“That which we call a rose
By any other name would smell as sweet.” –Juliet
The Havana Room: When I was a kid my grandfather John always had a fat brown cigar tucked in the front pocket of his shirt or in the corner of his mouth. I don’t think he ever actually lit them, at least not in front of us, because my grandmother Hilda didn’t like him to smoke. All through elementary school my little sister June and I used his empty cigar boxes for our crayons. The boxes were yellow and had a beautiful exotic looking lady with long brown hair on the lid.
The Havana Room is named after my grandfather, his cigars and the beautiful lady on the top of our crayon boxes.