TOBACCO A WAY OF LIFE FOR MANY

Ky. -Tobacco is a way of death for millions of people. But it also provides
an economic way of life and a social cornerstone in hundreds of communities
from Indiana to South Carolina.

Nestled along the Ohio River between Cincinnati and Louisville, Carrollton
is one of those towns. It is home to one of the world's largest burley
tobacco markets. Its seven sales floors draw more than 30 million pounds of
the golden leaf a year. Farmers in surrounding Carroll County grew enough
tobacco last year -3.6 million pounds -to produce 89.7 million packs of
cigarettes, equal to the total annual sales of Delaware.

The simple reason Carroll County farmers grow so much tobacco is money. On
average, a farmer can net up to $2,200 per acre by growing tobacco,
compared to $120 an acre for corn.

"If you take tobacco away, you do away with the family farm in this area,"
says auto dealer Earl Floyd, who estimates that 40 percent of his business
is derived from the tobacco dollar.

Raising tobacco is a tough, dirty job. It starts inside greenhouses or in
small plant beds where seeds are sown and nurtured into seedlings which are
transplanted to the fields in late spring.

But this growing season, it seemed winterwould never loosen its grip.
Transplantings were delayed as temperatures continued well below normal
into June. Then, the rains returned. Farmers had to mow off the tops of
seedlings in the greenhouses to stunt their growth until the soil dried
enough to transplant them.

Finally, on June 20, the sandy bottom land was just dry enough for
planting. Coincidentally, that was also the day a group of state attorneys
general announced a $368.5 billion tentative settlement with tobacco
companies.

Word of the deal reached Andrew McKinney as he and his son and grandson
were setting plants in a field. "Those people in Washington better wake
up," McKinney said. "If the FDA gets control of tobacco they'll do away
with it."

Still, farmers here understand the arguments against tobacco. Raymond Bates
Jr., whose family production could fill the 3 -acre floor of a warehouse,
is like other farmers in that he's never smoked.

"I'm convinced smoking is no good for you," Bates says. And yet, his
daughter smokes, and he recalls pleading with his wife, "My God, Lynda,
isn't there any way you can get her to stop?"

And listen to the Rev. Pat Butcher, pastor of the Family Worship Center. He
comes from a tobacco family but preaches against the leaf.

"Smoking is not necessarily going to send you to hell," he says, "but it'll
probably get you to heaven quicker, and you'll just smell like hell when
you get there."

As the debate rages, the crop grows. Unlike other row crops that are
planted, tilled and harvested by machine, tobacco farming is highly labor
intensive, much of the work done now by Mexican migrant laborers.

When harvested, each plant is cut off at ground level and speared onto an
oak stick in the field. Sticks carrying six plants each are loaded onto
wagons for transport to the curing barns. The tobacco hangs in the barns
for about two months. The yearlong production cycle comes to an end on the
sales floors of tobacco warehouses, where auction markets begin just before
Thanksgiving.

To the melodic chant of an auctioneer, farmers and tobacco company make
their deals for the brown bales of burley. For a grower it's payday, and
time to start over.

Copyright Los Angeles Times