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.”