ROBERT GARDNER -- The Verdict

From time to time, the urge to give advice via this column is well

nigh irresistible. Today I give in to that urge and give advice. The

subject? How to smuggle.

Some years ago, a group of us toured Europe. On the way back, the

plane landed at Ireland’s so-called Shannon airport, which should be

called the Shannon Department Store. In this so-called airport,

everything Irish can be purchased -- Irish linen, Irish lace, Irish

cotton, Irish alligator purses. Everything is Irish.

Well, I am not much of a shopper, but just to get into the spirit of

things, as my fellow travelers were buying everything Irish like mad, I

went to the bar and began to drink Irish coffee and to compare it with

the Irish coffee with which all other Irish coffee must be compared --

the Irish coffee served at the Buena Vista Cafe in San Francisco.

So, after a couple of hours comparing the Irish coffee of Shannon with

that of the Buena Vista, I decided to become something of a conformist

and buy something to take home. And so I bought a loaf of Irish bread and

a large slab of authentic Irish smoked salmon.

Now, transporting a large piece of Irish smoked salmon aboard an

airplane is not easy. It’s too large to fit under the seat or go into the

overhead compartment. The flight attendant won’t take it, so you simply

keep it on your lap, which, because it has a certain aroma, is to the

distress of your traveling companion. But, popular or not, I finally

arrived at the airport in Detroit, which had a terrifying reputation as

having the toughest bunch of custom inspectors in the country. They did

everything but strip search passengers.

As I stood in line for customs, I was having trouble with my

belongings. You can’t carry a smoked salmon, a loaf of bread, a handbag

and a suitcase at the same time, so I put the bag and the suitcase on the

floor and sort of kicked them along.

When I reached the counter manned by my particular customs inspector,

clearly the meanest of the lot, I slapped my salmon down on the counter

and reached down to pick up my bag and suitcase to put them on the

counter.

The customs inspector jumped back as though I had put a hooded cobra

in front of him.

“What the hell is this?” he screamed.

“It’s a piece of smoked Irish salmon,” I responded cheerily, breathing

Irish coffee on him. “I’ve declared it. See here?” I waved my customs

declaration at him.

“Get out of here!” he yelled.

“But--” I said as I started to put the luggage in front of him.

“Get out!” he repeated.

So I took my uninspected luggage, my loaf of bread and my salmon and

sailed through customs. I could have had every diamond in Amsterdam in my

luggage, and nobody would have known it.

So my insider tip is if you want to smuggle successfully, take a very

large slab of smelly smoked salmon.

* ROBERT GARDNER is a Corona del Mar resident and a former judge. His

column runs Tuesdays.