The Prairie Spy

Alan “Lindy” Linda

I am and I guess that I have always been a strong advocate for Matthew 7:12: “Do unto others as you would have them do unto you.” It seems to me that a society and the people who inhabit it, were they to adhere to this saying, might last forever. Conversely, one must then suspect that a society that treats its members in a manner opposite to this saying may well not last forever.

I remember quite vividly reaching the age of 13 or 14, and realizing a growth level of mental reasoning at which point my Methodist Sunday “schoolin’” seemed to come into focus, especially the “do unto others” part. Both my parents smoked. Nearly every adult I knew smoked. At Sunday and holiday extended family get-togethers everyone smoked. These holidays closely resembled run-away grass fires. This would have been about 1958. 

So I now had the “do unto others” piece of reasoning. Plus I had this new mental ability to gather different parts of a puzzle and assemble these parts into particular viewpoints. So it was almost a given that, after being caught smoking and severely disciplined for doing so, this would add a piece to the puzzle. Why should I be singled out?

But before I go on with this sudden realization, first :Getting caught smoking is a good story that has to be told about here, doesn’t it.

My brother, my cousin, and I, at age 11 or 12,  had gotten away with swiping some of ma’s unfiltered Lucky Strikes, and were headed for our little boarded up fort-slash-clubhouse in the grove west and north of the house, when we realized that we had no matches. 

Although we had no matches, we did have my little sister Dianne, who would have been about seven. Would you like to do something for us, Dianne? And so her suddenly being included in our activities after years of ignoring her overwhelmed her enough that we talked her into going into the house and stealing some matches.

At her age, the “do unto others” dictate seemed quite evident to our sister. She would do something for us; we would do something for her. Unfortunately, ma caught her. And consequently, caught us. “So you want to smoke, huh?” ma stated to us. With that, she sat us three down at the kitchen table, threw a carton of cigarettes down before us, and said: “You can leave when these are all gone!”

After puffing vigorously on Luckies for several minutes—I think cousin Douglas was smoking them two at a time—the kitchen began to resemble a burning pot roast. Suddenly dad opened the kitchen door, took one look at what was going on, opened his mouth to ask the question: “What’s going on here” in a fatherly tone of voice, saw ma, instantly recognized this teaching moment for what it was, and retreated, probably back to the barn, where the air was only full of healthy smells.

Unlike the kitchen. After that lesson, my brother and I never smoked. Cousin Douglas did. Two out of three, in any class I’ve ever taught, is a pretty good result. 

As I said, at the age of 14, in 1958, I was beginning to develop a cohesive philosophy regarding smoking, especially the part about it’s okay for you, but not for me. Just about then, the U.S. Surgeon General’s report came out and for the first time ever, labelled smoking tobacco as harmful to one’s health.

Ahah! This final piece of the puzzle turned me into a strong supporter of the fact that if this wasn’t good for me, and now the government has said it isn’t good for you, then you should quit. This was the logic I presented to my parents. I put no-smoking pamphlets in their bed. I brought them to the supper table. I was 14. I was right. I was a preacher with a fourteen-year-old’s endless abundance of energy to bring to this campaign.

It was Thanksgiving, and every table we had was placed end-to-end in the living room to set places for all the relatives that were coming. I knew that after the pumpkin pie was eaten, everyone was going to light up. Aunt Lois and Uncle Rich. Uncle Bill. Three or four others. Dad. And of course ma.

Some time before, a day or two before, I had carefully opened up one of her packs of Luckies, and inserted farmer match heads in the ends of the first few cigarettes that appeared.  I admit that all I had on my mind was adding a bit more to my efforts to get her to quit.

But I wasn’t prepared for her choosing that pack with everyone gathered around the table after the meal, when smokers tell me a cigarette tastes really good. When she put a match to that cigarette, it of course fired up with a giant whoosh and threw out a couple of little flare rockets and she freaked out a bit, and everyone saw it and I realized that to fully adhere to Matthew 7:12 might not be so good for my immediate future.

She knew immediately that I had sabotaged her smokes. She of course knew she couldn’t say much in a room full of well-fed folks, so I lived to fight another day. She quit smoking that year. 

I’m sure she got even with me. Likely, more than once.

Tough to beat, is Matthew.