"The plane didn't fly last night"
by Philip Goutell

© 2023 Philip Goutell

Recently we watched the movie "Serpico" with Al Pacino in the role of the cop that didn't take money. Serpico was a dedicated cop but he made fellow cops nervous because he refused to become part of a system of shakedowns that had become widespread and, seemingly, was accepted by officers of all ranks. He struggled to find just one other who would stand against the system. The film reminded me of a time at Kennedy Airport. There was one customs officer who was singled out and shunned because he didn't take money. All this happened a long time ago.

There might have been others, I don't know. But this one particular fellow had been pointed out to me as someone to avoid. I was told, "We don't give him money." He was the only one.

I don't know all the ins and outs of how things worked at Kennedy at that time but I do know there was a standard price for a signature on what was called a formal entry. These were imports valued at more than $250 and, of course, there were a lot of them. It was our business. We were customs house brokers as well as being a division of an international air freight operation. Formal entries were examined by samplers. When they signed off on an import they were attesting that they had opened a few random packages from the shipment, verified that they matched what was described on the invoice, and that the proper duty had been paid. The taxpayers paid them to perform this service but not necessarily any time soon. When a shipper springs for air freight rather than ocean cargo, they want their goods in a hurry. The plane comes in, the cargo is unloaded, duty is paid, customs inspects it and clears it and it is on its way to New York City the next day.

To make this happen the consignee pays for a "special" — special handling — and the fee was twenty-five dollars, five dollars of which went to the sampler, "for his overtime." This may give the impression that, after five o'clock, the sampler would go out and inspect the shipment. This wasn't how it worked.

At the time, most of the brokers had offices in Building 80. On the ground floor, at one end of the building, was Customs. At lunchtime, the sampler who cleared must of our shipments would drop by our office (and others) and inquire, "Do you have anything for me?" Out would come papers for various shipments that were to be expedited.

Duty had already been paid. On some days we might have only one set of papers, other days there might be two or three. The sampler signed off on them and collected five dollars for each. Brokers kept a good deal of cash in their wallets to keep business flowing smootghly.

I once recall being at an airline to pick up some freight and an employee of one of the other brokers tried to get the sampler to do two shipments for seven dollars. The sampler threw the money in his face and told him to go back to his boss and get the price right. No cutting corners; no special deals.

Brokers were not necessarily happy with this system. They knew it could present problems and, should somebody get caught, they could lose their license. But the system was solidly in place. I don't know how it could have been changed short of a massive crackdown and even then the results might be only temporary. And there was a lot of trust build into the system. Samplers trusted brokers to be truthful about the contents of shipments and pay the duty that was due. Brokers trusted samplers not to turn on them. It was all very civilized.

My job at Kennedy was to clear informal entries (no five dollars needed) and to pick up formal entries that had been cleared and were small enough to fit in my Ford Econoline van. One morning I headed off to Northwest Airlines with papers in my hand for a shipment that had been expedited. The papers showed that the duty had been paid and the sampler had opened and visually inspected three of the packages. I can't recall what the cargo was but it was coming from Hong Kong and we did get a lot of human hair wigs from Hong Kong that would be sold to Orthodox Jewish women who, according to religious law and custom, shaved their heads and then wore a wig. I walked up to the desk — Northwest wasn't busy that morning and I was about to find out why — and handed the papers to the clerk who knew me. He saw the papers with their "paid" stamp and sampler's signature and looked around looking worried.

"Jimmy, put that away. The plane didn't fly last night."