Smoking Out Cigars’ Appeal

Sometimes a cigar is just a cigar.

--attributed to Sigmund Freud

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Over at Ugly Al’s the other day, the men were inside the humidor, considering their options--dozens of brands, sizes, prices. I’d never been cigar-shopping before. Curiosity drew my eye from the pricey Dunhills to the cheap Ugly Styx.

It was easy to see how a sense of romance may draw one to the Romeo Y Julietas and a sense of humor to the Big Butts. And I wondered: Would smoking an El Rey del Mundo make a man feel like The King of the World?

Even someone who doesn’t care for those nicotine-delivery systems known as cigarettes may understand the allure of an occasional cigar. If offered, I’ve been known to accept and indeed enjoy the taste and the aroma, up to a point. What is, for me, a once-in-a-blue-moon amusement--an affectation, if you insist--is for others a passion. The enjoyment of fine hand-rolled cigars, customer Tom Huggins explained, is not so unlike the enjoyment of a fine dish at a great restaurant.

Talk to cigar purveyors and they’ll tell you that a fad fueled by celebrity smokers, magazines like Cigar Aficionado and a kind of backlash against puritanical political correctness is now fading. Smoke, a handsome club on Glendale’s Brand Boulevard, is one of many that came and went. Yet the more significant fact is that the cigar is a very durable product. Step inside Gus’ Smoke Shop in Sherman Oaks and you’re in a building that has been selling tobacco since 1927, back when there was a livery stable in back. Seventy-one years later, Gus’ is doing just fine.

One reason, aside from the sensual pleasure, is the cigar’s deep cultural roots and mystique. It is an instrument of social ritual, particularly among the male of the species.

A smoke shop “is a place for guys to go--to talk about cigars, life, their wives . . . A place where guys get together and bond,” Huggins said after lighting up at Ugly Al’s in Northridge. “You get millionaires in here, working guys. A lot of it’s just small talk. And typical guy humor.”

Huggins, a cable maintenance worker for Pacific Bell, started smoking two years ago. “It’s a hobby--bought myself a nice humidor. It’s a nice piece of furniture. I know when I go home, I can open it, look at my cigars and just smell them. I enjoy it.”

It is all so innocuous, so innocent--so far removed from the days when gentlemen would retire to the parlor with cigars and cognacs to discuss business and politics, while the ladies would talk about fashion and whatever else ladies talked about.

Much has changed, of course. Once, in the early 1980s, I was invited to a gathering of about 10 people in the formal dining room of a major downtown corporation. The trappings were cool and elegant, connoting prestige and privilege.

We were served by a man dressed like a butler, and a powerful executive presided over a stiff, unsatisfying discussion. As we nibbled our desserts and sipped coffee, the butler reappeared with a tray of cigars. Later I was told that, not so long before, the butler would offer cigars to men and roses to women.

Premium smokes, as opposed to cheap stogies, have long been symbols of power. Cigars and politics go together, and not only in smoke-filled rooms. The most famous portrait of Winston Churchill caught the steely anger in his eyes after the photographer snatched his cigar from his grip. Some brands, such as Alberto Feo, Royal Jamaican and Espanola, call their largest cigars the “Churchill.” Some other brands call their larger cigars the “El Presidente.”

Politics remain a hot topic in smoke-filled rooms like Ugly Al’s and the dozen smoke shops along Ventura Boulevard. Competitors are united in their abhorrence of one political initiative in particular--Proposition 10, the “Early Childhood Development Initiative.”

Championed by actor-director Rob Reiner, the initiative, if passed, would increase the “sin taxes” on tobacco goods to a level equivalent to the levies on cigarettes. The idea is to both discourage an unhealthful habit and raise funds to benefit young children. If Proposition 10 is approved by voters, the cigar and tobacco tax will increase from 26% to 61.5% next Jan. 1.

“Oh, it’s going to pass,” Jimmy Hurwitz said with a shrug. “Most Californians don’t smoke.”

Hurwitz is the reigning Gus. He was a customer and a “burnt-out corporate vice president” when he acquired the store in 1985 from the previous Gus, whose real first name was Norman. Norman had bought from the original Gus, who had bought the original shop, then called Boyd’s.

A cigar store Indian is kept inside to greet visitors. Dozens of shapely pipes are displayed in a glass case. There is a pillow stitched with the sentiment of Mark Twain: “If I cannot smoke cigars in heaven, I shall not go!” This being Sherman Oaks, there are glossies of celebrity customers. Out front are Jack Nicholson, Tom Selleck, Alec Baldwin and Michael Richards. Down the hall are Alfred Hitchcock, Edward G. Robinson, Burt Lancaster, Dean Martin.

A booming economy and celebrity glamour have promoted cigars as status symbols, Hurwitz said. A man who wears Armani and drives a Ferrari would smoke Monte Cristo, Cohiba or Arturo Fuente. On the Westside and in the Valley, the number of smoke shops grew from 13 in ’93 to 65 in ’96.

A familiar face entered and I struggled to attach the name. It is actor Kenneth Mars, a star of “The Producers,” “Young Frankenstein” and other films. He had just done time on the new “Love Boat” and dropped in for a couple of Romeo Y Julietas. The conversation drifted to cigars and psychoanalysis. The great irony of Freud’s comment, Mars remarked, was in the horrible way that Freud died--of mouth cancer.

No question, cigars are not full of nutrients. But their adherents object to suggestions that their habit is as unhealthy as cigarettes. Didn’t George Burns live to be 100?

Hurwitz offered me a cigar and I accepted. At Ugly Al’s I had noticed some Don Juan Presidentes. Hurwitz was out of those but found a Don Juan Churchill instead. Whether Churchill was a Don Juan, I don’t know.

Hurwitz trimmed the end with cigar scissors and offered a light; I sucked in a few puffs. Only the uninitiated would try to suck the smoke into his, or her, lungs. “Let the smoke swirl around your palate,” Hurwitz advised, “then just let it out.” Well, I knew that much. But I still felt self-conscious with my rare cigar, wondering if I was holding it correctly.

It was good for a few minutes, a few inches, but then the taste turned acidic on my tongue. Driving back to the office, I stubbed the Don Juan into the ashtray. I liked my cigar, to a point. And while some men might love them, this man will never fathom the sentiment that Rudyard Kipling expressed in “The Betrothed”:

“And a woman is only a woman, but a good cigar is a smoke.”

Somebody else once said there’s no accounting for taste. I returned to the office eager to address the aftertaste and the possibility of cigar breath. Fortunately, a friend had a little tin of those “curiously strong” Altoids.

Sometimes, you know, a breath mint is just a breath mint.

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Scott Harris’ column appears Tuesdays, Thursdays and Sundays. Readers may write to him at The Times’ Valley Edition, 20000 Prairie St., Chatsworth 91311, or via e-mail at scott.harris@latimes.com