From: chance wolf (chance_wolf@shaw.ca)
Date: Mon May 10 2004 - 10:48:56 PDT
They need your help to carry out their mandate without acting like a pack of
jackbooted Rottweilers.
I'm sending this to both the military vehicles group and the armyradios one,
because I know collectors from each like to cross the border and attend
events in the neighbouring nation, and would like to do so without having to
deal with the nonsense I had to put up with on the way back to Canada from
an event in Washington State.
Three of us headed down to a Puget Sound Military Vehicle Collectors Club
event at Fort Ebey, WA from our club up here in Vancouver, B.C, and two of
us convoyed back Sunday night in the form of a 1941 K-18 Radio Van driven by
a friend, and my own 1985 M1009 Blazer. As we're approaching the Canadian
Border, we see that U.S. Customs has a checkpoint staffed with four
individuals who are stopping Canada-bound motorists at random and asking a
few questions. My friend's 1941 truck with "U.S. Army" and white stars all
over it pulls into the duty-free without even being stopped, where I'm
motioned to the side of the road instantly by U.S. Customs as though I'd
just run over a favourite pet. For background at this point, my 1009 sports
the stock camouflage job, two MX-6707 mounts and antennas either side, a
rear mount for the AB-652 and copper whip, one RT-246, one RT-524, and the
associated cables and junction boxes. Here's the exchange between the U.S.
Customs guy and myself:
Customs: "What's with the truck?"
Me: "What do you mean?"
Guy looks around, and touches the MX-6707 mount on the driver's side. In
the mirror I can see Rottweilers 3, 4 and 5 wiggling antennas and
conversationally telling each other "he can't have this stuff".
Customs: "Where are you going with all this?"
Me: "Canada."
Customs: "And why are we going to Canada?" (like the B.C. Plates didn't give
it away??)
Me: "Because I live there?"
Customs: "Are you a member of the Canadian Military?"
Me: "Not anymore."
Customs: "Then what's with all this gear?"
Me: "I'm a collector."
Customs: "Are you familiar with the term 'State Department'?"
Me: "Sure. Why."
Customs: "Because you're not allowed to export military technology. You
need a licence. Do you know what I mean by a licence? Where'd you get all
this?"
Me: "Other collectors in Canada, sometimes Ebay..."
Customs: "Where'd you get the truck?"
Me: "Government Liquidation."
Customs: "But all this stuff wasn't on it."
Me: "No. I put it all on later."
Customs: "You can't have all this."
Me: "Yes I can. It's perfectly legal."
Customs: "You can't import it or export it without a permit."
Me: "Nothing's being imported or exported here."
Customs: <condescendingly and loudly> "Well it's here in the U.S! You
imported it illegally! Please step out of the car, Sir, and go into the
building..."
I get out. The rest of the Pack begins flicking switches and playing with
stuff. On the way to the Customs Office, Rottweiler #1 raises his tone and
tries to up the psychological ante.
Customs: "You imported controlled U.S. Military Technology illegally and are
trying to export it illegally. You need a State Department Licence!"
Me: "I'm doing no such thing. Canada used those radios too. I've had them
for four years. I'm bringing back nothing I didn't have with me when I came
down apart from three cans of beer."
Customs: "You told me you got them off Ebay!"
I stop mid-escort and turn to face the guy.
Me: "No. I said I get *some* stuff on Ebay. And some from fellow collectors.
But not those radios. They're Canadian."
Rottweiler #1 closes the physical distance with the "just you try
something!" look on his face, puts his arm up behind my back, and makes it
pretty clear I was supposed to be making my case mid-stride without making
any sort of eye-contact.
Customs: "Then they'll have Canadian serial numbers."
Me: "No such thing. We bought them off the American Gov't and..."
Customs: "THERE! SEE! That goes right back to what I was sayin'."
Me: <incredulously> "..in *1971*!!!!???"
Customs: "It doesn't make any difference. We'll check it all out. Have a
seat."
Rottweiler #1 joins the rest of the Hounds of the Baskervilles and crawls
over the vehicle, playing with knobs and switches and microphones like 6 yr
olds left to entertain themselves by irresponsible parents in the toy aisle
of WalMart. Rottweiler #1 comes back and asks me if "they work."
"One does, one doesn't", I reply.
He goes back out for another round of playing. I stare at the stuffed Eagle
spreading its wings in Freedom above the Customs counter, then look outside
past a waving Stars'n'Stripes towards the blue-suited Rottweilers,
marvelling at the stark contrast between Freedom's ideals and the actions of
its uniformed representatives. About 30-35 minutes goes by, and Rottweiler
#1 reappears behind the counter and proffers my Driver's License with a
"you're free to go", but not a word more. My guess would be he spent a few
minutes on the phone diluting his ignorance in a few words with someone more
rational and senior, but I strongly believe that those few minutes would've
been better off spent in training BEFORE sending people like that to the
49th parallel, rather than leave returning Canadians with vivid memories of
incidents like this. When I got back into my vehicle, they'd flicked every
switch they could flick just to "see what happens". Fortunately the radios
were designed to be coincidentally both Soldier and Rottweiler-proof,
elsewise I might've been stuck with damages I had no part in creating.
On the upside, and primarily of interest to the Mil Vehicles mob, we had a
great time at Ft. Ebey with the Puget Sound collectors, and it's nice to see
so many collectors take their vehicles and accessories "out" for the public
to enjoy on events like that. They also refused to let us help out with the
group campsite fee, and were excellent hosts all round. Thanks for the
invite! I'll still come down to the Arlington Airshow for the reasons I
usually go down, but now I have another reason equally compelling, as it's
been quite some time since I've been afraid of the Big Bad Wolf no matter
how loud he barks, and I don't suffer bullies of any stripe whatsoever.
I'd sign my name but I don't want want the "Non-Patriot!" flag popping up
beside my Driver's License number on any more NSA computers than absolutely
necessary, so, lessee....
Yours Truly,
er...Thomas Paine, esq.
(in anticipation of a few responses backing up their actions: no, I wasn't
"being smart"; yes, I was very polite; no I'm not "on the computer"; no, I
wasn't dressed "like Rambo"; yes, I cross fairly often. I'm sure I missed
some, but you get the general idea.)
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