'Cigars...cigarettes.'(renewed popularity of cigars)(Column)

I speak of tobacco with the wisdom of hindsight, through the clarifying distance of time, for it is now,as I write, nearly 36 hours since I quit smoking. Any smoker will tell you that 36 hours without tobacco is an eternity. And I am beginning myself to feel like Father Time, stooped and brittle-boned, slow-witted and dim. But I won't bore you with that; quitting smoking and its attendant discomforts have become the lamest of cliches, fodder for any columnist with nothing else to write about. So not a word from me about the terrifying hell of an ex-smoker's life, the scorched nervous system, the spastic insides, the irrefutable conviction that a small, hairless animal is clawing his way through one's body cavity. About all this - about the night sweats, the trembling fingers, the generalized despair, the endlessly repeated foreshadowings of doom, the obsessive self-pity - I remain silent. Mum's the word.

Tobacco is my topic today because it has been much in the news - and not only because I myself am suffering from withdrawal, with the optical illusions, the lightheadedness, the loss of motor control, the contempt for anyone and anything not directly related to the cultivation, curing, and marketing of tobacco. Beyond that - beyond my tingling scalp, the flashes of fever (I'll stop!) - the newspapers have announced that cigars are making a comeback. This is real news, classically defined; it is information genuinely new and unexpected. Total cigar sales were up 5 per cent last year; sales of expensive cigars were up 30 per cent or more. The "Health" section of the Washington Post, in keeping with its general mission of party poopery, calls this upswing "worrisome." It is, in other words, delightful news.

And in truth I shouldn't be surprised. There have been signs of this resurgence, here and there. Suddenly the most popular Washington restaurants are steakhouses, where they offer red meat by the pound and serve cocktails in tankards. All accommodate tobacco lovers, including cigar smokers; some managers even let it be known that they prefer customers who enjoy a good smoke to those who don't. Lafayette Square, across from the White House, will be the site of a "smoke-in" next month, and several local clubs have hosted "smokers," in which members pay sizable fees to eat well, drink lots, and smoke in peace. This is how far the trend has gone: a group of children's charities in Washington now puts on a spectacularly successful event called "Fight Night," the two chief attractions of which are a series of prize-fights and the opportunity to smoke cigars free of harassment.

The party poopers are right to worry, I hope. Though I have forsworn tobacco myself - and am even now suffering sporadic dizziness, fits of temper, occasional dyspepsia, and much else as if you didn't know - I cherish the act of smoking and am heartened by its renewed popularity. The trend is a swipe at all Health Nazis, part of what commentators are already calling a nationwide "conservative renaissance," and hence deserves encouragement. But I have some reservations, born of experience.

As it happens, I attended Washington's "Fight Night," and it was in many ways an inspiring evening. The steaks were thick and rare. The drinks were poured free hand. The hostesses sold Upmans from a tray and then, smiling shyly, clipped them for the male customers, with a blithe indifference to Freud. The men wore tuxedos, and the party had a vintage feel to it, as if our grandfathers could descend through the clouds of cigar smoke and feel right at home.

But as you walked around the ballroom you couldn't shake the feeling: this is too self-conscious. The partygoers were baby-boomers mostly, fruit of the Sixties and early Seventies; and for a generation that has passed through one health craze after another, an evening of heavy smoking and drinking can only be ersatz. You saw it as the gents handled their cigars. Quizzical looks passed from face to face: does one grip it between the index and second fingers, or twist it between the four fingers and the thumb? Coughing echoed round the room, as some fellows mistakenly inhaled. By evening's end the ashtrays overflowed with five-dollar Churchills, barely smoked. The verdict was unspoken but universal: These taste yucky.

I know: now I sound like the party pooper. Maybe my skepticism is just another symptom of withdrawal, like these ringing ears and the dull pain at the base of my neck, which I won't bore you with. And I did admire the effort the gents put forth at "Fight Night." But their hearts clearly weren't in it. They reminded me of those moderate Republicans we see on Capitol Hill these days, the Gundersons and Kassebaums, who speak confidently of balancing budgets and shrinking government and eliminating programs - the "tough decisions"! They too are part of the nationwide trend. But what will happen when time comes finally to eliminate a program, like (shall we say) PBS? What happens to the conservative renaissance then? I can only guess; but my hunch is that many Republicans will try it for a while, as one does with trends, and then deliver the dismal verdict: This is yucky.