Three on a Match Part Three

By Larry Cohen c. 2026

In my last year of college, I moved into a boarding house ( a bedroom with a kitchen, but no “board”) on the South Side of Binghamton, NY. The South Side of Binghamton reminded me of the same area that was home to me here in my small city, so it was a perfect fit. It gave me a chance to rid myself of dorm life, which was getting monotonous if not offensive at that point, and to live a more normal life. I subscribed to the local newspaper, could eat what I chose to eat, and keep normal hours. Further, I found it enjoyable to be away from the constant diatribes from students who thought they knew everything about everything but truly knew little about anything. For example, never get into an argument with any student who has just finished a Philosophy of Logic 101 course. It’s both futile and a waste of time.

At that point, I bought a smoking pipe from an old-fashioned, traditional drugstore located in the Downtown area along with a tin of some Dutch smoking tobacco, a nice aromatic tobacco which looked like slices of pepperoni. Along with the pipe, I bought the accouterments that I thought were required: pipe cleaners, a pipe cleaning tool, and some Dr.Grabow pipe filters (Dr. Grabow probably had the same medical credentials as Dr. Pepper ), as well as a box of wooden stove matches.

One afternoon after returning from a late afternoon class, I decided to have a go of it with the pipe. I installed the Dr. Grabow pipe filter, loaded the bowl up with the pepperoni-looking tobacco, and lit the long wooden match. Magic. I managed to get the tobacco to smolder then burn, then turn bright orange, all along creating a fog of smoke in the kitchen but of nice aroma. I had no idea that one is supposed to puff on a pipe only occasionally. Within 20 minutes, I had a miniature Mt. Vesuvius going in the bowl of the pipe. At that very moment, there was a knock at the door. It was the paperboy there to “collect.” You see, back then the same paperboy who delivered the newspapers had to go around and collect the money for those papers.

I set the pipe down, went to the door, when the paperboy asked me, in all seriousness, if he should call the fire department. The smoke was billowing out of the screen door as to obscure the smoke’s origin. I went back to the pipe and dumped the burning embers out. After the paperboy left, I tried it once more, a few more times a few days later, and finally, having burnt a hole through the bottom of the pipe, gave it all up. Pipe smoking was written off as a grand failure.