SYMPATHY FOR THE OUTCASTS

I don't smoke, for two reasons.

For one thing, when I tried my first cigarette, at the age of ten, out in the woods, with a pack of matches and a box of Lucky Strikes that a friend had stolen from his mother's purse, I coughed out that first drag with a howling noise I had never made before. I heard a clear message from my body - Don't do this again.

Also, I knew that smoking was hard to quit and I doubted that I would ever have the will power to do it. So, to me, starting smoking meant smoking forever, and I just didn't do want to do it. Simple, dull, boring.

I've known some people who do smoke, and I have to tell you: smokers are really great people. They're more optimistic than I am, they like excitement more than I do, they aren't afraid to take chances, they seem to be more outgoing and more sociable.

But they got hooked. Probably a friend who smoked got them started. Now it's really tough for them to quit. But every smoker I've ever met tries to quit eventually.

Here's what I would do: add a tax to every cigarette and use the money to buy a stockpile of nicotine patches. Then give the patches away for free to any smoker who wants to stop. Use the rest of the money to run anti-smoking ads to keep kids from starting.

In the meantime, when I walk past the outcasts standing on the sidewalk at work, smoking at least 25 feet away from the doors, sometimes in cold or rainy weather, I don't feel disdain or disapproval. I feel sympathy for good people with a bad habit. I know they are going to try to quit some day, if they aren't trying already, and I wish them well.

Because smokers are great people, and it would be nice if all of them got to lead long, happy, healthy lives.