Wallace Reyes has the meticulous appearance common to many artisans who share his craft. He's trim and tidy with a carefully sculpted mustache, a crisp haircut and neatly pressed clothing that fits his compact frame precisely. His look is timeless. He could be stepping into an Ybor City cigar factory in the 1890s with his afternoon shot of hot café solo, preparing for an afternoon of handcrafting fine cigars.
In fact, he is entering Gonzalez Habana Cigar Factory, which he owns, and he does have his café solo. But it's 2004, and this factory occupies a small storefront in La Teresita mall at 3302 Columbus Ave. in West Tampa, where the heart of old Latin Tampa still beats. The sign out front says "keeping the legacy of Tampa handmade cigars alive." And indeed he is carrying on the tradition, more than a century old, of producing fine handmade cigars in Tampa. As a fourth-generation cigarmaker, he's also carrying on a family tradition nearly that longstanding. July 5 marks the 82nd anniversary of his family's cigar business, which was started by his great-grandfather, Benito Gonzalez Quintana, and Benito's brother Jose, in 1922 as Gonzalez, Fisher & Co., makers of the famous Tampa Girl line of cigars.
Inside, the walls are festooned with framed collections of original Tampa cigar bands and old black-and-white photos of cigar factories long shuttered. The air smells of rich aged tobacco and wood. Reyes knows his history and can tell you stories about the early days of the cigar workers in Tampa, including one about a contest between Tampa cigarmakers and new machines in a German town to see which could make the most cigars. The humans won.
Reyes never planned to go into the family business. Although he learned the craft when he was young, he graduated from the University of Puerto Rico as a physical and occupational therapist and was working on setting up a computer business when his father died. That's when he realized he wanted to keep the tradition alive.
At the time he took over the factory, the popularity of cigars was very low. "It was just me and one other cigarmaker," he says of the factory. When they became stylish again in the early '90s, Reyes added cigarmakers and ramped up production. By 1997, the factory was running two shifts and putting out 12,000 cigars a week. Now that the craze has settled, so has the company's production. Reyes and his wife, Margarita, each make 150 to 200 cigars a day, and they employ one other part-time tabaquero or master cigarmaker, Antonio Riverol, who also works part time at the Columbia.
Each cigar is handcrafted from vintage tobacco grown from Cuban seeds, aged three-and-a-half to four years and imported from the Dominican Republic, Honduras, Ecuador, Indonesia and Cameroon.
Gonzalez Habano makes cigars for its own labels — Orama, Copihue and Bazarte — and for other labels across the nation, including Metropolitan Cigars in Ybor. All the cigars sell for less than $4, some for as little as $1.59. I've tried three of them now, and have been impressed with their smooth, rich flavor; clean, even burn; bargain price — and their beauty, from the elegant labels to the Havana twist tip on the Fuma #2.
Most of the company's business is outside Tampa, says Reyes, largely in the Northeast, but they sell cigars to people from every state and a number of other countries, including Venezuela, Canada, Iraq, Afghanistan, and Guatemala. "A lot of our customers are in the military," says Margarita.
She has been making cigars for only five years. She moved here from Chile in 1996 after corresponding with Reyes for 16 years. "Only friends," says Margarita, characterizing their early correspondence. "Sixteen years, no see, no touch, no kiss, nothing." In 1995, says Reyes, "I decided to formalize our friendship. I proposed in April and went in June to Chile to marry."
Margarita had been an accountant in Chile, and when she first moved here, she took English classes at Hillsborough High School and ran the cigar factory's office.
But she wanted to make cigars, especially the slim panatelas and fat, tapered torpedoes. He was skeptical of the ability of a novice to make two of the most challenging shapes. "This is the Lamborghini of cigars," he says of the elegant panatela. But she learned fast, he says, eliciting a shy grin from her.
Margarita demonstrates the making. She bunches together aged tobacco leaves and shapes them into a cylinder, which she then fits into a wooden mold that holds several cigars and trims off the ends with a blade that belonged to Reyes' father. When the mold is filled, she fits on the top and puts it into a press.
Reyes demonstrates the rolling of the wrapper. He trims a moist tobacco leaf and smoothes it out on a board. He then positions a freshly pressed cigar at its tip and rolls it on in a smooth motion, dabbing a speck of glue at the edges and smoothing them down. The glue, made from rubber plants in the Canary Islands, is the same one cigarmakers have used for 500 years.
At 51, they're the youngest tabaqueros in Tampa. Reyes says only eight master cigarmakers remain in town, and they're in their late 60s to 80s.
The couple has no children, and Reyes doubts he'll train anyone else. "A person needs to be dedicated, patient, creative. They need to take criticism and be able to spend time — years under me." He shakes his head and looks around. "This is the end of the original company. I consider myself the last dinosaur."
Contributing Editor Susan F. Edwards can be reached at susan.edwards@ weeklyplanet.com.
This article appears in Jul 1-7, 2004.