Aug 4, 2025 4 min read

Like about 55% of men at the time, my dad was a smoker. You know, there were commercials that claimed, “More doctors smoke Camels than any other cigarette,” and “20,679 physicians say ‘Luckies are less irritating.'” Dad smoked Kent cigarettes that used asbestos in their Micronite filters. They were promoted as having “the greatest health protection in cigarette history,” but they released asbestos fibers into smokers’ lungs. At age 58, that highly promoted vice got him.

That was not the only damage cigarettes caused. As a kid, my dad often smoked in the car with the windows closed. Friday evenings around the kitchen table were a relative smoking fest where Aunt Libby, Uncle Bill, Uncle Bert, and Dad sat around telling stories and smoking up a storm. So, yes, I was the recipient of tons of secondhand smoke.

Later, I discovered that secondhand smoke contributed to earaches, and I had my full share of those. The only treatment we had for them was warm olive oil and cotton. Between the ages of 4 and 10, the term “bealed ear” became all too familiar. When I cried hard enough and long enough, Mom would say those dreaded words to my dad, “Charlie, I think Nicky has a bealed ear.”

In the 1950s, a “bealed” ear referred to a middle ear infection (otitis media). With a bealed ear, there was a significant buildup of purulent fluid, or in more familiar terms, pus, behind the eardrum, causing pressure and horrendous pain.

How did they treat a little boy with a bealed ear before antibiotics became readily available? Without anesthesia, the ear doctor would puncture my eardrum with a needle to relieve pressure. That procedure included horrendous little boy screams.

But that was not all he did. After the incision, he aspirated (sucked out) the fluid with a little vacuum cleaner-type hose to clear the middle ear. If you’re still reading this, it did reduce the pain and prevent further infection, but guess what else it did? According to the medical journals, “Individuals with a history of inner or middle ear issues (that would be me) may have a lower threshold for motion sickness. Seasickness or amusement park rides are problematic.”

Bingo.

That side effect has been a major obstacle for me on so many levels. Teenage dating was a problem, so was doing father things – flying in planes, floating in boats, and riding in back seats. I honestly can get carsick when I’m driving. Amusement parks for me were an absolute horror show that always tested my masculinity, and I lost.

It was hard to be a macho man when you’re ready to throw up over the side of a Ferris wheel. Don’t even get me started about the death ride roller coasters. Heck, I got sick in the boat in “It’s a Small World.” Once, I was interviewed for a big job and the final interview took place on a perfectly calm Potomac River dinner cruise. I turned Wicked Witch green from “The Wizard of Oz.” I didn’t get the job.

Then there was the time I took my 9-year-old deep sea fishing and threw up things I had eaten in first grade. Seriously, I swallowed a lifesaver and saw it flying through the air at the speed of light seconds later. I will never forget when my boss flew me to a meeting in Florida on the day those 123 tornadoes came across the U.S. I think he might have had to sell his plane afterward because I was sick for 90% of that trip. I remember him saying, “Fly home commercial, Nick.”

Yes, secondhand smoke was a big part of my youth. It not only cost me my balance, my pride, and lots of embarrassing moments, but it also contributed to taking my dad. So, to my children and grandchildren, those are two reasons why I don’t smoke. Freakin’ cigarettes.

Nick Jacobs is a resident of Windber.