September 19,—1935-What to Do When the Customs Man Comes—in One Lesson
The Washington Daily News—Thursday—September 19,—1935
What to Do When the Customs Man Comes—in One Lesson
By ERNIE PYLE
SAULT STE. MARIE, Mich. — It is exactly 100 times (I counted ’em) simpler and easier to get across the border into Canada, and out again, than it is to go from Arizona to California.
Some weeks ago, when I crossed from Maine into Canada at St. Stephen’s, N.B., I drove over the bridge, stopped at Canadian Customs, unlocked the back end of the coupe, took off my coat, and got ready to unload 400 pounds of second-rate wearing apparel for inspection.
“Stay,” said the inspector, in effect.“Where are you going?”“To Nova Scotia, Quebec, Montreal, Ottawa, North Bay, Windsor...”“Stay,” in effect said the inspector.“Have you any liquor, guns or what not?”“Nay,” said I.“Any cameras, typewriters and so on?” said he. “One of each,” said I.
So I went over to a window, in 30 seconds they had filled out a little booklet giving my name and engine number of the car, and saying I had a typewriter and a camera, and I was on my way. Not a bag had been touched.
● ● ●
Well, that was all right, but I knew it couldn’t happen that way coming out of Canada. I’d have to go thru the U.S. inspectors then, and those babies are tough.
So it wasn’t altogether the frost that made my teeth chatter as I drove off the ferry at Sault Ste. Marie at 8 a.m., and faced those traditional ogres, the U.S. Customs men.
The ferry had carried over about 30 cars. They lined up in three rows, and everybody stopped their engines. I knew it would take at least two hours to get thru that batch. So we just sat and waited for the ax to fall.
Not that we had anything to declare. But you know how it is. When you’re talking to a policeman or a customs man, you’re just the image of a fugitive and a smuggler. You’re guilty, and you should show it, even if you haven’t got a thing.
A middle-aged man in blue uniform was coming down the line. He looked into each car, but didn’t open any baggage. He didn’t tarry long.
Finally he got to us. I decided the best tactic was to be free and familiar, and try to get him off the track. “Good morning,” I said, just beaming good will and innocence. My voice sounded to me like a calf’s.
He looked at the license plate and said “Good morning. You’re a long way from home, mister. Have you got anything to declare?”
“We didn’t buy a thing but one book. It cost $2. It’s a book about Quebec.” I was rattling along like a sewing-circle dowager. “I’ll show it to you if you want to see it. It’s in the back end. The name of it is ‘The Golden Dog.’”“What’s the name of it?”“The Golden Dog.”He wrote something down on a pad of paper. I think he just made marks. Then he asked my name, and then he said “O.K.” and walked on.
We started the engine and moved up to the gate, where a very tall man in olive green uniform was standing. This was the guy that does the dirty work, I knew that.“Where do you live?” he said. “Where were you born?” he said. “O.K.” he said.
Like an escaped murderer, I stepped on the gas and sped toward Lake Michigan, a free man, and all I could say to myself was, “Well, I’ll be damned!”
And “The Golden Dog” was actually all I did have, too.
● ● ●
It takes at least half an hour to get from Arizona into California, at least the first time you cross.
You have to take every single bag and package out of the car and open it. They rummage around inside the bags and muss everything up. They’re nice about it, but they’re firm. If you’ve got any oranges, you either have to eat them right there, or leave them. They’re looking for boll weevil or beetles or fungus or something.
And then another department goes all over your car, and takes down the numbers, and then fills out long certificates. They’re looking for stolen cars. And they find a lot, too. It’s really a task to get into California the first time.
But last spring, wandering around the Southwest, I went back and forth across the border so often that the inspectors at Yuma, Ariz., and Blythe, Calif., got so when they saw me coming the
💛 **Enjoyed this post?** Your support helps us continue to transcribe and promote Ernie’s work. Please click the link below to donate.