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Reynolds American, the country's second-largest cigarette-maker, is changing its policy on smoking in the office. Until now, Reynolds employees have been able to light up at their desks, but come January, workers will have to either go outside or use specially equipped smoking rooms.

"We allowed smoking of cigarettes, cigars, pipes, traditional tobacco products throughout our facilities," says David Howard, a spokesman for Reynolds American. He says it's not as though his co-workers chain-smoke at work.

Smoking in the workplace is still legally permitted in some parts of the country, including in Reynolds' home state of North Carolina. But on Wednesday, as the Associated Press first reported, Reynolds said it would build designated smoking areas and prohibit smoking everywhere else.

E-cigarettes and smokeless products like snuff will still be allowed. But Howard says the policy will apply to all its subsidiaries. He says the company made the change to adapt to the times.

"Indoor smoking restrictions certainly are the norm today and most people expect a smoke-free business environment," Howard says.

Cynthia Hallett, executive director for Americans for Nonsmokers' Rights, says she finds the new policy "ironic."

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"Reynolds and other tobacco companies have been the leading opponents to the passage of these smoke-free-workplace laws at the state and local level," she says.

And yet here the company seems to be acknowledging that there is damage from secondhand smoke to its own workers. But Hallett isn't appeased.

"This feels like a lovely PR stunt by Reynolds to say, 'Oh, we're trying to come up to modern times and offer a smoke-free workplace to our employees,' when in fact, it's not 100 percent smoke-free," she says.

Hallett says smoke escapes from designated smoking areas, and e-cigarettes emit harmful chemicals and compounds as well.

Reynolds says its new policy will start taking effect on Jan. 1.

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The anger of Illinois Republican state Rep. Mike Bost is spontaneous and raw.

In 2013, for example, he raged against a floor amendment to a concealed carry gun bill.

"Once again, your side of the aisle is trying to make ploys instead of dealing with the real issue!" a YouTube video shows him bellowing. "Keep playing games," he says. "Keep playing games."

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Now, Bost is running for a seat in Congress against first-term Rep. Bill Enyart, a retired general and Democrat, and Bost's anger has become a campaign issue.

Voters in the 12th Congressional District in southern Illinois are hearing a lot of another Bost rant, a furious harangue from 2012 about language inserted into a pension reform bill on the final day of the House session.

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"Enough! I feel like somebody trying to be released from Egypt! Let my people go!" he hollers. "These damn bills that come out of here all the damn time come out here at the last second and I've got to try figure out how to vote for my people!"

The video of those remarks went viral that year. In it, Bost is seen throwing the bill into the air. He whiffs at the pages as they fall, then picks up the papers and throws them again.

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Enyart is running ads that point to Bost's rant as proof that he doesn't belong in Congress. Using footage of the lawmaker's outbursts, the announcer says, "Mike Bost. Twenty years yelling. Twenty years being the problem."

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Bost has represented small towns in rural, conservative southern Illinois for nearly two decades. Many voters here see his fury as well-placed.

"I think this was appropriate," says Bost supporter Jill Bunyan of Bost's pension rant. "You can get angry, and that's OK. And I think at that time, for that few moments, that was an appropriate response."

Bunyan lives in the tiny town of Cobden, in southernmost Illinois, population 1,100. People in Bunyan's part of the district, which hugs the Mississippi River, are frustrated with the state's fiscal troubles and weak local economy.

But head north to some of the district's larger cities, like Belleville, population 44,000, and Bost's anger is embraced less and criticized more. Interviewed on Main Street, Richard Rockwell thinks "the rant" is all political theater.

"I'm hoping that's the reason, and not that he's acting the fool in a deliberative chamber," Rockwell says. "That would be rather disconcerting to me."

Bost, in his own ad, refers to a video of the rant and embraces it. He half smiles and explains in folksy fashion that he's angry about the direction his opponents are taking the country.

