Like so many of our contemporaries, my brother and I grew up in a sea of harvest gold and avocado green, and the most interesting furniture in our Racine, Wis., house was a hi-fi that took an entire old-growth forest to manufacture. Above that sea of green and gold, with Burt Bacharach and the original cast album of "The Music Man" wafting out of tiny little console speakers covered by wee bronze curtains, smoke filled the air. Our folks smoked, like millions back then, and millions today. It went with all the smoking on screen in an average hour of '60s and '70s television. My parents, happily alive today, eventually called it a day on cigarettes, and everyone was better for it.