In Search of the Smokiest Bar

Lindsey O'Brien, a 23-year-old who sported a blond, slightly spiky bob, brought up an interesting geographical point. "Being able to smoke everywhere is what I like about the Midwest. It's a Midwestern trait." She got hooked around the age of 14. She forced herself to want to be a smoker, to be like her parents. "When I first started, it was very harsh. I really didn't inhale. When I did so, my lungs were on fire. Now, it's second nature," she said.

After a couple of drinks, my work was done. My eyes were stinging, which was definitely a sign that Chez Charlie was a strong contender for smokiest bar, even though my smoke detector didn't emit a peep. The clothing stink factor was high, and I put my pink cashmere scarf in Tupperware for the lucky Doug Frost.

The evidence that the bar might actually win came when I stopped in to see the Significant Other after my visit. "Ugh. You reek. You need to take a shower," he said.

As I washed the stench out of my hair, the S.O. moved my purse into a different room. The smokiness that clung to it was too much, he said. I became even more thankful for my balcony, where I regularly air out coats, purses, jeans and sweaters. I'm sure my neighbors love the sight of disheveled clothing on my broken lawn chair. I'm classy like that.

The next stop on the tour was the Clarette Club in Mission. I'd always liked the place — it's a divey, laid-back bar. Because of a decent ventilation system and the fact that the bar takes up nearly an entire block, the smokiness factor isn't horrible.

I hovered near the bar and noted that most everyone in the pool-table area held cigarettes or cigars. That's where I met Louis French and Kendall Owen, two former Lawrencians who were sitting in front of the bar's semi-big-screen TV, watching the KU-Florida basketball game. During halftime, they shared their tales of smoking woe.

Louis is a nonsmoker but doesn't mind the haze in bars. "A lot of people in Lawrence don't go out because of it [the ban]. It changed Lawrence," said this 26-year-old, who now lives in Overland Park. Some of his friends would rather drive to Tonganoxie and Overland Park for a night out, he said.

Kendall, also 26, said he moved to Wichita because of the ban in Lawrence. Kendall is a former bar manager at J.B. Stout's Sports Bar and Grill and has worked at other bars and restaurants for the past six years. "It forced a lot of successful businesses to modify practices," he said — eliminating cigar sales and adding patio seating, for example.

Both guys sympathized with the fact that I have to air out my manky clothes on my balcony.

"Look, smokers don't mind going outside," Kendall said. "It's just the older people who are set in their ways."

As I prepared to leave, I realized that the Clarette Club didn't leave me feeling smoked out. That's surprising, because the Clarette Club once sent me a T-shirt after I had written about the place, and the shirt carried a strong odor of cigarettes. And when the bar mailed some ballots for our Best of Kansas City issue, the package positively reeked of smoke.

After my excursion, the whiff factor on my black cotton sweater that I dropped into Tupperware was still above-average.

I also concluded that my smoke detector, which remained silent, probably wasn't the best tool to use in this highly scientific experiment. For some reason, "photoelectric technology" didn't translate to "nasty-smelling bars."

Next stop: The Brick, for Monday night Brodioke. A neighbor had been there the previous week and vouched for its smoketasticness. I'm also a big fan of the Brick's food, which sometimes comes with a side order of cigarette smoke.

I visited with Chris Manley and his girlfriend, Thomasena Armstrong, both hardcore smokers. They had strong opinions on going outside to puff away. "It's either too cold or too hot," they said. Plus, the need to smoke is too strong sometimes to go outside.

Chris explained that a smoking ban would mean a quick end to bar conversations. "When you're talking to someone for a long time, like for 30 minutes or an hour, you're not like, 'Fuck off, I need to smoke right now,' and end the conversation," Chris explained. "It's an addiction."

"Bars like this are at risk," Thomasena said. "It should be up to the owner whether the establishment should be smoking or not."

Most everyone was a familiar midtown face that night, but 56-year-old Ron Brakevill was enjoying his first Bricksperience, which he diplomatically described as "different." He was accompanied by his girlfriend, 38-year-old Dana McGinnis, and his daughter, Shanna, who works nearby.

Dana, a Blue Springs resident, is a 20-year smoker, and she's anti-ban. She's a waitress at Neighbors Cocktail Lounge, off U.S. Highway 40, as well as a nursing assistant. I asked her if she has encountered patients who've been affected by secondhand smoke, and she responded that it's the smokers who come in with lung cancer. It's good to know that the line between smokers and nonsmokers is so clear-cut, diseasewise.