By Jim Schutze
By Rachel Watts
By Lauren Drewes Daniels
By Anna Merlan
By Lee Escobedo
By Eric Nicholson
The old television series M*A*S*H ran through about 4 billion episodes, each with the same story line--war bad, wisecracking disdain for authority good--before viewers tired of the show. Ah-nold earned fame by uttering "I'll be back," a singular tribute to our appreciation of redundancy. Even General Douglas MacArthur understood America's love for the sequel, the show that never ends. And you'd know that if you interpreted his "I shall return" promise correctly.
Well, the Dallas City Council clearly appreciated a good sequel, returning once again to the issue of smoking in city restaurants. In January, Councilwoman Lois Finkelman, chair of the council's Health, Environment and Human Services Committee, asked the Environmental Health Commission to work up a more stringent smoking ordinance. This comes despite the fact that only about 25 percent of Texas residents regularly light up, most fast-food chains already ban tobacco smoke from their establishments and Dallas-area restaurants currently average a 70-30 split between designated nonsmoking and smoking sections. Indeed, Al Biernat, owner of--and this may come as a shock--Al Biernat's, claims that 95 percent of his customers ask for nonsmoking tables. "It just hasn't been an issue," says Ken Benson, a public affairs consultant representing the hospitality industry.
At the same time, however, it's a perennial favorite. A recommendation to strengthen the smoking ordinance, which calls for a mere 4-foot separation between smoking and nonsmoking sections of restaurants, died in 1994 when then committee chair, Larry Duncan, effectively tabled the issue. Four years later the Environmental Health Commission, an appointed citizens group, failed to reach a consensus when asked to examine the ordinance, and the issue never even reached the committee. Last year, an effort on the state level to ban smoking in public spaces died a quick and quiet death.
This year, according to Anne Harding, government relations director of the American Cancer Society's Dallas region, several members of the Health, Environment and Human Services Committee spoke favorably of a new ordinance. And the Environmental Health Commission, with only two meetings remaining before it issues its recommendation in August, is considering a plan that, in the words of Greg Kalina, vice president of operations for Consilient Restaurants, "would radically change the face of restaurants as we know them."
"They are looking at strengthening the nonsmoking areas of restaurants to make them smoke-free, similar to Carrollton," explains Anita Cordill, assistant director of Environmental Health Services for the city. "It probably doesn't require changes to a lot of restaurants, but it will probably require a barrier."
By barrier, she means a wall, floor to ceiling, separating the sections--perhaps with additional ventilation. This, of course, belies her statement dismissing the necessary changes to Dallas restaurants, particularly those with open floor plans or narrow spaces. Restaurateurs, of course, just don't see the need for massive intervention. "At lunch time, for more seating, we do an entirely no-smoking dining room," says Matt Mortimer, regional manager of Blue Goose. "It's never been an issue either way. I don't know if I've ever seen more than three or four cigarettes going at one time in my smoking section." The city received fewer than 30 complaints about the smoking ordinance in 1999, and most of those were in regard to the workplace.
"I don't feel a public need for it," says Jordan Lowery, manager of Firehouse.
Indeed, Cordill admits that she's unsure what prompted this current effort. And Councilman James Fantroy, a member of the Health, Environment and Human Services Committee, could not recall discussions initiating the move. (Finkelman was unavailable for comment.) Yet anti-smoking advocates describe clear and urgent reasons for the current move to toughen regulations. "We are trying to protect as many people as possible," Harding points out, "and the most effective way to do that is through government policy."
Everyone knows cigarettes kill. Well, not everyone. Studies confirm that smokers tend to be less educated than nonsmokers, so the message might not sink in. For the record, however, the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention asserts that tobacco use kills more Americans annually than alcohol, cocaine, heroin, homicide, suicide, fires, auto accidents and AIDS combined--around 500,000 each year. One wonders why Hollywood action thrillers overlook the dangerous world of cigarettes and settle on tamer themes like murder and mayhem. But research concerning second-hand smoke--the issue affecting restaurants--generates little beyond partisan bickering. The Environmental Protection Agency kicked off a spurt of anti-smoking regulation nationwide when it declared second-hand smoke a class A carcinogen in 1993. "That's something I can't dismiss lightly," Harding says. Yet five years later a federal court struck down the EPA judgment, pointing out that the agency reached its conclusion before conducting research and then altered the data to confirm its conclusion. The World Health Organization at the same time found no statistically significant health risk from exhaled tobacco smoke.
"If second-hand smoke kills, I'll die from it," scoffs Greg Hillan, general partner of Greenville Bar & Grill. "I'm sure it's harmful, but in my mind it's not a big issue. If you want to control all of the environments you're in, stay at home."
Second-hand smoke contains some 4,000 chemicals, including traces of cyanide, benzene and arsenic, but the danger of limited exposure remains uncertain. Even many anti-smoking advocates admit brief encounters with drifting smoke create little more than an increase in business for dry cleaners. "You would probably have to have a higher level of exposure to get lung cancer, but depending on the individual, any amount could be harmful," Harding says.