on the lips than smoking a cigarette. Smoking isn't just a bad habit, it's become a moral failing.
Second-hand smoke, as we know, is as dangerous as plutonium, which means smokers aren't just harming themselves, they're killing other people. On the spot. Go to any bar on a weekend; the dead are heaped outside in piles.
You can imagine the questions the press might ask Obama: Did you ever smoke around children? Have you ever smoked in a car with children? Have your staff members come down with lung disease since working for you? For heaven's sake, why? Why did you smoke?
You wish he'd be honest: "Because I liked it. Oh, sure, I'm a nicotine junkie. Me and 35 million other Americans. But I have to tell you, there's nothing like the rich satisfying flavor of a good fresh cigarette, inhaled into the deepest recesses of my capillaries and expelled in perfect rings that unravel in the air like our best-laid plans. I'd like to quit, and I probably will. But let us remember, and remember together, that FDR smoked, and Nixon did not, and I know which one the nation needs now.''
It might surprise some to learn that FDR smoked, since that's been airbrushed off the official commemorations. President Clinton chewed on cigars but didn't light them — a perfect analogy for his irresolute administration, perhaps.
Reagan smoked, but quit. George W. Bush smoked, but quit. The New York Daily News reported in '04 that Laura Bush took up the weed again during the presidential campaign, perhaps to have something hot to jab into the stuffed Teresa Heinz doll. Who cares if Obama lights up on occasion?
We've come a long way. Ads used to say things like "Nine out of 10 Lung Surgeons Prefer Luckies.'' Ads used to promise customers that their patented blend of Virginia tobacco and select heavy metals would steady the nerves. The ads don't promise anything anymore, except that the box shown in the picture will contain cigarettes. As it turns out, that's enough.
Anti-smoking efforts, on the other hand, may have a counterproductive effect, since the brisk decline in youth smoking rates has slowed.
You could blame the overly dramatic, self-righteous ads; kids smell that stuff a mile away. The actors usually resemble the smug, petition-wielding, killjoy vegan scolds who always interrupt the history teacher to lecture him about United Fruit. The ads manage to make smoking into something rebellious and cool, at least for the impressionable and easily led. The target market, as it turns out.
Could Obama Save the Children by quitting? No, but there's nothing wrong with setting a good example. Years later, when he's president and dealing with some horrible unforeseen war, the old familiar urge will stab its way to the surface. No, he'll think. Must. Resist. Cigarettes.
That's when the aide will enter the code on the suitcase he always carries, open the latches and produce a fresh pack for the prez. Look, it's a crisis-type situation. You want a man with steady nerves.
