I Felt Like a Water-Damaged Ceiling on its Worst Day

We weren’t circumnavigating the globe like Magellan.

My wife and I were at a flea market in Mission, Tex. Flea markets are more common than fleas in the Lower Rio Grande Valley.

Alex Tilley had searched high and low for a durable sailing hat that matched his passion for the outdoors. He couldn’t find one, so he created one. My wife bought me a Tilley Hat at that flea market just in case I ever went sailing. The hat offers sun protection and durability. I have worn that hat for many years, hiking and birding. It’s guaranteed for life. The hat has become floppy, as has its wearer.

I met a fellow this summer who was wearing a Tilley. We got to talking because of our hats. He paused his part of the conversation to pull a can of Copenhagen from his pocket and put a pinch between his cheek and gum.

Many consider that a nasty habit, but it was his habit, not mine. It brought back memories.

I played ball for years. I remember a game from my early adulthood, when an older teammate pulled a jackknife and a plug of chewing tobacco out of his jacket pocket and cut off a generous hunk of the stuff. The jackknife was high tech for those days. It had blades and everything. He handed the chunk of chew to me, but didn’t say it tasted just like chicken. He said it would put hair on my chest. That’s what men tell you when you’re about to experience something nasty tasting.

I took the chewing tobacco from him. That was because I had the brain the size of a candy corn kernel. I knew something unpleasant was about to happen because he stared intently at me. It wasn’t out of concern. He was hopeful I’d put the entire thing in my mouth, which is what I foolishly did. It was flavorful. I thought it’d make me look evocative and profound. It caused me to cast my thoughts in another direction. All I could think of was expectorating for distance, accuracy and frequency. Predominantly frequency. I dropped out of chewing tobacco school.

Football star, rodeo star and ultimate cowboy Walt Garrison was a longtime spokesman for the Skoal smokeless brand. His famous catchphrase, “Just a pinch between your cheek and gum is all it takes,” was featured in TV ads.

Garrison promoted Skoal, a wintergreen-flavored dip sometimes called snus or snuff.

A chaw, a chew, a pinch or a dip kept more than NFL and rodeo stars’ mouths company. The players in MLB spit enough each day that the combined saliva rivaled the size of Lake Superior. Officials issued flood warnings for every dugout at the conclusion of each game.

A friend wore overalls as he rested in his casket. Fortunately, he didn’t do that until his funeral. In his kangaroo pocket rested a can of Copenhagen. That pocket had carried so many cans of Copenhagen, a can circle was worn into its fabric.

  When I was a boy, I was visiting a friend when I was invited to go for a Sunday drive with his family, even though it wasn’t a Sunday. I’d taken countless drives with my family, but this would have new roads, different people and varied adventures. My buddy told me, “Sit behind Pa. It’s the best seat in the house. Roll down the window so you can smell that fresh country air.”

Window seats rock! Travel is broadening. I’d delight in every second of the journey.

We hadn’t gone far when I felt rain on my face, which was weird, but the weather is customarily peculiar. It was raining harder when I noticed the rain was brown. I remembered Pa was a chronic user of Beech-Nut Chewing Tobacco, a loose-leaf product. Pa had been spitting out his front window. I hadn’t noticed the stains on the car’s exterior. My voyage of discovery had been a scam.

I rolled up the window, which required manual labor in those dark days of yesteryear.

Pa had hit my open window with incredible accuracy. I wouldn’t have guessed he had any athletic ability.

I felt like a water-damaged ceiling.

Beware of car doors bearing tobacco stains.