common throughout the world. There were no customs requirements, and
merchandise moved through these ports with no restrictions. Gradually
the free-trade ports disappeared as the various countries imposed
tariffs on imports and exports for revenue and for protection purposes.
The nearest thing to the old free-trade port that exists in the United
States today is the foreign-trade zone. It is a sort of No Man’s Land
which has been described as “a neutral stockaded area where a shipper
may put down his load, catch his breath, and decide what to do next.”
There are four of these zones in the United States, located at New
York, New Orleans, San Francisco and Seattle. They are fenced and
guarded areas into which importers may bring merchandise without
payment of duties--excepting prohibited merchandise such as narcotics,
subversive or immoral literature, or lottery matter. The merchandise
may remain in the zone indefinitely, and once it is there it may be
manipulated, processed or manufactured without being subject to any
Federal or state controls.
The foreign-trade zones are used for many operations such as assembling
machinery, dyeing and bleaching materials, bottling, weaving, printing,
extracting oils and other components from raw materials, and for
cleaning, grading, sorting, and repackaging materials for a specific
market.
It is only when the finished product is removed from the zone that it
becomes subject to commodity quotas, commodity standards, labelling
and marketing requirements, licenses, fees, controls and taxes that
normally apply to all imports. However, if it is to his advantage, the
importer may ask for an earlier determination of the duties and taxes
due--before the processing changes the classification of the goods
involved.
The foreign-trade zones are intriguing areas because although they
are physically within the United States, for all practical commercial
purposes they remain outside the United States--reminders of an earlier
day when trade through many ports of the world was unfettered.
22
THE RESTLESS AMERICAN
Inspector Leonard Simon, a tall man with faint crinkles about his eyes,
stood at his post in the Customs baggage examination area late one
August afternoon at New York’s Idlewild International Airport. He was
waiting for the rush of travellers who then were disembarking from a
huge Pan American Boeing 707 jet which had just completed its swift
flight from Paris.
Simon had arrived on the job early that morning and this was one of the
few times he had been able to relax. Tourists returning from Europe
had been pouring through the airport in droves. And before the day was
ended, he and his fellow inspectors would have examined the documents
and the luggage of passengers disgorged from more than 100 airliners--a
restless army arriving from all parts of the world.
At the peak of the traffic, as many as 1,000 persons moved through
the inspection lanes each hour. Fifteen years earlier--in the
postwar years--only a handful of officers was needed to handle the
international air traffic. The jet age had changed all this. A force of
248 men was now required, and each year travel by air was increasing.
They came in waves from the planes, laden with boxes, bundles, bags and
cases--impatient to clear this last official hurdle which stood between
them and their destination. There was a certain air of resentment
about some of them when they entered the inspection lanes, as though
they were being forced to undergo an unpleasant inoculation which was
entirely unnecessary. Some showed their nervousness with self-conscious
titters. Some were openly hostile to the inspectors. And some viewed
the routine with bored resignation.
Nevertheless, most of the travellers accepted the examinations with
good grace, answering with candor the routine questions about their
purchases abroad, and paying any duties assessed without complaint when
the purchases exceeded the duty-free exemption of $100.
A few of the travellers had voiced complaints, as did the fat,
perspiring man who demanded in a loud voice, “Why is it that our
government is the only one which treats a citizen as if he might be a
criminal?” He looked about belligerently to see if anyone would take
exception to the statement, but the inspectors acted as though they had
not heard the remark. None of them was in the mood for an unnecessary
argument.
With minor variations, the scene had been replayed over and over
throughout the day. Now, as the crowd from the 707 jet moved toward the
inspection lanes, Simon ground out his cigarette in an ash tray and
nudged a fellow inspector. He said, “Here comes trouble.”
“Which one?” the man asked.
“The Duchess,” Simon said, the crinkles deepening about his eyes. “The
tall woman with her nose in the air. I’ll bet she comes to my station.”
