Let me take you back perhaps 25 years when it seemed to me that almost everyone smoked cigarettes.  Cigarettes require fire at their tips.  The fire may be provided by a cigarette lighter, or by a kitchen match, and it can also be provided by matches contained in a small packet that fits precisely in the watch pocket in the jacket of men’s clothing.  In the end, what I am attempting to get to is the advertising contained on those small packages of matches that are usually given out free of charge at bars, hotels, restaurants and other places where cigarettes are smoked.
More specifically, I am getting to the fact that there is no more employment for advertisement salesmen who sell advertising that appears on these packets of matches.  There was a time, well within my memory, when men collected those matches from the toniest places in town to show that they were really men about town.  You may recall that in the period that I am speaking of, there was a club in New York called The Stork Club.  My guess is that men and women regard a packet of matches from The Stork Club as a sign that they have entered the higher levels of New York society.  The same could be true of fancy hotels such as the Waldorf Astoria.  Every bar, restaurant, hotel and club in town was anxious for you to have their match covers which they regarded as an easy source of advertising.
Over the years, I collected a batch of such match covers which I then offered to one of my grandsons.  His mother declined the offer on the grounds that a fifteen-year-old boy would set fire to their house.  I suspect that those matches remain in one of my dresser drawers.  If she now wishes to present them to a sophomore at Northwestern University, I will give her my personal assurance that her house will not be burned down.
In the final analysis, this essay is more of a lament for the men who sold advertising on those match covers.  I imagine that it was a lucrative business for them.  But now that smoking has gone out of style, I suspect that matchbook advertising sales have entered a full-fledged depression.  That is a pretty good outcome when it is considered that smoking is injurious to everyone’s health.  But there are times when I think about my match covers and I wonder what has happened to the men who used to sell advertising on those covers.  I hope that they are adaptable and able to sell other kinds of advertising, because it now looks as though smoking is long gone as well as the matches used to ignite the cigarettes.
Our favorite restaurant offers matches but forbids smoking on its premises.  This is kind of a contradiction in terms, but there is very little more to say about advertising on matchbook covers.
As for my grandson, I will renew my offer to give him some of those match covers which are a piece of what I consider to be a great period in American history.  But I am prepared to be rejected again by my daughter on the grounds that her 19- or 20-year-old might set their house aflame.  I will keep the matchbook covers so that once the grandson attains his majority, he can make the decision for himself.
 
E. E. CARR
January 3, 2010
Essay 429
~~
Kevin’s commentary: More on a similar topic here. After that essay, I actually wrote Pop to ask if I were the grandson in question. Had I only just read this essay, I would have known for sure that I was. A small exchange followed between Pop, his daughter, and myself — it is recorded for posterity below:
~ First, from Pop:
Hey Kevin,
As a matter of fact Mr. Shepherd, you are the grandson in question and I regret to inform you of your mother’s lack of faith in your ability to control your emotions.
If you had indeed set the house afire, it would be self defeating because of the match covers that I had laboriously saved would have gone up in the flames. Your mother was unmoved by my eloquence in explaining my position.
You will find that now that your mother and I agree that with the passage of your 21st birthday, that you have become a responsible citizen. In the snail mail, I will send you the match covers that I have left. They are sent in the fervent hope that you will not set fire to the elegant and lavish room in which you find yourself. I would be interested in how you will explain this to your mother.
Pop
PS: Please tell us where you live, including the zip code.
~Then, from mom:
I suspect that the matchbook offer was made at roughly the same time that Kevin chose to explode fireworks in the bathtub and then deny that he was smelling the distinct smell of sulphur in response to my questioning from the bottom of the stairs. I therefore came upstairs to the bathroom in question where the smell of sulphur was UNDENIABLE and again lodged an accusation in the general direction of Kevin G Shepherd who decided that his best course of action was the Nixon-endorsed modified qualified hang-out. He proceeded to falsely confess to setting caps off in the bathtub, which was enough to get him yelled at, maybe punished. I can’t remember. But it wasn’t true; he was actually setting off fireworks not caps in the tub.
With Kevin, you must always verify. And don’t give him matches, match covers or lighters. Ever.
~Finally, from me:
They were not fireworks! They were single matchsticks with I believe tinfoil wrapped around them to direct the expanding air from the lit match along a downward channel, thereby propelling them forward five or six inches into the air. Nothing exploded.
~~
PS from Kevin, 5/8/2013 — I found the website with the match-rockets in question. You’ll note it’s hosted on NASA.gov and talks about how useful the project in is exploring “Newton’s Laws of Motion as they relate to rocketry.” It was therefore not wanton destruction but a directed effort to further my own scientific education.