An article would never mourn the decline of smoking in America. This is simply misplaced nostalgia for a tourism experience that Americans desire when they visit France. But the lung cancer and other health problems caused by smoking in France have been as real as anywhere else. France also had one of Europe's worst drunk-driving problems in the post-war years -- due to a culture of heavy per-capita wine-consumption that was not necessarily combined with meals (as in Italy). So these trends toward healthier, more responsible living shouldn't be mourned. They are evidence of a society changing and waking up to habits that have been destructive in many ways. We don't mourn these changes in America. Why should we in France? There's more to being French than drinking Moet and smoking Gauloises...
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Ballad of the Sad Cafes
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Monsieur Peresse always met the day with good-humored fatalism, accepting not only the decline of smoking, but the decline of drinking—the two staples of his business. When he started out in the 1960s, alcohol was a continuous ritual for many a French working man: coffee and calvados to start the day, maybe "le blanc," a glass of white wine later in the morning, l'apéro, or aperitif, before lunch, red wine with the meal, another calvados, another apéro in the afternoon, more red wine with dinner. He would laugh and shake his head, almost amazed at the memory. And then he would ask who was going to win the American elections. (He liked McCain.)
In recent months, I'd often missed Monsieur Peresse, and when I saw him he described his fight against cancer with a single, simple remark. "From here to here," he told me one day, putting his hands on his solar plexus and just below his belt, "it's Verdun," the devastated battlefield of World War I.
Maybe all those years in the smoke-filled café were part of the reason for his ailment. That's not an unreasonable assumption. But his doctors told him he should keep going back to Le Central, even when he could no longer work. They hoped the conviviality would keep him going where their treatments failed. At considerable expense, the café rearranged its walls to accommodate a little Siberia for smokers outside, and many still huddle there at lunch or in the early evening. But inside, apart from the lunch hour, the place was empty. In December, after the slowest month that Le Central had seen in 20 years of business, Monsieur Peresse died. I cannot help but feel that, too, is somehow a sign of the times.
© 2009
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