In the beginning, I smoked like a glutton. My parents were cigar merchants in Kiev. my father's store was a small one and all the family made cigarettes by hand, cigarettes with blond tobacco imported from Turkey. This store was not like any other. From time to time, bizarre gentlement with conspiratorial looks would gather there. They were conspirators. And just as the liberator of Cuba, Jose Marti, exiled in FLorida, used to send messages rolled in cigars, so the enemies of the Czars in Kiev carried out their plans behind a cigar-smoke screen. Eventually the conspiratorial ring was discovered and I, with my family left Russia in a covered wagon. In Geneva my father opened a small workshop and began again to build up a trade. Other exiles came to the shop. They were feverishly preparing for the revolution. One of them greatly impressed me. He had a thin face, brilliant eyes, and spoke in a loud voice. He also took cigars and didn't pay for them. My father never tried to recover the money. On a bill which I have kept as a souvenir are stamped the words "Not Paid" and the name of the customer-Vladimir Ulyanov. Not until later was he known as Lenin.
A cigar story you haven't heard
Originally Posted by CoventryCat86
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