Here is a poem that presents a smoker who is agonizing for a smoke and his desperation to satisfy his nicotine fit. Does his predicament sound familiar? Isn't it obvious that this illustrates capnomania and fumimania?
The Ballad of Salvation Bill
by Robert W. Service
(Apparently first published in his Bar-Room Ballads, 1940)
'Twas in the bleary middle of the hard-boiled Arctic night,
I was lonesome as a loon, so if you can,
Imagine my emotions of amazement and delight
When I bumped into that Missionary Man.
He was lying lost and dying in the moon's unholy leer,
And frozen from his toes to finger-tips;
The famished wolf-pack ringed him; but he didn't seem to fear,
As he pressed his ice-bound Bible to his lips.
'Twas the limit of my trap-line, with the cabin miles away,
And every step was like a stab of pain;
But I packed him like a baby, and I nursed him night and day,
Till I got him back to health and strength again.
So there we were, benighted in the shadow of the Pole,
And he might have proved a priceless little pard,
If he hadn't got to worrying about my blessed soul,
And a-quotin' me his Bible by the yard.
Now there was I, a husky guy, whose god was Nicotine.
With a "coffin-nail" a fixture in my mug;
I rolled them in the pages of a pulpwood magazine,
And hacked them with my jack-knife from the plug.
Just live among the everlasting ice. . . .
For, oh to know the bliss and glow that good tobacco, means,
So judge my horror when I found my stock of magazines
Was chewed into a chowder by the mice.
A woeful week went by and not a single pill I had,
Me that would smoke my forty in a day;
I sighed, I swore, I strode the floor; I felt I would go mad:
The gospel-plugger watched me in dismay.
My brow was wet, my teeth were set, my nerves were rasping raw;
And yet that preacher couldn't understand:
So with despair I wrestled there—when suddenly I saw
The volume he was holding in his hand.
Then something snapped inside my brain, and with an evil start
The wolf-man in me woke to rabid rage.
"I saved your lousy life," says I; "so show you have a heart,
And tear me out a solitary page."
He shrank and shrivelled at my words; his face went pewter white;
'Twas just as if I'd handed him a blow;
And then . . . and then he seemed to swell, and grow Heaven's height,
And in a voice that rang he answered: "No!"
I grabbed my loaded gun and I jabbed it to his chest;
"Come on, you shrimp, give up that Book," says I.
Well sir, he was a parson, but he stacked up with the best,
And for grit I got to hand it to the guy.
"If I should let you desecrate this Holy Word," he said,
"My soul would be eternally accurst;
So go on, Bill, I'm ready. You can pump me full of lead
And take it, but—you've got to kill me first."
Now I'm no foul assassin, though I'm full of sinful ways,
And I knew right there the fellow had me beat;
For I felt a yellow mongrel in the glory of his gaze,
And I flung my foolish firearm at his feet.
Then wearily I turned away, and dropped upon my bunk,
And there I lay and blubbered like a kid.
"Forgive me, pard," says I at last, "for acting like a skunk,
But hide the blasted gun . . . " Which he did.
And he also hid his Bible, which was maybe just as well,
For the sight of all that paper gave me pain;
And there were crimson moments when I felt I'd go to hell
To have a single cigarette again.
And so I lay day after day, and brooded dark and deep,
Until one night I thought I'd end it all;
Then rough I roused the preacher, where he stretched pretending sleep,
With his map of horror turned towards the wall.
With that I raised the deadly drink and laid it to my lips,
"See here, my pious pal," says I, "I've stood it long enough. . .
Behold! I've mixed some strychnine in a cup;
Enough to kill a dozen men—believe me it's no bluff;
Now watch me, for I'm gonna drink it up.
You've seen me bludgeoned by despair through bitter days and nights,
And now you'll see me squirming as I die.
You're not to blame, you've played the game according to your lights. . . .
But how would Christ have played it?—Well, good-bye. . . ."
But he was on me with a tiger-bound;
And as we locked and reeled and rocked with wild and wicked grips,
The poison cup went crashing to the ground.
"Don't do it, Bill," he madly shrieked. "Maybe I acted wrong.
See, here's my Bible—use it as you will;
But promise me—you'll read a little as you go along. . . .
You do! Then take it, Brother; smoke your fill."
And so I did. I smoked and smoked from Genesis to Job,
And as I smoked I read each blessed word;
While in the shadow of his bunk I heard him sigh and sob,
And then . . . a most peculiar thing occurred.
I got to reading more and more, and smoking less and less,
Till just about the day his heart was broke,
Says I: "Here, take it back, me lad. I've had enough, I guess.
Your paper makes a mighty rotten smoke."
So then and there with plea and prayer he wrestled for my soul,
And I was racked and ravaged by regrets.
But God was good, for lo! next day there came the police patrol,
With Paper for a thousand cigarettes. . . .
So now I'm called Salvation Bill; I teach the Living Law,
And Bally-hoo the Bible with the best;
And if a guy won't listen—why, I sock him on the jaw,
And preach the Gospel sitting on his chest.
Do you see similarities in the following article with the preceding poem?
"Florida tobacco plaintiff says she was addicted"
- A nurse who blamed cigarettes for her lung cancer testified in a Florida classaction lawsuit against the tobacco industry on Tuesday that she smoked more than three packs a day even during treatment for the cancer that spread to her brain.
- "I couldn't quit. I was addicted. I had to have it," said plaintiff Mary Jo Farnan, a 44-year-old nurse who began smoking at age ten.
- "I had no idea there was anything wrong with cigarettes at all," Farnan said. "Everybody smoked. In the movies, they smoked and blew cigarette rings in the sky. It was cool."
- Farnan said she smoked her first cigarette of the day before getting out of bed and smoked while eating, driving, talking and working.
- She smoked while pregnant with her three children and during midnight feedings while they were infants.
- She said she had no idea smoking was addictive or that it was even suspected of being harmful until she entered nursing school in the early 1980's and learned there was controversy over the effects of smoking.
- In early 1996, she was diagnosed with lung cancer and underwent chemotherapy and radiation, but said she still smoked because she could not deal with the dizziness and anxiety she suffered from cigarette withdrawal.
- "I was already having enough trouble with my chemotherapy and radiation. I couldn't give up my cigarettes," she said.
End of Part 1 of 4
Inter-related cross references, directly or indirectly, involving word units dealing with "smoke, smoking":
Capnophobia & Fumiphobia, Pt. 1;