The Smoke Free Illinois Act has been in effect for eight months, and by all accounts the effects have been mixed. Casino operators claim a 17 percent loss in revenue since the ban went into effect, but, in general, concerns that the law would drive tavern keepers out of business have not panned out. The regulars have not picked up their smokes and fled to Missouri pubs, nor opted to drink at home alone. Instead, they have moved outdoors -- at least 15 feet outdoors, according to the new law. Metro East biergartens have turned into zigarettengartens, now virtually off-limits to patrons unwilling to breathe in great clouds of second-hand smoke.

Meanwhile, the smoking ban has proved a boon for deck and patio builders, and manufacturers of portable outdoor heaters, a fairly effective, though expensive way to keep one's nicotine-addicted patrons defrosted in winter.

Of course not all Metro-East pubs, roadhouses, saloons and gin joints are playing by the rules. In some rural areas of the Metro East, proprietors of so-called "smokeasies" pride themselves on flouting the law, which they see as unnecessary government intrusion into their private affairs. Surprisingly, the word smokeasy has been around since 1978, coined by Jack McDowell, a spokesman for a smokers' lobby group Californians for Commonsense, who told Newsweek that a proposed smoke-ban would be as impossible to enforce as Prohibition and that police had better things to do than raid "smokeasies." He was wrong on both counts.

From Hollywood films we are used to thinking of Prohibition-era speakeasies as seedy, underground operations. But most of them were located right out in the open. The hard part wasn't finding a speakeasy, it was getting inside. Similarly, today's smokeasies are the same country pubs we know and love -- it's just the ashtrays have been replaced by plastic cups.

In one village tavern (which shall go unnamed), I was surprised to find every patron at the bar smoking. The bartender-owner wasn't worried. If they fine him, so what?

What's more, no one seemed to know who was responsible for enforcing the law. Was it the county sheriff's department, the state police or some new agency funded by their tax dollars? And didn't someone have to file a complaint first? Certainly none of the farmers or farmers' wives in this bar was complaining. If they did complain it'd be the last time they were served, and then where would they go for a stiff one?

Actually the Smoke Free Illinois Act allows agents from the Department of Public Health or local police to enforce the law with or without a complaint. Violators can be fined anywhere from $100 to $250. If the cigarette cops do decide to crack down on saloon keepers it can get costly real quickly. After the first fine of $250, the penalty doubles. A third violation (within one year) will cost you $2,500. That's enough to make even the most libertarian pub-owner abandon his principles.

So far, the state of Missouri, St. Louis County and the city of St. Louis remain "smoker-friendly," though it is probably a matter of time before Missouri joins the other 35 states with some form of ban. State Sen. Joan Bray, D-University City, has introduced a statewide smoking ban bill. Kansas City and Columbia recently passed their own smoking ordinances. St. Louis, as usual, is beginning to look downright anachronistic.

Surprisingly the pressure to conform is coming from young, progressive hipsters, and a lot of them are die-hard smokers. Smoking has lost much of its cachet, and already some of the hippest bars in the city, like The Royale and the Lucas School House, have banned smoking altogether and business improved. In fact, it is impossible these days to be hip and progressive and not support a smoking ban. To do so would be like opposing recycling or organic vegetable farming.

This gets at the heart of the smoking puzzle. For a long time, I was unable to figure why smoking bans were so popular. After all, an awful lot of people smoke. In the U.S. an estimated 25.9 million men (23.9 percent) and 20.7 million women (18.1 percent) are smokers, according to the American Heart Association. But one recent survey found that 73 percent of Illinoisans continue to support the smoking ban. A lot of that support, therefore, must come from smokers - hip, progressive smokers - who doubtless suffer an excess of liberal guilt. The last thing they want is to be responsible for another's ill health.

People can get used to anything. Even the old farmers I've encountered in those rural smokeasies could get used to smoking outside in the gravel parking lot, if they have to. But for the time being they don't have to.

 Would you seek out a bar that allowed you to smoke when smoking in a public building is against the law?

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