Photoessay #1316 - Cigar Boxes

I continue to work on this writing thing. 3 quarters into the certificate program and, for right now, invested in developing pieces for publication. Or, more accurately, collecting some rejection letters.

Seize the day, why not? For awhile last year, I subscribed to The Sun, which is an independent literary magazine. They have a feature "Readers Write" which invites readers to write short pieces about a particular theme. The next deadline at the end of June is "Boxes". So I put my creative talented mind to work for a day or two. Boxes, boxes, what can I write about boxes?

Aha, the cigar boxes full of wrapped presents sent by my grandmother when I was little. I could write about that. I've already drafted something up, already gone through several versions. I think I'm going to add some dialogue in the middle of me, my brother and sister opening up the small gifts and talking about them. Most were giveaways by merchants and candidates. I'm researching some likely names of the sponsors.

Even though workshopping (having others read and evaluate your work) is so hard, I truly believe if improves the piece.

They were old fashioned balsa wood cigar boxes...I looked for a picture...this cigar box lid looked familiar. Used without permission from a blog called "Accidental Mysteries.

Here's a draft of the piece "Boxes"


As a child in California in the early 1960s, my younger brother, sister and I couldn't wait to open the Christmas 'Cigar Boxes' from Nanny and Poppy, our maternal grandparents from Back East in Connecticut. My grandmother, Nanny, scoured her home community in New Haven all year, picking up campaign buttons and giveaways, promotional items from local business, the latest handout from the bank, etc. She also included a toothbrush and a penny, all carefully wrapped separately. The penny, shined to a brilliant gold, would be wrapped many times in different wrapping papers.

My maternal grandparents had grown up in well-to-do prominent Jewish families. The Depression ruined the family business, plunging them and their extended families into a not so genteel poverty. In fact, my mother insisted that any man who married her must commit to help support her parents financially. My father, always so sensitive about money, sent my grandparents 'loans' every month and never complained.

Nanny would put all of the small wrapped items in a wood box that Poppy's cigars came in. These balsa wood boxes sometimes had colorful labels on the top or the side with lavishly dressed ladies with mysterious Spanish words about their brand of cigars. One box for each of us, filled to the brim with little wrapped gifts.

Some years, we would open the boxes together.

My brother, Charlie (ten years old) called out, "I have a key chain from Liuzzi Cheese" holding up a brown leatherette key chain in the shape of a swiss cheese.

"Here's a nail file from the Richard Lee for Mayor campaign,"I said picking up the brown emery board from its blue flowered paper. "You think it's printed in real gold?" I asked examining the printing on the side of the emery board. I considered myself the twelve year old expert.

"I got a peanut!" sang out my younger sister, five year old Pam.

"A peanut?" Charlie and I said incredulously. "I've never heard of a peanut being in there," Charlie adds.

I looked over. "That's not a peanut, that's a walnut, dummy!" I corrected her. Always the big sister.

"I'm NOT a dummy," sulks Pam. "I bet you two have peanuts too." "Probably", said Charlie as he unwrapped a small pleated plastic rain bonnet in a little rectangular pastel case printed with "Elect William Celantano, Board of Aldermen."

"Let's open up the penny last," I suggested.

"OK", agreed Charlie "Hey, we did get little pencil sharpeners last year?"

"I remember a pencil from the laundromat, but not a pencil sharpener," I reply as we continued.

I used to love opening up all those little presents. I never knew what treasure I might find. I ended up with a little box filled with junk but I didn't care. Maybe I could use that rat-tail comb from the local insurance agent or the little sewing kit.

The boxes had a wonderful earthy smell from the real cigars. I always associated that smell with my grandparents whom I didn't see very often because they lived far away on the other side of the country. But I always looked forward to those boxes. Wish I had some of those things now...