Over the course of this year, the centenary of William F. Buckley’s birth, we will republish an article by him weekly. This week’s column counts the cost of ubiquitous tobacco consumption.
I was back home after three days at the Mayo Clinic, and I sat with my wife, having decided on an evening of television. To this end we looked in the morning paper and saw the listing for the story of Bette Davis, coming on at 9 p.m. This was appealing, inasmuch as when I was about 15, I fancied my future as Mr. Bette Davis – though that was a contingent romance, if Betty Hutton would not have me. And it was especially embittering given that Bette married just about everybody else. So I wound up with the mother of the author of Thank You for Smoking.






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