Bob Swan

As a little squirt I only remember doing a couple of things with my father. Standing on the back porch and tossing tiny pieces of bread to the sparrows and playing catch in our small yard. And then even that stopped. We did have a few trivial conversations as I grew. He told me that he always wanted to see the world so he enlisted in the U.S. Army. Since he had some accounting skills he was assigned to Fort Dix in N.J.-- as far as he got. A furlough back to Connecticut explains my birth in 1943.

One of the perks of being stationed in N.J. and having an office job was that he was privy to Camel cigarettes, prized among soldiers. Such a bittersweet advantage. Professional frustration, struggles with alcohol, butting heads with a very headstrong wife, unemployment, racism were some of the demons he faced. Mom wouldn’t let it go. There were money issues always. One could chew on the tension that my sisters and I lived with.

At the age of 63, he paid the price. “I’d walk a mile for a Camel!”   He did and he died.

As a young man he was known as a great dancer, a lady’s man, and suave. He liked nice things such as the beautiful silver and gold cigarette case I found in his effects afterwards. There were his initials on top and still a few tobacco flakes inside.