Sure enough, The Duchess bustled into Simon’s lane and fixed him with
a beady stare. “Young man,” she said with a heavy British accent, “can
you tell me why I must go through with this nonsense of having my
luggage examined?”
“I’m sorry,” Simon said, “but it’s a routine precaution we must take
with all travellers unless they have the immunity of a diplomatic
passport. I’m just doing my duty.”
The woman glared. “I still think it’s a lot of nonsense. It’s most
inconvenient. What do you think I’m carrying that is illegal?”
Simon said seriously, “We were informed that you were smuggling twenty
small Russians into the country in your suitcases. I’ve got to see if
it’s true.”
It was a corny gag but, unexpectedly, The Duchess laughed. “All right,
young man,” she said. “Get on with your job and I’ll not trouble you
again.”
The visitor from Britain had hardly left Simon’s station when he looked
up and saw a well-known film star entering his lane. He knew her
immediately from her pictures in the newspapers and from the film he
had seen a few days earlier at a neighborhood theater. The papers had
said she would be returning to Hollywood from Europe, where she had
been working for several months on a new picture.
There had been stories of her appearances in Paris, Rome, Madrid and
Monaco, and the usual gossip about the men with whom she had been seen.
Now here she was in person--dressed in a fetching suit which had a
made-in-Paris look to it. She carried a handsome Italian-made handbag.
On her wrist was a watch which Simon saw at a glance was worth several
hundred dollars, because it was encrusted with small diamonds.
The actress handed Simon her declaration. It was signed with a carefree
flourish--but there were no purchases listed, only personal belongings.
Simon felt like groaning when he saw the declaration. It simply didn’t
make sense for a well-known actress to be in Europe for six months
without making a single purchase of clothing or jewelry.
Simon said, “You are certain you understand the regulations? A good
many people don’t know that the declaration must include any wearing
apparel purchased abroad, even though it has been worn.” Simon
was trying, tactfully, to suggest that if she had any undeclared
purchases, she still could “remember” them and amend the declaration
without penalty. He didn’t want to make trouble for her because, as
he explained later, “I really liked her pictures.” And there was the
chance that she didn’t understand the regulations.
The actress snapped, “Of course, I understand. I took these things with
me when I left the country.”
It was the tone of voice that did it. Simon shrugged and asked her
to open her suitcases. The top layers of clothing were dresses with
California designers’ labels attached, and Simon saw they were genuine
California models.
Beneath these dresses there were other gowns with no labels on them.
But Simon didn’t have to rely on a label to know that these were
creations from the houses of Dior and Balenciaga. He recognized their
Paris origin from the distinctive stitching and from other small
peculiarities of design which were more reliable identifications than
labels. A label might be changed or removed--but the work of the French
seamstresses could not be altered.
Simon had only to glance through the suitcases to see that the matter
had gone beyond his authority. He signalled for one of his superiors.
The actress was asked to step into a private room for questioning and
for a more thorough examination of her luggage. She was found to be
carrying undeclared clothing and jewelry worth $10,800. She was not
subjected to criminal prosecution, but she paid into the Treasury
the value of the purchases in addition to the stiff penalty for the
smuggling attempt. She left New York for Hollywood a much wiser young
woman, although she would never feel moved to voice any praise for the
Customs Bureau and its employees.
The case of the Hollywood actress is only one minor example of why
the Bureau requires that travellers’ luggage be examined upon arrival
in the United States. Each year roughly 150 million persons and 43
million vehicles cross and recross the borders. Among those millions
are cheats, smugglers and conspirators seeking to evade the payment of
duties on imports or trying to bring contraband into the country.
Baggage examinations have been made since the Republic was in its
infancy. The system has been continued simply because no one yet has
devised a better way to protect the Treasury from those who seek to
avoid the payment of legitimate duties. The system remains much the
same as it was in the days of George Washington--and without doubt just
as annoying to travellers.