"What the Chicago politicians and Gov. Quinn have done really made me mad," Bost says. "And what Bill Enyart and President Obama are doing to our country upsets me as well."

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On the power dynamic between a photographer and his or her subject

Just as there is a power structure between the novelist and the subject the novelist is writing about — it's the novelist who decides who gets the power of speech. So, whoever puts their finger on the button that ultimately decides what happens with the camera is the one who has the power. And anyone sitting outside of that power zone is turned into a subject. So, I could see parallel between the novelist's writing, and therefore, deciding, ultimately, the destiny of his or her characters — in the same way that the photographer decides what position to take, what light to use.

On whether he could live in Somalia

Mogadishu has stopped being a cosmopolitan city; it was a cosmopolitan city many years ago — one of the most celebrated cosmopolitan cities. I can imagine living in Somalia, but Somalia has to change. I have changed and therefore Somalia must change. And that would be the case if: one, there was peace. Two, if I could live anonymously — which is not possible all the time, but it could be. And then, [three], if there are book shops and cultural stuff that one can do and get involved in. There is no such thing now. Civil war dominates everything in one's everyday life in Somalia, which is quite tragic.

Read an excerpt of Hiding in Plain Sight

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Parrello asked about the day that her son died.

"We took fire that day. We heard a large explosion, and we could feel it," Powell says. "I see that Brian's laying there with his shirt cut open. His rifle had been blown in half from the IED that he hit.

"I grabbed his hand. He looked at me, and he wasn't yelling and he wasn't upset. I can still picture him, and I picture him all the time," Powell says, his voice thick with emotion. "I spend a lot of time laying in bed, not being able to go to sleep, just thinking, 'What could I have done differently. What could I have done better?'

"I still have those thoughts."

"I wanted to make sure that none of you guys felt as if we blamed anybody for what happened, and that I know you guys did the best you could," Parrello says. "I'm just happy he was with his other family — even though we couldn't be there with him, he was with people that love him."

After Brian Parrello's death, his parents met his fellow Marines — the 4th Platoon, Small Craft Company, Headquarters Battalion, 2nd Marine Division. Later this year, the entire platoon will join the Parrello family in West Milford to mark 10 years since Brian's death.

"I couldn't wait to meet you and give you a hug," says Powell, remembering the day they first met. "I remember running through my head what I'd say to you. I walked up to you, I gave you a hug, and I didn't say anything — because I couldn't. And I'm sorry for that."

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Shirley Parrello's son, Brian, died in Iraq almost ten years ago. Sgt. Kevin Powell was with him that day, and he says he can still picture Brian Parello in the moments after the IED exploded. Storycorps hide caption

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Shirley Parrello's son, Brian, died in Iraq almost ten years ago. Sgt. Kevin Powell was with him that day, and he says he can still picture Brian Parello in the moments after the IED exploded.

Storycorps

"The hug was enough," Parrello says, telling Powell there's no need for an apology. "As a little boy when [Brian] would go to bed at night I would tuck him in and give him a kiss and a hug and then I'd walk out of the room and he'd say, 'One more hug, Mom.' This would go on — I mean, it was like 10 times. I'd have to go back and forth. And at the time you're thinking, 'Come on, Brian. Please? You know, it's late.' Now I would give anything to have one more hug."

"The day that you lost Brian you gained 20-something other sons, and we'll always be your sons," Powell tells her. "It never ceases to amaze me ... how strong you are. The things that we talk about, that I can hardly talk about, and he was your son. I want to tell you that I know you're hurting, and I'll always be there for you, for as long as I'm alive."

Audio produced for Weekend Edition by Andres Caballero.

StoryCorps is a national nonprofit that gives people the chance to interview friends and loved ones about their lives. These conversations are archived at the American Folklife Center at the Library of Congress, allowing participants to leave a legacy for future generations. Learn more, including how to interview someone in your life, at StoryCorps.org.

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