MOULTRIE, — Among the many deals I was offered in my emails this week was a special offer on pipe accessories. Yes I’m talking about a smoking pipe.

It has never crossed my mind that pipes have accessories, anymore than a can of Vienna sausages would have accessories. But since I’m not an aficionado in that venue (pipes I mean), this lack of knowledge does not depress me.

I thought a pipe was simple. You either smoked it or you let it sit on the mantel, and people would think you smoked it.

Well my knowledge has now been expanded. Accessories include pipe ashtrays. I guess there’s a certain ambiance created when you talk about the gross national product, and you tap your pipe ashes into a staghorn canister as opposed to a mayonnaise jar lid.

And there are pipe cleaners … little augers with which you can dig out the char and clean the stem. You can do the same thing with a straightened gem clip, but for those who smoke in style that would be like cleaning out your ear with your car keys.

Now you don’t want to carry your pipe in your jacket pocket. No sirree, you need a pipe pouch. It’s kind of like an oversized change purse made of leather with a zipper. My guess is you can get one made of satin if you go to many functions that require a tuxedo. You can hide it in your cummerbund.

Also among the accessories are pipe books. They tell you all about the history of pipes and how to season a pipe.

Back in my college days, I tried smoking a pipe. You see I took a philosophy class, and it seemed that smoking a pipe was dressing the part. It was like putting on your favorite team jersey while watching Monday Night Football. But later I found that the pipe thing was mostly for those people majoring in philosophy. For me it was an elective.

But I gave it a go.

The damn thing would often turn upside down, and I would have burn holes in my shirts and ties. I never really got the hang of packing and stoking a pipe correctly. I would get crossed-eyed trying to pull a draft through the stem to get it started. I was afraid one day my eyes would get stuck crossed, and I would then have to explain that condition to people or else they might think it was caused by other things.

I suppose smoking a pipe was an indication of being a deep thinker. This may have come from the movies. Often there was a wise old man who would offer a life experience right after lighting up his pipe.

One night I was invited to a fraternity house for a visit. Several of those guys were smoking pipes and debating the merger of the NFL and the AFL as well as the George Wallace bid for president.  A couple of them wore deep purple ascots. They looked like they had a tag of apricots growing where chest hair should have been. I assessed this situation very quickly and realized that in a couple of hours I would be on the job loading tractor-trailer rigs for United Parcel all night. I could tell right off this situation was in great contrast to my realities. So they were going to pass judgment on me when I could tell that not a one of them had ever run a trot line or banked sweet potatoes? I don’t think so!

And so I never mastered the pipe nor did I join a fraternity. I also never learned to play an accordion. I once read that a gentleman was someone who could play an accordion but wouldn’t.

(Dwain Walden is editor/publisher of The Moultrie Observer, 985-4545. Email: dwain.walden@gaflnwes.com)