The mysteries of the cigar business have long been passed down from generation to generation, typically from father to son, often when that son reaches his 40s or 50s. But there's a new movement in the cigar business where a new, far younger generation is coming into its own. Instead of making phone calls, they do text messages. While their fathers carried matchbooks, they live on Facebook. And you're more likely to find them wearing designer clothing than khaki pants and plaid work shirts.
At three prominent cigar companies, this next generation of cigar personalities-many of them female-is beginning to make their impact on the industry. And some have already created their own cigars.
The Quesadas - The Fifth Generation
![]()
Patricia, left, and Raquel Quesada have worked in the family cigar business since 1997 and 2000, respectively.
The most dramatic youth movement in the cigar industry is happening in Santiago, Dominican Republic, inside the wood-paneled walls of Manufactura de Tabacos S.A., or Matasa. This 35-year-old company, the first to roll cigars in Santiago's original free trade zone, is operating more and more under the influence of five 20- and 30-somethings who 63-year-old factory owner Manuel (Manolo) Quesada collectively refers to as "the young ones." They also go by the term "the fifth generation," as they are the fifth generation of Quesadas to work in the tobacco business.
"The young ones," says Manuel Quesada with his typical deadpan humor, "are building the pillars for my monument."
Ranging in age from 24 to 33, the youngsters have injected new life into the company. They are led by Quesada's two daughters, Patricia, 33, and Raquel, 31, attractive blondes with generous smiles and Blackberrys that sometimes seem to be living extensions of their arms. Patricia, who calls herself "the spokesperson of the fifth generation," focuses on administration, while Raquel spends most of her time on the production floor. Manuel Quesada's niece, Esther Quesada, 32, runs the tobacco farm and the leaf warehouse. Nephew José Manuel Bermudez, 28, known as Blondie for the color of his slicked-back hair, designed the company's Casa Magna label. He runs the box factory with help from Hostos Fernandez Quesada, 24, a slim, bespectacled nephew who just graduated from college and has a knack for technology. The newest member of the next generation, nephew Terence Joseph Reilly, joined the group just this summer, bringing the total from that generation to six.
With a father and grandfather running a cigar factory, Patricia and Raquel have been around cigars all their lives. They visited Matasa from an early age as well as the tobacco fields run by their uncle. Patricia has worked for the company longer; she began in late 1997, starting "at the bottom," going through each department, even cleaning floors, before settling in administration and accounting. Raquel started in 2000 and soon showed a knack for blending a cigar, participating in the blending of the Matasa 30th Anniversary, the Fonseca Cubano Viso Fuerte and the Fonseca Cubano Limitado, where she has taken "top billing," on the box, says her father. "Raquel is the second in command in the factory," he says.
Raquel has even been known to do more than a few things without her father's consent, which inevitably leads to discovery, then a dreaded page over the Matasa public address system. Patricia mimics her father's voice, describing what happens: "'Raquel Quesada, extension 23.' When you hear that," she says, beaming, "go the other way." The girls also reveal that their father's bushy salt-and-pepper mustache has a habit of going up when he's angry.
So what gets her in trouble? "She changes my blends," Manuel says with a laugh. He says that he selects a blend, instructs Raquel to have the factory make it, then when she brings him a finished cigar (naturally leaving his office posthaste) he notices the difference when he takes a puff. That's when he reaches for the P.A. Later, he usually realizes that the change is beneficial. "It's OK," he says, showing considerable fatherly pride in his little girl's knack for making a cigar.
There's just the hint of good-natured sibling rivalry between the sisters. "Patricia is the one who always got what she wanted from my father," says Raquel, smiling. "I got everything from my mom." Patricia smiles as well. "I know when he says 'no' how to get a 'yes.'" Raquel calls her father "Quesada" at work, something Patricia cannot do-"I call him Papa," she says.
While there were some dispensations made because they are female ("I used to work summers, and my mom would call the factory and say 'Is she sweating? I don't want her to sweat,'" says Raquel) the women say their dad is demanding. "Even though we're girls, he still expects a lot," says Patricia, describing 12-hour days and 10 p.m. work calls.
The fifth generation wasn't supposed to be this deeply involved in Matasa, certainly not this soon. But in 2002, everything at the company changed forever. The plane was a small Cessna, and it set out from Santiago on the morning of April 17, bound for Haiti. The weather turned, and contact with the plane was lost. The following day, the downed aircraft was spotted atop Mount Pelona, one of the tallest mountains in the Caribbean.
All four aboard the plane were lost: Manuel's brother, Alvaro Quesada; his son Alvaro Jr., Julio Fajardo and the pilot. Fajardo was Manuel Quesada's right-hand man at Matasa, and the heir apparent to the factory. Alvaro Jr., 24 at the time, was being trained to one day take his place.
"When we lost half of our staff in 2002, we all knew we would have to pull together, but at first we had five years not even thinking about it. We were on autopilot for about five years," says Patricia. "A year ago [the members of the fifth generation] started having meetings once a week, without my father. There, we talked about how the industry has changed."
The fifth generation took a hard look at stronger tobaccos, the type of thing that just wasn't used very much at Matasa. The result is in the company's newest cigar, the Quesada 35th Anniversary, which was created collectively by the youngsters.
One day, the five called Manuel Quesada into a meeting room, and presented him with a tray of five cigars. They told him they were the blend choices for the 35th Anniversary. "I said, 'I thought I was doing that,'" says Quesada. He started smoking. They started tweaking. "And they were the ones doing the tweaking. It was very refreshing," he says, calling the moment both proud and scary. "It's a cigar that the fifth generation decided to do on their own. Unfortunately," he says with a laugh, "I didn't have anything to do with it." The cigar is a milestone, not only for the considerable involvement by the youthful members of the Quesada family, but for its name. While the Quesadas have rolled cigars in the Dominican Republic since 1974 (before any member of the fifth generation was born), this is the first time the family name has appeared on a brand.
The squared-off cigar is made with a combination of Nicaraguan, Dominican and Ecuadoran leaf, including a wrapper that is grown in Ecuador from Arapiraca seed, which is usually grown in Brazil. "It's totally different-we have never used these tobaccos at Matasa before," says Raquel Quesada. Adds her father: "It's a radical departure from the blends that the old man has been doing." The cigar was previewed at the Madison Avenue Davidoff store in New York City on June 29. All six members of the fifth generation lined up to present the cigar as Patricia took to the microphone. Manuel stood far to the right, separate from the group, letting his daughters, nephews and niece bask in the glow of their creation.
"Tobacco has been an essential part of our lives since the day we were born," Patricia said to the crowd. "The love for tobacco, and this industry, is something we all carry in our hearts, our souls, and even our senses, and that is what has kept us going, and will continue to keep us going for more generations to come."
In a private moment, the two sisters reflect on the journey the fifth generation at Matasa has taken, particularly the female contingent. "I think a lot of men did not take us seriously at first," admits Patricia. Now, she says, "They see we do know something." Then she exhibits some of the humor she has inherited from her father. "We're not just blonde." Enditem
