THE CIGAR MERCHANT 809 NW 7 Hwy in Blue Springs, Blue Springs, MO 64015

There are a few places that my husband goes that I would just assume not join him. One is the hardware store. Maybe I should be a little more open minded and desire to learn something from what seems to be hours that he spends selecting the perfect “molly” or a lag bolt, but frankly I’d just prefer to be at home cleaning the toilet or something. Until very recently I had the same opinion about a trip to the cigar store but The Cigar Merchant on 809 NW 7 Hwy in Blue Springs has offered a peek into something that I truly find intriguing.

When I entered into The Cigar Merchant for the first time I was struck first by the humidity. The main floor or showroom floor of The Cigar Merchant is maintained at about 70% relative humidity with a room temperature of about 68F (20C)  in order to provide the ideal environment for cigar storage. While some cigar stores have a walk in humidor The Cigar Merchant “is” a humidor. For a non-smoker or perhaps, I should say for an “uneducated nose” the aroma of the store is a bit overwhelming but from a visual standpoint I was completely “captured”. The wood floors and rows of shelved merchandise provide a warm and inviting environment that make a person like me want to touch, explore and learn.  I was aesthetically seduced.

A Mayan flask dated at around A.D. 700 was discovered to have held tobacco while numerous examples of Mayan artwork represent tobacco smoking. It seems that Mayans were the earliest users of tobacco and perhaps the Mayan name for smoking, Sikar evolved into the Spanish word Cigarro which led to the word Cigar. Tobacco use was a frequent part of the Mayas rituals and was believed to have supernatural qualities.

In 1492 when Columbus made his journey to the Americas tobacco was unknown in Europe. Columbus and his crewman introduced tobacco in the form of early cigars to Spain and its use spread to Portugal where the French ambassador Jean Nicot gave his name to nicotine. By the mid-16^th century tobacco was used throughout Europe. 

Tobacco growing has an enormously rich history intermingled with the use of slavery. While it is rather an unsavory part of history, it is no less interesting. It was in the former French Colony that is now Haiti that tobacco was grown in the nutrient rich soil and tended to by slaves who rose against the French which in turn forced the French to abolish slavery in 1794.

In the 1880’s early cigar manufacturer Spaniard Vicente Martinez Ybor, began to feel nervous about the political turmoil brewing in Cuba and settled his cigar operations near to what was then an economically struggling Tampa, Florida. Ybor built hundreds of little houses to attract Cuban cigar workers or tabaqueros which in turn attracted other cigar manufacturers. The employment demands of the cigar business eventually attracted Italians, Germans, Romanian Jews and Chinese to the area. This area came to be known as Ybor City, Cigar Capital of the World.

The earliest cigars, likely those smoked by Mayans, were simply tobacco wrapped in what was possibly a palm leaf. Today cigars are either rolled by hand, or manufactured by machines. While machine rolled cigars usually contain fillers like paper, preservatives and various chemicals, hand rolled cigars are made with pure tobacco. Not all hand rolled cigars are expensive and a tobacconist can offer assistance in not only choosing an affordable cigar but in offering advice in choosing a cigar that suits the taste of the consumer. 

Ordering cigars from the internet might seems like an efficient and affordable method of purchasing but the guidance of a good, well informed tobacconist is truly priceless. The Cigar Merchant of Blue Springs offers the knowledge and guidance of informed tobacconist but also offers a sort of camaraderie that the internet simply cannot. 

As a non-smoker I had an image of who or rather, what a cigar smoker is. While photos of JFK lost in thought, holding a cigar surrounded by a misty cloud of smoke might inspire mild heart palpitations, the image of Bill Clinton smoking a cigar brings about snickers in even the most devout of admirers. I personally attached cigar smoking to images of stodgy, middle aged men playing poker in stale smelling rooms. When my husband expressed an interest in cigars I was simply dumbfounded. The Cigar Merchant however has drawn me in and held my curiosity captive.

Ben Walker, the manager of The Cigar Merchant is part of the draw. He stands rather inconspicuously behind the glass counter and greets visitors with a nod. He appears to be part 20’s hipster/ part-arsty-punk. In fact he is a mid-30 something, well read, well informed, cigar aficionado. He is deliciously dry and fiercely loyal to his store. His right hand man is Drew. Drew appears very, very young, is clean cut and boyishly Midwest American looking. While he is all of the above he is in his mid- 20s. Drew is quiet but when he speaks he packs a punch of cigar knowledge. The Cigar Merchant stands alone in appearance, style and class. While other area stores pale in appearance or attract customers with parties and sparsely clad women, The Cigar Merchant is the real deal.

The Betrothed

By Rudyard Kipling

OPEN the old cigar-box, get me a Cuba stout,

For things are running crossways, and Maggie and I are out.

We quarrelled about Havanas—we fought o’er a good cheroot,               

And I know she is exacting, and she says I am a brute.

Open the old cigar-box—let me consider a space;                

In the soft blue veil of the vapour musing on Maggie’s face.      

Maggie is pretty to look at—Maggie’s a loving lass,    

But the prettiest cheeks must wrinkle, the truest of loves must pass.          

There’s peace in a Laranaga, there’s calm in a Henry Clay;         

But the best cigar in an hour is finished and thrown away—

Thrown away for another as perfect and ripe and brown—        

But I could not throw away Maggie for fear o’ the talk o’ the town!

Maggie, my wife at fifty—grey and dour and old—     

With never another Maggie to purchase for love or gold!

And the light of Days that have Been the dark of the Days that Are,                 

And Love’s torch stinking and stale, like the butt of a dead cigar—

The butt of a dead cigar you are bound to keep in your pocket—              

With never a new one to light tho’ it’s charred and black to the socket!   

Open the old cigar-box—let me consider a while.         

Here is a mild Manilla—there is a wifely smile.  

Which is the better portion—bondage bought with a ring,         

Or a harem of dusky beauties fifty tied in a string?       

Counsellors cunning and silent—comforters true and tried,        

And never a one of the fifty to sneer at a rival bride?

Thought in the early morning, solace in time of woes,          

Peace in the hush of the twilight, balm ere my eyelids close,       

This will the fifty give me, asking nought in return,       

With only a Suttee’s passion—to do their duty and burn.           

This will the fifty give me. When they are spent and dead,          

Five times other fifties shall be my servants instead.             

The furrows of far-off Java, the isles of the Spanish Main,           

When they hear my harem is empty will send me my brides again.           

I will take no heed to their raiment, nor food for their mouths withal,       

So long as the gulls are nesting, so long as the showers fall.      

I will scent ’em with best vanilla, with tea will I temper their hides,                     

And the Moor and the Mormon shall envy who read of the tale of my brides.        

For Maggie has written a letter to give me my choice between   

The wee little whimpering Love and the great god Nick o’ Teen. 

And I have been servant of Love for barely a twelvemonth clear,               

But I have been Priest of Cabanas a matter of seven year;                  

And the gloom of my bachelor days is flecked with the cheery light          

Of stumps that I burned to Friendship and Pleasure and Work and Fight.               

And I turn my eyes to the future that Maggie and I must prove, 

But the only light on the marshes is the Will-o’-the-Wisp of Love.             

Will it see me safe through my journey or leave me bogged in the mire?          

Since a puff of tobacco can cloud it, shall I follow the fitful fire?

Open the old cigar-box—let me consider anew—         

Old friends, and who is Maggie that I should abandon you?     

A million surplus Maggies are willing to bear the yoke;               

And a woman is only a woman, but a good Cigar is a Smoke.   

Light me another Cuba—I hold to my first-sworn vows.               

If Maggie will have no rival, I’ll have no Maggie for Spouse!