"Judge" Wortham,
When he died, his corn cob pipe was clenched tightly between his teeth. I believe had he been asked, how he would like to meet his maker, it surely would have been with that pipe and for that reason, he had it so firmly held. But no, propriety must be served. So with much effort the pipe was removed, and sad to say, no one knows where the pipe is.
That pipe represented William Albert Wortham. If you had studied it you would have seen that it was not unlike its owner. Worn smooth, burnt about the edges, fired by experience and still serviceable to the end. More likely than not, the Prince Albert tobacco can that was carried in his pocket had anything but that brand of tobacco within. If it would burn, the Judge would smoke it. Some Christmases, one of his daughter-in-laws would give him a special blend of fine pipe tobacco, perhaps imported for England or Holland or where-ever. It made not the least difference to him. Of course during the season's festivities, the house would be filled with that pleasant aroma from his pipe, but truth-be-told, as soon as the crowd cleared out, that tobacco was put on the shelf in the hall closet and he returned to his store-bought tobacco. If Joyce and Dub came a visiting, he had the good grace to drag out the "special" tobacco and smoke it while they were there. Was this to show his appreciation, to enjoy the treat of this particular gift, or perhaps he was running short of the good stuff and switched to theirs(?)
That pipe and a red-checkered shirt went together. In fact, the shirt was also a gift from Joyce, who seemed to have a special place for Mr. Wortham, as she always called him. (To the rest of us he was Dad, and to Mom - Albert.) The woolen shirt was fire-proof and evidence of the fact was the numerous small holes where a fire brand had sparked from the pipe or perhaps an errant bit of phosphorus from the lighting match came to rest there. Regardless, the mark was sure and a small black crater was added to the others. How this particular shirt could survive so many years is a credit to the manufacturer and certainly Dub and Joyce always tried to get the best available.
Dad didn't always smoke a pipe. When he worked for the aircraft industry building the jigs (hence the name jig-builder) to support the evolving airplanes, it was common for workers to smoke cigarettes and he enjoyed "Lucky Strikes" as much as anyone. He tried cigars for a while but I believe they lasted too long and cost too much, and a cigarette gave the same amount of pleasure. Evidence for his long love with cigarettes was his permanently stained fingers with the appearance of a fine cordovan leather. The problem with cigarettes, then as now, is that they were expensive which meant that when one had to watch the pennies, nickles and dimes (a pack after all, cost about twenty cents.) Some went the roll-you-own route which was the way that Bob Stone developed his talent in this area, but Dad was a man of economy, both money and labor and nothing is easier than just firing up the pipe.
So the Judge smoked his corn-cob pipe. As you might guess, for gifts, he got a number of fine pipes of all descriptions, briars, large and small, pipes with filters, pipes with chamois protective wraps, pipes hand carved, pipes machine made; if they made them, he probably at sometime had one to try out, and he always came back to the Missouri Meerschaum. It's sort of interesting to remember the progression of these fine pipes. When the Judge began smoking a corn-cob, they were fitted with bone mouth pieces that wedged into the wooden stem with a chrome ring added to prevent the wood from splitting. With time and the advent of plastics, this changed, but the simplicity of the design didn't permit much lea way as to size or shape. Probably one of the features which appealed to the old man was that with a simple twist, one could unplug the mouthpiece and give it a good blow to rid it of collected moisture.
The process went something like this. Knock the pipe against the arm of the rocker or anything else convenient. This would loosen the burned out tobacco and he would dump it into his hand, most likely to ensure that there was no embers there that would reignite (fire in the country is a frightful thing to behold). Then satisfied it was safe, he would give it a toss, spreading it on the wind. A couple of good puffs through the stem usually produced a gurgling sound which meant that somehow the water had to be got out. (From time to time he had pipe cleaners which are nothing but twisted wire with a bit of fiber in the twist between the two wires, but more likely than not, he would steal a straw from the kitchen broom and rod out the stem with the broom straw. Not satisfied with that, meant taking the pipe apart and as he did so, he would give each part a good blow. Finally satisfied, he reassembled the pipe and reached for the tobacco can.
A couple of thumps of the can on the side to settle the tobacco and then with the top open, he would trickle a flow of the cut tobacco into the pipe bowl. Here was probably the most important part, as he used a finger to lightly tamp the tobacco just so. And, repeated the process until he had built up a bed tight enough to sustain a fire but not so tight that he could not easily draw air through.
Back went the can into his pocket and from somewhere came the "strike anywhere' matches. They were always in a penny match box, but more likely than not, had been one time in the big box of matches in the kitchen and the stems had been broken to fit in the smaller box. He disdained striking the match on the side of the box and particularly, he was scornful of the free match books with their paper matches. Selecting one from his box; taking pipe in mouth; and replacing the match box; he was now ready to begin the pleasure of smoking his corn-cob pipe.
Grasping the match between two fingers, he deftly brought his thumb nail across the phosphorus tip and in a blaze of glory, the match would ignite. He protected the small flame, holding the match stem at an angle so that the flame could lick on the pine tinder and begin the burning process. If it was windy, protecting the flame with his hand was essential to moving the burning match to the tobacco.
At this stage, it is important to note that the bed of tobacco must be just at the edge of the pipe bowl, not heaped above, nor too deep within. The advantage of the old corn-cob pipe was that with use, one edge would be burned down which made it much easier to present the flame to the tobacco. Carefully, a deep breath was taken, and then a sustained draw through the pipe stem caused the match flame to pass into the tobacco. Usually, this would take the form of a couple of draws interrupted with a pause to determine if the flame was set. Too rapid and the flame might be extinguished, to slow and the match still held above the bowl would burn short and approach the fingers holding it to the bowl's edge.
Satisfied that the pipe was lit, the match now only half its original length would be snuffed out between fingers, and the blackened end, was rubbed until there was no spark of life remaining. And now, the process of smoking began. Sometimes, I believe, the lighting ritual was more important than the actual smoking.
If your memory is good, you can remember the smell of the phosphorous match, the curl of smoke from the burning pine match stem and the acrid tobacco. Prince Albert was the best.
**** Judge (William Albert) Wortham, September 9, 1889 - October 9, 1962.
****
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