There is an old story that Napoleon once assembled his marshals, just
before launching a long-planned campaign, to deliver a stirring address
on the brilliance of his strategy, the weaknesses of the enemies, and
the indomitable spirit of the Napoleonic legions.
“Nothing,” thundered the little emperor, “can stop our march!”
Then a voice piped up from the rear: “Sire, you forget the French
Customs!”
The U.S. Customs Service in its more than 170 years of operation
has never achieved a position of such bureaucratic eminence as the
anonymous storyteller attributed to the French Customs--even though
some tired and disgruntled travellers returning from abroad might
feel inclined to dispute this point. But there is no doubt that among
governmental agencies, the Customs Service has--in Madison Avenue
terms--projected a poor image of itself and the importance of the role
it plays in protecting the Treasury.
Smuggling and attempts at fraud continue to be big-money problems.
During the fiscal year 1960, Customs agents and inspectors made 13,531
seizures of merchandise, narcotics and other imports worth $8,238,649.
From these seizures, the Treasury received a total of $1,402,084.24
in fines and penalties--of which $896,159.42 was collected by Customs
agents.
While the value of the seizures reported by Customs in one year may
seem high, Customs officers are certain that they intercept only a part
of the contraband that is brought into the United States. They are
equally certain that diligent inspection and enforcement work slow down
the operations of the underworld operators, the one-shot smugglers, and
the chiselers who--if this deterrent did not exist--would flood the
country with illegal imports.
Unfortunately, there is no way in looking at passengers arriving
by plane or by ship to separate the honest from the dishonest. The
little gray-haired lady with a shawl about her shoulders, wearing
steel spectacles and a shy, grandmotherly smile, may have two pounds
of heroin concealed beneath her petticoat. And the square-jawed,
blue-eyed, All-American business executive with the firm handclasp may
be trying to bring into the country a diamond ring and several watches.
Frequently men of wealth try to smuggle purchases past the inspectors
merely to see if they can get away with it. Such a case involved a
Pittsburgh industrialist who arrived in New York from a trip to Europe.
He was a man whose name was well-known in the business world and who
was financially able to pay tariff duties on purchases costing tens of
thousands of dollars. But when an inspector looked at his new hand-made
alligator bags--purchased in Italy--he was reasonably certain the
luggage was grossly undervalued on the businessman’s declaration. The
inspector called for an appraiser to check his judgment. The appraiser
asked the businessman to open one of the bags, and the traveller said
belligerently, “Why do you want to open it?” The appraiser replied,
“Because I want to see inside. Any objection?” And he proceeded with an
examination of the luggage.
Upon opening one of the bags, he found two expensive Patek Philippe
watches--rated among the world’s best. Not only did the traveller’s
declaration not list any watches, but more than one watch of this
particular brand could not legally be imported without a special permit
from the agency which handled them in the United States. Another
handbag contained several other expensive watches.
When the watches were found, the businessman looked at the appraiser
and the inspector and grinned. He said, “Well, now that you’ve caught
me, how much is it going to cost? Let me pay you and get on my way.”
The appraiser said, “I’m sorry but it isn’t that simple. This could be
a criminal case rather than just a matter of just paying for a mistake.”
By this time the businessman had wiped the smile from his face. He was
beginning to sweat. He lowered his voice and said, “Let me speak to you
privately.”
The inspector and appraiser took the traveller into a private office,
where he apologized abjectly. He explained that he was trying to be
a “wise guy.” He said he thought it would be amusing to see if he
could bluff his way past Customs and he hadn’t realized the serious
implications involved.
“He was a pretty shaken man when he left that office,” the appraiser
recalled. “No criminal case was made against him but he did pay a stiff
penalty.”
For the transgressions of the few, the great majority must undergo the
inconveniences of delay in having their baggage inspected.
There is no doubt that the inspectors who arrive on the job out of
sorts, grumpy and even rude make more enemies for the Customs Bureau
in dealing with the public than a dozen Customs men could have made
working in any other capacity.
