A smoke-free quarter-century

Twenty-five years ago today, I had my last cigarette.
I didn't quit for my health or for any real virtuous purpose. I had had a sore throat for several days and wanted to complain about it. I knew that I couldn't complain if I was smoking.
It was around noon that I had the cigarette. Again, I wasn't thinking it was my last. I just didn't have the next one. That, in itself, was remarkable. I was smoking about two-and-a-half packs a day, which averages to three per hour. If I recall correctly, cigarettes were about $7 per carton at the time.
By the time I got home from work, I was ready to complain. In the complaint session, I mentioned to Sandra that I'd not had a cigarette since noon and didn't feel like having one yet. (Sandra had quit more than five years before.) We agreed that it was good.
By the next morning, without a craving, I decided to see how things would turn out.
I'd tried to quit quite a few times, never going more than a couple of days. This time was different. If I could tell you why it was different, what went on in my mind and body such that I wasn't desperate for the nicotine, I probably could have made a boatload of money. I was just ready.
It turned out that I had strep throat. I went to the doctor on the first workday after New Year's. Even after the infection was gone, the sore throat lingered for months.

My cigarette of choice was Lark. Those of you of a certain age will remember the TV ads - "Show us your Lark pack." - from the late-60s. According to most everyone else, they tasted awful. When I was in college and people would be bumming cigarettes ("I left mine in the machine."), they'd see my pack on the table and look around to see if anyone else had anything else.
At the time I quit, we could still smoke in our offices at work. Our company, Digital, was offering free stop-smoking programs. By the end of the following year, smoking was prohibited inside the buildings.
Pretty soon, you couldn't smoke anywhere. New taxes and the costs of lawsuits drove prices to whatever they are today. When I was in high school, you could choose to spend 25 cents on lunch, a pack of cigarettes in New Hampshire, or a gallon of gasoline for the car. You could get mix and match four just by working a minimum-wage job. Now, well, do your own math.
I wish I could claim wisdom or virtue for this milestone. I can't, but I can be grateful.