"The Runaway Jury" & Why I Smoked

Another book sale box book.

I made it all the way through the 550 pages of this slog of a book. It was the old courtroom thing of needing to know who won the case. It was NOT good writing, great plotting, suspense, or interesting characters. The legal case--always the centerpiece of a Grisham novel--pitted Big Tobacco against Anti-Smoking. Thus, the book was badly dated, since the tobacco companies have lost millions and compensated millions. Money motivated the tobacco companies so much that they continued to produce a cancer-causing product and market it aggressively. Money motivated the plaintiff's attorneys, who counted on billions in payments from future lawsuits if they won. It was not clear whether the plaintiff herself--the widow of a man who died of lung cancer after 40 years of smoking--was wanting money or wanting to make a point. She was not developed as a character.

The plot was preposterous--two beyond-reasonably skilled tobacco haters and one money/power-grabber scheming to control a jury, sometimes at cross-purposes and sometimes in concert. Their tactics were far-fetched and presumed that determined people can access anything they want any time. It might be true, but it wasn't plausibly presented.

The Unlikeables

The main characters were boring. They were all busy two-facing everyone, including the reader.The main "good" male character was coldly drawn. The main "bad" male character was disgusting and unbelievable. The main "good" female character was a genius, but also petite, blond, and beautiful. You know a woman is a cipher in a book when you could replace her with a man and it would make no difference to the book. The rest of the characters--jury members, their families, legal officials, attorneys, thugs--were all stereotypes, figures on a ledger.

But the real killer of this book was its complete lack of action. People sat. They moved to another place and sat. People talked while sitting. People sat waiting for people to talk. All of the critical action happened off camera.

Why I Quit Smoking

I smoked from about age 20 to about age 30. I was never a good profile for a smoker. I came from a non-smoking home. I reached adolescence after the link between lung cancer and smoking was established. But I was always fascinated by smoking. I was seriously influenced by movie and TV stars who smoked on screen. Smoking equaled sophistication. All of the characters on "Search for Tomorrow" (my mom's main soap opera when I was little) smoked and their fictional lives were my first windows into other worlds.

In adolescence I did some experimenting with smoking. I think I was trying to counteract the goody-goody reputation that I had inherited unawares from my sisters. I liked the idea of being on the fringes of badness. I'm sure I inhaled because I'm sure I coughed, choked, and puked. But it was a flirtation more than anything. My next-door-neighbor girl, who perfectly fit the profile for a teenage smoker, was my partner in crime. And we had to hide it from her parents, although they were heavy smokers themselves.

The neighbor moved. I started to take seriously the reputation for braininess that I'd also been handed by my sisters. But then I discovered majoring in English. At OSU in the late seventies, everybody smoked, or that's how it seemed. We smoked in class. Professors smoked in class. Smoking gave you access to the Graduate Student Lounge, the only place students could smoke in the suspiciously blandly-designed Denny Hall, home of the poisonous English Department. I drank coffee, too, something else that had been absent from my family home. I bought it for a dime in the GS lounge. The tiny (by today's standards) cup slid into place and a squirt of instant was loosed into it. It tasted like cardboard and cigarettes tasted like cardboard. This was living on the fringe, or my affectation thereof.

I started smoking seriously right after my mom died when I was a college sophomore. I knew the feeling I got from smoking--that amazing combo of focus and relaxation--and I knew I needed it. I knew it would help. I'm not saying I verbalized these thoughts--it was my body that knew it, it was the nicotine that my body knew. I self-medicated my fear, confusion, loss, depression. I had a sense of desperation at that time--felt myself to be somewhat orphaned--and had to find a way to get by. Smoking was one of the ways.

I don't remember being particularly influenced by cigarette advertising. But then I wouldn't! I can, though, call up images, slogans, song snippets. Everything from Virginia Slims to Marlboros. But I can do the same for beer and liquor and I didn't become a drinker. I leave this to smarter people than me (and smarter than Grisham) to figure out.

I never really tried to quit because I knew I didn't want to. I would talk about it to palliate other people. But then several things happened at once--sort of the perfect storm of me quitting.

First, I began to be isolated at work. I was subliminally aware that a certain group of people and then most people did not want to sit near me or probably be anywhere near me. None of my co-workers after a transfer smoked. None! Nicotine still owned me at this time, so I didn't really process this information. I see it in retrospect.

Second, I joined a support group based in 12-step practices and became familiar with the steps and slogans. When I finally quit, I used some of this in planning my withdrawal period.

Simplified version of the steps

Third, I started seeing a counselor, Saint Bill, let's call him. He was an ex-smoker in a non-smoking building. He and I talked very little about my smoking. We focused more on strengthening my sense of self, of bringing me out of the shadows. He gave me support I had been missing for many years. He gave me that most priceless gift--hope. I began to see that I was paying Saint Bill to help me uncover my feelings and own them and then paying the tobacco company to suppress them the minute I got out the door.

Fourth, I now know that not starting to smoke until age 20 probably was of great assistance in my quitting the habit. People who start in their teens have a much tougher time...their brains have developed in the presence of tobacco. Mine didn't.

And so, I decided one day to quit smoking and then I did it. I went cold turkey. I took vacation days so that I could treat myself like I was in a nice detox center. I had orange juice, candles, and good food ready. I planned routes for walks. I decided that if it was bad, I would remember that I was going to FEEL it, because that was now my goal and the bad feelings would therefore be welcome.

And I did not look back, although I have been tempted many times. In fact I dream as a smoker sometimes and I dream of starting again. Weird. I have felt my hand move itself over a pack of cigarettes and I had to tell it NO! We don't do that anymore.

Recently, people have started talking about the role of unhappiness and hopelessness in relation to addictions. Why do some people take pain pills for an injury and then never take them again while some people take the pain pills and then cannot live without them? I sympathize with this point of view because it squares up with my own experience. I had to feel better about myself before I had any chance.

Amends

I hereby formally apologize to anyone I gassed with second-hand smoke, to anyone whose clothes smelled bad after they were with me, especially the people who accepted me as a smoker because they loved me to much to keep me away. I apologize forever.