Such an experience brought a protest from a Canadian, who wrote _The
New York Times_ in November, 1958, complaining of rude treatment
by a churlish airport inspector. The inspector curtly demanded the
Canadian’s bags be opened for inspection. Then without as much as
a peek inside them, he ordered the bags to be closed in what the
visitor termed “an exercise in official nuisance and an assertion of
bureaucratic authority.” He added, “The trip began with irritation from
this first contact with a representative of the United States....”
Baggage inspection--while it is only a small part of the overall Bureau
operation--nevertheless is one of the most sensitive parts of the
Bureau’s work, and officials are painfully aware of this fact. They
are trying to eliminate the kind of patently absurd situation which
inspired a _New Yorker_ cartoonist to picture a stern, arms-folded
Customs inspector at the U.S.-Mexico border facing a very pregnant
young lady and saying, “That’s the rule, lady--if you got it in Mexico,
you pay duty on it.”
The keeper of the law can hardly hope to win popularity contests. But
most of the complaints against Customs spring from the average American
traveller’s resentment of the baggage inspection. People simply don’t
like to have a stranger poking about among personal belongings.
The Bureau has been seeking ways to speed up the examinations and to
keep the public at least tranquil, if not happy, over the operation.
Conveyor belts have been installed at examination counters at airports
in New York, Miami, San Juan and San Francisco, and are planned at
other major points of international travel. They have helped to cut
down delays. Campaigns are conducted among employees to promote greater
courtesy in dealing with the travelling public.
Inspector Simon, discussing this situation, said: “We rarely have
difficulty with seasoned travellers who know all the rules. It’s the
people who don’t travel too often, the person who makes one trip in
ten years’ time, and the general tourist who are always apprehensive
about Customs. One of the most difficult things is to settle them down
and make them feel at ease so that you can get the answers to your
questions without upsetting them too much. Once they feel that you
understand their situation and you start to discuss with them what they
have purchased and what they might have ordered to be shipped later and
how they must go about clearing these articles, then they relax a bit
and you find that it is easier to handle them.”
To train new Customs employees in their duties and responsibilities,
the Customs Bureau operates a school for inspectors and examiners in an
old building at 54 Stone Street in lower Manhattan. Here the recruits
are not only instructed in the proper way to meet the public and to
inspect luggage, but also how to look for the tricks of the smuggler,
how to obtain a sample from a shipment of wool for a laboratory
analysis, the proper procedures for verifying shipments of merchandise
to determine their dutiable value, and what items are on the forbidden
list, such as narcotics and certain plants and vegetables. They also
must familiarize themselves with an impost book on whose pages are
listed more than 60,000 articles which are dutiable. And in hours of
study there is instruction in other phases of the Bureau’s widespread
operations.
While the schooling is helpful for any future inspectors, only
experience will give them the finesse and the tact necessary to avoid
constant irritations in dealing with the thousands of people who pass
through the ports each year from overseas, or from Canada and Mexico.
Customs inspectors have learned from long experience that elderly women
returning from abroad for the first time and women who are travelling
alone are apt to be the most emotional when approaching the Customs
inspection lane. They require special attention by inspectors in
filling out the proper forms and in getting their baggage prepared for
inspection. Many of them regard Customs as a frightening barrier to
entry into the United States--and not as an agency to help them comply
with the laws which were written by Congress.
Actually, a close look at the record reveals that the Customs Bureau is
one of the more efficient units in the Federal government. Even though
the work load for examiners, agents, appraisers and other employees has
increased more than 200 per cent over the past ten years, the Bureau
does the job with fewer employees. In 1951 the Bureau had a total
of 8,561 employees--8 more than were employed in 1962. The Bureau’s
operating budget had increased from $40,500,000 to $63,400,000 over
that period, but most of the increase went into pay raises voted by
Congress, employee retirement funds, increased health benefits, and
employee insurance contributions.
