Those not involved with the profession of journalism on a regular basis are probably unaware of how headlines are created. Whether you write for the New York Times, the Greensburg Daily News, or the Weekly Reader in elementary school, the managing editor or the editorial board of the publication writes and assigns headlines for submitted articles. In more than ten years of writing for the Greensburg Daily News, the assigned headline for my column has remained a mystery to me until I picked up my paper on that day. In many ways I enjoy the process, wondering what part of my column will “grab” the attention of the editorial reader, and thus, the headline for the day, once it is submitted.

There are occasions, however, when I wish I could send a headline and request it be used with my column, and today is one of those days. If I could, I would like this article to be titled, “Planet Earth is Now Smoke Free.”

Certain areas are intentionally set aside as relatively safe outlets for destructive behavior. I suppose it is as a way of isolating the offensive behavior from the rest of the world. Motor racing parks for those that want to drive a vehicle as fast as it will go and paintball clubs for those that enjoy the simulation of shooting someone and being shot are just two examples. Recently, however, I discovered that one of these outlets might be living on borrowed time.

When you think of the state to our immediate south, three things come to mind. Thoroughbred horses, designer bourbons, and yes, tobacco. Kentucky burley tobacco was once as common in the Blue Grass State as the corn in our own backyards, and the crop was every bit as treasured by the proud farmers that tended their fields. Knowing that information as background makes what I am about to share all the more shocking.

Each spring, my lovely wife, Julia, and I take a trip to Lexington, Kentucky to enjoy an afternoon of thoroughbred racing at Keeneland Race Course, in the very heart of the Blue Grass. On the way, I stop at the Covington Tobacco Shop in Covington, Kentucky to spend about ten dollars on an Ashton Churchill cigar. I am willing to drop ten “big ones” on the counter for a quality cigar, since I only smoke one or two each year, usually at a horse race or a fundraiser, but always outside or in a room devoted to the art of cigar smoking.

This year, after we enjoyed our lunch in the dining room as guests of the Kentucky Pharmacist’s Association, I finished a delicious cup of coffee and then went outside to get a closer look at the horses and, yes, fire up my cigar. As I enjoyed the first few puffs, we walked into the alcove between the paddock and the track to place a wager on the race. This is where a confrontation, and the reality of my mythical headline for today’s column were realized. As I was standing in line at the mutual window, I felt a tap on my back.

“I’m sorry, sir, smoking isn’t allowed in here,” a security guard muttered, with that unmistakable southern drawl.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” I apologized. It was at this point that I looked around me, and realized what comprised the “here” in question.

I was standing in little more than an overhang between two open spaces, with a delightful breeze flowing from one side to the other, and yes, people smoking on either side of this overhang. I hung my head, took one final puff, and laid what was left of my cigar on the ground by a bush.

I have come to accept smoke free football stadiums, baseball fields and, in the case of Ohio, smoke free states. I know smoking is a health hazard, and I know that the elimination of smoking is in the best interests of us all. I just never thought the day would come when, standing in the very heart of tobacco country, in the tabernacle of all things Kentucky, I would be asked to put out my Ashton Churchill cigar.

I suppose it is the same degree of sadness one experiences when a familiar grocery store is torn down to make way for the latest mega-mart, or a beloved oak tree is leveled to make room for a four-lane interstate highway. Yes, it is progress, and yes, it is for the better good. Yet, in your heart, a tear is shed for the end to a familiar way of life. I am fairly intelligent, I know a non-smoking world is a better world, and I should rejoice in the knowledge that planet earth is now smoke free.

I’ll just really miss my semi-annual Ashton Churchill cigar.