In 1960, the Bureau won a commendation from the watchdog Bureau of the
Budget for an impressive showing in management improvements effected by
outgoing Commissioner Ralph Kelly.
Since that remote day in 1789 when William Seton paid the first $774.41
in duties into the U.S. Treasury, the responsibility for policing the
imports has grown steadily.
The nerve center for the sprawling operation is located in the office
of Commissioner Philip Nichols, Jr., in Washington, D. C., whose top
lieutenant is a long-time government career man, Assistant Commissioner
David B. Strubinger.
Management control is maintained through seven main divisions: the
Division of Engineering and Weighing, the Division of Laboratories,
the Division of Tariff and Marine Administration, the Division of
Personnel, the Supervisor of Appraisers, the Division of Investigations
and Patrols, and the Division of Fiscal Administration.
In the field there are forty-five collectors of customs in thirty-two
Customs districts, thirty-two appraisers, nine chief chemists, seven
comptrollers, thirteen supervising Customs agents, and nine chief
laboratory chemists, in addition to the inspectors, enforcement agents,
examiners, border patrolmen, technicians, and clerical workers.
In the fiscal year 1960, the imports reached $13 billion, and in 1962
they climbed to more than $15 billion--pouring through 350 ports of
entry and Customs stations along the borders. The collection of duties
soared in 1962 to more than $1.5 billion. International air travel at
New York’s Idlewild Airport increased more than 10 per cent over the
preceding year, and air cargo shipments were up 20 per cent. Similar
reports came from other points of international travel.
Perhaps one of the more notable achievements of the Service is the fact
that with improved management controls, better auditing procedures, and
swift action against crooked employees, the Bureau has not had a major
household scandal in more than a quarter of a century.
For years, the Bureau has had one of the lowest personnel turnover
rates of any of the government agencies. It is now in a period of
rapid change. The reason is that many of the long-time employees,
including those in top management positions, are reaching retirement
age. They are the ones who came into the Service in the early 1920s and
chose to remain.
Government employees may retire any time from age sixty-two on to
the mandatory retirement age of seventy. Most of those retiring are
stepping out at age sixty-five, and since 1960 the Bureau has been
forced to seek approximately 400 new employees each year--with a heavy
turnover in the upper management echelon.
The management vacancies are being filled by promotions within the
Service. The upward move has left openings in the lower positions
for young men and women interested in a government career and, more
particularly, in the specialized work offered by Customs. This trend in
employment will continue through 1965.
Why did they stay with the Customs Bureau in such numbers? One of the
old-timers put it this way: “We came into the Customs Service as young
people and it became a part of our life. We felt we had more than an
ordinary job. We felt we were taking part in something important to our
country--and for this reason we felt important. There never was time to
get bored because there never was a day when you didn’t run up against
a new and interesting problem. I don’t mean a gimmick problem--but a
problem that might mean millions of dollars. Of course, no job can be
perfect--but I don’t know where I could have found another that would
have kept me interested this long....”
There is every reason to believe that the Customs Service--the gray old
frontier sheriff among the Federal agencies--is improving with age.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Don Whitehead was born in Inman, Virginia, and studied at
the University of Kentucky. He has spent most of his working
life in newspaper work, and for twenty-one years was with the
Associated Press, twice winning Pulitzer prizes. For a time
he was chief of the Washington, D.C., bureau of the _New York
Herald Tribune_. In 1956 he wrote the widely acclaimed _The
F.B.I. Story_, and in 1960 he wrote _Journey into Crime_. He
now lives with his wife in Concord, Tennessee, where he writes
a column for the Knoxville _News-Sentinel_ and does freelance
writing.
Transcriber’s Notes
Punctuation, hyphenation, and spelling were made consistent when a
predominant preference was found in the original book; otherwise they
were not changed.
Simple typographical errors were corrected; unbalanced quotation
marks were remedied when the change was obvious, and otherwise left
unbalanced.